Tag Archives: Father O’Way

Father O’Way Meets O’Bad – Part 1

27 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by in Mark

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O'Way counsels the Sinister Demons to pray

O’Way counsels the Sinister Demons to pray

Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula.

Hi, Sandy here. What? You don’t know me, well if you haven’t been listening for the last five years my name is Father Alexander O’Way, affectionately know as Sandy and I am the parish priest of the church of St Generic Brand which just happens to be down the road and around the corner from the Pigs Arms. Hmm.

Well as anyone who knows me knows I hate early mornings and yet again that relic from the last century Bishop Bishop, who we all know as the Bish, rang me at one in the afternoon.  What a bogan.

“Listen Sandy” bleats the Bish “I’ve just had a phone call from God”

Now to all you newcomers, God is Gordon O’Donnell, an astrophysicist from another dimension that created our universe as a science experiment in a shoe box. This shoe box sits at the back of the lab in Astrophysics 101 and is used for the students to study astrophysics. Hmm, I can see this is not going well. Yes, there is no God, Yahweh or Mohammad, it’s all mythological rubbish. It is us and them out “there”.

“Gordon wants us to wade into the O’Bad dilemma, lets find out if he really did it” demands the Bish.

“But Bish” I foolishly reply back “Who gives a zark if O’Bad is dodgy or what. Take him out someone else will replace him. I mean corrupt power is absolute but absolutely power corrupts something” Gees I wish I could remember that statement but it sounded good.

Okay. I can see some of you are stumbling with the word “zark”. As kiddies may be watching zark is a universal swear word. Just substitute “zar” for “fuc” and you will get the picture.

“Just do it Sandy or Gordon will cancel your credit card” barks the Bish.

Holy mackerel. No credit card. See when Gordon invented the universe he also invented money. So all of the money in our universe belongs to Gordon. Anywhere I travel in the universe is paid for by Gordon’s card, hmm, need to do something here.

“I have arranged a car to pick you up in the morning at 1000hrs so be ready. It’s a good two hour drive out to the O’Bad Ponderosa” What the zark, 10 in the morning, does this man hold no morals.

So ten the next morning a car pulls up out the front of the Rectory. Being so asleep, I didn’t really take any notice of the people in the front and I slumped into the back hoping I could get some shuteye. Somehow I couldn’t sleep, I kept thinking about the time when I first met Gordon, the delicious dinner made and served by the delicious Belinda who is now my wife. I remember thinking at the time,

“Acronyms, God how I hate acronyms. Usually stupid and generally meaningless along with mnemonics they stick in your head to remind you just how stupid you really are. Remember as kids in the parish school the all time classic, ARITHMETIC,   A Red Indian Thought He Might Eat Tobacco In Church. What twaddle. racist diatribe if ever there was one. I mean the only red Indians I knew were constantly having the shit shot out of them in country and western movies. Eat in church was a given no no and who in their right mind would want to eat tobacco for God sake. My dad used to smoke Cabin Cut, Ready Rolled, can I imagine dad hoeing into his tobacco after tea in the lounge, no way.”

Oh, yes those were the days. But then the POTTY Awards, oh yes, I remember well.

“ Anyway the one acronym that makes me tingle with pleasure is POTTY. The Potty Awards, the Priest Of The Tropical Year Awards and yes, I’m in the pipeline to win this year. See I’ve been invited to the Rectory to have dinner with the Bish and an important guest this Wednesday. Not next Wednesday or last Wednesday but the Wednesday before the Saturday night of the awards. Obviously the Bish wants to disclose that I’m this year’s winner so I have my acceptance speech ready to rock. Oh yes, all 32 pages, ready to roll thanks to the kind Voice who helped me pen an appropriate dialogue.”

Then heart break.

“Dinner finishes and the Bish goes off into another room to smoke that stinky stuff and Gordon ushers me into the study for a French Brandy that’s about 200 years old he just happened to find in his cellar and a cigar. How civilised. “Now Sandy, I’m sure you have some questions for me but first how do you feel about space travel?” Gordon asks. “Space travel? What about the Potty Awards?” I inquire lubricated by the fine wine. Gordon smiles “Don’t worry about them, that prick Basil Sauce will win this year. There are bigger plans afoot for you….”

Yes, Pastor Basil Sauce, that prick from one of the many mobs in town robbing my customers.

********************************************************

“ Driver, how long to go?” I enquire rather innocently wondering if anyone had a rum toddy to tide me over.

“ Not long now Father Sandy” said the driver.

Hang on, I know that voice. “ Big M” I cry, “ What in Gordon’s name are you doing here?”

