Tag Archives: Foodge

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?

Foodge – A Much Bigger Number in the Key of Royal Minor

26 Wednesday Dec 2018

Posted by in Big M

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Simulated Foodge Blood Sample
(actual size)

Story by Big M

Big M awoke in a narrow little bed that seemed to be in a tiny room. There was a tremendous knocking. ‘Oh, Christ’. He thought.’ Not Foodge and Granny again?’ The knocking seemed to continue, and, this time wasn’t associated with cries of pain, or ecstasy, that seemed to emanate throughout the upstairs rooms of the pub at intervals through the night. He suddenly realised it was coming from the door. “Please come in and stop that infernal knocking.”

A very ebullient Manne bounced into the room. “Have yer worked out a plan?”

“What, to get rid of this headache?” Big M had probably imbibed a little too much IPA, and had had very little sleep.

“Well, with a head like that, why wouldn’t it ache?” Manne cheerily replied. He didn’t really know what it meant, but his father used to say it to him when he was a kid.

“What time is it?” Big M shovelled a couple of panadol into his mouth.

“Sparra’s fart”Manne grinned.

“Why so fucking early?” Big M was searching his toiletry bag for some Zantac.

“Early, no I’ve been doin’ some jobs for Mr Merv, getting’ the kitchen ready for Granny.” Manne absent mindedly picked at a dirty fingernail. “Anyhoo, I reckon we need to get some sheila, I mean, lady to impersonate a Lady in Waiting on Foodge’s phone. You know, to explain the blood test.”

“Fiendishly clever, Mr Manne, he would see straight through a letter, but a phone call would instantly appeal to his Royalist tilt. He’ll probably think he’ll be getting a knighthood!”  Just then their conversation was interrupted by a tremendous knocking, each knock accompanied by cries of….you get what I mean. “Oh shit, let’s go and have some breakfast.

A couple of hours later Big M sat back in his chair, having consumed multiple cups of black coffee, a Thai omelette , wedges with sweet chilli sauce, and Atlantic salmon. “Manne, when did the menu become so, um, er, international?”

“Well, Granny needed a break, so I’ve been doin’ some of the cookin’  You know that I grew up in Thailand, and me Dad was a chef?  Manne cleared the table. “Do you think you may appreciate the hair of the dog? I mean, you look a bit peaky.”

“I was about to say that I didn’t realise you had grown up, let alone in Thailand. Excellent idea, young Manne, I mean about the beer, and the cooking.” Big M had loosened off his belt a tad, but left his button done up. ‘I mean, Christ.’ He thought. ‘Yer not on the Newcastle train now!’

Manne appeared with a pint of Granny’s Best as Foodge seemed to emanate out of nowhere. “Ah, Foodge, good to see you, Old Son!” Big M enthused as he struggled to his feet to shake our Dear Boy’s hand. “How the hell are ya’?”

“Fabulous Uncle M. You look well, how is Aunty M?” Foodge sat opposite Big M and motioned Manne to pour a second canoe. “Manne, would you be kind enough to prepare a six egg white omelette on sourdough, mushrooms, tomatoes and a side of chipolatas?”

“So, the usual Mr Foodge?” Manne shuffled off to the kitchen.

“Big day today, M.” Foodge eagerly drank the first half of his pint. “Off to the cordwainer.” Foodge motioned to the shopping bag on the floor. “Might have a poke around the Queen Victoria Building while I’m there.”

“Cordwainer, what’s a bloody cordwainer?” Big M shouldn’t be surprised at Foodge’s outlandish pronouncements.

“A cordwainer is a shoe maker. These brogues aren’t going to resole themselves!” Foodge skulled the last of his pint, and was already eagerly looking around for someone to proffer another.

“Oh, so you mean a cobbler?” Big M was also looking for another pint.

“No, I mean a cordwainer. A cobbler is simply a shoe repairman.” Thankfully Manne had placed two pints of Granny’s Pale Ale in front of them. “Besides, I think my left foot may be changing shape, so may need to have my last adjusted, or even remade.”

“Last, what fucking last?” Big was lost in the discussion.

“You know, when the cordwainer makes a shoe he makes a wooden model of your foot called a last. What does your cordwainer do?” A plate of eggs and mushrooms had appeared at his elbow. “Ah, eggsellent!” Foodge never tired of this little joke.

