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.
