Tag Archives: Gordon O’Donnell

GOD rescues the Pigs Arms

30 Monday Nov 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

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Gordon comes to the rescue…

Written by Big M

It had been a busy morning, what with the Night Nurses enjoying their first post lock down get together. It all went swimmingly until Big M knocked over a bottle of Shiraz, which managed to contaminate everybody’s uniforms. He had no excuse for the sudden lack of balance; he was only five pints in. Mark managed to steer him towards the door. “It’s orright, I’m ketchin’ the 3801” Big M slurred.

“That’s right, buddy, just wait for that big steam engine to pull up, then you’ll be on yer way.” Mark soothed as he dumped Big M onto the bus stop seat.

Foodge had been at the coffee machine all morning. He was desperate for a piss, I mean, micturition, so turned to ask Merv or Mervette to man the coffees. He suddenly realised he was alone, with a group of thirsty concreters bearing down on the bar. “Manne, Granny, O’Hoo, anybody??”

“O’Hoo popped his head around the corner. “What’s all of the yelling about?”

“Mate, I’ve been abandoned with a phalanx of thirsty tradesmen bearing down on me.”

“Well, you know that I can’t pull a pint!” O’Hoo tried to stand his ground but the concreters had made it to the bar. “Oh, fuck.” O’Hoo started pulling Trotters Best, all half beer and half foam.

A fresh beer Merv and make it snappy as a crocodile sandwich!

“We aint payin’ for this shit.”

“All on the house.” Mumbled O’Hoo.

Thankfully Granny arrived on the scene. “What in the name of Gordon O’Donnell are you doing?”

“Tryin’ to help.” Muttered O’Hoo as he passed another half arsed pint across the bar.

Granny slipped behind the bar to expertly pour a couple of pints. “Okay youz blokes, happy hour is over so there’s no more free piss.” She quickly checked each tap. “O’Hoo, IPA and Stout need to be replaced, oh, and by the way, thanks for stepping in.”

O’Hoo raced to the cellar, where he was most at home. Foodge tugged on Granny’s sleave. “I’m desperate for a wee wee.”

“Hold onto yer water works for a minute. Where the bloody hell is that barmaid I’m payin’”

“Well, um, you can probably hear her.” Foodge was either going to have to hold onto his knob or micturated in the sluice.”

From the back of the pub. “Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

Granny located the source of the noise and tore open the storeroom door. She was horrified by the sight of a shaved, four legged, gorilla. She suddenly realised it was Merv and Mervette butt naked enjoying a conjugal visit. She was so angry she could barely speak. “Pull yer fuckin’ pants up and get outta my sight!”

Granny wandered back to the bar. “Are you still desperate for a Jimmy Riddle, Darling?” The sight of her lover had calmed her somewhat.

“Not now.” Foodge answered guiltily.

“Oh, Gordon O’Donnell help me.” Pleaded Granny.

“What can I do, dear?” Gordon appeared in the doorway of the Gents, busily trying to pull up his fly.

Wanking is fun…I’m a big wanker

Granny’s eyes misted over as she tried to put her arms around Gordon, but finding nothing but air. “Now, Granny, you know that us supernatural beings don’t like to be touched. I’m aware of the problem and I’ve summoned my best man for the job.

Father O’Way suddenly appeared. “Where shall I start Granny, oh, perhaps I should deal with the smell of piss behind the bar?”

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.

Merv has a Brother

29 Wednesday Nov 2017

Posted by in Mark

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Gordon is worried about somefink

 

There was a loud banging on the door at the Pigs Arms.

“Let me in, let me in” cried Gordon “I need a drink, something tragic has happened.”

Merv rouses from his slumber and opens the door. “What’s up Gordy?” he asks without a care for the answer, it’s 8 o’clock in the morning and opening time is still two hours away, one hour and 59 minutes of blissful sleep lost.

“Six pints of Special and two serves of wedges, me gizmo is broken” wails Gordon.

Merv pours a few pints for Gordon then goes out to the kitchen to fire up the ovens

Simulated Trotters Special Ale

and fryers. “What frigging gizmo is broken Gordon?” he yells.

“It’s me SPIT” replies Gordon. “My Small Personal Interplanetary Teleporter”

Thank Gord I didn’t need an explanation for that one thinks Merv as he returns to the bar and pours some more pints for Gordon.

“Well go and see my brother Mick, down the road and round the corner at Mick’s Auto Mechanics and Florist Shop, just between Rosie’s and Glenda’s” says Merv.

