Tag Archives: Father O’Way

Merv versus Nothing

28 Sunday Jul 2019

Posted by in Mark

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I’m glad we have a conservative government…


Merv was feeling quite unrestrained. He’d read an article in the newspaper that said “nothing is good for your health…”, wow, how powerful is that sort of shit. What he didn’t read was the next paragraph which just happened to say “except for a Trotter’s Ale”, don’t just some facts interfere with a good way of living, I think so and I’m not even Merv, just the low grade author.

Merv is standing behind the bar, index fingers and thumbs clasped and eyes closed, thinking of nothing he nothingly thinks when in walks Father Sandy O’Way, you know, our parish priest from the Church of St Generic Brand.

“Hi Merv, pint of the best , granny’s special and a cone of the good stuff, nah, only kidding, on the wagon this week. Nah, Triple bourb’ instead.”

“Sorry Sandy but I’ve read that nothing is good for your health and from now on I’m going to do nothing as much as possible to keep in good health.”

“Yessss Merv but what you are now doing now is something because you are talking to me.” Sandy’s starting to have some second thoughts about this whole conversation.

“ Yesss but Sandy, I’m really worried, if I have nothing in this hand and nothing in the other hand surely this gives me nothing.”

“Um,er, yessss. You know, we need Foodge.” Foodge is the local private detective and barrister that drinks down at the Pigs Arms. He also smokes to much, eats too many wedgies and is a terrible punter so he tends to need the wealth to flow to the needy lawyers so this episode can run for a little bit longer. Let’s go to court, yee ha.

Foodge has a spiv

 

Well the court session has been called and unfortunately we have landed the hanging judge, Sir Suppository.

“All rise…” dribble. The judge has been asked to rule on a definition of nothing versus something.

“I sentence the defendant to death by hanging” states Sir Suppository.

“But Me Lud, no evidence has been stated” says Foodge for the defence. Anyhoo,

“Oh, shit, what about the prosecution?” barks the aperient of knobility, Sir Suppository, pretending he knows what’s going on. And look I say good luck to him because I’m writing this and I don’t know what’s going on.

“This is an arbitration matter Me Lud, two bits of nothing equals nothing. We argue that if you have nothing in one hand and nothing in the other hand then at the end of the day you have nothing” says John Citizen of your local Credit Card Legal Firm.

“I interject your suppository, if I have nothing in one hand and nothing in the other I therefore have two bits of nothing therefore I have something”[Geeps, just what I need now is a Donna Summer song] asserts Foodge.

Go Foodge otherwise Merv will be hanged and someone else will have to pour the beers, poor us.

“Me Lud, I will present a case that will irreparably oops I mean irrefutably resolve the whole issue.” Oh Gordon[the inventor of the universe], I love spinning out a story. Have I mentioned hanging Merv yet, hmm, just asking, for a friend like, you know.

“What’s this Me Lud shit?” says Me Lud.

“It’s a minced form of My Lord and it’s found in the No Idea Major Crossword Me Lud, August 2017, Edition 4, Pages 121-122, 389 and 392 Across, two words, minced form of legal brownnose, just sayin’ Me Lud.”

My darling, I have a case to hear

“Oh FFS, lets get on with it and that’s coming from Me Lud.” Don’t know whether I should say Me Lud or not at this point, I mean all that extra typing. Lets face it, typing prevents so many good stories from being told as I would be flat out typing about them.

Foodge rises to the stand “ I call Pythagoras Me Lud” as the court gasps.

Foodge pushes on. This is mind numbing stuff, one of those events when people will sit around at parties in the future saying, where were you when Foodge called Pythagoras to the witness stand so that Merv didn’t get hanged for saying that two times nothing is something. Wow man, this is unbelievable and I make this shit up.

“Now Pythagoras can you recall to the court your early life and the effect that it had on you?” pleads Foodge.

“Well, yeah, like, it was shit, like yeah, you know, shit yeah like you know, then this geeza hits me right, with a stick right, and it breaks right, I arrange it in different patterns then this gezza , Socrates was his name, smart geeza always wanting

Yes a2 +b2 = c2

someone to think for themselves, I mean, ever heard of anything more stupid then that, you know, so I arranged it like you know, drink hemlock, gets ya pissed, you know, like and den all of a sudden I writ this book, Equilateral Triangles for Dummies, den you know, the rest is history.”

