Tag Archives: Father O’Way

11. Sandy Returns – From where, not sure?

23 Saturday Oct 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 42 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

Hi. Sandy here. For the new I’m Father Alexander “Sandy” O’Way. I’m the parish priest at the St Generic Brand Church in Inner Cyberia in the Western suburbs. The parish covers the Pigs Arms and I am often down there, sinking a glass canoe of Trotter’s Ale and debating science with Emmjay, or in other words talking bullshit. Oh, and I have recently been in space, travelling several galaxies researching baked beans for the creator of the Universe, Gordon O’Donnell, an astrophysicist from another dimension. Anyway, that’s another story.

Anyhoo, they let me out of the local psychiatric unit after the Bish, you know, my boss, Bishop Bishop came and bailed me out. Now I’m back with my Bel, you know Belinda, Glenda’s little sister, whom I married and then Gordon tells me he wants me to go back into space. Yeah right!

So I have to find out what happen between Picky Runting and Shame Worn, you know, they are cricketers, the most boring game in the universe. A good saying would be “I’ve seen grass grow, paint dry and a cricket game”, know what I mean. Personally I couldn’t give a rat’s toss bag, what ever that means, but the Bish had a bet with Pastor Sauce that they will replace Runting with Michael Fark. I mean, tie me down and spank my bottom, Gees arse.

I visit Picky at his rural Tasmanian home that he had completely relocated to the Sydney outskirts. Convenient hey. “Picky, dude, what’s this spat with you and Worny?” I ask showing my severe interest by yawning half way through the question.

“Ah, nothing Father. Look me and Worny is mates and nothing can come between us. He has his views and I have mine but unfortunately his views are all wrong and mine are always right and so I am going to belt the zark out of him, oops, Sorry Father, I seek means of a redemption through negotiation rather than senseless violence, ugh”. “What about Fark for captain?” I enquire. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe”

Hmmm, now lets see what Worny has got to say for himself. I visit Shame in the majestic mansion that he built for himself by being able to bowl spin, telling lots of other people to zark off and how great he is, yeah right. “Shame, dude, what’s this spat with you and Runting?” I ask showing my severe interest by yawning half way through the question. “Ah, nothing Father. Look me and Picky is mates and nothing can come between us. He has his views and I have mine but unfortunately his views are all wrong and mine are always right and so I am going to belt the zark out of him, oops, Sorry Father, I seek means of a redemption through negotiation rather than senseless violence, ugh”. “What about Fark for captain?” I enquire. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe”

Gee did you get a de jevu or what?  I mean are these guys similar. So I rings my good mate and colleague in India. The former test player now journalist Asif Iwood. “Asif mate, did Runting or Horrorwitch set bad fields in the last series?” I ask totally uninterested in the answer. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe.” Hmm, deep. We’re getting somewhere here. “So Asif should they have played two spinners?” I ask as it’s written on a piece a paper for me by some cricket nut job to ask. “Well Sandy yes, no, maybe.”  Wow, mystical stuff.

So I rings the Bish “Hey Bish, it’s Sandy” I announce rather bravely. “Your money is as safe as the American banking system collapsing, Bish, Bish, are you okay?”

10. Ur, um, the end bit

19 Monday Jul 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

The Joyous couple

Sandy here, back here on Earth and married to the beautiful Belinda, March 19, ouch, 21, okay, sheez! No need to be so touchy!  After a stay in the Regen-O-Bubble on Missen, Helvi and Belinda got rid of the little rodent Howard by blowing the zark out of him with a Waughhead [Thanks Waz,] The girls then did a pub crawl from Andromeda back to the Milky Way. Well, I must say, girls will be girls. Well I sort of wanted to stay on Missen. I had become used  to the way of life and  well, you know, shiraz, steaks and lots of things that now escape my mammary, er, um, oops, memory.

Anyhoo, Gordon has paid off the ICCB to go and zark off, the S.S. Julian II has rounded up a mighty cast and returned to Earth, yes that’s right Earth home now for Sandy and Belinda, no more space roaming for me. I’m a new man. It was an adventure being out there in space but give me the quiet parish life any day. See priests in my religion can get married. At our church you just insert the name of your God into out text sheet and away you go. No one cares about your views and everyone accepts each others rights to which fictional creature you want to talk to, everyone’s a winner.

