Tag Archives: Gordon O’Donnell

Mrs O’Way is Aggro

30 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by in Mark

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Mrs O’Way, the most beautiful girl in the universe

“I’ve had enough of this shit” roars Mrs O’Way, whose first name is Belinda by the way. Belinda is the the little sister of Glenda from Glenda’s Pain and Torture Clinic, just down the road and around the corner from the Pigs Arms. “The Fictional Characters Union has just amalgamated with the Characters Fictional Union to become the FUCU(Fictional Union of Characters United) and we’ve become the laughing stock as now everyone is referring to us as fuck you.”

“Merv, pour me a double South Sea Island Blue Label and are you fictional or real?” she demands.

“I think I’m real, no hang on a minute, that’s right I’m fictional but a union member of FUCU” replies Merv.

“So fuck you” says Mrs O’Way.

The rest is real or maybe…

“ Hello, look author here. I’m not into this swearing stuff so please close your eyes when you are reading some rude words. Anyway kiddies may be watching.” says Mark from the commentary box.

“So hands up, who here is real?” demands Mrs O’Way. A limp response is recorded. “What about fictional?” same sort of reply.

“Are there any cats here we can shoot?” asks Algernon.

“Hope so” replies Big M. “Anyone seen Mother O’Way?”

“STFU Big, do you want Gordon to zap our brains out?” cries Algernon.

“What brains would that be?” Big M replies. Good point thinks Algernon.

“Look I used to be real till I came across the Pigs Arms” says Sister Yvonne.

#Metoo say the girls, oh boy, I can see a movement happening.

“Now, now, lets just all keep this in Perspex” says janowrite out of left field.

“Drinks on the house” says Merv trying to avoid a disaster, “did you mean perspective jano?”

“Probably but a South Seas Blue Label will do me” janowrite struggles at this point to attempt to see what’s happening in this story but you are in it now, bad stinking luck, just ask Sister Yvonne.

“Where’s my Sandy” cries Mrs O’Way, oops I mean Belinda.

“Well sorry love but he’s down at the dress shop”

“You’re not allowed to say that Merv otherwise Gordon will zap our brains out, hey there’s a cat” says Algernon in a timely fashion as only he can do.

Big M and Algernon open fire with their shotguns and unfortunately after open heart surgery the cat dies. Snigger, snigger. Oh well, that’s how it goes, snigger, snigger.

Mrs O’Way, oops, sorry, Belinda, belts the boys around the head with an umbrella.

“Where did that come from Belinda?”

“Out of the props section, they have lots of things in there, even dildos”

“Yeah I can see a #catkiller movement starting as well, lucky I’m smart” says someone unnamed form the FUCU. Is that you Hung?

“Not me, I’d never say something rude or smart, I’m a nurse you know and us nurses never are rude or swear or are smart aren’t we.”

Trust me, I’m a nurse, my name is Mark…

A Holy Visitation

30 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by in Big M

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Written by Big M

Mother O’Way

Foodge’s nightmares continued unabated. Every night, between three and four Granny would be woken by his thrashing and groaning. It was always the same dream; Foodge’s disembodied head in a box. Every time Granny gleaned little bits of additional information before Foodge slipped back to a slumber punctuated by snores, coughs, obstructive episodes and loud farts. Sometimes Foodge replied in Spanish. Occasionally he’d stand up and try to micturate behind the tall boy. One time he was as randy as all hell, but every time he had no memory the next morning. Granny spent the hours between Foodge’s dream and dawn pondering the meaning of these dreams.

……………………………………………….

Foodge has a dream…

Foodge has experienced a reasonable day, that is, until Father O’Way arrived in a pretty summer dress with his hair tumbling over his shoulders and his old navy tattoos on display for all to see. “Call me Mother O’Way!” He gushed.

“Mother O’Way!” Merv erupted. “Mother Fucking O’Way…how about Get Outta the Fucking Way?”

“When did this change occur?” Ventured Foodge.

“Yesterday’s episode.” O’Way was coquettishly twirling his longish grey hair between her fingers.

“Christ, talk about one dimensional characters, what about Mrs O’Way?” Merv quickly poured a second glass of Crème de Menthe.

“It’s over, she’s an extreme heterosexual, a homophobe of the highest degree!”

“So she’s available?” Merv rubbed his hands together.

“I don’t care what happens to her.” O’Way sounded quite melodramatic.

“What is the Church’s position on all of this?” Foodge had managed to pry his eyes away from the train wreck known as Mother O’Way, and pour himself a South Seas Island rum.

“The Bishop is way cool with this.” O’Way had located a compact in his purse and was busily caking powder on her nose. “He thinks this turn of events to be rather modern.

“What about Gordon O’Donnell?”

“What about Gordon O’Donnell?” Everyone turned to behold Gordon’s wonderful visage (actually he looked like an old derro).

“Oh, well, your majesty, ah, I mean your honour, um, what are your thoughts on Father O’Way becoming Mother O’Way?’ Foodge stammered.

“I’m the sort of chap who wouldn’t care one way or another, but, when he’s got such a beautiful looking sheila, and, bear in mind, that it took me months to get this pair together, and, the fact that he’s only doing this for dramatic effect…I don’t approve!”

O’Way was crestfallen. “What do I do now?”

Gordon put a comforting arm around the Father’s broad shoulders. “The missus hasn’t seen you like this?”

O’Way shook his head.

“Let’s keep it our little secret. Perhaps you can frock up when she’s on a weekend away?” Gordon looked around the bar. “It is our little secret! Know what I mean.”

Merv and Foodge nodded enthusiastically, not wanting a bolt of lightning through their skulls.

“I’ll have a word with the Bishop, if he’ll listen to me.” Gordon had a twinkle in his eye.

I’m in this episode, finally…

The Bishop is Worried

25 Friday Dec 2020

Posted by in Mark

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I think I better go to the pub. That’s where Father O’Way is and that’s how I, Bishop Bishop, come into the story. If you don’t know the story about me then look through the archives under the Church of St. Generic Brand or something like that. I’m really famous, or so I think.

So anyway I digress, which is the only thing that I’m good at. I’m called the Bish for some reason that escapes me but I’ll drop into the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle. Boy Big M, does that increase the word count or wot.

I ask some questions “Where is Father O’Way? Why am I doing this? Is Valium really that bad? Can I have a pint of best with a whiskey chaser? So many questions so little time.”

Merv pours a beer and some whiskey for me but he doesn’t speak so he doesn’t have to include inverted commas and the he says she said bit in the next part of this dialogue. Thank Gordon for spelling correctors. It also cuts down on paragraphs.

Sister’s Yvonne and Barbara levitated onto their stools. “Pink drinks all round ” said Sister Yvonne who hadn’t learn the lesson from the above paragraph where it’s better not to say much so there’s a lot less typing. Get the picture.

“Is your stool satisfactory Sister Barbara?”

“Yes, more than satisfactory I would say Sister Yvonne” helping get the word count up.

Meanwhile Algernon and Big M sat on their usual stools with their shotguns loaded just in case a cat happened to come through the door. One can only hope.

Did the GPS say 500 metres left or right to Parramatta Road…

I says to Merv “You look rah,rah,rah, um stuffed” ignoring my own advice on inverted commas.

Didn’t you read Meet Mervette thinks Merv, oh good boy, he knows the rules.

Where’s Sandy I think.

Well he can go home now seeing I’m back behind the bar thinks Merv.

Gee, isn’t it good when you think things through. Gordon will be pleased.

Merv thinks I need another beer and whiskey chaser. This is getting better by the minute.

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

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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

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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