“The witness may stand down. Mr Foodge I suggest your witness should indeed consult an encyclopaedia before telecasting Socrates. Anyone else?” says Me Lud.

“Yes Me Lud, I call George Boole.”

“Anyone else alive Mr Foodge?”

“No Me Lud. Liveliness tends to get in the road of a good story.” Foodge pushes on, again.

“So Mr Boole, is it possible for nothing to have a value?”

“Well, um, er, um, ah, um I sorta don’t know, yes, no, maybe.”

“But Sir, you are an architect of the modern age of communication, I put it to you Sir, has nothing got a value?” asserts Foodge.

“True”

“And what is that value?”

“False”

“Me Lud, I rest my case. If my client has nothing in one hand and nothing in the other then therefore he has something.”

The roar from the gallery was amazing…

The court erupts with joy. Complete strangers hug and kiss, TV presenters pretend they like each other, cameramen take photos of men and women rejoicing in confetti lined streets so that in 50 years time we can all try and guess who they were, oh yes isn’t living in Inner Cyberia just wonderful, isn’t it?

Sandy goes to Britain

12 Wednesday Jun 2019

Posted by in Mark

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Hello Britain, it’s me Sandy

Hi, Sandy here, you know Father O’Way, your local parish priest from the Church of St Generic Brand which is down the road and around the corner from the Pigs Arms Hotel.

So when you drop in here from now on you will only see me in the background, you know, casual, gig economy. Exploited I think the other word for it is, just sayin’ like. I’m sure you can see the analogy.

Anyhoo, something has happened, I got a call from the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop the one we all affectionately call the Bish. As usual he rang early in the morning, about eleven o’clock, bastard, I hate early mornings and he knows it.

My wake up call…

Ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, well I could let this go on for a while so I can get my word count up but I’ll put you out of your misery and answer the phone.

“Retired priest Sandy speaking” knowing full well that it will be the Bish.

“Sandy, we have a problem” says the Bish. No Bish you have the problem but wish to push it onto me.

“You need to have Brekkie in Britain with Princess Theresa about the EU’s” barks the Bish.

“Well, I’m retired, hate breakfast and am scared of emu’s and where is Britain?” I ask knowing I won’t want to know the answer.

“Britain is somewhere between the North Pole and the South Pole. EU, not emus and Bex-it not breaky or something like that. Now I’m in Cairns so I can’t go and Gordon has said we must get this sorted otherwise there may be no cricket this summer.”

Oh FFS, cricket, the most boring game in the universe.

“So working in cans must be very restrictive for you Bish, I mean how do you go to the toilet?”

“Cairns is a town you ninny, somewhere between the North Pole and the South Pole”

A coupla cans…

vibrates the Bish. “Now get over there and sort this mess out. If Gordon can’t watch cricket this summer it will be on your shoulders!!”

Gordon is the creator of the universe by the way and he taught every simian based planet to play cricket, speak English and develop money. Hmm, starting to think that Gordon may be a loser.

So to get to Britain, I’m not going to fly any more, stuff that. I will go by boat. Much more relaxed and in a style to which I have become accustomed. Yeah, so I go by a cruise ship.

On deck I decide to go for a walk on the poop deck. Now one needs to be very careful from this point about what is said otherwise something is going to hit the fan, get the picture. I mean, I’m up to my heels in poop, thank Gordon they are high heels.

I meet some of the crew,

“Hi, I’m Chris the captain, I look after everyone’s cap”

“Hi, I’m Pete the purser, I look after everyone’s purse”

“Hi, I’m Paul the Petty Officer, I look after all the small things”

“Hi, I’m Colin the coxswain, I look after everyone’s c…”

“Yes, I’m sure you do” I timely interrupt. Let’s face it, on a PG site there may be kiddies watching.

SS Minnow

The cruise was wonderful and many a rip roaring good time happened, I think. I mean we may not have had a good time but I don’t remember unless I have to remember for some sort of remembering reason. Just sayin’ like.