Bishop Bishop performed the ceremony at the parish church of St Generic Brand. The post wedding party is at the Pigs Arms. Merve along with Granny and the two Vivienne’s, oh, yes, look the crew have come down for the wedding so we have the situation where like is meeting like, I mean its zarking freaky man, like imagine Voice meeting Catherine!

I look around the crowd and lots of people have turned up. Big M and Pussy Couscous have travelled from Missen. Zig and Zag have come from Zog.  Zig wants to begin tours to Earth  as Earth men are so easy, if you know what I mean.

It’s funny watching the crew from the S.S Julian II meet the locals at the Pigs Arms. The Vivienne’s don’t seem to be able to agree about cups. Astyages and Dave, the guitar droid, are working on a song list ready to play after the food has gone down. Helvi and the Helvi-tastic are agreeing on everything and everything while GO and Gerard are discussing Van Gough and Wagner. Emmjay and the first mate are swapping brewing techniques with Michael Jones, the publican of the Bats Droppings. Yes there all here. Even Mr and Mrs A are here, looking resplendid as usual and in deep conversation with Geo.r.ge.

I gaze at Belinda. She is beautiful beyond reproach. I am the lucky guy, I’ve won my lotto. Belinda has all her sisters for bridesmaids, Glenda, Juanita, Jacinta, Melinda, Rosita, Edwina , Sophia and Cassandra. Boy, am I going to have some birthday parties to go to, well, someone’s gotta do it.

I see Gordon, you know Gordon O’Donnell the creator of the universe, he has been busy having a few pints of Trotter’s Ale and approaches me. “Sandy, you old dog, got the pick of the bunch with young Miss Belinda” proffers Gordon, pulling back on a Café Crème “Yes, she’s a dish for sure Gordon” I answer rather distractedly as Gordon’s eyes have narrowed and he has grabbed me around the shoulder and pulled me in close to him. Is he batting for the other team? I think to myself “Sandy, look old chum there’s just one thing. I enrolled in uni next year and I need some help……”

[Authors note: Sandy was last seen in the back of an ambulance, in a white coat heading for the funny farm, yelling at the top of his lungs “PPPPPPPPPPPPPPiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggsssssss in ssssssspppppppppaaaaaaaaaaacccceeeeee.]

Kerobokan Gets Father O’Way

15 Thursday Jul 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

,

Sandy Beach

Well, Father O’Way here, I mean look firstly she told me she was sixteen, sorry not my child, I was outta town that night anyway, I was just trying to show her the Heimlich Manoeuvre honest, boy so many questions.   So the Bish banishes me to Indonesia, over a little fling with the housekeeper and bit of dope left in my boogie board bag, I mean it was only a few kilos.  Filling in for 2 weeks at Kerobokan Prison as resident Chaplain with my little Shappy, I mean, this was going to be hell, pardon the pun.

Shappy said most people sleep on the floor of their cell. Hers sleeps 6 and is a tight fit.  I asked why they didn’t use bunk beds.  “It’s very tight in there.” said Shappy, pointing to her sarong, hmmm I thought, I love a tight fit.  Shappy said she couldn’t give me any info on what was going on.  I said, “But people are interested in your mental state and your cleavage oops I mean conditions?”  She said she was holding up okay and when I told her that the guards and the media were saying she wasn’t accepting visitors, she said don’t believe everything you read in the press, especially anything on the bulletin board at the Pig’s Arms.  Shappy said there’s no tennis court at Kerobokan as reported in the newspaper, I mean fecking hell, no tennis court!

I asked her about the lack of daylight, she said she has gotten used to the fluorescent light being on the whole time, “Christ, oops sorry Father, not even a fecking energy saver”.  The press likes to exaggerate everything and one source said she had not seen the light of day for 6 months.  When I saw her she looked tanned, more tanned than me.  She has an ample breast line, curvy waist, long legs and a million dollar smile.  “Father, Father”, she yelped, “No hands please, but lower Father, much much lower”.