“I don’t have a cordwainer. I can’t afford custom made shoes.” Big M was growing exasperated, but his headache had settled.

“Don’t have a cordwainer? Next you will tell me you don’t have a tailor! Although you do have that off the shelf look about you” Foodge was searching the table for some Tabasco sauce. “Ah.” It was right there with the salt and pepper. Just then Foodge’s phone rang. “Hello, yes, Foodge here. Yes. Lady in Waiting to whom? …You want to what? ….Family tree? ….What?… Present from my pals at the Pigs Arms? …You want to what? …Blood taken?” Foodge was suddenly sitting up very straight. “I could be a Minor Royal? …Yes, of course, I’ll get the blood taken…Thank you, Your Majesty. No, Oh, thank you, your Lady…I’ll get it done today..” Foodge put the iPhone away. “Big M, you’ll never guess…”

Big M already had a syringe and needle in his hand. “Which arm. Foodge?”

Merv on Retirement

05 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by in Mark

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Merv bowling from the Randwick end…

 

 

“What the hell are you doing Merv?” asks Foodge as he enters the bar and pointing at the beer tap. “Make it a canoe of Special there’s a good chap.”

“I’m staring out into space” replies Merv, adjusting his gaze to pour a beer. “Some bloke on the telly said staring into space is a good thing to do, especially in retirement.”

“What’s this retirement rubbish Merv, who will pour the beers if you retire?” barks

A cat waiting for a car

Foodge, cutting to the chase. Lets face it, pouring beers is the best skill someone else needs to have.

The noise awoke O’Hoo who had been catching a bit of a nap, leaning semi-fatally across the bar. “When I retire I’m gunna get pissed every day” says O’Hoo.

“Nothing has changed then” replies Merv. “What about you Foodge?”

“Well, I’m gunna drink, smoke, gamble and chase wild women”

Nothing has changed then thinks Merv. Boosh goes the dishwasher as Merv ponders other things.

Seems like all of us need some sort of advice about what we are gunna do when we retire. We need to talk to Gordon, he’ll know.

Merv calls Gordon on his mobile.

“Gordy, it’s Merv. Better get down here, dazes is all talkin re-tyre-meant. The friggin

Hot babe that has no relation to the story at all

union is coming. Ewe no, the FUCU(Fictitious United Characters Union, referred to as the Fark Ewe).”

Gordon appears at the end of the bar. None of the locals notice any more, it’s just the tourists. The tourists run around screaming their heads off like they have just seen an alien, umm, well I guess they just have.

I mean here we are and the creator of the universe beams in for a drink, classic. Does it get better than this.

“So Gordon, what are you going to do in retirement?” pushes Merv.

“Well, I’m gunna watch repeats of BBC crime shows. Either that or take up hurling.” replies Gordon.

Well, nothings changed then as Gordon is already watching repeats of BBC crime shows. Hurling! Are you serious?

“The one thing I do know” continues Gordon “is what’s the one thing we all have in common?” asks Gordon. The issue Gordon failed to grasp was that the audience had a collective IQ of the square root of nothing. Sometimes an artist sees a blank canvas other times sees rivers of gold. Well this was one of dem times when no one had any idea.

Blokes, Pigs Arms patrons, etc., etc., came the cries till Gordon said “We are all fictitious. Foodge, Merv, O’Hoo”.

“I’m real” shouts Merv “Well sort of…” then realising that he wasn’t real.

“Don’t worry about retirement, it’s dem, out there, they age, wheeze are always the same. Anyone had grey hair or arthritis written into their contracts lately? Didn’t think so!”. Gordon’s on a roll and he can’t help himself.

Yes, it’s me too…

“And do you notice that the author always portrays me as an old man with grey hair and a flat cap whose chewing his hands off. Hmm.”

“Well I want to be a ninja that stares out into space” says Merv.

Merv does some kung fu moves and shoop, swah, zonk.

“And notice how the author usually portrays me as Rumpole with cigarette ash on his tie, a beer belly but an incredible sense of the law”

Foodge, with beer belly and ash on his tie, just sayin’

interjects Foodge, feeling left out of this dreary episode, hmm, thinking, 10 minutes of your life that you will never get back.

Look, it’s starting to sound like a character revolution coming so whoever I am I better get going. Let them eat bytes I say.

Sister Yvonne gets a new job

16 Monday Oct 2017

Posted by in Sandshoe

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No, pass the sauce not the horse…

Story by Sandshoe

BREAKING NEWS: Sister Yvonne gets a new job.