We arrived in Britain and headed for number ten, the home of the prime minister. It was lovely inside, nice curtains, open fire and tea and scones, Blackwood sideboard, I mean this was class, real class. No plastic forks anywhere to be seen in this place.

“We’re here to advise Princess Theresa about emus and eggs for breakfast” says Sandy.

“Sorry but she’s out” comes the reply.

“But she promised…”

“Sorry, she’s washing her hair, having a high colonic, writing stories for the Pigs Arms…”

“Oh, shit, well there goes a good story.”

Yep, let’s sit this one out…

Father O’Way – The Early Days 1

27 Saturday Apr 2019

Posted by in Mark

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february 11, 2016 by mark, posted in before space, father o’way, the early days

Wong O'Way
I’m the one not in the photo
Yes, you are…. that one-piece and wig doesn’t fool me, Hung !

Story by the Mighty Hung One On – a reprise of 2016

Yes well hello. This is the beginning I suppose so I guess that you will all want to know what has happened. I was born, hmm, no, I mean yes, I was born but perhaps we don’t want to go there, well not just yet. Look, lets get down to facts. This is true fiction and no lies have been added to this story unless it has been necessary and it seems it has been necessary quite a lot.

My name is Sandy, well sort of, my real name is Alexander however I prefer Sandy. I mean lets face it, Sandy is better than Alex or Al or something. One reason I prefer Sandy is acronyms, yes acronyms. See my real name is Alexander Leonard Lyndhurst O’Way, ALLOW, dreadful isn’t it, so over time I have developed a love hate relationship with acronyms. Anyway as the story develops you will see what I mean.

So yes, I was born at the Inner Cyberia Hospital(ICH) and as little kids we couldn’t resist putting a “T” in there to make it ITCH as we all reckoned that if you ever went to hospital you always came home with an itch. Sorry, what was that, you have never heard of Inner Cyberia? Well it’s next to Middle Cyberia and on the other side of Outer Cyberia. Pretty simple really. Anyway I was born at the ITCH and unfortunately taken home by the wrong family. See I was born right on change of shift which immediately put me off side with the staff. Nurses hate having to do anything during hand over and guess what, that was me. Well my new family were Chinese and they named me Zing Zang however they gave me a nick name, Nick, phew, imagine trying to explain away Zing Zang when the local bullies are just about to bash you.

My dad, Walter, a very wealthy man, was a watch maker and he was very proud of his shop “Walter Wong’s Watches” (WWW) being displayed across the front in large letters. “One day all this will be yours Nick ” he would say. Well dad, my name is actually Zing Zang but hey, never call me a pedant as I don’t even know what that means. I think you have it on toast for breakfast, pedant butter and funny, yumbo.

My dad was always looking to get richer. He used to tinker with computers and one day at a large family gathering my Dad said “You know, one day computers will communicate with each other via the phone line, the information will be broken up into packets and reassembled at the other end.” “Preposterous!!” came the cries and the next day the men in white coats, other wise known as purse carrying nancy boys, came and took my dad away.

Soon after that the police arrived. My mum was feeling bad because she missed dad but more importantly she had just broken a fingernail, as you do, and the policeman said “Mavis” that’s my mum’s name, “Mavis you’ve brought home the wrong child from the hospital” “Yes, that’s right the Wong child, my Nick” replied mum in her broken English. “No the wrong, wrong child” emphasised the policeman “He’s a Wong” said mum, “No wrong, w.r.o.n.g. child meaning Nick isn’t yours” and so I was taken away to my new family, Farter and Mafarter O’Way.

My new family were poor but really good to me. They didn’t eat fish and rice like the Wong’s but lamb and potatoes instead. My dad was a Traffic Control Officer with the Main Roads dept., otherwise known as a lollipop man, good for a lick for a zac[2] to go to the shop, and my mum was a farmer’s daughter. But, my English teachers will cringe with me starting a sentence with but, but hey, who gives a fun, then they went and named me Alexander, hmm.

This was all very different and it took me a long time to adjust. The great thing was that my first mum and dad became good friends with my second mum and dad, so in the end I had two sets of parents. Farter and Walter would debate every issue under the sun while Mafarter and Mavis would trade recipes and take turns at cooking the main dinner, life was pretty good. And of course the real Zing Zang was nicknamed Billy, Billy Wong, hmm.[1]
One day the Wong’s came over, with sad faces, to tell us that they were moving to Outer Cyberia. Walter got a good job offer in charge of trying to put and egg back together that had fallen from a wall, so he took it.