We bribe the guard with a Pig’s Arms t-shirt to let us go downtown, I mean, who wouldn’t want a Pigs Arm’s t-shirt.  We walk to the Hotel Intan Bali and stop for a bevy at the Kakatua Lobby Bar.  Shappy says the beers are crap here.  I tell her I have a six pack of Trotters, she looks at me “Father, I’d do anything for a Trotters, I mean anything”.  So we go down the beach and we have a photo taken of us in the sand as we knock back a few ales.  I ask Shappy if there was one message to give people back home, something that would show that she was innocent.  After a long pause she replied “Yes Father, can someone mind my hydro!”

from the Pig’s Arms’ correspondent in Bali, well, Hung

9.1 Belinda got a gun, Belinda’s having fun

07 Monday Jun 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

The boys have landed on a deserted ICCB planet to get a little practice in before the main game against the Deathball

Pics by Warrigal

Belinda here. Helvi and I have taken the S.S. Julian II out into space while Sandy is having rehabilitation after hitting, well head butting, the winning runs in the one day final on Missen for the Male Nurses United. Our enemy, Lord John “The Rat” Howard had threatened to take military action against the Flongians so we decided to lure him away. We left behind 500 elite Helvi trained troops to protect Sandy just in case, at the advice of our garrison commander Al, Al Foyle. Al’s sort of spooky, he has these deep blue eyes, just like Sandy when he hasn’t been on the shiraz, and he doesn’t say much but seems to able to figure things out brilliantly.

The Julian has the fire power to match the Rats death ball. The big problem is the Death Ball’s defence shield which, like ours, protects the ship from space debris to laser cannon fire. Helvi and I call a meeting with Al, GO, Catherine and Warrigal. “Okay everyone” I start “anyone got any ideas on how we are going to get them to turn off the defence shield?” “How about we tell them I want to paint it?” says GO as he writes the words ‘cark it’ on a piece of paper and ponders off into the distance. “I know” says Warrigal “why don’t we just ask them to turn it off for a bit” Hmm, We are getting no where fast and without any farcical powers I can see I’m going to need a piece of complex fiction to solve this quandary. Al just sits and smiles however Catherine pipes in “I have an idea, lets ask Julian, he will know being a ship himself?” “Great idea “ says Helvi “And tell him we will fight and die heroes and martyrs” Do you get the idea Helvi has a death wish?

So as usual it takes a while for Catherine to get the answer back from Julian so we head for the pub. Dave the guitar droid is playing some Bill Withers and Michael the publican is doing a crossword. “Tonic water thanks Michael” as I settle in my chair. Of course all the guys get pints of Trotters, terrible stuff, makes you a bit trippy. I’m listening to the music when Catherine strolls in, in her cat mode and jumps up on the bar. “Well Julian has a solution” Catherine informs “See Howard is a cricket freak so Julian says to send the two cricket droids we picked up in the last junk sale, you know, Mark War and Shame Worn”. The bar goes deadly quiet, this is complex fiction at its best. “So I call Howard and tell him the droids want to come over for a chat and present him with the ball that took Mike Gatting’s wicket that went on to be called the ball of the century”. Yes I remember Sandy raving on forever and a day about that ball “But Catherine how will that get rid of Howard?” I ask. “Well” replies Catherine “in the Mark War droid will be a B.O.M.B.” An acronym, lucky Sandy’s not here “An acronym Catherine?” “No not an acronym young Bel, a real bomb, a WaughHead.”

9.0 Rehab a la Sandy

20 Thursday May 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Warrigalised Pig

I open my eyes. Hmmm, where am I? I don’t seem to able to move and I don’t recognise the room. Gees, I must of hung one on last night and have CRAFT Disease at the moment. C’mon, I don’t need to explain that one do I? Okay then, its you Can’t Remember A F*#@king Thing, c’mon guys you know I hate swearing.

Someone approaches, it’s Big M “Hi Sandy” he says “you hero, winning the game for us. Man, the party at the club was wicked, what a shame you missed it,  pity you almost died and ended up here in a regen-o-bubble in the local stute. Yeah, Sandy, you’ve got the best man, IV line, poovac and uripack, mate we’ll have you back to best before you can say, er, um, I mean, um Jack, oh well whoever” Big M informs. “Seems pretty self sufficient” I mumble as I look around at the bubble, “but don’t the nurses do all that?” I ask, “Nah” replies Big M “we just hang around the nurses station and look busy, it’s a bludge man”.

