Tag Archives: humour

Pig’s Psalm 15 – Blamelessness

30 Wednesday Mar 2011

Posted by in Emmjay, Pig Psalms

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Our Merv

Who may dwell in your sacred pub ?

Who may sip from your hoppish streams ?

The one who can walk across the car park blameless and untouched

by the Hells Angles or the Lambrettistas

Who speaks no scorn of the Rabbits and follows the Tigers meekly

Whose tongue utters no slander

Nor makeths the quip about Voice’s verandah

Who makes no complaint when the wind blows eyebrows

from the skip next to the Pig’s Legs Waxing and Beauty Salon all over his car

Who accepts hot tips but quietly does not bet on losers

Who carries through and keeps the faith

Who is touched for a loan but who expecteths not the repayment – especially from Foodge.

Who does these things may dwell in the Pig’s Arms

and sitteth on the right hand side of the juke box.

The Saints

29 Tuesday Mar 2011

Posted by in Gregor Stronach

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by Gregor Stronach

Like all dutiful and doting boyfriends, I got hosed on February 14th. Why? Because someone, somewhere decided that the feast day for the Patron Saint of Lovers, St Valentine, should turn from a celebration of love into a veritable orgy of spending. 

What would St Valentine have thought about this rampant, crass commercialism? He would have spewed – violently and often, is my guess. Here’s a man who was made a saint because of his ability to endure being beaten with a club and then beheaded by the Romans for his beliefs. Today we honour him by handing out chocolates, greeting cards and overpriced floral arrangements.

It got me thinking about the idea of Saints – and, as I am wont to do, I went looking to see what I could find out. What surfaced startled me – there are millions of the bastards. There’s the big saints we all know about, like St Peter, St Michael, St John and, of course, St Patrick. But there is an enormous database of little-known saints that I’m guessing the bulk of humanity has never even heard of.

We’re getting pretty close to having a Saint from our lifetime too – Mother Theresa will soon be canonised by the Catholic Church. They’re just trying to find another miracle she performed, and she’ll be part of the ‘in-crowd’. I’ll save the Catholic church some time and effort right here, if they want. I think it’s a miracle the sanctimonious old tart didn’t get sprung accepting blood money from third-rate dictators of tinpot little nations like Haiti. Had the rest of the world known about her shady dealings trying to wash clean the souls of murderers and thieves, she’d be about as popular as Nixon.

But I digress.

The best of the Saints are to be found in the Patron Saints list. Nearly every calamity and malady known to humankind has a saint to look after it. What a job for the afterlife! To be made a saint, a person would have had to spend an awful lot of their life being pious and rigid, and then perform a couple of miracles (which aren’t nearly as easy as Jesus made them look). So, for all their hard work in this world, the poor buggers get to spend eternity pondering the fate of us mere mortals as we complain about broken limbs, gassiness and the fact that we can’t find our car keys on Monday mornings.

Some of their appointments make sense, in a cutesy, folksy sort of way; St Joseph, for instance, who famously trudged around Bethlehem trying to find a room during peak tourist season for his wife to give birth in, looks after house hunting. But others make little or no sense at all.

Take St Joseph of Cupertino. He died in 1663, and is currently the patron saint of astronauts. How in god’s name is he supposed to know what he’s doing? It’s little wonder Columbia went bang… the patron saint in charge clearly has no idea what an astronaut is, let alone how to protect them.

The Patron Saint for Fear of the Lord is the Holy Ghost – which is kind of like handling a funnel-web to cure your fear of spiders. Sure… I’ll take advice on my fear of God from an entity, which, if my rudimentary understanding of the Bible is correct, is really God when he’s not feeling particularly substantial.

St Eloi looks after Numismatists (look it up – I had to). St Fiacre looks after haemorrhoids, while St Bibiana takes care of the hangovers. They’ve got John the Baptist looking after highways, freeways and spas. (Seriously – John the Baptist looks after all the hot tubs on the planet.) St John Nepomucene looks after discretion – which is apt, because I’ve never heard of him before. St George, who once famously killed a dragon, now gets to look after syphilis.