Foodge was up early with the Guide out of the middle of The Clarion.

Flat Out Like A Lizard Drinkin’s tipped to run better than she did in Cawfield’s The Crescent Moon he read out aloud.

Paper Roses was playing on the juke box.

P-a-p-e-r R-o-s-e-s his Uncle Merv was crooning in the way someone

What’s this paper crap?

mopping does. A-l-w-a-y-s m-a-k-e m-e b-l-u-e. Foodge set his uncle straight.

“Uncle Merv, the word’s cry.”

“It’s my spin on it. P-a-p-e-r R-o-s-e-s A-l-w-a-y-s m-a-k-e m-e b-l-ooo-ooo…

Ok Foodge, if he’s singing he’s happy mopping. One more ‘p’ than moping. We don’t want the right words. Nobody pays Merv a lick of sauce so blue is fine. Blue makes the sun shine for Merv. Cry implies mopping with only one ‘p’. We can afford the second ‘p’.

Arch the Accountant from Whizzzzzz Accountancy dropped in, always on the fly, Arch the Hell’s Angle who got ambitious to help the petite

An advanced motorscooter

bourgeoisie. It was on his t-shirt.

“Where’s Angler and Gib?”

“Cannot rightfully say, Mr Arch. They’re waiting, I know that much.”

Merv was contemplating Nurse Barbara as if he had never seen her before. His glasses steamed up from the steaming hot water he poured into the mop bucket.

“Why?’

Now condensing steam was running off Merv’s glasses and leaving him a

Nurse Barbara feeds the chooks

pane of opportunity. He had bought an especially large pair of glasses for this very purpose of seeing. “Pres Nurse Barbara,” Merv said.

“Yes” she answered mistaking Merv’s declarative as precedent to a summative.

Merv said they were going to Bondi. Nurse Barbara pointed out to Merv straight off going is not waiting, not with the other.

“It’s true, Nurse Barbara!” Sister Yvonne had slipped out of the local vet surgery. Everybody was getting out and about. Yes, Sister Yvonne had slipped unexpectedly and as suddenly into a new career and the old veterinarian’s surgery, the Pigs’ Knob, Sister Yvonne, back from the United States of America, a Veterinariae Medicinae Doctor.

She was carrying a ladder. “Chooks,” she said in passing, “Angler and Gib are going to Bondi. They’re waiting at Hornsby.”

‘They’re out of town? Is that where it is?”

“That’s for sure,” Merv was witness. “Went south. Good as flew.”

Therese Trouserzoff made a surprising appearance on the street pavement. She strummed a uke and she sang, “Why,” she couldn’t help

Therese ponders life the universe and everything

her important self, “don’t they go to Bondi if that’s where they’re going instead of waiting at Hornsby?”

Someone ought give Therese the bestest job ever. She has us all to support. Retro.

Arch shrugged his craggy, leather-clad shoulders. “You blokes ever been before?” He meant the femmes as well. Merv was shoo-ing him, neverthelessness out the back door pronto tonto. “There’s nothing in Horns…” Arch’s words faded and Merv came back in the front door. He was carrying held up before him a tourist promotion package.

“LOOK!” he said, “Fallen off the back of a truck! At the front door! Lying on the ground! Even a map! Good money in this sort of publishing! How to get to Hornsby! Up and offed they did. Angler and Gib.”

GO TO HORNSBY! DON’T WAIT!

WAIT UNTIL YOU GO TO BONDI!

Gib, Angler and the boys drop in for a drink or fifteen.

Episode 95 – Foodge Granny Reminisces

08 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

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Manne brings his battery to the bar

Granny Reminisces (the other bit)

Story by Big M

MR Foodge appeared at the bar. “What’s wrong, my young, mentally challenged, chap?” Foodge always thought that ‘mentally challenged’ was a sort of compliment.

“Oh, ah, me phone.” Manne proffered the dead instrument to Foodge.

“Ah, yes, no battery…hold on.” Foodge rummaged through his Dressing Gown pockets,

Call Emmjay now for a good time on 1800-Big-One

and came up with three bobby pins, many tissues (yike), paper clips, a photo of Granny, and a iPhone lead. He looked around eagerly for a charger.

“Here, mate.” Angler, who didn’t seem to be part of the story, passed along one of those fancy backup battery, thingummies. “Never leave home without it.”