“Where’s Belinda?” I ask. “Well, it’s a long story but she’s out in space at the moment with Helvi” relates Big M “fighting the rat Lord Howard”. Oh, Belinda, what are you doing girl? “Get me outta here Big M?” I ask rather forlornly. “Sandy, you ain’t going nowhere at the moment, you still need another couple of months. Now go back to sleep and when you wake Belinda will be back and all will be well”

I’m having this weird dream. I’m walking down the street when a woman approaches and is thrusting out some eggs. “Deedee” she says “Deedee, deedee”. So I pull out my gun fire a shot into the air and say “Gees, in all the excitement I can’t remember how many shots I have fired. I mean this is a .44 magnum, the most powerful hand gun in the world, I could blow you head off with one shot punk”. The woman replies “well you have only fired one so in theory you should have five left” I thank her and take aim. I’m about to pull the trigger when I wake up. Darn, don’t you hate that, just as you get to the good bit.

Warrigal is sitting on a chair in the room reading a magazine. Knowing Warrigal it’s bound to be a scientific journal of some kind that will explain all the wonders of the universe. “Hey Warrigal, what cha reading?” I ask “The spring edition of Big and Bouncy Sandy” Warrigal replies refusing to move his eyes off the page, hmm, must be something about big objects.

Big M and a woman approach “Sandy, this is Dr. Voice, she is a NERD” Now I have been in space long enough to know what’s coming but my head is hurting so much I fall into line hopelessly “A nerd Big?” I reply. “Yes Dr Voice is a NERD, a Neurological Emergency Response Doctor and she will operate on you.” “Yes Father, I have had your brain scanned only to find that there’s not much there and the tiny little bit you do have needs help if it’s to be saved” informs Dr. Voice. Acronyms, everywhere acronyms. “Well Dr. Voice, do your worst” I reply trying to hide my nervousness “Yes Father, I am sure that I will” says Dr. Voice with a very strange expression on her face. “Oh Sandy” says Big M as the needle goes into my hand “Helvi left this message for you when her and Belinda when back into space, she said don’t worry they will fight and die heroes and martyrs” just as the anaesthetic is administered…..

8.5 Ewe Don’t Know What You’ve Bean Missen

30 Friday Apr 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

, , ,

Everywhere on Missen this emblem invokes fear

We finally arrive at Missen. Belinda and I with Helvi and Warrigal beam down to the surface onto the lawn at Hardy Cocksure’s house. I can hear a female sobbing uncontrollably in the house. We walk to the front door and knock. A woman answers “Yes” she sobs “Hi there, I’m Sandy, Gordon has sent me” I blurt nervously “Is Hardy home?” The woman cries and brings out a tissue to blow her nose “I’m Pussy” she relates, Hmmm, wow, I can see that but I better not go there “My Hardy’s gone LIMP” she bleats “Limp?” I ask “Yes, that’s right, LIMP, Lactose Induced Meltdown Procedure, oh, anyway, come in.” An acronym, I should have known.

Pussy is Hardy’s girlfriend and she relates to us a story of ICCB troops turning up at the door and drugging Hardy with lactose knowing he is lactose intolerant. Pussy tells us that a short little man in a space suit then comes to the door and says “Tell Lord Climate that the games over and to surrender”, Hmmm, I can smell the Rat behind this. Warrigal does a head to toe and then calls the Regen-o-lance while Helvi, who has morphed into combat mode, does a quick reconnoitre of the surrounds hoping she will find 500 elite ICCB troops waiting for her so she can decimate them and have a little fun.

I contact Neville, our navcom, “Neville patch me into the rodents ship please” I state rather assertively, “Yes Lord Climate, patching now” “Lord John speaking” answers the little worm. “You piece of excrement zark off or I’ll blow you out of the sky” I state in my non parish priest style of voice “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, temper, temper, you seem to be losing it a bit lately” whines the rodent, “Surrender, without Hardy you won’t win the game and Gordon won’t get to complete his thesis” hisses the scheming rat. “Pig’s Arms” I curse and with that I disconnect.

Just then a man steps into the doorway making the door and everything around him look incredibility small. “This is Big M” says Pussy “He will have to captain the team in place of Hardy and Sandy you will have to play” Me, and avid cricket hater actually play cricket, oh for zark sake, what else do I have to do in this story. “So” I ask full of nerves and knocking at the knees “Why do they call you Big M?” “Don’t know really” says Big M “might be because I’m big and my name starts with M but I’ve never really thought about it”

We go to the game the next day. It’s being held at the main ground on Flong called The Foval, I’ll let you guess how it got that name. Hardy’s team is called Male Nurses United and the opposition is the Oppressed Homosexuals. The OP’s win the toss and bat and thanks to a good opening stand of 114 from their openers Brucie and Waggers they go on to post 324 off 50 overs. Gregor, our spinner took 5 for 49 which is pretty good in a one day game.

