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Tag Archives: Gordon O’Donnell

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

13 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 33 Comments

Tags

Christina Binning Wilson, Father O'Way, Gordon O’Donnell, humour, the Bish

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 Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Christina Binning Wilson, Gordon O’Donnell, humour, Merv, Sandshoe, the Bish

 

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 Mark in Mark, The Public Bar

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Gordon O’Donnell, Merv

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 Mark in Mark

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Fish and Chips, Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell

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/

The Tail of God 3

05 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

cricket, Father O'Way, Gordon O’Donnell, humour, Pigs Arms, Sandy O'Way, Viv, Warrigal

Pic by Warrigal

Pic by Warrigal

Just a recap, my name is Gordon O’Donnell. I am scientist from another dimension and me and a couple of class mates accidentally created the universe. Our teachers have sent us here to study for our degrees and I am heading for the planet Earth in the galaxy know as the Milky Way. My task so far is to create a monetary system, teach everyone in the galaxy to speak English but more importantly teach them cricket.

“C’mon Gordon” says Viv. Viv is my SNAP (Space Normalisation Adaptation Process) Coordinator, oh, in case you forgot, space an acronyms go hand in hand. Damn. “We are heading up to the bio so I can show you where you will be living till Earth is ready for you” Viv informs.

“What’s a bio Viv?” I ask as I glance around my beautiful cabin, a book list to die for, my own cook and a bar that never runs out.

“With long distance space travel you need to live in a biosphere otherwise you will go mad or in your case, madder” laughs Viv.

“Do you think I’m mad Viv?” I question.

“No, not so far anyway Gordon but you will eventually live in Inner Cyberia at the Rectory of the Church of St. Generic Brand with Bishop Bishop, Father O’Way and Belinda the housekeeper. Most of the time this lot are found drinking at the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle affectionately know as The Pigs Arms. A stoic bunch of drinkers are always there and they are going to test you out. You need to know how to respond to fit in.” says Viv.

I find I cannot speak. Never in my wildest dreams could I have ever imagined such a scenario. We jump in an elevator and after a few minutes the lift door opens and we are in the main street of some sort of village. A mixture of housing surrounds and I can see a hotel, café and a few shops. People are moving around the streets.

“C’mon Gordon, I show you your house” instructs Viv and we walk a very short distance to a beautiful bungalow style house that over looks the beach.

“Wow this is fantastic” I mutter out loud, more really thinking about my surroundings than making any intelligent comment.

“Fair dinkum Gordon, anyone that doesn’t like this is a few kangaroos short in the top paddock” says Viv. Viv reads my face in an instance. “Fair dinkum means is that right and a few kangaroos short in the top paddock means that if you didn’t like this then you must be a mad” Viv informs with that irrepressible smile.

“This bio is the beach side village with fishing harbour, point break for surf and foothills at the rear and cricket oval in the centre of town. There are about 50 droids here who will create the atmosphere so it seems as if you are having a normal existence plus a four team cricket comp. The central computer has set the weather to replicate your birth planet and is fairly similar to Earth, you know day night, summer winter.” Viv states as this is all fairly ordinary.

Me, I’m overwhelmed. This amazing house with wrap round verandas that take in all possible views. A village, here in space, fair dinkum, hey its working, maybe I can settle into Earth after all.

“Come on Gordon, lets hit the pub for a couple of frothy’s, beers, before tea, dinner” says Viv, teaching as she goes along.

We enter the pub. A magnificent low lying building with a grand bar and a dining room to one side. Several droids are sitting at tables talking about the weather and some at the bar like they are propping the place up and watching sport on the screen.

We perch on a couple of stools at the bar and are approached by the barman. “Gerard, this is Gordon” says Viv. We shake hands, a custom I’m not quite used to yet.

“What will it be Gordy, we have Trotters Ale or Trotters Ale” informs Gerard.

“Make that two” says Viv. I’ve been drinking this Trotters Ale since coming on board and I must admit I really like it now although it did take some time. “So for tea Gordon it’s Bat Shit on toast or Kanck’s gizzard sandwiches?” smiles Viv.

My jaw drops and the bar erupts in laughter, hmm, Inner Cyberians, a tricky lot.

We enjoy a few more ales and I’m feeling quite relaxed but there is something that has been puzzling me. “ Viv” I explore, treading carefully, afraid to be thought of as mad “ Look in the last episode someone spoke to me about getting on with it, I thing the name was Hung”

“ Oh, Hung” reveals Viv, full of knowledge “ Hung’s the author of this story. Look see that screen over there, and how you can see a faint image of a person typing at the keyboard, well that’s Hung”

“ Author, story, you mean I’m not real but simply a fictitious character.” I blurt confused as to what’s going on.

“ Of course you are real Gordon. Everyone that reads this story knows you created the universe and this website has over 450,000 hits so mate you are very real” asserts Viv.