“I didn’t know you had a brother” says Gordon as he downs yet another glass canoe.

Nah, me neither thinks Merv but then again I don’t write this shit either.

Gordon downs his last pint and his two servings of wedgies with extra herring and

Simulated wedgies

Vegemite sauce and heads down the road and round the corner to Mick’s Auto Mechanics and Florist shop although the road seems to be acting funny, it’s swaying all over the place making it difficult for Gordon to step forward on every occasion. Maybe I should have had seven pints thinks Gordy, these planets in the Milky Way are trouble.

Gordon enters the foyer at the workshop to be greeted by a lovely display of petunias, orchids and lilies. No one is in attendance so he rings the bell on the counter.

A man appears in overalls and a sweaty face. “Yes, how may I help you?” says the man.

“Hey” says Gordon “you’re Merv in a set of overalls and some water chucked on your face to look like sweat”

“Look, I’m playing my identical twin brother Mick as Emmjay has said to cut down on

Simulated Mick

production costs so just go along with it, okay? Extra casts means extra expense, get it!” asserts Mick or Merv whoever.

“Hmm, well I need my gizmo fixed and your identical twin brother sent me here to get it fixed” blasts Gordon thinking maybe he should of had eight pints. “Don’t have any other brothers do you?”

“Not sure yet till we get to the end of the story” replies Mick. “Lilies are on special you know.”

“Fuck lilies, can you fix my gizmo?” says Gordon wishing for another pint and handing over his SPIT. Don’t ya just hate people who spit.

Simulated ripoff merchant

“Um, probably, it will be costly” replies Mick as he takes the gizmo from Gordon. Mick looks at the bottom of the device and notices that the on/off switch is in the off position and switches it back on and hands it to Gordon. “That’ll be $500 fanks.”

Haven’t we all be there at some stage.

AI Is no Chook Raffle.

15 Wednesday Nov 2017

Posted by in Sandshoe

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Only 50 cents a ticket, finger lickin’ good…

 

Story by Sandshoe.

AI is no chook raffle.

“Won’t get off the ground.”

Sandy and Gordon were gettin’ another earful. Gordon got cocky. Instead of keepin’

Gordon steadies himself to sing

strictly in time with the karaoke-singin’-to-Gordon, he went out on a limb preachin’ AI well under the stormy weather.

“What happened to Blame it on the Bossy Nova? Tell us moa, and when, now” yelled out the patrons bit under the stormy weather.

Cue the protestors.

“ALL ducks are quackers.”

“Big statement. Right on.”

Everyone in the crowd started feinting, yeah, imaginary boxing moves in the air and proved they were replaced by AI robots spoilin’ for a setup. “Go, you young turkies”, they chanted. They tick and tocked all over the place. It’s virtual reality noiseworks. Made to sound like bangin’ out a good story on a typewriter. I think not. I miss the sound of the carriage return.

(Carriage return).

Yes, this is me and my name’s Shoe and I’m here to help.

“Nah, it’s untrue.” Gordon was unusually loud for a man and woman of science. He looked same as the tablecloth with Sandy’s beer that fell accidental on him in the name of science. Which was when Sandy threw it at Babel. More beer per chook more production.

Babel was already the best layer. Sandy’s judgement was affected by cosmicness and

Princess Layer

the lightness, Merv had too much to do to be affected, he had to run a pub. He kept saying it into the mirror behind the bar. He got Angler and Gib back from Hornsby. Someone did because they are both round the place.

Mangled, melodic mountains rock.

So Merv put up with a lot of addressin’ himself in the mirror. Granny was brewin’ up a sunny day. Foodge helped Granny titrate.

It’s a full-on battle now. AI reckons the brewin’ is not a generic statement of factual engagement, but a politico-fraco-fungal statement revealin’ unrest and the cellar is a metaphor.

Nice try.

Granny’s brewin’ be buggered it’s simple and it’s science. Sandy’s spewin’ about Babel pooping in his beer it’s that simple be buggered not a lot of science. Ok, Gord is the

A fresh beer Merv!

whole works, reality speakin’ in a runny eggshell. AI test checked Gordon O’Donnell as she and he.

Yeah, hahaha, likely story and we won’t fall for it. We’re too sofistickated.

Merv goes Solar

07 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by in Mark

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Merv and the boys having a few Trotters at the front bar

 

Merv goes Solar.

Story by Mark.