We bat and thanks to a well crafted ton from Big M we get to 9 for 319 with last man in and one over to go, you guessed it, me. Helvi gives me a pep talk “Now Sandy you must win the game, you fight and die a hero and a martyr” “Helvi, can you leave out the die bit, I’m a born coward don’t forget” The nanobots in my pants are working overtime as I walk out. Luckily I’m at the non strikers end. The bowler for the OP’s is Les, Les Boss and he pushes off the fence to run it. I can’t even see the ball as my eyes are closed but Big M taps the first few back down the pitch. The tension is rising Les calls out “Hey priest, you’re such a pansy you’re on the wrong team” “Just go back and bowl you shirt lifter” replies Big M. “And you’re a another bone idle, good for nothing, purse carrying nancy boy, male nurse” retorts Les. The next delivery Big M smacks through the covers, must be a four, no well fielded keeping it down to a single. Two balls to go, four runs needed. “Hey, isn’t Sandy a girl’s name?” barbs Les, “Just zark off mate or I’ll tell your boyfriend where you were last night” retorts Big M. The heat is getting hot.

You know batting is difficult especially when you have your eyes closed as I did to the first delivery. Big M comes down the pitch “C’mon Sandy, if we win this there will be strippers, kegs, scoobies and steak sandwiches all night back at the club so c’mon, C’MON”. Just as I face up a voice pops in my head “Use the farce Luke, er um, Sandy, use the farce” says Dad. Only trouble is I can’t think of anything stupid. I remember Astyages saying attack is the best form of defence, so lets attack. I point to the stadium as Les starts to run in. American viewers will probably know this as the Statue of Liberty play in baseball. In Australia this is know as a very zarking stupid thing to do. One never riles a vicious fast bowler that has the potential to kill you with a single blow.

I can see Les approaching, his nostrils flaring, his eyes bulging out of his head. His tongue is wailing in the breeze and his hair forms a trail behind him. He bowls, I swing, I miss, ball hits my head, I’m rendered unconscious, the ball sails over the boundary on the full. It’s a six, the Male Nurses United win, Gordon passes his thesis, 326 is the average number of beans in a 440 gram can, life is a wonderful but strange thing, well sort of….

8.4 Time Out

17 Saturday Apr 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

GO’s painting of Sun Mountain. Anyone who thinks its bullshit doesn’t know what they are talking about

We arrive at the snowfields bio after an overnight ride in the Nimmow. The port is absolutely stunning. A wide open deck that leads to a number of small chalets and a restaurant/café and a handful of shops. We are really spoiled. A female crew member approaches “Hi, I’m Vivienne, I will be looking after you while you stay here at Sun Mountain”. Well there’s not much sun at the moment, it’s cold and light snow is falling. Luckily the G. King nanobot clothing I’m wearing adjusts to keep me warm but my face is as cold as a Trotters Ale at the Pigs Arms.

Vivienne leads us to one of the chalets and like everything on the S.S. Julian II it’s all high quality and incredibly comfortable. GO, the artist droid, appears in his overalls with some brushes, rollers and a tin of paint. “GO” I ask “I thought when you said you wanted to paint the mountain that you meant a portrait?” “Ha, ha Sandy, you joker, I’m just doing some touch up work in one of the chalets first then in the morning I will head up the mountain to do some painting” replies GO. Whew, thought something weird was happening as in space nothing ceases to amaze me.

Belinda and I head for the restaurant. A jazz band is playing called the Gregor Stonach Trio and they are doing some Chick Chorea, great stuff. Vivienne serves us a fillet steak with sautéed mushrooms and fried potato, washed down with a Redman’s Cabernet Sauvignon, beautiful, it doesn’t get any better that this.

Next morning Belinda heads off to the snow fields to ski while I wander around the small village looking at antiques and art galleries when Helvi approaches. “Sandy, come with me, I need to show you something” Helvi states. Now if Helvi asks you to do something you do it, I’ve seen her in full battle mode and it’s both magnificent and scary. “Sure Helvi, what’s up?” I ask with an air of uncomfortableness “Come into the meeting room and I’ll explain” advises Helvi.