Now let me tell you, you know how some things are a long way, well Outer Cyberia was a long way plus a bit, like another long way. See what I mean. Perhaps even further then a long way, maybe it might even been further then Coals(Thanks Dave) an, an, and you may not even eat cannibals, whats this world coming to, next there will something good on TV except Aunty and her little cousin

More to come so grit dem teeth and laugh so hard you hurt. Please avoid consuming liquids when reading this story. Your cat and keyboard may end up hating you.

Authors Notes

[1.] Think about it

[2.] I think a zac was sixpence and then became five cents, robbed again as usual. You can see that I am still bitter and twisted about 1966

[3] I have no idea about what this story is about but I’m having fun, hope you are.

[4] I dedicate this story to Helvi who gave me much support and encouragement to get Father O’Way into space and to the WDAPAW Crew who have all contributed ideas for the hapless Sandy

Father O’Way at the Wedding

04 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by in Emmjay

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Hung cassock final

Digital Mischief courtesy of Mr Warrigal Mirriyuula

Story by the Rectum of St Generic’s Brand

In an inspired spirit of balance, Bishop Bishop (aka the Bish) despatched Father O’Way to the biggest set of nuptials seen in the old Dart in at least two weeks to assist the Windsors to strike some balance with down home gospalia.

The Good Father delivered one of his trademark fire and brimstone sermons from the full-forward pocket at St George’s, hand balling the bride to the Ranga team captain.

Father O’Way duly laid down a mess of homilies and Pig Psalms and toasted the regal couple with a jeroboam of Trotter’s Ale, especially imported for the occasion (i.e. for Father O’Way).

“No way !”  he said, “Would Liz and Papadopolous over there have normally allowed an American into the bosom of Windsor, post that Wallace woman, but there you go.  We is living in a modern world and given the outbreak of thrips and the shortage of English roses, who could blame them for allowing in a ruby red begonia.  And I for one (sips) …or two (sips again) am all foreskin.  Haha ha.  Just kidding …. uuuurp.”

The Bishop (on behalf of Gordon O’Donnell) apologised to the flock wits of St Generic Brand’s for the delay in bringing the picture to the parish, citing that it was on the same roll as O’Ways other holiday snaps and that it took an eternity to come back from the Chemists – what with all the kerfuffle and police interviews and all that.

—ooo—

 

Gordon and the Bish take leave – the holiday ends yet begins – Part 3

13 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by in Sandshoe

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Gordon and the Bish get back to work

Gordon and The Bish Go On Holiday: Part Three

by Shoe

Continued…

“Seems an important scientific fact, Bish. The longer a toad like Toad settles in one district, the less likely are its chances in its lifetime of pulling in big crowds, I reckon. See, toads travel and further and faster than a toad’s predecessors.”

“Gord, Toad was doomed on his own whatever way I look at it!”

Look there’s one

“Bish, Toad likely had a bad back too. Toad was in no shape to be on racing. Toads get spinal arthritis. Because they walk further faster. Not a word of not trew truth.”

Gordon and the Bish are both sobered.

“A population dwindles and individuals like Toad head out in a random pattern called toad dispersal. They mate with other dispersing toads. They breed more offspring than their predecessors and even faster toads that can travel even further again.”

‘Awesome,” the Bish says. “How do you know all that, Gord?”

“Shoe told me, Bish. She read it on Ogle.”

Shoe, in a former role

“Shoe’s awesome. Gord, we’re going in the wrong direction. I’m staying at Sandy’s. Remember? He’s in the manse across from the car park? Behind the Pig’s Arms?”

“Bit of a walk. What were we thinking. I had better go back with you to the good Father O’Ways, Bish. We can have a night cap. Better not tell him in the confessional. About Space World. The toad never happened either.”

The Bish muses as he and Gordon struggle to keep the pavement steady to turn around.

“Int’resting though, Gord. I like a toad story with an int’resting ending. Shoe is so awesome. Shoe wrote the frog joke, eh.”