“Fabulous.” Foodge put it all together. “Now, let’s all see what our young friend is on about?”

YOUR IOS DEVICE IS INFECTED WITH SEVEN VIRUSES, WHICH WERE FROM PORN SITES. OUR ANTIVIRUS CAN ERRADISHCAKE THEM FOR ONLY $129.99.

Nurse Intensive Care

Foodge raised a baristerial eyebrow, then passed it to Angler, who nearly fell orff his barstool laughing, who passed it to Gib who nearly choked on his ale, before passing it to Hung who sniggered before passing it to the night duty nurses, who all laughed uproariously, before giving it to Emmjay, who, being a serious, fatherly sort of a cove, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just a scam, Manne, there won’t really be porno driven viruses in your phone!”

“Porno, porno, yer watchin’ porno?” Granny snatched the phone from Emmjay for a good look. “You’ve got three tabs open, fulla nudies!” Granny smacked him a couple of times around the back of the head.

“Now, Granny, calm yourself.” Foodge managed to hold her back preventing her from unleashing another salvo of slaps. “You know he’s got a soft head, which won’t take much abuse!”

“Well, I won’t have a pervert under my roof, back yer bags, and yer titty magazines, or whatever yerve got!”

Bambi does Dallas

“Now, Granny, Dear.” Started Foodge. “This may be a symptom of something much deeper…”

“Yes, a deep perve!” Granny slammed the phone down on the bar, cracking the glass.

“No, er, well. Yes, but not perve, um, I mean perversion.” Foodge tried to clean up the glass. “I suspect that our Manne is, well, lonely.”

He’ll be fuckin’ lonely..” Granny was red faced, with beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

“No, well, that’s what I’m trying to say, our faithful retainer, young Manne, needs a woman in his life.”

Folk struggling with sexuality

“A woman, thought he was gay, or Mormon, or something!” Granny was trying to mop the sweat from her face with some of those recycled serviettes, you all know, the brown ones that doing everything except absorb fluid.

“I’m not gay, or Mormon, or Callithumpian!” Manne had at last found his voice. “While we’re at it, do I owe some phone people $129.99 Mr Emmjay?”

“No, son.” Resonated Emmjay’s kindly voice. ”But your phone’s fucked!” With that he left.

“So, yer on the level then, Foodge?” Granny seemed to be calmed by Foodge’s presence.

“Of course, my Dear!” Foodge blushed to be calling Granny ‘Dear’ in front of the patrons. “The question is, where would we find a girl for Mann?”

Foodge and Granny

Episode 94 – Foodge the Bowelactic Wars Part 2

13 Sunday Aug 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 15 Comments

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Foodge readies himself

Story by Mark.

Foodge looks at himself in the mirror, dusting off the cigarette ash and rehearsing his lines for the up coming trial of Merv breaching the constipation.

Your honour my client is a simple man. Hmm, no that won’t do, Your honour my client is a psychopath that will hunt you down and kill you, hmm, no that won’t do either. Well what am I to do about all this. Well I guess you need to know about the original offence.

I’ll spell it out for you. After reading the letter that Merv received what actually happened is that Merv kicked a dog up the arse for urinating on the tyres of his Zephyr that was parked in the village square, down the the road and just round the corner from the Pigs Arms. Dogs are allowed to urinate on your tyres if you over stay the parking limit of 30 minutes however when one visits Rosie or Glenda one may need a little more time than that.

So we gather at the court, the Stratospheric High Court as this is constipational. The dog is protected under the constipation Section Infinity, sub section blah blah. Regardless of that Gordon will be my back up and Gib and Angler will be waiting downstairs in the Zephyr with their shotguns ready, just in case.

With fries?

The Magistrate we have today is Ronald MacDonnell known around here here as “Big Mac” or the “Hanging Judge” so things are looking really bad plus the prosecution is being headed by Annie Arsehole.

“Your Honour, I rest my case” says Foodge.

“Well what case is that?” replies the Magistrate.

“Well I caught the train from Tamworth and my case rested in the luggage compartment therefore my client is innocent”

“Your Honour I object, the defendant is guilty under section infinity subsection blah blah under the constipation” interjects Annie Arsehole.

“Well, lets adjourn for lunch, say scallops fried in garlic with a nice white wine.” replies the Magistrate.

Interval music.