“ I’m on a mission from God” replies Big M

“ Cut the God crap mate, we know the universe has been created from another time dimension” I reply with added futilityness.

“ From Gordon, you dope. Now meet Shoe.” Big M nods to the co-driver. “ She’s the Duckhunt champion from Missen and she’s riding shotgun”

“ Nice to meet you Sandy, heard a lot about you. And hey Big M was the slot car champion* of his street back on our planet”,  grins Shoe.

So I am going to face a big time crim with a driver that had a slot car set and a shotgun expert that knows Duckhunt, boy am I in trouble.

plot thickens …… (possibly due to the corn starch)

* Editors note – if I read between the lines correctly, there is some serious confluence between being a slot champion and obstetrics – just saying ‘  – that was when I started laughing and the rest got a bit off the track…….

Your Habit is Our Clean-up

05 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by in Emmjay

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Kali 3

Kali – ironically named after the Indian goddess of destruction

Story by Emmjay

The 3:15 to Ashfield was, unusually, right on time and a familiar face ambled into Lintoffs – dry cleaners to the clergy.  The face, born on two spindly pins, looked expectantly at Granny who was moonlighting in her lunch break, serving behind the faded laminex counter at the dry cleaners.

“G’day, your grandmaternity”, he said.

“Father O’Way !

What brings you and your bolognese-stained cassock to our doorstep, meddlesome priest?” said Granny.

“I’ve got this dirty habit”, said Sandy O’Way.

“It’s all through your church, padre”, said Granny.

“Not the kiddie fiddling, Gran, THIS habit he said pointing to his investments.

“Would you like fries with that, friar?” she laughed and made a mental note to have the Tempe Council health inspector around to St Generic Brand’s church with the Lysol and carbolic spray.

“I’ve an important trip to make and I need to look sharp”, said Sandy.

“We’re dry cleaners, your wordship”, said Granny “Not miracle workers – that’s your job”.

Sandy O’Way was long on forgiveness and longer on patience.  The Bish had said so many times.  And he was a long long way from Rome, which is why the Bish had called him.

“Father, they know not what they are doing” said the Bish.

“That’s oblivious, your more impressive ringness” said Sandy.  “It’s <i>obvious</i>” said the Bish. “Yes”, said Sandy.

“I’ll get right to the point”, said the Bish. “All right” said Sandy who was on a roll with this ekkerleasiastical conversation type talk”.

“Rome has asked me to instruct you to proceed there forthwith and with all haste.  Since His Holiness has decided to take early retirement and go away and think it over for a very long time, the Vats have sought the wisdom of one of the shepherds of the flock of Rome far removed, from this sordid business of improper behaviour while under the influence of other improper behaviour” said the Bish.  “Are you with me Sandy ?”  “Yes, your middle order clericalness”, Sandy lied.

“In a couple of weeks the Cardinals, including P1..”  “Mr Stinkypants ?” interrupted Sandy. “Yes, including P1” continued the Bish… “are going to meet in the Vatican, scrum it up, snort a few lines and seek divine confirmation of a foregone conclusion designed to kiss off the captains of the only semi-true flocks of Asia, Africa and South America.  And they’re looking for a scapegoat, sorry I meant to say inspired contribution from the whiter members of the New World, more specifically a malleable type of distractible like you, or more specifically than that, precisely you.  Are you with me Father ?”

“Are you saying that I’m going to be Pope Ular the First?” asked Sandy.

“No”, said the Bish “You’re going to reveal to the Vats who should be going to win the draw for the Friday Conclavical Meat Tray.  You know how it’s always rigged at the Pig’s Arms ?”, said the Bish.  “Yeah, sometime’s it’s not Emmjay’s brother-in-law”, said Sandy.  “Well, I’m not saying that you’ll be the rigger for the Pope Draw, Sandy, but ….let’s say ….. good sources close to the trainer are putting money on you to come up with the right answer”.

“I see”, lied Sandy again, totting up a few dozen more Hail Maries.  “If I was going to mark the card”, said Sandy….”Yes”, said the Bish …. “Would I be getting any heavenly guidance ?” inquired Sandy”

“I should say so !” said the Bish in a fairly emphatic kind of way that did not go unnoticed (but did go uncomprehended).

“It is written”, said the Bish “In this Email…… that the annointmented Holy Father will be  pure of heart, loyal, faithful, cheerful, open, caring, tolerant, wise, humble, intelligent, of good humour and above all untainted by the sins of the flesh.  There’s something crossed out here, Father.  I think it said ‘safe with kiddies – stet’.  Mature, but not of an age where vigorous activity is out of the question, above reproach, able to understand basic English and able to drive a bullet-proof golf cart.  Hours flexible, but will have to work weekends.  Previous spiritual experience a definite advantage.  References required.”