Merv is a bit worried at the moment as he has received a power bill for the pub from the WheezeGunnaRipYouOff power company. Apparently the power bill for the Pigs Arms has gone up from $4 a year to $5 dollars a year. And if you take 4 away from 5 you get, um, well a really big number, maybe even binary.

“Granny, get ear” yells Merv, “Somefinks wrong with Bill”.

“Who the hell is Bill, anyway I’m to busy making wedgies with my famous herring and

Granny gets on top

Vegemite sauce” replies Granny in a fit of rage.

“No its electricity Bill, the one that the honest straight up government that never told a lie said it wouldn’t happen” says Merv.

“But days a pack of poofters Merv, days as bent as Alan Jones” gruffs Granny.

“But if you take 4 away from 5 you get an awful increase in our power bills. Wheeze need to talk to the pub owner” implores Merv. “However wheeze don’t know who that is.”

Gordon materialises at the bar. Geez, I wish he wouldn’t do that as he may scare kiddies.

“Gordon, do you own the Pigs Arms?” asks Merv.

“Nah, not me mate I voted Labor. So lets work this through, fictional characters wont, so Granny, Merv, Hedgie, Fern and Foodge are out. Now pass me the phone book. I’ll dial the Pigs Arms and see who answers” says Gordon.

What was that phone number again

Ring, ring, ring ring ring etc., as we all know it would only be woman to answer the fone, the men are too busy scratching their nuts and boasting about how good they was on the footy field. “Hello, The Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle, Granny speaking”

“Granny I’d like to speak to Dee Owner” says Gordon using his best British accent.

Granny announces “Phone call for Dee, Dee Owner, phone call for Dee Owner.”

The crew look perplexed and say nothing as Emmjay appears out of the men’s with urine stain intact on the front of his pants, forgot to shake that last drop and takes the call.

“Yes, Emmjay hear, to whom is I speaking” replies the only educated one in the room, well except for the girls.

“My name is Goldenrod Longeron” replies Gordon using his quick wit and a gizmo he got from Spaceworld on special for $9.99 to make him appear godly. “It’s to do with your electricity Bill that has gone up by a $1 per year and your staff are concerned about how this bill will be paid seeing no one pays their extensive bar tabs at your establishment. Are you the owner?”

“Oh no” says Emmjay “ Therese Trouserzoff is the owner you would have to speak to

“Therese!”
“Trouserzoff!”
Lovely to meet you

him or her.”

“Well is he or she there?” asks Gordon.

“Um no, but give me your name, number,  breast size and penis length and I’ll get him or her to call you” dodges Emmjay.

“Okay, my name is Dendron Dongle Rondo and my number is 555-5555 and eyes from the WheezeGunnaRipYouOff company, 44DD and 30 cm ” replies Gordon.

Emmjay is starting to shit himself at this stage and thinks well at least that matches the urine stain on his $500 Levi’s. One front one rear.

Wadda ya think about going renewable?

“Hey, I’ve got an idea” chips in Merv “Lets go solar and piss this wanker off. I remember at skoll learning so la fark tea dough, wadda ya reckon.”

 

 

 

The mind, if you have one, boggles.

 

Americans hate beards…

Episode 92 – Foodge hits the road.

21 Friday Jul 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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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?”

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

13 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by in Sandshoe

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Gordon and the Bish get back to work

Gordon and The Bish Go On Holiday: Part Three

by Shoe

Continued…

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

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

Look there’s one

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

Gordon and the Bish are both sobered.

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

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

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

Shoe, in a former role

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

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

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

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

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

I thought you said a dog joke!

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

“Shoe? Lonely? IS she?”

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

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

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

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

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

The home of Father O’Way

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

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

It’ll be a night.

The End

I’m sure there was a door here this morning

Written by Christina Binning Wilson 2017

Gordon and the Bish take leave – in much frothinesses – Part 2

12 Wednesday Jul 2017

Posted by in Sandshoe

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Yes, I know, ee eagle Emm sea dared. Bloody dentures…

Gordon and The Bish Go On Holiday: Part Two

by Shoe

Continued…

“Zarks and Constantine,” the Bish says. “It’s Algernon.”

“More than that. It’s Emm and Big M and Mark. It’s… Shoe and Viv and Yvonne and Helvi. Nev and Manne, Merv. I can see Gregor, Ricardo, Gez, Rosemary… Our mates. On an excursion. Didn’t ask us.”