I fucking hate chips…

The Magistrate seems to be like a rhinestone cowboy however we will persist. I musk get Merv off this charge.

“Your honour, I call a witness , Pat the Dog” calls Foodge.

The clerk swears in Pat. “Do you swear to tell the whole truth but nothing else but the truth so help you Gordon?”

“Can opener mate.” replies Pat.

“Now Pat, can you recall for the court that day that my client Merv was apparently in breach of the constipation?” asks Foodge.

“Can oath mate. I looked at the clock on the town square and realised that Merv had overstayed his parking limit. Busting for a piss I let go on his tyres. He then came around the back of the car and gave me a foot suppository.” says Pat.

I fucking hate burgers…

“A foot suppository?” pushes Foodge.

“Yes, a kick up the arse” replies Pat.

“Your Honour, I object” says Annie Arsehole “ Kiddies may be watching.”

“Objection upheld. Mr Foodge and Pat the Dog, please restrain yourselves.”

“So what happened then?” asks Foodge.

“Well, I crapped on the lawn at the Pleece HQ” says Pat.

And so it goes.

I fucking hate burgers and chips…

Episode 93 – Foodge The Bowelactic Wars 1

01 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 21 Comments

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This is shit mate, trust me, I’m a nurse…

 

Foodge Episode 93 -The Bowelactic Wars.

Story by Mark.

Foodge paints a lonely figure at the bar, nudging his tonic and gin, it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday, la dee blah dah dee dah dah dah dah.

“Shut the eff up Foodge. Monty Python rules here mate, no singing and especially Billy Joel” says Merv.

Billy and Joel give each other a hand

So the painted lonely figure got up and walked away and said “Ewe Finnish Foodge? And wheeze in the EFFALL Union mate, wheeze fictional and wheeze want our money now, turn your head to the left and cough!” The phoneticists in the viewing audience were hysterical, not Foodge of course, he simply held his nuts in one hand and said “Fank ewe my darlin, may fertility haunt ewe and meek.”

Counter reset.

Gin and tonics are wonderful on a hot afternoon under the shade of a good tree. Sensibly my parents, Mr and Mrs

This girl once saw a Fig Tree

Foodge Senior, planted Moreton Bay Figs. One in the front yard and one in the back. Never had to mow a lawn ever. Please don’t ever challenge me on the veracity of that statement, kiddies may be watching.

Merv turned the corner behind the bar. “Foodge, mate, I need help, like real help, like you know, help mate. I got a letter that says I have to go to court as I’ve breached the constipation, under section infinity, sub section A + B = C plus square rooting, what ever that is but I wouldn’t mind trying it” grins Merv.

“Let me see that young man, where’s the bong?” Foodge foodigises, checking navel lint theory and querying cyberianism.

“Foodge, read the letter, she said her name is Maria and shes addressing this to your wife says he won’t be coming home, on a Saturday night…”

Foodge nose what he wants(wink, wink) “that’s twice now, no more singing please especially who ever that was.”

You know, Foodge is a good man, a decent man, a man of honor or so, in his most humble opinion and reading the letter basically upside down “You have a case young man. Not just to the High Constipation Court, not even to the Very High Constipation Court or the Extremely Very High Constipation Court. We go straight to the Stratospheric Constipation Court”.

To be continued…

Oh yes, it’s real…unfortunately

Episode 92 – Foodge hits the road.

21 Friday Jul 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 11 Comments

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Won’t someone think of the children

Story by Mark.

You know, the one thing that is certain is that nothing is certain. Don’t you just hate pithy sayings like that, that make sense. Now you’re okay with me getting things off my chest, nothing like a long bow, the other one that bugs me is this verse of a song who I have no idea who wrote it,

All men, all men are liars their words ain’t worth no more that worn out tyres

Hey girls, bring rusty pliers, to pull this tooth all men are liars and that’s the truth*

Said by a man making it a lie. Need I go on.

I’m in the flyer on my way to Newie, first class overnight, the Bish knows how to treat his favourite barista.

[Stop Hung, it’s barrister. Cannot I, Foodge, not perform on the stage, true to my character? Am I not a person with needs and wants, a light in a window breaks and a butterfly flays it’s wings half way round the planet so prepare for a hurricane. Those are things that make me fight for truth and justice for my client and heaps of Cyberian dollars your Honor. Objection over ruled Foodge.]