“ But he spoke to me” again my anxiety rising.

“ And yeah, you can speak to him any time but it must be inside closed brackets like this []. If you don’t like something or have a suggestion on the story just type you request inside closed brackets and Hung will talk to you” says Viv. “ Here I’ll show you”

[Hey Hung, great gag about the bat shit on toast]
[Thanks Viv. Gordon may need some sedation later till he understands]
[Yeah, he’s a bit wet behind the ears but I think we can work with him, I mean he likes beer for starters]
[Hung, Gordon here, am I real?]
[As real as anything else in this universe. Don’t worry, any concerns just talk to me. My closed brackets are always open to you.]

First published: http://hungsworld.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/the-tail-of-god-3/

The Tail of God Part 2

09 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Gordon O’Donnell

Pic Courtesy Warrigal - Gordon run out on the moon

Pic Courtesy Warrigal – Gordon run out on the moon

Just a quick recap. I’m Gordon O’Donnell, an astrophysicist from another dimension and me and a few of my class mates have invented this universe. Our teacher has sent the three of us here to study it for our astrophysics degree. I’m on a ship called Rudolph, my navcom is a SANTA(Sub Atomic Neuroleptic Transparent Android) who prefers to be called Nick and he is taking me soon to meet Viv. Hmm, the story continues….

Well after a good sleep in my cabin in the control room I wake to a knock on the door.

“Come in” I say while trying to orientate myself.

It’s Nick and he’s holding an envelope. “Hungry Gordon?” Nick inquires.

“Yes Nick. I could eat the arse out of a low flying duck” I state thinking how ghastly that would actually be but it is an old Meupian saying.

“The auto cook machine is in the corner. Tell it what you want and it will be brought to your cabin” says Nick. Now that’s my kind of service.

“What’s in the envelope?” I ask

“It’s a LETTER from Professor Schnitzel about your mission” relates Nick “I suggest you have something to eat then have a good read and then I will take you to meet Viv.”

A letter, I muse how quaint. I tell the auto cook I want black coffee, tomato juice, scrambled eggs and toast. I stare at the letter, hmm, yes TD never actually said what I was supposed to do on this mission. A knock on the door and the auto cook droid enters with my tray.

“Thank you” I say not really knowing what to say.

“You are welcome your highness” replies the droid.

“It’s Gordon, please, no formalities” I request.

“Auto Cook reprogramming, yes Gordon”

Hate formalities, my parents gave me a name and that is what I want to be called.

The aroma of the coffee is amazing and the food delightful. Note to self, this droid can cook.

Refreshed I open the letter but to my surprise it is blank. “Nick” I cry “This is a blank page”.

Moments later Nick appears at the door. “Gordon, what wrong?” he gasps, shock and horror on his face.

“This letter, it’s blank” I bemoan.

Nick releases a hearty laugh “For a minute there I thought this was something serious. This is a LETTER Gordon” Nick states “An acronym for Line Embedded Telepathic Text EditoR”

Space and acronyms, I should have know.

“See that tag on the top left hand corner and the one on the bottom right hand corner. Place your thumb and finger on those tags and the letter comes alive” laughs Nick.

Easy when you know how. Nick walks off down the passageway and half way converts to wheel mode, spooky when they do that but it saves power.

I put my fingers on the page as Nick has said. Suddenly text starts appearing on the page just like magic. Wow, isn’t fiction complex some times.

“Hello Gordon TeeDee here. Hey do you like my new version of my initials? Makes me sound young and groovy.”

Why is TeeDee(Groan) writing in italics I wonder.

“It’s so the viewer at home know it’s me talking”

How did you know what I was thinking?

“This is a telepathic document. This means only you and I will ever know what has been said. The mission detail must never be known in your new universe otherwise it will cause immense trouble. The page is verifying both your fingerprints and your retina. This ensures that it is me and you that are talking. ”

Bloody hell, what have I got myself into.

“Let me tell you. You are currently on course for a galaxy the locals refer to as the Milky Way. Your base planet is called The Earth but before you can settle on Earth you must travel the galaxy and establish the following three things. Find the Goldilocks planets and teach them Meupian which in your universe will be referred to as English, create a monetary system so that you own all the money in the galaxy but most important teach them how to play cricket”

My head is spinning. This was nothing like I imagined. All this information is overpowering.

“Yes, I know but this is an important part of your studies, setting the groundwork. Now to help you I have provided a transponder, it’s on the desk”

I look over to the desk at this object which says Panasonic TV Remote Control. WTZ? ( What the zark?)