It’s lunacy. There’s a saint for everything these days, and there’s more on the way. Even countries and cities and states have patron saints. New York, New Zealand and Australia are all looked after by Our Lady Help of Christians. One can only assume that she was on the Gold Coast working on her tan when the whole 9/11 thing went down.

It’s easy to tell when the church is really, really worried about something as well. They’ll assign multiple saints to look after it. Sexual temptation is guarded by no less then eight saints and, tellingly, victims of abuse get ten saints – guilty conscience, anyone?

But back to St Valentine, and the day in his honour. I admit that I eventually caved and bought my girlfriend the lot – flowers, chocolates and a card. However, I did so not for fear of ending up under the guidance of Saints Aldegundis, Andrew Avellino, Barbara and Christopher – the patron saints of sudden death – but because I love her a lot.

First published by Rum & Monkey yonks ago.

The Saints from 1976…..


Pig’s Psalm 14 – Unto the Pub A Children are Born

24 Thursday Mar 2011

Posted by in Emmjay, Pig Psalms

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Simulated picture of Merv, Janet and the twins Viv and Ian

For it came to pass

In the town of Cyberia that to a publican

A child was born.

To be precise two children

Came into the house of Merv and Janet.

Two wise men from the east followed the GPS

Lately installed in their Zephyr car

And brought with them the gifts of

A yeasty extract and an elusive substance of pink.

And they said unto Merv

Be not afraid for these unto you shall bring

Considerable beverage.

And Merv and Janet looked unto the wise men

And they knew that it was good.

And from the car park came a host of Angles

Obtuse, in general, but some acute

But not as acute as the babies.

And looking down upon the babies and their

Generously endowed Mother, they said unto the

Hostelery  gathering

“Coor, these little buggers aren’t  going to go Hungy.

And a general glee swept o’er the host and

The taps were opened and the beverage was bountiful.

And to the gathering sayeth Merv and Janet as one Voice

Behold into the House of the Arms of the Pig

We welcome the twins, Viv and Ian.

And the attending Angles and the good DRMICK and a host of nurses

Gave thanks and broke wedges

After that they broke wind

And laughed and laughed and laughed.

Praise be to the host of the Pub and the Patrons de Porc.

Hell Hospital 12

19 Saturday Mar 2011

Posted by in Astyages, Hell Hospital

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Hospitals are hell - Aren't they?

 

HELL HOSPITAL

Episode 12

By theseustoo

When John and Mary Swan had finally decided to phone the hospital to find out about their parents’ protracted absence they had been told, in order to ‘spare their feelings’ that their father had suffered a fatal accident at work and that the shock had been too much for their mother, who was being kept in the psychiatric ward for the time being and the baby was being looked after in the hospital nursery. A social worker was sent to help arrange social security benefits for the children and with this done they were promptly forgotten.

But the bills had begun to arrive and it quickly became clear that social security benefits were not going to be enough to pay them all. John knew that he and Mary would have to find work in order to support the rest of the Cricket Team. The duty of ‘babysitting’ their other siblings devolved on the third and fourth eldest, Algernon and Vivienne, who, as their elder siblings had done before them, immediately rose to the challenge and put away the toys they had been playing with to don a more ‘adult’ persona as they intuitively assumed the mantle of authority whilst John and Mary, children competing for work in an adult world, went out day after day to look for work; their lack of early success was disheartening, but like the troopers they were, they always maintained a brave and cheerful face in front of the other members of the Cricket Team. Eventually they found work stacking supermarket shelves in the evenings at Coals; the pay wasn’t great, but it would pay the rent and bills and leave them just about enough to feed the Cricket team, so, for the time-being, they were satisfied.

***** ******** *****

As for their poor deceased pater, Swannee, as the bible says is true of all the dead, was aware of nothing at all. His recently animated corpse was still a corpse; capable of movement and obedience to simple commands, perhaps, but a corpse nonetheless. Without a mind to give it volition or purpose of its own, it was still very much a dead thing; a zombie. Neither was the zombie’s mistress, Elaine, any more aware of what she was doing than was her zombie creation; her own mind having been supplanted by the will of the Dark One and forced to retreat into subconsciousness; all her actions were now directed by the Dark One, to fulfil purposes only he could understand.