“Yes, she did.” Gord lets out a tiny sigh. “You know when she says she did to people who like it and on tell it, she would like to make new friends or she wouldn’t say. You know it’s been in other people’s books and voted best joke

I thought you said a dog joke!

and on television and someone clever made a funny film about how much they don’t want to hear it again. The people don’t talk to her when she tells them. Shoe’s lonely.”

“Shoe? Lonely? IS she?”

“Of course she is. People running in the opposite direction.”

“We’re friends. We’re all friends. Shoe’s a friend. Wonder if she’ll write another frog joke.”

“Nah. Unlikely, Bish. She misses the frog too much. Ought to ask her if she’ll write a toad joke and cheer us up.”

“Great idea, Gord. How about we ask her will she make it a good long story with some joking around in it about a toad. The frog joke isn’t really a read, is it.”

“Here we are at the manse already, Bish.”

The home of Father O’Way

Gordon and the Bish walk in the dark with care past the mail box swinging on its hinges from the old gate post. They can just make out the familiar brass lettering of the name ‘FATHER O’WAY’ and the front path littered with debris. The garden is a mess.

When his mates clatter and clang the brass knocker on his front door to get him up off the sofa where he sits in the late evenings reading Pigs Arms porkies and laughing, Sandy O’Way is slow to stir. He gets up on thinking on it. He remembers the Bish is in town.

It’ll be a night.

The End

I’m sure there was a door here this morning

Written by Christina Binning Wilson 2017

Merv is Spaced Out

02 Friday Jun 2017

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…

Merv is Spaced Out

Story by Mark.

Sandy was sitting at the bar fiddling with his drink, Trotter’s Ale of course, what else, when Merv approached and in his usual affable way thought he would engage in some jaunty repertoire about space.

“Hey Space priest, how the devil are you? What’s it really like, you know, out there?”

Sandy

Merv loved calling Sandy a priest because he knew he hated it, a bit of ribbing I guess, well not until the next punch up anyway. Merv points to the sky and scowls his face and growls lowly as if space is really spooky. Well, to be honest and that’s copiously rare, actually space is really spooky.

“Bless you my son for asking” replies Sandy.

“I’m not your son!”

“Yes, I know but that’s how us parish priests talk, bless you my son, go the farce has ended, thanks be to Gordon, you know, that kinda shit.”

“But I’m still not your son” persists Merv.

“Look, it’s zarking metaphorical”

“What’s that mean?”

“Dunno, I’m just reading the back of this coaster.”

[Sister Yvonne here. Jesus wept Hung, don’t you know what a metaphor is? Not happy

Sister Yvonne

Hung, now I have to read this and contribute at the same time.

Hung: So what is a metaphor then, I dunno?

Sister Yvonne: It’s a noun.

Hung: Thank you Sister. I’m glad that’s cleared up.

Sister Yvonne: It’s always left to us nurses to save everything…dot dot dot and it could even become DOT DOT DOT now that I’m in charge of the keyboard, hahaha.]

“Well, now that you ask space is sort of spacey” continues Sandy “you know big and spacey.”

[Big M here. For fucks sake Hung saying space is big and spacey is akin to saying water is wet and grass is green. Do you want me to take over writing this bit?

Hung: Well, no, not really but space is big and spacey. I guess there is a lot of black and stars and shit but there is a lotta room out there.

Big M: Here’s a new concept for you Hung, think about it.]

Merv

“Yeah, I like that” says Merv “big and spacey, sounds great. When I was young I was taught that water was wet, grass was green and now space is big and spacey, wow, perfect man. I guess there would be a lot of black and stars and shit but the sounds like a lotta room out there to me.”

“Yep, big and spacey for sure.”

“Bullshit” says Angler. “More space in back of Zephyr even with shotgun and dogs”

“Crikey! Where did that Yorkshire accent come from Angler?”

Angler gets hungry

asks Nurse Barbara who had been listening to everything while reading the form guide. Now is that multi tasking or what.

“I did a bit of rehearsing before the gig but anyway I reckon it’s all Gordon’s magic” smirks Angler hardly able to believe the most outrageous lie he has ever had to tell.

“Nah, it’s rocks, gotta have rocks” pipes in Shoe.