Photo of the crew arriving at Space World. From Back L to R: 1,2,3,4,5
Front row:6,7,8

Gordon O’Donnell feels indignity as rough as a pineapple. The tequila is fuel to a fire lit by a surround of carousing patrons du porc. “How did you get here,” Gordon demands to know.

“I came straight off the Flyer,” says Algernon as cheerful as a bird singing in a tree top.

“I caught the bus home. The Zephyr’s in for mechanicin’.”. It’s Foodge.

He’s fucked Merv, Trotters all round fanks

Others’ voices add ‘walked’, caught the bus’, ‘the other half dropped me off’, ‘me too’ and such like.

“Granny’s latest batch of Trotters,” whispers the Bish to Gordon. Words are a hurdle. “Don’t say anything about Space World, Gordy.”

“No fear,” Gordon whispers back. He is in the same quadrant on their dial. “Don’t mention the toad, Bish, I think.”

“What if he wakes up?” the Bish whispers, nervous, glances at the Pig’s Arms Sports Bar pedal bin.

Warning: Some viewers may be offended as the following contains laptopothansia

“Goose!” Gordon answers in a snapped whisper at the Bish, “He won’t wake up. He can’t. He’s not real. Deny we know him anyway. We’ve done it once. We can do it again.”

“Why?” the Bish whispers back.

“Frogs are popular. Toads bring … opprobrium. They’re … a menace. We’ll get the blame. Anyway, if the toad is in the bin he’ll expire in Trotters’ slops.”

“Leave sleeping toads lie,” the Bish whispers as a cant.

“Good scheme. Say he’s a liar if he wakes up, escapes and says anything,” Gordon commands.

“Don’t mention the toad in the room,” the Bish cants.

“Someone’s got to get you blokes tucked up in your cots,” Merv announces. He slides a tray of freshly washed and polished new knives and forks the length of the new stainless steel serving bench and walks to its other end.

Merv and Foodge stare each other down

“Foodge?” He beckons. “Can you walk these blokes home?”

“Uncle Merv,” says Foodge, “Don’t want to. They should … should be made to pay their slate getting the way they are.”

“We spent all the coin we too… ” Gordon applies a hurtful kick to the Bish’s dangling shins. “Nexsht week, we promise,” the pair says half in unison as they slide unsteadily onto their feet off the new bar stools covered in shining new clear plastic.

“See, Uncle Merv. They’re all good for that.” Foodge is his ever trusting sheltered self and he relents. “We’re scootin’. Gettin’ on the frog and toad now.” Foodge nudges Gordon whose face has gone from pale to deathly white. “Come on, Gordon O’Donnell. Fresh air do you some good” he says, playful. “Come on, Bish. Uncle Merv, I’ll empty the pedal bin on our way out.”

Unashamedly yours

“Good work. Place smells like a dead toad,” Big M gives a thumbs up. Merv feels a glow of Uncle pride to see Foodge recognised for domestic initiative after all these years.

The patrons du porc cheer.

“Be careful with that pedal bin,” Viv warns as Foodge grasps it, nonchalant, naïve of the skill it takes to empty a pedal bin holus bolus without liquid content dribbling at best off the rim of the bucket and around the lid hinge down his arm.

Gordon and the Bish stagger back and veer towards the door in a half run between them as Foodge throws the bin onto one shoulder. The patrons du porc gasp. The weight of the sliding bucket jams the lid of the pedal bin open. Rotting Trotters’ slops propel an arc in the air of liquid silage dotted with discernible strands of coleslaw and mayo.

Nev gets the message

“Surreal,” Nev says. Nev writes restaurant reviews and scores the pub with a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10 where 10 is the best.

“I think that’s him,” whines the Bish to Gordon and points to a crumpled black mass of oozing slime on the plastic cover of a table near the door.

“Don’t point!” orders Gordon from somewhere on high, “It’s Schticky Date Pudding.”

The Bish doubles over puking a splendid Inner Cyberian chunder on a new hessian and rag coiled rug at the door. “Lesh get out of here.”

“Where’zh our luggage, Gord,” the Bish asks as they step into night. The air is freezing. They walk along the pavement arm-in-arm to steady themselves

Look, a suppository

and for warmth. They have on Hawaiian shirts that smell bad and knee length shorts with plastic sandals.

“Dunno, I dunno,” says Gordon in reflection apparently on their luggage. His pondering might be on cold.

“Gord, I’m f’r shewer not shewer how much of our shtory’s true this time.” Gordon can see by a glimmer of a lone roadside lamp the Bish looks deep in thought.