***** ******** *****

Dave returned to the hospital and demanded to see the doctor who had handled his injured and now de-calcified foot so roughly that he had re-fractured the fourth meta-tarsal. The doctor had not been impressed with Dave’s display of temper when he loudly accused the doctor of having broken his foot again. But when Dave had threatened to ‘see how you like having your bones broken!’ whilst advancing menacingly towards him, the doctor instantly shouted for security. The two burly security men who instantly responded, upon seeing Dave yelling at the doctor, immediately assessed the situation, sidled round behind him and, each taking hold of one of his arms, held him securely, in spite of his loud demands that he be ‘unhanded forthwith!’

“He’s raving,” the doctor said, “I believe he’s having some kind of nervous or mental breakdown; I’m going to give him a sedative…” With that he filled a syringe from a small bottle and quickly swabbing the skin of Dave’s upper arm, which the security guard who was still firmly holding it had thoughtfully uncovered, injected the syringe’s contents into Dave’s arm as the latter swooned into unconsciousness.

***** ******** *****

Pig’s Psalm 13 – An Oirish Drink and a Happy Ending

17 Thursday Mar 2011

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How long might it be oh Merv

That we sit

And wait with patience for the creamy head of your Paddy O’Furniture Stout

To rise from it’s obsidian depths

And we see you adorn it with the shamrock or the lyre ?

We have much about which to be concerned, Oh Merv

But the world in a Pig’s Arms pint canoe admits no strife or trouble

The froth, the bubble

Emergeth double.

And manifest it is to us – we hear the pipes a callin’

From Glen to Greg and maybe also Clyde

The summer’s gone and all the levers for Len

Are broken off –

So score for me a ride.

Chorus

Oh, take my back

And scratch me lightly o’er.

And run those nails –

Barely touching my backside.

The beach grows dark,

And fills the sand with shadows.

It’s time for me

To shut up shop

And come inside.

12.2 The Pigs Arms World Cup Team

14 Monday Mar 2011

Posted by in Mark

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The Pigs Arms First XI by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Here’s the list of the World Cup Pigs Arms Eleven or so……by Hung One On

At the  rear: Hung One On with unravelling brain, Lehan Winifred Ramsay listening for clues, Atomou gaze firmly fixed to the job at hand, Hadron keeping an eye on each way.

Middle row: Merv, Commander Al Foyle in full uniform, Astyages caped and ready for the next journey, Vectis Lad the old fox, Lord Algernon the ICCB representative, Sandshoe as the capped bear, Bishop Bishop wearing his favourite number 3 T-shirt instead of his lucky Pigs Arms T-shirt [hint hint], Helvi with gun in hand.

Front row: GO the artist droid(just), Warrigal the chief sensor who unfortunately couldn’t bring his head as in was in for maintenance, Michael Jones the publican of the Bats Droppings with a spare skull, Big M with battle axe at hand, Throwdough Haggins , Vivienne with Catherine the central controlling computer in her lap, Voice and Neville the navcom illustrating a star, just in case you didn’t know.

Little did they realise but they had to play a game of cricket against the droids at the local village green.

The Pigs Arms won the toss and batted. Here is the scorecard 50 overs per side.

The Pigs Arms XI

Atomou,  bowled Cassandra for 69

GO the artist droid,  Caught Van Gough bowled Lawrence Hargraves for 78

Hung On One retired hurt for 0

Michael Jones,  Caught Sleeping bowled Over for 10

Vivienne, not out 110 and still raging

Helvi, bowled By  Boredom 1

Neville, caught by Bourbon bowled With Coke 30

Big M, not out 55 however several members of the opposing team are nursing wounds

Lehan caught Holding On Bowled by Tsunamis for 50

Astyages bowled by Harpagus for 15

Vectis Lad, run out by a short half nose photo finish for 25

443 off 50 overs. Droid team declared 0/0 as the bar was opened conveniently by Michael Jones.

Pig’s Psalm 12 – the Director of Music

09 Wednesday Mar 2011

Posted by in Emmjay, Pig Psalms

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It is to you, our Waz,  whizz of musicological magic

That we look for inspiration

And a howling reminder of the great tunefulness of the youtube-o-sphere

Thy range is inexhaustible.