“Hey shoe, you forgot to scramble your name to Hon Shades.”

“Oh, shit. Nah, it’s rocks, gotta have rocks” pipes in Hon Shades.

Oh, well, if they only knew the truth which is…

Baiame Redraws the Map of Mirriyuula’s Heart

The Pres talks to Jim

28 Sunday May 2017

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He said he was from outer space…

Hi, Sandy here, you know, the parish priest from the Church of St. Generic Brand, down the road and round the corner from the Pigs Arms.

Wwwwweeeeeelllll. I have some breakout news for you. Currently I’m in space with Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, the creator of the universe and we intercepted this phone call from Earth. The message was intercepted by a SHITBOX(Sub-ether Hologram Intergalactic Transmission Broadcast Over X). X is the operating system. So here’s how the theory works. Many aeons ago a single-minded company decided to create objects called shitboxes. I’m sure all who are reading can identify several shitbox

a shitbox

episodes in their life. These shitboxes ended up all over the galaxy and they transmit all means of communication available. They play news from Bad Aunty, sport, music, even country and western!

This transcript is between an orange roughie called the Pres(TP) and a foodie called Jim Kong Ung(Jim) who just loves a deal and whose hobby is rockets however is somewhat a sticky character[one for the nurses].

The Pres decides to give him a call. Ring, ring, ring, ring[get the picture].

Call now to talk to one of our consultants

Here’s a transcript and I really hope that this will put your minds to rest.

Jim: Heeelo Jim speaking, are you ready to place your order. Today’s special is a burrito called “The Wall” and you build your own, pay on the way out, extra fries 50 cent today only.

TP: No, I don’t want food, I want to speak to the leader of North Career, is that you?

Jim: Yep, that’s me. Crispy fried chicken wings 3 for a dollar, waddy ya say?

TP: Look, it’s about this missile thing with really dangerous stuff on-board.

Jim: Don’t worry bout that, that’s just for the locals, keeps them on their toes, bhawawahahahahah, I made a funny. Schnitzel 7 fifty, just for you.

TP: Hey, ewes a smart man, wheeze could do business. I tell you, what would it take for a man like yourself to reach a peace deal?

[At his stage the phone is muffled by a hand over the talkie bit. The Pres could hear

When you’re smiling

phrases but nothing to much, “sigh,basket caper, go hurt the dill, lots of sauce and don’t go sour on the dough, moucho dough”. The Pres then realised that these guys were tough negotiators. That’s pretty high praise for fictional characters].

Jim: Can we get a signed basketball and some smoked salmon with sour dough and a yogurt and dill sauce dressing, oh hang on, [muffle, muffle] and capers.

TP: Is that all? Anything else.

Jim: Um, yeah enough to feed the crew.

TP: Okay, how many?

Jim: Five.

TP: And so we won’t bomb each other.

Jim: Okay, you drive a hard bargain. Sure you don’t what some fried rice?

TP: Now I’m taking your order.

Jim: Yes, so it seems Pres.

You call that a shitbox now this is a shitbox

Merv worries about Money

03 Monday Apr 2017

Posted by in Mark, The Mens

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Merv gets ready for the day, nasal hairs clipped.

 

Story by Mark.

 

Merv was feeling pen, pen, pen something as he stood behind the bar, erectile and well dressed. Merv had been taking guitar lessons from Nigel Fargo Evans who apparently taught Jimi Smith and Stevie Ray Jones how to play however it wasn’t rubbing off so to speak.

“A is first followed by B then C” proclaimed Nigel. This was too much for Merv to comprehend so he decided guitar playing was not for him.

Merv was pen, pen, pens.., looked around the bar and noticed that the usual crowd

I’m a quark, I fink

were in chatting away about quarks, astrophysics, shotguns and girls just like any Inner Cyberian pub would.

But Merv was worried about where all the money came from? “Ask Hon, she’ll tell ya” said Hung.

“From me purse Merv, eyes look in it an the money comes out” says Hon.

“Where’s that bloody priest, Sandy get Gordon here” roars Merv.

“Bless you my son, I now pronounce you man and wife, whose soul will thus goeth to hevanus” replies Father O’Way, from the church of St Generic Brand, just to get the word count up.