“I bought you a premium economy ticket from Rosie’s Crucial Fiction Travel and Penta Coastal Surfing Adventure Tours and it’s waiting for you at the Pig’s Arms.  Get yourself cleaned up and be on QF-666 leaving at 10:45 tonight for Rome.”

“Roger, Bish”, said Sandy.  “And Sandy…”Yes Bish ?”  “Try not to stuff it up like last time.  No former Hitler Youth, no paedo-buriers, no ultra-conservatives, no gay supporters, no wealth redistributors, none of this ‘man-of-the-people” stuff, no radical lefties, no pro-shiela buffoons, none of those contraceptives or HIV talkers, no hardline economists, no climate denialists.  We want a Pope that looks busy, is admired by everyone, has no copies of ‘Studs and Glory-holes Monthly’ in his locker, who can fake a bit of nomineae partridge and who excels at being loved while not doing much.  He could look like he’s got a few miles on the clock, but not be one of those bloodless, pasty old Euros who looks asleep at the wheel.  Clear on all that ?” said the Bish.

“Crystal decanter”, said Sandy.

“So who’ve you got in mind ?” asked Granny.  “I’ve got a call to make first”, said Sandy.  “Can you free me of my dirty habit in an hour ?” said Sandy.  “Certainly” said Granny, unfussed by the image of Sandy standing before her in his sub-cassock Leichhardt Wanderers’ strip, replete with his Pig-tel dayglow crucifix, knobby spindly legs and hoop socks of different hues.  “Have a couple of quiet Trotter’s Ales and come back in an hour” said Granny.  “I’ll walk you to the pub, I’m coming off my break now”.

Granny and Sandy O’Way ambled across the Pig’s Arms car park, and stepping over Merv’s trusty old, and frighteningly deaf  Shar Pei, patting her velvet soft head.  She smiled in an amiably innocent and accepting way.  And wagged her tail.  They assumed the position at the bar and awaited their just rewards.  Then Granny remembered that she was doing her cook impression and not her patron cameo role and quietly headed for the kitchen and the mountain of soon-to-be-wedges potatoes.

“Father”, nodded Merv, serving up a glass canoe of the pub’s finest foamy amber delight.  “Ah, Moive, my sooon” said Sandy, already practicing his brogue for his Roman escapade.  “I’ll be being off to Rome this very evenin”, he attempted.

“What would that be bein’ for, Father” replied Merv, sucked into a sudden Jamison’s moment.

“I’m off to ‘shape’ the Paypal Conclave’s deliberations, moi sooon”, he smiled, leprechaun-like.

“Do you be havin’ any especial preferences, Father ?” asked Moive.  “Aye moit”, said Sandy.  “I’ll be makin’ a quick call, if you dornt be mindin'”, said Sandy, extending his arm and hand towards Moiv’s phone.

“Hello, is dat de Bishop?” said Sandy.  “Knock it off, Sandy”, said the Bish.  “Listen”, said Sandy ” I was thinking about what you said earlier”.  “Yes”.  “About honest, loyal, friendly, lovable, safe with kiddies and that…”  “Yes”.   “And not a pasty Euro”.  “Yes”.  “Well, would it be out of the question, if the nominee was a little bit tinted, maybe with a touch of the Asiatic, a little wrinkled, but wise looking as well as loyal, friendly and definitely safe with kiddies ?” said Sandy.

“Is this nominee ….. an Australian ?” asked the Bish.

“Born and bred”, said Sandy.  ‘And you’re absolutely sure about all their good qualities, Sandy ?”  “Cross my heart and spit my death, Bish” said Sandy.  “Then go ahead, the Vatican needs a Pope with those qualities, Sandy ….. and an Australian to boot.”

Father O’Way said his goodbye to the Bish, put down the phone and mumbled something about a photograph to Merv.  “Sure, Father” said Merv returning to his familiar accent, turning around and taking a Polaroid down from the corner of the bar mirror.  “Safe trip, Sandy”, said Merv.  “See you soon.  Thanks for the Trotter’s, Merv”.

The hour wasn’t quite up, but Paula Lintoff had already cleaned and pressed Father O’Way’s cassock and handed it to him over the counter.  He put the photo on the counter and slipped into his old habit.  “Nice photo, Father.  That’s Merv’s dog Kali, isn’t it ?”

“It is.  She’s a lovely old thing, restores one’s faith”, said Sandy.  “Desexed, too.”

 

 

Real Wallabies

02 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by in Mark, The Sports Bar

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What we want …. Real Wallabies !