Thy tastes hyper-eclectic, tinged with soppiness

But

Counterbalanced with edgy Zappa-like overtones.

And a tendency to lope off into the sunset with a jaunty, sandy-furred carefree gait.

Blessed be you, our Waz for the music is in you and you are in the music.

Amen (Chorus)

12.1 We Drop in to the Mire

01 Tuesday Mar 2011

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Pictures by Warrigal

We drop in to the Mire, that’s the planet the Haggins’ live on, on the way to meet Alexrod, convenient hey. Mire revolves around a star called god knows what. God Knows What is around about the size of the sun. Don’t just some things run in your favour when you are out in space, fantastic.

Throwdough Haggins

So Gordon has told me that the Habits, that’s the Haggins tribal name, believe in magic, you know, goblins and sorcerers and all that airy fairy nonsense that we all know ain’t true however some folk, some planets do.  The Habits live in Inhobitable. They are always having parties, loud music and of course plenty of ale. Sound like my kinda guys however Habits are smaller then us so things are a bit cramped for us apes on Mire. Gordon suggested I try a 3 wishes deal with the Habits to test the water. You know,  one the two then the punch line. So okay lets try.

“So Throwdough, you like the party time hey, must go through a lotta beer?” I ask with great interest, well sort of.

“Lots of beer Sandy” he replies.

See the beer on Mire is called Oink Lager and the name says it all. Tastes like bats piss but hang on what does bats piss actually taste like? Yuck! And what sort of person would drink bats piss? I think I might change the subject, I’m feeling ill and I’m the one writing this.

Sandy O’Paramatta

“Look, on my planet we have this great technology. You just chuck this in here, fill with water and it makes beer, 25c per 375 ml bottle, waddya say?” I pitch like a car salesman on Parramatta Road.

“Just this stuff and water, Sandy is that right?” replies Throwdough.  “Well, hmm, well, no, hmm, hmm no, no oh no, hmm, oh no,  I’ll have two more of them.”

So with that Throwdough and Dildough handed over their cards. We left minus six home brew kits, oh and enough supplies to last them a century. I’m sure though the Habits will do as much as they can with addictive substances.

Viv having a break, literally

Back onboard the Julian we now start to head for Automaticus Tellericus, reset the password on the One Card and grab the bail. Easy for sure, well not really.  Meeting my brother is going to be very interesting.

“I’ve ordered the Vivienne 59 for tea Sandy” chirps Belinda who walks in with Helvi.

“Hi Helvi, kill anyone today?” I quip hoping it’s taken in jest.

“No but if you want me to” grins Helvi.

“Anyhoo, what’s a Vivienne 59?” I request

“Some blokes name Ross Jogan, you know, curry it’s your favourite” says Belinda.

“Ready to fight Sandy or still shaking at the knees?” declares  Helvi

Daves jigger

Dave the Guitar Droid goes “Hey, It’s. Shakin All Over”

“When you move in a-right up close to me
That’s when I get the shakes all over me
Quivers down my back bone
I got the shakes in my thigh bone
I got the Quivers in my knee bone
Shakin’ a-all over”

“Well perhaps not Dave” I say rather limply “ but a good rendo.”

“Girls, battle plans okay, lets go.” I float and with that the battle council gathered. They are well armed and well trained. Us’, well, we are just a pack of losers. However we have the Julian, the best spaceship in the galaxy but not necessary in the universe. Lets try and overlook that.  This is complex fiction and I don’t want to lose you.

Helvi and Al Foyle with Catherine and Neville take charge. Ships are launched and deflector shields are activated. We are on silent mode. The ship runs on minimum power. Warrigal, the chief sensor,  is flashing his torch at his tranny trying to get some sort of

Silence is Deadly

positive response, under the quilt, late at night, yeah. Noise of any kind a this time is not welcome. I can’t help myself and I take my part in all this very seriously, as you all know, none more dedicated than me, oh yes. So I says, you know, I says, you know,  to the command group “Hey listen, I need to fart, but, look, you know silent is deadly” I announce to the delight of the crowd.