“Cut the crap Sandy, get him here” demands Merv.

So Sandy rings Gordon and asks him over. “Gordon,you better get here quick, we have a religious uprising”

Bloody Kennards no Pleece boxes

[Sound of the Tardis, Sound of the Tardis, Sound of the Tardis, Sound of the Tardis]

“Hey, who are you, where’s Gordon” cries Merv.

“No. I am a replica of Gordon. I am a programmed cardboard cut out from the planet Aurora and am here to answer any questions about money here at the Pigs Arms. As a cardboard cut out I save the Pigs Arms lots of money in space travel time and I gotta say Emmjay is always telling us that the budget can’t afford these special effects.”

“Well, special effects my evacuation valve but I want to know about money at the Pigs Arms. I make thousands of dollars every night to a sui generis group of people” pushes Merv. Bloody heck, what does that mean? I always wondered about a group of people.

“Sorry, don’t recall, no, don’t remember, no I don’t recall that I can remember,

I fink I just went to the toilet again…

possibly,no, probably not, I wasn’t there, she told me she was sixteen, I can account for everything that I have done but sadly they are subject to FOI(Fuck Off Idiot) Laws” says the cardboard cut out.

“Well Hung gave me a twenty and I had to give him $250 change” goes Merv.

“Sorry, don’t recall, no, don’t remember, no I don’t recall that I can remember, possibly,no, probably not, I wasn’t there, she told me she was sixteen, The vehicle has low kilometres and service history. Finance can be arranged. Test drive sure can, here snort this” says the cardboard cut out.

“And mees and him had a bet on the foottee. I went the Newy Shitkickers and he went the Illawarra Underworld Figures, anyway where’s the bong?” pips in Gib W.

Trust me, I don ‘t need to go to the toilet

“Sorry, don’t recall, no, don’t remember, no I don’t recall that I can remember, possibly,no, probably not, I wasn’t there, she told me she was sixteen, look renovators dream, shag pile carpet and Elvis Presley wall paper, reduced, knock that wall out, rebuild the pergola, add an extra bedroom, new kitchen and bathroom, the roof, insulating and heating, hot water, driveway, garden, mate what are you waiting for…” says the cardboard cut out.

Does this feel familiar?

Jesus fucking Christ, someone give us a fag and where’s the bloody loo.

Bumper Christmas Edition 2016 – Sandy for Parley Mint.

23 Friday Dec 2016

Posted by in Mark, Politics in the Pig's Arms

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Church of St Generic Brand

Church of St Generic Brand

 

Story by Mark.

 

Father O’Way was looking rather pens…, um, nerv…, anyway he was looking rather sumfink. He had just got off the phone with Bishop Bishop.

“Sandy, it’s the Bish. I want you to run for parley mint. The Church of St. Generic Brand needs gubbermint representation” barks the Bish.

“But Bish, eyes hate running, makes me all hot and sweaty” replies Sandy.

“No not that sort of running you ninny. You get people to vote for you and then

The Bish in disguise...

The Bish in disguise…

when you are elected to parley mint you vote for all sorts of stupid things that don’t make sense and hurt innocent people.”

“But Bish, can’t I just go back to sleep and forget about it?”

“No. So get to man. Everything depends on you. May the farce be with you.”

 

*****

Sandy wanders into the front bar of the Pigs Arms, sad and forlorn that his simple life is about to become more complex.

“Wanna pint Father?” asks Merv. “What’s up with you. I just read the paragraph above and it says that you are sad and forlorn.”

“Where’s Granny?”

“She’s in Orkland with the twins. Are you okay?”

Sandy strums a tune...

Sandy strums a tune…

“Well the Bish wants me to run for parley mint. Me, I just want a simple life none of this gubbermint rubbish.”

“Foodge, you’re starting to express yourself more now you’ve been at school for a while.”

“WTF are you doing Merv?” cries Sandy.

“Sorry mate just making a comment in Episode 80 of the Foodge series and speaking of Foodge why don’t you ask him, he’s a sage for sure”

Sandy wanders around the bar and spots Foodge in deep discussion with Emmjay and O’Hoo.

“So Granny’s getting back Christmas Eve?” states Foodge.

“Foodge!!, what…” demands Sandy.