“Bish, the toad’s closhest to trew truth.”

“That no-hoper, Gord. Couldn’t walk a straight line if he tried.”

I’m shitting bricks and farting pebbles waiting for the next exciting episode, brought to you by Red Donkey.

To be continued…

Written by Christina Binning Wilson 2017

Merv Quits

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by in Mark, The Public Bar

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Merv takes a breather...

Merv takes a breather

 

 

Merv Quits

Story by Mark

There was a buzz of excitement at the Arms tonight as apparently Merv is set to make a special announcement. So special that no one is to know, not even Glenda, hmm, now that’s special.

“Gather round you lot. I just want to let you know that I’m quitting!” roars Merv.

“Shit, who’s going to pull our beers!” exclaims Gib W “Why don’t you get Hedgie now he is out of Silver Water?”

“No but…” cries Merv.

“I know lets have a game of cricket to decide if Hedgie gets the job or someone else” pipes in Angler getting the nod of agreement from those assembled. When

Angler on holidays on the moon...

Angler on holidays as usual

you hear crickets in the Front Bar at the Pigs Arms, well lets just say you may have some work ahead of you.

The girls are acting disinterested in this earth shattering announcement and go back to the racing guide.

“Anyone got fags” asks Hon Shades. “That horse in the fifth, Run No More, sounds like the winner to me. Can I borrow your lighter Merv?”

“No, you lot, I’m quitting smoking”

“Sorry but that’s ennui Merv, anyway can I have your left over smokes, there’s a pet” states Nurse Barbara .

The girls...

The girls

Sister Yvonne winks to the crew and with that indelible smile says “Yeah wheeze thought that you might get some nice boys in here with tight pecs, know wot I mean”.

The walls start quivering, I mean rippling like corrugated iron sort of does when hit by a tornado, well sort of, just adds to the drama. So what the hell is happening.

Out of nowhere came a bright white orb in the centre of the room and of course it’s Gordon. If I was there I would be pooping the longjohns, let me tell ya.

“Gordon, you scared the you know what out of me” says Merv.

“Sorry. Took the old spaceship for a weekend run and ended up in the future. Brought this nice gizmo from McBunnings-Mart, good for party tricks. It’s a SOFTON”

The crew erupt. “A soft on, to many Trotters Gordy” says Gib.

“Now” replies Gordon “SOFTON* stands for, wait for it, it’s pretty exciting, Suborbital Optic Fibre Transfer-o-gram Over Network, classic hey. So now whenever

Gordon and his gizmo...

Gordon and his gizmo…

I travel in space I take my SOFTON. It’s quite comforting to know that on any occasion I can always call on my SOFTON.”

Gordon grins away at his new toy while the crew join in a round of laughter.

“Anyway I’m in space somewhere till I heard Merv is quitting” continues Gordon.

“I’m quitting smoking as it’s bad for my health. Think of the money I’ll save. Hey hang on a minute, Hung, do you know that you’ve never paid me?” Somewhere in Merv’s head a synapse has been electronically processed and the penny drops. Ting.

“Sorry Merv, lets talk about that later. The good folk want to know what happens in the end, for sure, 100%, hmm, hmm.” Hung says from the commentary box.

Merv feels confused. Everyone seems to think he was quitting as barman at the Arms. He started thinking, dangerous I know, I have always been here at the Arms

Unique Pigs Arms charm

Unique Pigs Arms charm

and I always will be, Exactly! interrupts Gordon in Merv’s thoughts.

“So yes my son. That is real. No shit.” Spooky music plays in the background and the crew become hushed. “Smoking? Merv? Really? Give it up and God bless.” Merv looks up and sees Gordon playing with his SOFTON as he disappears from the room. Please anyone watching at home, try not to image that scene.

Gee you know. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction

*Had to get an acronym in there as it’s been awhile.

Merv at the end of the day

Merv at the end of the day

Me and Gordon

05 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by in Mark

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Me and Gordon

By WhateverHisNameIs

 

The Face of God, Gordon O'Donnell

The Face of God, Gordon O’Donnell

Some of you that have read my stories will know about Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, the astrophysicist from another dimension that is currently using our universe to study for his degree. Well this story is about when I first met Gordon. Now with all my Early Days stories some of it is true, some is artistic licence and some is just pure bullshit however most of this story is true.

It was about the middle of my last year at high school all though being a Catholic I was at college and I just wanted out, big time. My grades had been gradually dropping due to an event that occurred outside of my control. I was 16. I knew I was 16 as I said to my mother,

“Mum, how old am I?” I asked.