The Command group is thrown in to Chaos, “Oh, no, Sandy wants to ffffaaarrrtttttt’……”

Central Computer calling…..

Warning!

Warning  again!!

Look I’ve told you, there is a warning of some description. !!!

Look, don’t keep pressing the escape key, it won’t help. !!!!

I’ve issued a bloody warning what else do you want?

I think I’ll shut down.

My Fishing Life

18 Friday Feb 2011

Posted by in Mark

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My Fishing Life

Recently the owner of the  Pigs Arms asked for some fishing stories so here’s mine. Fishing, I hate fishing. If there is something more boring then cricket it has to be fishing. Bait up, throw your line in and wait, boring. Having said all of that there have been times when I have gone fishing. Usually just to keep the other person company. A good friend of mine is an excellent fisherman and will always barbeque some Tommy Ruffs when Tutu and I go to his place for a meal. Tommy Ruffs you ask? They are like a herring or sardine and having there own oil, lightly crumbed and sautéed on a BBQ plate with a nice white wine or beer they are beautiful.

Now I like eating fish but only when someone else has caught it and did all the cleaning etc., so I can then whip up a nice meal of flathead or Atlantic Salmon. I suppose that crustaceans and mollusc’s don’t count in fishing stories but give me a feed of prawns, crab, lobster, oysters and mussels any day.

Probably my main reason for disliking fishing is a general lack of success. I remember one occasion when my boys where very little I went fishing with my brother in law and his father both of whom where very good fishermen. We hopped in a boat and fished off Crescent Head on the north coast of NSW. Flathead and Squire galore, this was heaven even though I met Errol down the back of the boat. Errol? He’s the bloke you meet when you suffer a wave imbalance of the middle ear that forces you to release the contents of your stomach overboard, you know Eeerrrrroooolll!

Where’s Hung?

The only other success I’ve had is when I was down on my luck and was unable to work due to the Black Dog, that plagues me still to this day, a mate of mine and I would fish in the Port River off Torrens Island and I caught the largest Bream ever seen. Truly a local hero and admired for my feat by the gathering crowd to witness this event. When I put the poor creature back in the water well lets say the throng was in quite some disbelief however I couldn’t do the killing and cleaning bit so back it went.

So that’s my fishing life except for this one tale that I must tell. Tutu told me one day that on all of her fishing adventures she had never actually caught a fish. Others in the group had but never her. Tutu went on the say that it was one of her unfilled ambitions in life to catch a fish so we loaded up the car with the lads, Seek and Destroy, and went to Tooperang. Tooperang you say? Yes Tooperang and the Tooperang Trout Farm.

Tooperang is about 1.5 hrs drive from the Adelaide CBD travelling past the McLaren Vale wine region and the lovely town of Mt Compass turning left up the hill to the farm. Now while there are several different fishing methods the only one we wanted was a go in the “Sure Thing” pond. I know there are lots of analogies at this point of the story however lets not go there.

The Sure Thing pond meant literally that. So you pay to get in and you are issued with some bait, a hand reel and a club. “What’s the club for?”  I asked stupidly. “It will all become evident” I was told. Anyway Tutu and the boys were already on their way, they knew. So you bait up and cast in and yes, you catch a fish. No one fails and yes you club the trout to death once you land it. Lots of people were catching trout and then barbequing them in park and rest area at the farm. All very tranquil and peaceful except for the farm dog, a collie, that had great pleasure trying to stalk ducks. Now the catch is, pardon the pun, that you have to buy the fish by weight. It cost me $27 for four rainbow trout when I had $30 left in the bank from my enormous earnings that was to last for the rest of the week. Looks like trout sandwiches!

When we got home I did the cleaning thing and cooked up the trout. Well they were bloody awful, muddy and not much texture. I probably didn’t cook it right as I had had no experience in cooking this type of fish. Even our cat wouldn’t eat it. I went and got a pizza on credit for tea and threw the lot out. However Tutu had got her wish and had caught a fish all by herself. We still laugh about that day and we drove past the farm recently on our way to the Murray mouth. It brought back all of those rich memories of family life, raising children and paying mortgages, all the good and the bad and how I would have it all back again tomorrow, if only I could.