Okay then well, seen it’s being nice to me week, barrister and especially after me and the Bish had this conversation.

“Look Foodge, it’s like this. Gordon has rung me and said you should get out of town for a few days, you know just till things settle down.”

“What things?” replies Foodge, stiff upper lip and all that.

All aBout Cyberians

“Oh c’mon Foodge, it’s in the press, the Cyberograph, even the ABC(All aBout Cyberians).

“Well, Bish I have no idea about what you are talking about. Tell me what episode number are you up to?”

“Um, 94, you?”

“Er, 92, look, wheeze is both in the wrong episode, easy fixed, see ya then, been great catching up, say hello to Bronwyn, is the overnight to Newie all on Gordon still okay?”

“Well, yes, due to all the confusion we’ll catch up later.”

“Um, what am I about to do in the next exciting episode?” inquires Foodge.

“Piss off.”

Interval

Pie tasters wanted, apply online or call Alan now on 555 5555…

 

Gib and Angler pick me up at the station in the modified Zephyr. They both have shotguns stuffed down heir pants and bragged how the girls like a big member. I thought yes, some times spotting dicks is a talent. I should now, I’ve been a dick for so long it’s become second nature. I’ve been a proud dick and times and I’ve flopped

A modified Zephyr

for various reasons however I am now convinced that once you are a dick you will always be a dick and I’d even go as far to say that I was born a dick and just like all those other dicks around me.

[Oh, spare us please, I’ll interject on behalf of everyone and I’m writing this. Get on with it.]

“Fantastic car, how much modification did you need to do?” asks Foodge.

“Nah, not much, well a bit, sort of a fair bit that turned into a lot. Once we could get the door handles and window winders working we were set. Then there was the motor however this story has a word limit” says Gib.

“Wadda ya doing in Newie?” asks Angler “Hope you don’t want us to kill no one. Good game of footy this weekend and to be frank one of the two give me indigestion.”

“Nah, Gordon and the Bish sent me here to get ready for episode 94. Apparently I’m in the shit”

“Nothings changed then” chorus the lads.

 

*Nick Lowe

“What’s that in your pocket?”

Episode 91B – Foodge steps up to the Plate

07 Friday Jul 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 14 Comments

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Foodge likes to set his hair before court

 

It was midnight. It had to be midnight, it was dark and Foodge slivered underneath the covers to keep warm and doze back off into dream land. You know the one, where money is plentiful and the girls are, well endowed. No matter how hard Foodge tried and yes it got really really hard at times, the banging at the door would not go away. Oh I get it, you thought…

“Foodge-o-rama, get the fuck up, you have an episode at the Pigs Arms to appear in, Big M has put you in it” cries O’Hoo, standing at the door of the baristas apartment.

O’Hoo just has this way about him

“No one wants to write it so Hung is going to do it. I’m off for a few glass canoes, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Who’s Big M?” says Foodge.

“Gib W, now hurry up. Granny has been reminiscing and you know what happens when granny gets emotional and has access to a shotgun.”

Hmm, yes, I do, thinks Foodge and if only granny could see him as her real soul mate and lover. He imagined walks along the riverbank on sunny days, picnics, good coffee, absorbing the suns rays and then intimacy, touching, feeling, lovingly man to woman [Okay cut, Mark here we get the picture].

Granny had contacted O’Hoo after Manne had handed her his mobile phone. “Get Foodge, Manne needs help.”

Manne, temporarily caught up

The bar is now buzzing with activity, no not the insect kind but everyone came in to try and help Manne.

“[Theme from Rocky as Foodge makes a grand entrance] Yes everyone, it is eye, Foodge, come to avert this horrible crisis. Show me Granny, this offensive phone message that our poor intellectually challenged Manne had to cope with.”

Granny hands Foodge the phone. Foodge diligently, like all legal folk, reads everything in the message very carefully. He pauses for a few moments,

“Hmm, battery is low, shit, now even technology has depression.”

Ewe fink dats funny, wait till Episode 92

Foodge Episode 91 or thereabouts Granny Reminisces

28 Wednesday Jun 2017

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 11 Comments

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I use Granny in my kitchen, wipe on, wipe off

Granny Reminisces

Story by Big M.

Granny was a tad busy, what with Merv having gone off into town to look for ink for his antique dot matrix printer. He had asked all of the patrons about it, and they were split between getting a new inkjet versus a new LASER printer. They were united in thinking that the dot matrix was done.