“Sorry mate just making a comment in Episode 81 of the Foodge series, now what’s up Father?”

“The Bish wants me to run for parley mint and I have no idea as to what to do.”

“Well Sandy, neither do they.”

*****

Oh FFS, this is just stupid Sandy thinks to himself. What is this life really all about, oh, I feel a poem coming on.

“Nah, nah, no Sandy, no poems, ick, anyway this is Christmas, says so in the heading. It’s a time for merriment and um, er, um, sumfink.” says Hung from the commentary box.

I dunno thinks Sandy, life is so imaginative inside Inner Cyberia, well sort of…

Merry seasons greetings to you all from Bishop Bishop and Father O’Way from the Church of St Generic Brand to all the patrons at The Pigs Arms both past and present.

Hmm, Mary Christmas.

Hmm, Mary Christmas.

Merv is Undecided

28 Monday Nov 2016

Posted by in Mark

≈ 18 Comments

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M is for Merv, sweet and chewy...

M is for Merv, sweet and chewy…

Merv is Undecided.

Merv awoke and wondered to himself as to whether he should get out of bed. He was undecided. Trapped, he thought, regardless of what he does next it becomes a decision. Problem was Merv was feeling highly undecided, not those other words that can no longer be used but highly undecided.

Granny enters the room with Merv’s breakfast, 14 pieces of bacon, scrambled egg and a mug of coffee. Even though Granny and Merv were no longer a couple, due to patrons of the Pigs Arms running out of emetics, she still, now in the background, so deep in the background that it will never be mentioned again, ever GST fucking ever, okay, that she still loved her man, just like all good women do.

Merv fondles Granny’s bosom but after advice from,

https://pigsarms.com.au/2016/11/27/speaking-as-we-were-at-the-bar-about-knockers/

“Merv, we are not allowed to tit one another off any more, the patrons have spoken and look at what Hon Shades says about tits, Nurse Barbara and Sister Yvonne agree but I dunno” moans Granny, moaning and moaning ah, yes [Hung here Merv, move on mate. Ewe and Granny is finished]

“I dunno either Granny. In my next life I coming back as Off, everyone seems to want to tell me to fu%$…”

“Merv, kiddies could be listening”.

Merv showers and dresses thinking that he ain’t going to fall for that one again.

“Where’s Father O’Way” cries Merv “ I need GOD(Gordon O’Donnell)”.

“Bless you my son, in the name of the father the son and the holy ghost, I now pronounce you man and wife, I forgive you your sins, 5 hail Mary’s blah blah blah” says Father O’Way, parish priest at the church of St Generic Brand, Inner Western Cyberia, down the road and around the corner from the pub.

A previous Sandy...

A previous Sandy…

“Sandy, get Gordon, I want to speak to Gordon. Anyway what’s all this crap you are speaking?”

“Stereotyping but really I don’t know. I just say whatever Hung tells me, I guess you could call me a yes man”

“Me too, great band, Your’s is No Disgrace, bow, bow bow bow, bow” sings Merv.

***

Gordon, the creator of the universe, will not be happy if he is interrupted watching replays of the Bolt Report. It makes him very tensile indeed. However he gets the biggest laugh from this show.

Gordon appears as a hologram in the front bar following a phone call from Father O’Way, sees the beers and then materialises just like all supernatural bullshit artists can do in this fictional story.

Gordon, in another dimension...

Gordon, in another dimension…

“Hey, what’s up Merv?” asks Gordon as he downs a canoe.

 

“I dunno, 500 words maybe, meaning of life, me and Granny, next weeks lotto numbers, just asking like, I’m undecided.”

“I dunno” says GOD.

***

“What about you Gib?” asks Merv.

“Me mate, 100% rock solid, never waver or fence sit in my life ever, spit on me grave, yeah, dunno.”

“What about you Angler?” presses Merv, looking for some positive reassurance, you know, like when the coach has the full backing of the board.

“Hang on” says Angler “Just checking to see if I’m back from holidays, waiting, look at the FCK’ed scoreboard now, yes, back from holidays given the replay, no idea what you are talking about so dunno.”

[Authors Note: All fun, no offence intended to anyone.]

That's me in the corner...

That’s me in the corner…