“16” she replied, therefore I was 16, would a mother lie, don’t think so.

It was Friday, how did I know it was Friday you ask? Well on Friday we had Fish and Chips for tea, so it was Friday. Oh yes, I loved Fish and Chips and still do but it was definitely Friday. I had been playing rugby league for my school and at half time I needed to do a wee however when I did my urine was basically blood. Hmm, how odd.

So on Friday night when tucking in to my fish and chips I said “Mum, when I go to the toilet my urine is red” thinking that at dinner this was the best way to raise this issue.

Little sis said “Oh yuck, how off Hung, go away” or words to that effect.

But Ma and Pa were pretty smart and Mum said “Well Hung, next time you go don’t flush and let me have a look” and so I did. Mum was shocked.

“Do you fell okay Hung?” she inquired, well yeah, duh “Well lets get you to the doctor Monday morning” said Mum.

Yes, there is a God,  a day off school just for pissing blood, bring it on, doesn’t get better than this, mate, I’m in heaven.

As the weekend passed I started to feel unwell and by Monday I was actually glad to see the doctor. They put me in hospital and within a day or two I was transferred to a hospital in the big smoke called the RPA or what I now know as the Royal Pigs Arms. My doctors name was Merv, my nurse was Glenda however my favorite memories are about the wardsman called Foodge. Oh yes, those were the days.  I was diagnosed with Glomerulonephritis and after some time I was sent back to my local hospital

Glenda in a quiet moment

Glenda in a quiet moment

I told mum to bring me home. The food was shocking and I did most of the other stuff for myself.  I was losing weight at an alarming rate and for a skinny kid that was a real worry. The doctor let me go home as long as I drank this stuff what we would now call Sustagen. Me brother would finish in the Pit at 2 and come round at take me to the shower so Ma didn’t have to do everything.

“Wash your own dick” said big bro but it was just good to feel clean and to wash my hair, this was something that I never took for granted ever again. Big Bro then would towel me down and put me in clean clothes and take me back to my room.

Sleep. Yes sleep was one thing that I excelled at. I reckon I slept about 16 hours a day, take pills, drink this and then sleep. I wasn’t doing very well apparently, not that I knew but according to Mum I was fading.

Mum got the GP to visit, Dr. Gottafix. “Yes Mrs On, your son is in bad shape so I will give him S.H.I.T” said the good doctor.

“Shit” said Mum.

“Yes SHIT” said Dr Gottafix, “Subcutaneous Hypodermic Injectable Tonic, when I was in uni my tutor said when all else fails give ‘em shit”

Anyway, later that night after my pills and special drink I just wanted to go to sleep. And I did. Me arse hurt from the injection as I was skin and bone and I was so tired I couldn’t care less about anything anyone said. Then something happened. My room lit up and a man appeared at the end of my bed. “Gidday mate, names Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, some call me God but I prefer Gordy” said the creature.

“Are you a pommy mate?” I asked given his accent and flat cap.

“Well, sort of” said Gordon “but more importantly I’m here to help you save the universe”

Groan, went my brain. I feel like dying and here is some pommy illusion trying to tell me how to save the universe. “How can I do that fella?”

“Well” Gordon replied cautiously “On Boxing Day you and you dad will be watching the Ashes test in  the lounge room and your big sis will tell you a funny story about people she works with you that will be about male nurses. All you need to do is say “” I could do that”” and you will be set on a path to save the universe”

MaleNursesUnited“And if I don’t?” I ask defiantly.

“Well if you don’t you will not create me therefore I won’t exist and I created the universe therefore the universe will cease to exist” says Gordon.

Shit.

I slept heavily that night and in the morning I finally felt hungry. Weeks later I returned to school and sat and passed my final exams. We had a wonderful family Christmas. Boxing Day arrived, me and Dad in the lounge waiting for the first ball when I remembered Gordon’s visit. Now what did I have to say to big sis,

Do that I could

I do that could

Could that I do

That could I do

Do could that I

That do could I

This was driving me crazy but apparently I needed to save the universe.

Big Sis entered, “You bloody blokes, always watching cricket, now let me tell you about some of the male nurses blah blah blah…”

“I could do that” I utter on cue therefore becoming a nurse therefore creating Gordon therefore saving the universe.

First Published: https://hungsworld.wordpress.com/2014/12/05/me-and-gordon/