“Yes I know, we had to cut them into the deal otherwise they were going to complain to the government. When you find a suitable planet, locate the most advanced primate tribe. Active your force shield so you won’t be killed and eaten and state “Take me to your leader”. The shield will ensure the natives comply. Point the transponder into the eye of the head primate and press the play button, get that play. This gives the head primate all the knowledge needed to achieve your goal. Anyway, off you go as we are approaching the word limit and we haven’t introduced Viv yet. Stay in touch”

Another knock at the door. I put the letter down and all of the text just vanishes, amazing, this is complex fiction for sure. It’s Nick “Gordon this is Viv” states Nick.

Wow, cowabunger, yea har, dribble, dribble, this is a female droid with the best set of, um, er, you know, um, wow, I’m blushing, my face is red and all of a sudden I’m feeling really hot and flushed, I can’t take my eyes off them. [Hung here, right oh Gordon, get on with it, this part is about to end]

“Nice to meet you Viv” I bumble “Now let me guess, Viv stands for Vital Ingredient Vitamised or Virtual Item Verified?” I state in an attempt to recover.

“No actually” says Viv “It’s short for Vivienne. I have been modelled on an Earth female and I am your SNAP Coordinator” replies Viv.

“Snap?” I ask somewhat deflated.

“Yes, Space Normalisation Adaptation Process. I’m here to show you the ship, take you to the bio and teach you how to cope on Earth”

You know, sometimes true stories are really hard to tell and this is a true story, well sort of.

First published: https://hungsworld.wordpress.com/2014/08/09/the-tail-of-god-part-2/

GOD in a Minty Wrapper

18 Saturday Jul 2009

Posted by Mark in Mark

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Father O'Way, Gordon O’Donnell

The Face of Gordon O'Donnell

The Face of Gordon O’Donnell

When I was young boy walking down the street a station wagon drove past. The window was open and someone was waving to another car and let a minty wrapper go. I picked it up and when inside to tell Mum and Dad. Now my parents were very serious people, mum starting crying “Environmentally devastated” said Dad.

Dad called a meeting in the town hall and a decision was made to send a small delegation to government house to protest. So Dad got out the Zephyr and we drove down to the big smoke.

The funny thing was that as we got closer to the city signs kept popping up on the side of the road like “Down with minty wrappers” and “Polluters die”. Somehow people new about our protest, bush telegraph I suppose.

When we got to the main square a good size crowd had gathered. A man with a megaphone stood on a crate “Wadda we want, biodegradable minty wrappers, when do we want ‘em, now”. The crowd roared the chant back and more people poured into the square. People were yelling and rattling the gate of government house and yelling abuse at the guards. Riot police entered the square and protesters threw rocks and fire bombs. The police charged at Dad but he stood his ground, the copper said “look mate we all want biodegradable minty wrappers but no protest allowed without permit number 1068B”. The crowd surged behind Dad, now in the tens of thousands.

SAS troops piled into to the square discharging weapons into the air, cars were being turned over and set alight, “No more minty wrappers, down with wrappers” they yelled. Fighting was erupting all over the place, there were over a hundred thousand people now and machine gun fire sounded in the distance. Tanks were rolling into the square.

Suddenly a trumpet sounded the loudest sound imaginable. Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked to the sky. An enormous cloud enveloped the square. The trumpet played one more note piercing ear drums and flattening any resistance. The crowd, police and troops all stopped and all eyes were fixed on the sky. The cloud opens and a figure appears that resembles a man with one of those flat caps. “Listen up” the creature says “haven’t got long Z Cars is about to start” he grumbles “God here or Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah whatever just don’t call me late for dinner, get it, my real name is Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, get it GOD, boy, you lot need to get out more”.

The crowd is stunned into silence, troops and police alike lay down their weapons.  “Look” the creature says “It’s 1966 your time and biodegradable wrappers aren’t ready yet but they will come, it won’t be long. Computers will be the size of a pocket watch and a man will walk on the moon”. A man to my left yells “He’s a fake, a computer the size of a watch, man on the moon, he talks in tongues”. The man looks around nervously and then shuts up. God shrugs his shoulders “Look, it will happen, a time will come when almost every home will have a computer and they will all talk to each other via the telephone, I will contact you when this happens, look to the ABC, my name will be Jayell, any questions?” “God, what will become of us, what’s the meaning to life?” “Life, well, a writer will appear and give you the answer, 42 but no one will take him seriously. Look I can read your minds, sorry no cash or winning numbers and with football don’t worry everyone will continue to hate Manly” I thought to myself, I guess some things won’t change. “Is their life in the universe besides Earth, of course, but not as you know it Jim, anyway enough now. I am now going to make you all forget what’s happened. I want you to stop fighting and go home”.

When I was young boy walking down the street a station wagon drove past. The window was open and someone was waving to another car and let a minty wrapper go. I picked it up and when inside to tell Mum and Dad. My parents looked at each other and as their eyes met a meteor burned up in the stratosphere causing a bright trail across the sky, “Be a good boy Sandy and put it in the bin” said mum, Dad smiled, the dog yawned. Life’s a funny thing sometimes.

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