Anyhoo, Granny was busy washing and cutting up rough looking, dirty Robertson potatoes, frying eggs, and making her own brand of salsa, as well as listening out for the bar. At least the Bowling Ladies were pretty self sufficient, and, if they weren’t, Hedgie has dropped in to fill the urn, make tea, and pour glasses (many glasses!) of Sherry.

 

 

Manne was nowhere to be seen, as usual. He was supposed to be the acting cellarman, but was frequently anywhere but in the cellar. He had developed quite a

Manne, ewe in dare

penchant for watching Redtube on his iPhone, a habit that was decidedly antisocial!

Janet had dropped the twins at preschool, then gone on the Hearing Clinic to get her hearing aids tuned up, which may explain all of the shouting for the last couple of days.

It was far too early for Foodge, Barrister at Large, to be anywhere outside Granny’s boudoir, particularly mid-winter. Besides, he had been up late working on a case (of South Seas Islands Scotch).

The nurses hadn’t finished night shift, yet, so the place was relatively quiet. Granny didn’t mind being alone. It gave her a chance to ruminate, in fact, yesterday’s spice jar mix up reminded her of a fat, slow moving little boy who had come into her life quite by chance. She was a young woman, just given up her career as a professional

Julian's Pigs

Call this a hotel…

boxer, and had taken over the licence of one of the most beautiful, in her mind, buildings in Sydney, the Window Dressers Arms, Pig and Whistle. She loved every aspect of the place, from its tiled façade to its tall, proud chimney pots, and everything in between. Anyway, there was this pudgy little kid used to hang around the car park, waiting for his mum to finish drinking, or philandering, or usually, both. One afternoon said kid turned up with blood running down his shirt, and a rapidly evolving black eye. Granny rushed him into the kitchen, applied ice, gave him a pink drink, and asked him what had happened.

Well, the reader knows the story, the kid’s name was Merv, and he was bullied at school, and his mum didn’t care, and he knew that Granny had been a boxer, and could she teach him to fight? Of course she did, but it entailed training with Granny, which meant meeting her at sparra’s fart, running to the gym, where they lifted weights, threw medicine balls, skipped and boxed. There were mornings when she didn’t pay him much heed, but coached other boxers, but the kid kept his ears open, and was amazed at how much he learned.

The gentle reader knows the rest, how the bullies got beaten up, and how the fat kid hit puberty and suddenly grew muscle and lost fat, continued to train, becoming a professional boxer himself. Unfortunately Merv’s mum never spent much time with him,

Merv’s room

so when she announced that she was marrying a ‘rich cow cocky’ and moving to the country, the teenage boy didn’t mind, instead asking Granny for a room at the pub. Merv never looked back.

Granny’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a banging at the front door, the beer truck. “Manne, Manne, where are you?”

No response, so she marched through the cellar, to fling open the cellar doors nearly knocking over an unwitting pedestrian, then lining up an old wooden ramp to guide the kegs in. “Where’s Manne?” Asked the driver, who was already positioned to deliver the first keg?

“Buggered if I know!” Retorted Granny through gritted teeth, as she rolled the first keg of Wretched Pilsener into place. “Probably watchin’ nudies on his phone.”

The driver let out a hearty laugh. “Fuckin’ wanker!” He grinned.

The cellar was quickly filled with full kegs; the empties were already out the back,

Granny’s Best

waiting to be picked up. “Still brewin’ yer own beer?” The driver had been instructed to find out, in case Granny was buying from a rival brewer.

“Yep.” Granny nodded to rows of old kegs. “Still do me own Best, Bitter, plus some seasonal IPAs an’ such.”

“Hello, looks like some patrons.” The driver nodded to the nurses as he helped Granny close the cellar doors.

Granny soon found herself in the Main Bar surrounded by cheery nurses who all enjoyed a post night shift beverage with bum nuts, wedges and salsa, whilst the Bowling Ladies had finished their planning meeting, and had sent Beryl in with a breakfast order. “No rush, dear, whenever.”

There was a sudden hush as everyone turned to see a visibly pale Manne standing behind the bar, his mouth moving, but nothing sensible coming out. He pushed his iPhone into Granny’s hands, her eyes widening as she stared into the screen.

To be continued…

In which year did Australia win the 1947 Ashes series?(For your citizenship exam)