12.0 A Briefing from GOD

14 Monday Feb 2011

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I have a meeting with Gordon about the mission. “So Gordon, more baked beans? And what about the ICCB (Intergalactic Cricket Control Board)?” I’m asking this from my previous encounter with the last experiment that I had unwittingly become part of.

“No beans this time Sandy and don’t worry about the ICCB since you knocked out both of their Death Balls you could say that they’re neutered.”

“So Gordon are you saying that the ICCB hasn’t got any balls?”

“Yes Sandy, the ICCB is ball – less however the Stumponians are well armed. Nothing the Helvi-tastic can’t handle and oh, yes, your farcical powers” says Gordon with that mischievous grin and a chuckle that freezes your blood.

“Reset the expiry date on the card and that’s it. Oh, and get the Holy Bail. Oh and get the cards back from those Haggin’s, oh and say gidday to Axelrod the Marauder. Hmm, I think that’s it. The navcom has been programmed, take the wavetable after Pluto” rambles Gordon.

“Who is Axelrod the Marauder?” I ask stupidly knowing it will be something horrible. I mean the name is a dead give away. Should I call myself Sandy the Nice Bloke, hmm, don’t think so.

“He’s the keeper of the Bails. You will have to fight him I suppose” Gordon answers rather nonchalantly. Gee great, thanks Gordon. This is a joke, a farce. Just as that thought pops into my head the glass of water on the table in front me smashes to smithereens, oh no, the farce.

“Yes Sandy you must use the farce, may the farce be with you”

“And with you”

“Go the farce has ended”

“Thanks be to Gordon”

*******************************************

I teleport aboard using my SPIT(Small Personal Interplanetary Teleporter) and meet up with the crew who are all in the local, The Bats Droppings, for a reunion drink. The navcom who we call Neville has come as his dog form but all the regulars are here. Michael the publican pours me a pint of Trotters. Al Foyle, the Garrison Commander is in deep discussion with Helvi, about killing Stumponians probably.

Dave the guitar droid is playing some Muddy Waters and George is betting on the dish lickers. Belinda grasps my arm “Strange being back in space Sandy, isn’t this exciting” Well, yes, no, maybe.

“Yes, exciting” I hear myself say. “Where’s this planet, Automaticus Terllericus?”

“Orbits a star called Aldebaran, only 65 light years away, shouldn’t take long” replies Belinda with the excitement rising in her voice. “And don’t worry, me and Helvi will deal with axle grease or what ever his name is. We are a bit of a team us two.” What’s this now, warrior droid plus warrior woman? Scary stuff.

Now let me tell you, space is big, I mean, it’s bigger than big, it’s huge. Isn’t it amazing, big and huge are such small words to describe such a big thing as space. Anyhoo the ships engine doesn’t have a known top speed. It just keeps accelerating till the navcom tells it to stop and so by the time I have finished writing this sentence I will be thousands of kilometres away from where I was when I started.

So the Stumponians, who are they? Belinda and I head to the Cruel Room to get briefed on who we are up against. Oh, the Cruel Room is a four dimensional multimedia centre where the walls and floor all go one colour, invisible. It makes you think you are sitting on the outside of the ship, the S.S Julian II, or the Jules for short.

Stumponians love balls we are told. Throughout their year they have Red Balls that last for five days and White Balls that just go for a day. And there’s a rumour going round that they are going to have a new ball that just lasts three hours or so, I mean can you believe that? I can’t and I’m the author. Imagine anything that goes for five days, boring.

There’s singing, dancing, classical music, fine food and wine and art displays. Apart from that they are highly militarised and love fighting. Strange hey. They protect The Stumps that holds the Holy Bail which belongs to Gordon.

“Look Belinda, there’s just one thing I’d like to know” I ask rather meekly.

“What’s that Sandy?”

“Well, you know in the earlier part of this story I found out that you weren’t my sister, thank Gordon, but the evil Lord Deaf Vision was my father. So am I going to find out that I’m related to a Stumponian or what, I mean my nerves are killing me?”

“Yes Sandy” Belinda informs “Alexrod is your brother who in a previous life went by the name, David”

“Oh zark, me fight David, never! He’ll kill me”