Story by Hung One On and Marsupial Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hey, Father O’Way here, you know, good old Sandy. I mean is the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, a wanker or what? I mean he wakes me up at three in the afternoon, what sort of wanker is that? So I have to interview the Wallabies, lets face it, some pre historic marsupials ain’t gonna have much to say.

“Sandy, get down to HQ and find out what’s going on with the Wallabies?” rants the Bish.

“Well I don’t know this Wal Abbies Bish?” I reply trying to buy some time. I would much rather just go back to sleep.

“The Rugby Union team you twit” says the Bish in a rather exasperated tone.

“Not another football team, I mean why do you never send me to interview those shelia’s that play in lingerie?” I request rather forlornly.

“Just get down there and find out what’s wrong. Oh and by the way, don’t tell anyone to fuck off!” roars the Bish.

Can’t tell anyone to fuck off. You know sometimes I wonder why I bother.

I enter rugby HQ and no one really is standing guard. No one lets me straight in as he is Hung’s cousin and he recognises me as the globe trotting priest that drinks at The Pigsarms. The sign over the door is interesting. It says, “Remember the two qualities needed for Rugby Union are brute strength and bloody ignorance”. I mean what does that tell you.

I go to the Head Coaches office, Bobbie Bean, and ask for an interview.

“Fuck off” yells Bobbie.

Hmm, how come it’s okay for him but not for me. Is this a classic case of discrimination or what.

“So is it okay to call you Bobbie” I ask.

“Well all my friends call me Bobbie but you can call me Mr. Bean”

Hey, that’s the problem, Mr Bean is in charge of the team.

“Hey Bobbie, everyone is saying your lot are a bunch of pansies, that you were all dizzy at half time and the trainer had to point to the try line?” I barb. No f off’s for me, grumble, grumble.

“Grrr” says Bobbie, if grrr is really a word.

I can see I got off on the wrong foot here so I decide to dazzle Bobbie with my rugby knowledge.

“So Bobbie, did Mark Ella have a good game?” I dazzle.

“Arragh” replies Bobbie.

“Isn’t the object of the game to get the ball over the try line?” I amaze.

“Well, that’s the first I’ve ever heard of that, how about you come on board as an assistant?” quips Bobbie.

Hmm, yes, the ignorance is showing.

“How are you going to go against the Springsooks, you know, the South Ifrician team?” I probe.

“Once we get all our stars back like Virgo, Aquarius and Capricorn we will kill em unless they play Tony Grieg and Kevin Petersen” states Bobbie rather assertively.

Well they are cricketers but never let the truth get in the road of a good story.

“So Bobbie, what do you need to win, how about some ring ins?” I state with not a lot of confidence.

Bobbie leaps over the desk and grabs me by the throat knocking me to the ground. Gee, I hope my packet of Winnies are okay, can’t afford anymore.

“No Father, what we need is some real wallabies, real wallabies” Bobbie cries.

So there you are folks. The problem is Mr Bean is in charge of the team, they don’t understand the objective of the game and they can’t find the try line.  Next.

Father O’Way and Sonja visit “The Hospital for Erectile Dysfunction”

03 Tuesday Jul 2012

Posted by in Mark, Warrigal Mirriyuula

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Another O’Way confusion…….I said “Olympics…. not limp dicks …..

Editor’s note:  Apparently the good father and Sonja, in the grip of confusion, went along to The Museum Of Erectile Dysfunction.  It’s a “private” museum if you get my drift.

Well blow me down if, after passing through the Gallery of Male Heart Throbs and seeing Zac Efron and Daniel Craig clutching at their privates, Sonja didn’t have half her kit off before she noticed the cameras there for the opening of the “Erect” exhibition in the Gallery of Phallic Symbolism.

Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

The buxom voluptuous blonde sits on the side of my bed. She reaches around to undo her bra strap. Ring, ring, ring, ring. What the zark. It’s the phone ringing, just when I was getting to the good bit.

“Sandy, it’s the Bish here” says the voice.

“Gordon zarking O’Donnell Bish its only one thirty in the afternoon, I was having a sleep in” I reply rather pissed off.

“Look Sandy, you would sleep your life away if it wasn’t for me and the church of St Generic Brand” replies the Bish. Hmm, true, but what a great idea.

“Sandy, get down to the airport and hop a plane to London. I want you to see what is going on at the old limp dicks” barks the Bish.

“But Bish I know nothing about erectile dysfunction” I state not wanting to give away any trade secrets.

“The old limp dicks” says the Bish who as we know has a bit of a speech impediment when he has been smoking that stinking stuff from his pipe. “The sporting event you idiot, you know the one that comes around every four years and is full of drugs, money, women, parties, corruption and nationalism”. Hmm, sound like my kinda guys.