We enter the meeting room and Helvi and I sit at the table. Out of her right eye she beams a picture on the wall. Is a giant golden ball and its travelling very fast through space. “What’s that?” I enquire. “This is how the S.S. Julian is seen by other space travellers. The golden sheen is the force field and see in the centre you can see the body of the ship with its ring of bios.” Informs Helvi. Yes, I can see the ship but it looks like a giant penis. “Yes” says Helvi “Exactly”. Zark now she’s a mind reader, better keep it clean. “So Helvi is that what you wanted to show me?” I ask and as usual I won’t want to hear the answer. “Wait, there’s more” says Helvi. Oh, zark, not the steak knives I think to myself. Helvi continues “Sandy do you believe in BULLSHIT?” asks Helvi. “But Helvi bullshit is bullshit, you know crap, lies, made up stuff” I reply innocently. “No Sandy BULLSHIT stands for Binary Unit Locater Link Shifting Heuristically in Time”. Well zark me, space an acronyms must go hand in hand. “Never heard that bullshit before Helvi?” I answer as best as possible under the circumstances. “See Sandy, when we return to Earth you will arrive just days after you left using BULLSHIT” relates Helvi. “So Helvi are you telling me this whole thing is based around BULLSHIT?” “Exactly Sandy, egg zacally……”

8.3 It’s Bean a Flong Time Coming

04 Sunday Apr 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 26 Comments

Tags

, , ,

Unbeknown to most, Methane rules the universe

So, here we are, out in deep space. We have left the Milky Way and are on our way to Andromeda, to a planet called Missen. Belinda and I spent last night in the Cruel Room getting acquainted with our destination. For those of you new to The Father O’Way Chronicles, the Cruel Room resides in the Manor. When you sit on the chairs the walls, floors and ceilings disappear and the computer simulates the surrounding space outside the ship so you feel as though you are sitting on the ships hull. At first it’s spooky but you get used to it and it becomes fun.

Our contacts on Missen are Hardy Cocksure and his long time girlfriend Pussy Couscous. Hardy and Pussy run a cricket competition on the island of Flong which is in the southern hemisphere of Missen. Rumour has it that the island is called Flong because it’s long and narrow and the first people to arrive, got off the boat and mumbled “This is a effing long island” hence Flong however another theory has been postulated that Flong is the sound of a partly decomposed bean hitting porcelain.

I call Neville, the navcom, to make sure he knows where he is going “Neville respond” I say authoritatively into the intercom. “Neville here Lord Climate” says Neville. “Neville, do you want a route?” I ask casually. “I beg your pardon” replies an indignant navcom, “Did you say a root?” “Yes Neville, a route” I reply in rather annoyed tone, feeling that this conversation is going nowhere. “Well Sandy, I mean, I hardly know you plus this man on man thing is not really for me”. Oh, for zark sake, has this navcom got the stupid gene or what? “No, not a root as in having sex with, a route as in, you know, directions?” I assert. “Sorry Sandy but I’m blushing at the moment and no I don’t want a ro.., er, directions” Gees, that’s all I need, a navcom that doesn’t have a body who blushes, space, never ceases to amaze.

It will take weeks to get to Missen so Belinda and I head off to the snowfield for a holiday. Jilligan picks us up from the river port in the S.S. Nimmow. GO, the artist droid,  comes along as he wants to paint some pictures of the mountain range and Helvi, well, she’s our body guard. It’s a cold morning in the bio and mist is rising off the river as we head upstream. The river generates the electricity to run the ship so once it starts flowing the ship remains powered indefinitely.

After a scrumptious breakfast on the deck we head inside as we approach one of the tubes. After last time I don’t feel like being knocked unconscious. The tubes are made of a clear material and connect the bios together. The new Nimmow is bigger and more streamlined and seems more powerful. “This seems faster Jilligan, has it got a new motor?” I ask semi-interestedly. “Certainly has” says Jilligan “Come below and I’ll show it to you” Oh shit, why does everyone assume that just because you are a bloke that you will be interested in motors? “This is called the BEAN engine Sandy, beautiful hey?” Well no, only to the mentally challenged, which clearly Jilligan meets the essential criteria and another zarking acronym. Putting on my watching-paint-dry voice I ask the obvious “BEAN Jilligan, what’s that mean?” “Well Sandy” launches Jilligan, just like a little school kid that gets one to many Easter eggs “BEAN stands for Bean Emissions Accelerator Nexus. See you put a 420 can of Heinz Baked Beans in Tomato Sauce in here, then super bugs from the MBL break the beans down, the gas is then connected in a series to the turbine which then blows it out the back passage” grins Jilligan, sort of mocking but not quite. Hmmm, blowing gas out the back passage after digesting beans, somehow I know what the designer was thinking.  “MBL, now hang on we are not letting baseball take over in this book old chum” I state “No Sandy, MBL stands for Mythical Biological Laboratory”. Complex fiction indeed.

8.2 Pigs In Space

28 Sunday Mar 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

, , ,

Warning: This picture has been Warrigalised

Sandy here. Had a strange dream last night. Belinda and I had some curried scallop pies washed down with some creamy apple cider so I think that’s what brought it on. Yes, well, I dreamt I was in a canoe on a lake in Africa with my mate Evil Car Knee Ville. Knee Ville and I were fishing. Anyway we started drinking beer, eating boiled eggs and smoking this strange substance from a pipe. So I cast out and along comes this magnificent looking fish and the fish says “Hey mate, got anything to eat, I’m hungry?” “I’ve got some bait if your interested, fish are supposed to love it” I reply in a casual semi-interested sort of tone. “Hmmm” says the fish “is there a catch, no pun intended?” “Well yes” I reply rather hesitantly  “See I attach the bait to this hook. When you bite it the hook pierces your palate causing terrible pain and suffering. Then we haul you ashore, cut you up into little pieces, pan fry and eat you along with chips and lemon juice and salt.” “I don’t think I like that idea much” says the fish and leaves. “Hey Knee Ville , did you see that fish I almost caught?” “Sandy, that’s the oldest line in the book and by the way that’s Hemingway with one M” says Knee Ville. Then I wake up thinking about baked beans on toast, weird.

Helvi hasn’t been able to establish eye contact with me since my body altered however she is doing her best to help us understand the morphing process that has taken place. The village bio is much bigger as a garrison has been added and so an auto-pilot electric car is needed to get me to the Bats Droppings for a few Trotters, I mean you wouldn’t what to drink and drive would you, I mean that would be really bad and only evil dickheads would do that. The farm bio is now run by Mr and Mrs Douglas with their farm hand Eb. We also have a snowfield/chalet bio for holidays, a tropical island bio for Jilligan, who by the way, lives out there alone now the Kipper was killed. We now also have an outback station bio. The pics on the computer of it look great.

I ring Gordon, you know Gordon O’Donnell the creator of the universe. Gordon currently on Earth in the Pigs Arms drinking Trotters Ale all day every day as he does. “Gordon, Sandy here how the zark are you?” I press knowing it’s always good to get on the front foot with Gordon. “Bloody good mate, it’s all good” answers Gordon in an unusually good Australian accent “Now Sandy old boy” he continues “I believe you hit a POTHOLE, nasty things, will have to get onto the Council, anyway glad you rang mate, want you to head to Missen, the score in the first innings must be between 320 and 350, got that, it MUST be” asserts Gordon. “Gordon how can anyone head to missing?” I ask rather naively knowing I won’t like the answer. “No Missen, it’s a planet that orbits Capricorn in the Andromeda Galaxy, Neville will know the way, it’s only a couple of million light years away. You must get there before the rodent, you know he will zark the whole thing up, you know bribes, kids overboard. This is a very important part of my thesis.”

“On the subject of your thesis Gordon, what is it you are actually studying, I mean it’s not the cricket is it?” I barge in rather hot under the collar. “This is war Sandy” Gordon replies “And war is hell, and hell is beans Sandy, baked beans on toast. Forget this low glycemic index crap or the high fibre bullshit, this is about beans, baked beans and how they rule life the universe and everything” Gordon voice tapers to a final whisper, a man possessed by some demonic spirit or just really pissed on Trotters Ale, this has become scary stuff. “So why has the score in the first inning got to be between 320 and 350 Gordon?” I wade in foolishly. “Well Sandy, that’s the estimated number of beans in a 420 gram can of course!…..”