After many bribes and much negotiation I gain an interview with one of the most respected Australian TV journalists, with a great background in sport and really high credentials and credibility Sonia “Oh what a feeling” Kluger.  I now interview her in my usual format.

FOW: Why thanks Sonia good to see you here at another Olympics, I mean your last performance was simply beyond words.

SK: Thanks Sandy it’s a pleasure.

FOW: So Sonia, what’s your take on the current games?

SK: Well Sandy this is the first truly modern games where some of the events have been altered to match modern society.

FOW: Can you give me some examples?

SK: Yes Sandy. The marathon is no longer the marathon. It’s now called the Hit, run and run. Chris Jongewaard is our representative in this category as he has the form to perhaps win gold.

FOW: Any more?

SK: Yes Nick DÁrcy should win gold for Smashing Someone Jaw why they Aren’t Looking. We are entering Jarrod Bannister in the Drink Driving event  and Grant Hackett in the Get Pissed and Smash Your House Up event. All should win gold given their form.

FOW: So Sonia, do you have a sports background?

SK: Well Sandy my selection to commentate at Beijing was widely criticised however I have played some sport most of my life. When I was a young teenager my boyfriend and I would play Handball, however he always beat me and came first. As I got older my boyfriend and I moved on to a game called Givenhead. We would go parking and I would lower down to his groin  and he would  go, Hmm ,hmm, oh, yes, yes, oh, Oh my God, yes, baby, yes, oh my God etc., etc., but yes he would always come first. So I gave up sport after that and went to television where you know its just all pure bullshit, just like this interview.

I rest my case.

Father O’Way on the State of Oregon

21 Thursday Jun 2012

Posted by in Mark, Warrigal Mirriyuula

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Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hey. Hi. How are you? Sandy here, you know Sandy O’Way your local parish priest. Look I’ll cut to the chase. I need to get my word count up otherwise the Bish will kill me so I will be chucking in a few more words in this article, you know, like, words, words and more words. Wow, 50 words already, who said I’m an idiot.

Anyhoo, look, by the way that’s my second look, the Bish wants me to report on the State of Oregon that is about to be played between two teams, how interesting [groan].  But look, hey my third look, why does the Bish want to know about a state in America but look, okay, let’s take a look.

The State of Oregon is the 33rd state of the USA with a population of almost 4 million.

[ Okay. Stop right there Sandy. Hung here, look, I told you State of Origin, you know, football and the big decider coming up on the 4th July. You know mate I would call you and idiot but that would be an insult to idiots, now get on with it.]

Bloody hell. Did Hung get out of the wrong side of the bed or what but look I was enjoying the story so far. Now I have to write about football, ewww, yuck.

So look, hmm another look, I slip some security guards some suspicious white powder that they think is drugs but is really talcum powder to get an interview with the coaches. Boy, I can’t wait to see the faces of those stupid guards when they start sticking talc up their noses.

The two coaches are Ricky Poofart for the New South Wales Blues and Mal Meningitis for the Queensland Morons. I start with Ricky.

“So Ricky” I ask on the front foot just to let this guy know that I am a footy expert “Who’s going to win the upcoming game of Collingwood versus Manly?” That will stump him.

“Well I’m sorry Father but those teams play in different competitions” Ricky informs.

“Oh, so there is more than one competition?” I ask not knowingly.

“Well yes Father. Collingwood play Aussie Rules but Manly play the real game, Thugby League.” Ricky informs.

Darn. I was hoping for some inside information so I could make a killing down at FabSportsBet. I’ll throw another curly one at him. “What about the clash of the Saints, you know, Saint George verus Saint Kilda?”

“No Father. They are separate games with separate rules. They play on a big oval and we have referees and they have umpires” informs Ricky.

“Yes, yes, of course” I twaddle looking for another gag. “Yes, Ricky, I hear you are ecstatic about the umpires, oops, I mean referees?  I probe.

“It’s always their fault that we lose” Ricky spurts, on his feet now and frothing at the mouth. He grabs me around the throat “The referees are always wrong and we are always right that’s what makes them so wrong and us so right and if we lose it’s rigged” spews Ricky.

“Look Ricky, chill man. So you are called the Blues. I love the blues, you know George Thorogood, Stevie Ray Vaughan that sort of thing” I enquire meekly, fearing for my life.

“The Blues is the colour of our jumper Father, er, um, sorry about the strangle hold.”

Hmm. I dust myself off and head to the next interview with Mal Meningitis, the coach of the Queensland Morons.

“So Mal, I mean Big Mal” hmm, big, M, couldn’t be. I ask the obvious “ So big Mal, you don’t live in Newcastle do you?”

“No Father. I am a true Queenslander. I live in Canberra” Mal replies.

“So Mal, are you are you going to beat those southern hicks, the Blues?” I ask.

“Don’t you worry about that” Mal replies “Look I have just finished making some pumpkin scones, replaced the faded curtains and fed the chooks, so don’t you worry about that Father”

Gordon zarking O’Donnell, what have we here. “Well Mal, have you ever thought about a career in politics?” I state rather dryly.

“Well Father, yes, no, maybe.” Mal states. Hey, maybe we do have something in common after all.

“Look Mal, I’m a fictitious character on a piece of paper that appears on a website called the Pigarms. What state of origin would I fit into?” I ask rather forlornly, you know,  that feeling of not belonging.

“Well Father, by reading some of your stories I think you would fit into the Mental Health state” states Mal.

Yes, finally, I can cheer for my team, the state of Mental Health but I wonder which competition do they play in?

“So Mal, how do you feel about the referees?” I ask trying to hide my complete boredom.

“Look Father” says Mal “You pay them enough money and you get the result you want. In fact the State Premier, Camp Bellnewman, supports gay marriage.”

“I’m sorry Mal but I don’t get what you mean” I state innocently.

“Well look” says Mal “come over sweetie here and I’ll give you a kiss and we can talk about the first thing that pops up.”

Look, someone get me outta here.

[PS: I would like to thank the word look that appeared over 19 times and did nothing for the story at all except improve my word count.]

Father O’Way Saves Julian

08 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by in Mark

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Excellent

Story by Hung One On,  Cartoonery Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy here. You now Father O’Way from the parish of St Generic Brand. I have just got Shappy out of jail and rescued Greece from the Eurozone  and now the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, wants me to do the same for Julian Arse Sarge, from Wikileaks, whatever the zark that is.

“Get Julian out of trouble or you are fired” arcs up the Bish.

“But hey Bish, leeks are something you put in soup?” I ask  knowing I will get hammered.

“No you ninny, leaks as is letting things slip” retorts the Bish rather viscously.

“So he is incontinent?” I reply is my most nonchalant parish priest voice.

“Look, I don’t care what continent he is on Sandy, just find him and save him or else” barks the Bish.

Oh for zark sake. Is the Bish a full time wanker, I think so.

Anyway, I do a bit of homework and I find out that Julian is living on the Bold Coast, which is in Australia some where. Julian is pretending to be a conservative business man running a business and whingeing at every opportunity to bag the government. I have been told that he has an alias called Feat Slipper.

I travel to this Bold Coast to try and find this Julian character. I enter the bordello called “The Slip Inn” and am ushered into a room to meet the owner. A man is sitting at computer and is listening to some old Yes albums. Drugged out hippy no doubt.

“So Julian, the CIA are after you along with the FBI, MI5, AISO and the AFP, but which is the best Yes album?” I cut to the chase.

“Fragile Sandy” Julian replies “but could you have potato soup without leeks?” asks Julian.

“No. Not on mate, but I was told it was leaks as in you are incontinent?” I ask rather innocently.

“Piss off, gerrit!!!!”  Julian asserts.

“No, not really. But Julian you are leaking all over the place, surely you have some sort of plan?” I ask.

“Zarking oaf Sandy. My aim is to take over the Pigsarms. Total world domination follows. Control the Pigsarms and you control the world.”

Sad, but true.

Greece is the Word

31 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in Mark

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Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy O’Way here, you know the, yes I guess you know by now. I’m in a cab on my way to the Nazi Goering Airport on Barley when the phone rings. Guess who, the Bish.

“Sandy, hop a plane to Greece. They are in great trouble and need your help to prevent them dropping out of the Eurozone” bleats the Bish.

“Hmm, Eroticzones, sounds good to me Bish” I answer eagerly.

“No you dimwit. The Eurozone is a common European currency used by all European countries, you know like Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain, Austria, Romania, Moldova and Switzerland you must rescue them or you’re fired” demands the Bish.

Hmm, there goes my comfy retirement but Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain, Austria, Romania, Moldova and Switzerland spells PIGSARMS. It’s a sign from Gordon, I’m on a mission from GOD! This must be connected to the Pigs Arms, the home of  pink drinks and Trotters Ale, well I’ll do it for them, they are worth saving.

On the plane I am seated next to a strangely attractive female dressed in black leather and teased hair however there is something not quite right here, like since when do women have an Adams apple and a five o’clock shadow, hmm.

“Hi cutey. I’m Olivia Neutron Bomb” er, um, she states and extends here rather hairy hand.

We shake hands and she nearly crushes it, crikey more grip than a hooker up the Cross. “Er, um Sandy O’Way, nice to meet you, now can you give me my hand back” I blurt in pain and agony.