8.1 Sandy Gets a New Body

16 Tuesday Mar 2010

Posted by in Mark

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

, , ,

TD Schnitzel’s work on rebuilding Sandy was a huge success and for the first few days it was all Sandy could do to tear himself away from the mirror. Belinda loved his new pectorals and thought the tat was sweet. When resting her head on Sandy’s ample new chest she imagined her fairy whispering in her ear.

Digital Muscles – Warrigal raises the Bar – Bel

The mood on the S.S. Julian is sombre. The Kipper was killed in the fighting with the ICCB troops on Zog. This is our first loss and I’m finding it rather difficult to come to terms with the whole thing. We have just held the funeral service for the Kipper and placed him in a can, just like all good Kippers like to be. Dave does a rendition of Don McLean’s Vincent and Jilligan places the Kipper’s favourite hat on top of the can. We all head to the Bats Droppings to have a few pints or so to mourn the loss of our crew member.

Henry, our navcom, informs me that we are being followed by an ICCB ship however it’s not a warship “Blow the zarking thing up” I call through the intercom. “Lord Climate, an ICCB representative wishes to beam aboard, it’s a Lord Algernon, the ICCB’s Business Relationships Manager” says Henry “Tell him to zark off, anyway what business to we have with those dickheads?” I reply in a rather frustrated tone. I’m tired, the gun battle was hard going however what was worse was I had to listen to some Beatles music, yyyyeeeeuck. It was good though watching those ICCB troops running for the hills trying to get there headsets off.

“Sandy” says Michael in his usual Welsh sing-song way “Why don’t we at least listen to what he has to say, could be entertaining.” “No not today, ain’t in the mood. Henry tell him to zark off and put the peddle to the metal and get the zark out of here” I state firmly into the intercom.

Suddenly the walls start to melt and the room seems to spin. Wow, this Trotter’s is strong stuff. Belinda and Helvi are sitting at the table, no the roof, no outside, no at the table, what is zarking going on? Just as that thought enters my head everything returns to normal, what ever that is. “Catherine” I bark into the intercom “what’s going on?” I demand. Silence. Catherine is the central computer and hasn’t responded something bad is happening. “Henry” I yell to the navcom “what’s going on dude?” More silence. Helvi touches my arm “Sandy I think we’ve hit a POTHOLE” Oh zarking hell, this place is mad. “A pothole Helvi, out here in space” I rant getting more nervous by the minute, “No not that sort of pothole. POTHOLE stands for Potential Other Time History OverLay Episode” A zarking acronym, boy when I get back to earth that Hung One On bloke is gunna get a beating. “Helvi, a what, please explain?” I ask pathetically, mentally drained and tired I wanna go home. “A POTHOLE occurs when an incident happens somewhere in the universe where there is more than one outcome. So something to do with Lord Algernon has changed. Maybe in another time history you actually met with him, in this one you don’t.”

I feel ill. The ship has changed, everything is bigger and there seem to be more crew. Funny thing is that I seem to be able to see much better like never before. Colours, clarity and at any distance. I glance at Belinda, her bust line is magnificent, bigger, bolder and superb. Something stands to attention in my jocks. I pull my shirt out of my trousers and take a quick look. Cowabunger! It’s huge. What in zark sake is going on? A pothole, did something else really happen, why am I thinking about baked beans on toast, very strange.

“Central computer respond” I ask “Central Computer responding Lord Climate” states the computer. “Why don’t you respond to Catherine?” “There is nothing in my memory banks that recognises that term sir” “Okay then, from now on you are Catherine, a cat loving IT guru with a feisty personality style, understood?” “Reprogramming” says the computer. “Navcom respond” I bark. “Navcom responding Lord Climate” “What is your model number?” I request “Ne.V.ILL.e” Hmmm, n e v i l l e, spells Neville, well sort of “Respond to Neville” I request. “Reprogramming to Neville. What personality would you like Lord Climate?” asks Neville. Well Henry was English so lets have a change “Sassy American with a liking for fishing and jazz” I inform. “Catherine ask the ship its name” “Yes Lord Climate” purrs Catherine.

“Sandy, you look different” says Belinda “You’ve lost your tummy and wow, you’ve got more muscles” Yes and you wait till later tonight to see what else is different “Lord Climate” interrupts Catherine, just when I was getting to the good bit, “The ship is called the S.S. Julian II……”