“ I’ve just finished my last year at Rydell’s High School and had to leave behind my boyfriend, John Travolting, but look sweetie I’m always open to any mile high suggestions” she gushes batting her eyelashes faster then a hummingbird on heat. “You see Father, I got chills. They’re multiplyin’. And I’m losin’ control. Cause the power you’re supplyin’, it’s electrifyin’! You’re the one that I want, (you are the one I want), o,o, oo, honey, The one that I want. (you are the one I want), o,o,oo, honey. The one that I want, (you are the one I want), o,o, ooooo, The one I need.
Oh, yes indeed”

“Er, um, well, look Miss, I’m a parish priest and I’m on a mission from GOD.” I search unwittingly for an answer to dispel, well, um, this young lady.

“So you’re in the missionary position Father? See Greece is the word, Greece is the word, is the word that you heard, It’s got groove it’s got meaning, Greece is the time, is the place is the motion, Greece is the way we are feeling” she says.

“No I’m off to save Greece from dropping out of the Eurozone.” I state rather firmly.

“Well look up my old friend, Evangeos Venizelopoulos, he is a handsome Geek man that likes things Greek style in every way, if you know what I mean”  he, er, um, she smirks.

Well no, I don’t know what you mean but someone get me out of here.

I head to Evangoes’ office but I mean fancy being in Greece, the centre of the world, handsome men, pretty women and the best food I have ever eaten. Yeah, Greece is the word.

“So Evangoes” I start “ the country is up shit creek. What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I will win the next election and trash everything from the IMF and anyone else” he says rather firmly.

“The IMF?” I ask rather dimwittingly.

“Yes, the Internationally Myopic Financers” he replies.

“Hmm, what about asking people to pay tax? I mean Christine “Frenchy” LaGrange, head of the IMF,  said so herself only the other day” I moot carefully.

“Sir, you insult me and my nation. We pay no tax. Tax is a pox. When I attend the school dance with the T-Birds and the Pink Ladies there is no talk of tax. We will win the dance off and fund the country that way. Anyway, Frenchy has insulted my car, a Datsun 120Y, and I have challenged her to a race to the death” he asserts loudly and demonstratively.

“So Evangoes, what is life for you after politics?” I ask.“Well” says Evangoes “Frenchy has promised me a head job in the car park so I expect to be Le Comminsioner de stationnement [The Commissioner of Parking] I guess.”

I rest my car.

The Return of Father O’Way – in Barley

28 Monday May 2012

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Nazi Goering

Story by the Great Hung One On – Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy O’Way here. You know the good father from the St Generic Brand parish, around the corner and down the street from the Pigs Arms. Well the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, wants me to get Shappy Corebee out of jail. Apparently Shappy got caught smuggling thugs into Barley as the local thugs aren’t strong enough and that’s why they need Australian thugs and let face we have plenty of thugs in Australia.

[Stop.  Cut. Cease.  Hung here. Look Sandy you idiot it’s drugs not thugs, now get on with it and stop being silly]

Oh, sorry! Okay so she’s a drug smuggler and is in jail in Barley which is an island in Donesia. Donesia is rated the most corrupt country in the world just above Australia. The Barlenese don’t want to be part of Donesia but when asked to join they didn’t have enough guns, tanks and jetfighters so they agreed. Anyway what can you bribe corruption with?  I ask myself as I land at the airport in the capital of Barley, Nazi Goering.

I check into my hotel, The Nazi Goering Combination Hotel, and head for two private investigators, Beef and Chicken Satay. The Bish told me that these two old skewers are really peanuts but know the island. I send them out to get the low-down on how I can get Shappy out of the can.

The next day Beef rings me at my hotel “Look Sandy, we found high level criminal activity, hookers, inappropriate reporting procedures and set up merchants” Beef spluttered.

“Look Beef, I didn’t ask for a report on the Health Services Union, anyway you sound a bit overdone, I’ll take it from here”.

What in the name of Gordon am I going to do? The Bish said get her out or you’re fired so I better come up with something. I know I’ll ring the jail and make an appointment with the Governor, Berguling Gado Gado.

“Mr Gado Gado’s office” the voice replied.

“Er,um, hi, can I make an appointment to see the governor?” I ask rather nervously.

“Certainly Sir, 10:45 tomorrow morning. And your name Sir?” the voice asks.

My name, zark, what’s my name, crikey it’s been such a long time I’ve forgotten, oh hang on it’s at the top of the page, you know how you characteristically introduce yourself, see Sandy O’Way. Don’t you just love having conversations with yourself, yes I see it now, I say Hi. Sandy O’Way here so that must be me. “Sandy” I reply confidently “Sandy O’Way”.

“Thank you Sandy Sandy O’Way we will see you tomorrow” the voice affirms.

“No my name is just Sandy O’Way” I state rather awkwardly.

“Okay then Just Sandy O’Way see you tomorrow”.

I give up otherwise I will chew up my word limit and you won’t find out what happens in the end. I mean lets face it that’s why you read anything, to find out what happens in the end. So me I just read the end first and that saves me a lot of time. Like Frodo drops the One Ring into the Crack of Doom, now that saved me a heap of reading.

“Well Governor how can I convince you to let Shappy out of jail?” I ask. May as well get on the front foot.

“Yeah sure. I have 27th July 1965, 8th Feburury 1982 or August 1st 2003. Which date would you like?” the Governor exclaims.

“But Governor all those dates are past” I state rather bewildered by it all.

“Well in that case we better let her out then”

And so that is how it happened, honest, well sort of.

Father O’Way in Sri Lanka

08 Thursday Sep 2011

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Licky licky goo goo

 

Hi, look Father O’Way here. I’m really miffed. The Bish, you know Bishop Bishop of the St Generic Brand Church of Inner Western Cyberia has got the audacity to ring me in the Caribbean on my holidays with the beautiful Belinda to do a job.

 Anyhoo, enough whingeing. I have to go and find out what is going on behind the scenes in the Australian cricket team. Apparently the selectors have been dumped and everyone hates Greg Crapell, I mean, is this the bleeding obvious or what.

So I fly to Sri Lanka, you know the home of the paradise island, tea, coconuts and rocket launchers. Geez, thanks Bish.

Using some suspicious white powder, some green looking dried vegetable and gold bars I work my way into the inner sanctum of Australian cricket, the bar.

As usual all of the players have finished their lines, cocaine usually and are chatting around the bar.

“Did you all hear old chaps that Greg Crapell will be staying on for the tour?” I asked the group of players.

Ah f#@k, s@#t, p@#s, Geez a@#s were some of the more notable replies.

“What do think Greg can add to the team?” Geeps, who are my script writers, I’ll get killed for this.

F@#k all, he’s absolutely s#@t from a alpaca, for f@#k sake burn him at the stake and he doesn’t even eat meat, eeeewwww, were some of the more common answers.

“You have won the first test and would be confident going into the next match. I see that a former groundsman has been capped and did well, what are your thoughts on this?” Man, I’m shitting my self asking this one, I mean these guys are on coke, pissed, rich, ego centric, fit, aggressive, nasty, win at all costs sort of dudes.

F@#king good on ‘im mate, geez them wops are p@#s weak, can’t beat a f@#king groundsman, a@#s lickers mate, again were some of the more notable comments.

“Do you think Greg  Crapell is the sort of guy that attracts lots of # symbols and @ symbols?” I venture rather nervously. This crowd is getting ugly.

F@#king oath, you bet you a@#e and F@#k you uncle, again were more of the notable replies.

Father O’Way here. Signing out, in his lounge room, Nowhere, I hope….

FOW – Climate change for Dummies

22 Friday Jul 2011

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Hi. Father O’Way(FOW) here. You know me now as Sandy, affectionately I’m sure. Anyhoo I have been asked to interview Lourdes Shitstirfer Muckrake(LSM). As you know there has been a lot of debate going on over at The Drum about climate change so I’m interviewing a leading critic against climate change. Here’s a transcript.

 

FOW: So, Lourdes Shitstirfer you oppose climate change and even say that the planet is cooling?

LSM: Please, call me Shit. Most people that know me refer to me by that name.

FOW: Okay, Shit, you claim that the planet is cooling?

LSM: Yes, from one year to another the temperature changed, big deal, I mean who gives a fig. If you look at 2000 to 2010 the temperature went down.

FOW: However the temperature from 1880 to now has gone up, how do you explain that?

LSM: That’s crap.

FOW: Sorry, I thought you said it was Shit.

LSM: Yes, it’s Shit but that’s crap.

FOW: Crap?

LSM: Yes, shit.

FOW: Hmm, how about the oceans are acidifying?

LSM: Hey, nothing wrong with a bit of acid man, I mean, my school days and that, wow.

FOW: What about the rising coastline?

LSM: Yeah, man, surf’s up in the western suburbs, whoa!

FOW: How about renewable energy?

LSM: If it’s renewable and that energy can be renewed then I think that renewable energy is very renewable and therefore renewable.

FOW: That’s crap?

LSM: No, Shit.

FOW: You actually didn’t say anything

LSM: No shit.

 

Sandy O’Way signing out, In His House, Nowhere.