Tag Archives: humour

Pig’s Arms Psephologist Predicts US Election Outcome

10 Friday Feb 2012

Posted by in Emmjay, Politics in the Pig's Arms

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Mitt Neutridge and one of his wives - formerly married to the Joker

The Pig’s Arms political correspondent and serifologist, Anthony Puce has been studying the US presidential pre-elections and the curious Republican dog and pony show. 

Here’s his report.

Much like everyone on ABC News 24 – who seem so hard-up to find 24 hours worth of news to report, many Pig’s Arms patrons have expressed something rather close to complete indifference to the US presidentials – and who can blame them.  No matter what the outcome, it’ll be some redneck semi-“religious” super wealthy dude with a trophy wife and good teeth versus the first black president to inherit a giant hole in the financial universe and an unwinnable war from a previous Republican redneck semi-“religious” super wealthy dude with good teeth and an IQ approximating his shoe size.

This time, American voters (both of them) have a serious challenge in working out which candidate has the stupidest, most ridiculous name.  We have an amphibian and a piece of baseball equipment for starters.  Can you imagine Queen Elizabeth addressing a leader of the western world as Mr Newt or Mister Mitt ?  For Pete’s sake !

The big unknown about the US presidential election is whether six or maybe ten people might bother voting.  So the result is usually a totally random outcome.

So it beggars belief that this crop of clean-shavens spend tens of millions of dollars to embarrass each other and themselves in front of a couple of hundred million TV viewers and the news of the world.  Forget the war in Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Stanistan, or wherever – Newt Bigrich has six wives and still scored with a political volunteer from Detroit in 1969 !  Woooh-hoo !

Does anybody remember the hooting tootin shootin and bespectacled wonder who had a shot at the Deputy’s job last time ?  The western world would have only been a heartbeat away from being run by a moose-botherer – and since the Republican nominee was about 170 years old, the last heartbeat was a fair bet at the time.

There was a lot of hatred towards the outgoing president last time – for badly mismanaged disasters – including the first global sub-prime loan failure driven meltdown, Hurricane Katrina, most of the west coast and Yellowstone National Park burning to the ground, Iraq, Enron……. the list is endless.  This time we see something approaching despair and disappointment towards the incumbent for failing to engineer the much-needed reform of minor things like universal health care, sustainable education, replacement of infrastructure, environmental degradation – anybody remember a bit of an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico ?) , détente with China, nuclear proliferation and climate change.

Mind you, Obama had a balance of power issue the envy of lesser mortals like our own PM.

Failure to deliver on promises is already a cornerstone of electorability in both parties.  And so too is the wildly rational behaviour of gun-totin white trailer trash with two working teeth, massively obese carcasses, pick-up trucks on perpetual hire purchase and no visible means of support beyond selling moonshine hooch and bathtub speed.  These people clearly fear communist liberty-robbing initiatives like affordable health care and quality education far more than they fear their offspring coming back from Afghanistan in body bags.  And Rupert’s Fox-driven nonsense – like Obama’s middle name being a sure sign that he’s actually a member of Al Qaida plays well with the congenitally hyper-prejudiced so that’s a really good reason for voting for Root Nitridge.  Go figure.

So here’s our prediction:  Obama by a short half head over Mitt Neuteridge, allowing for a new technology stuff-up that will make unreadable chads, chedds, chits or whatever look plausible.

Medical Talk

29 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by in Uncategorized

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"Nurse, can I have a bedpan?" By Warrigal

 

Given the latest brouhaha about diagnosing syndromes and medical terminology I thought I would give you some insight into how we talk to each other at work about patients.

Disclaimer: Any one that can identify or relate to any of the following has both feet firmly planted on the ground and is a realist.

“Hey, RN (Registered Nurse), the PIA(Pain in the Arse) in Room 2 has just had a DNM (Deep and Meaningful) with the PCW (Personal Care Worker) about the TIA (Trans Ischaemic Attack) he had that led to a CVA (Cerebral Vascular Accident)” says the EN (Enrolled Nurse).

“What does the PRICK (Slang for male genitalia) want?” quips the RN.

“He wants a PRN (medication given as necessary) SC(Sub Cutaneous), IM(Intra Muscular), IV(Intra Venous) or O(Oral) pain killer preferably an S8(Schedule 8 of the Poisons Schedule) or S4(Schedule 4 of the Poisons Schedule) but definitely not PR(Per Rectum)” retorts the EN.

“FUCK(Slang for fornication)”says the RN, thinking SHIT(Slang for faeces) I’ll have to do some paper work now. “How about two saccharine(PLACEBO) and a cup of coffee?” parries the RN.

“Nah. I mean the (L)(Left) BKA(Below Knee Amputation) was only 4/7(4 days ago) ago” states the EN.

SHIT, FUCK, PISS(slang for urine)(Therefore faeces, fornication, urine), I’ll really have to some paper work now. “When did he have his last BO(Bowels Open), maybe he just needs C&S(Coloxyl with Senna, a well know aperient) or a PR Microlax(A commercially available enema)?”. Sticking your gloved finger up someone’s bottom is far better than doing any paper work.  “Take a UA(Urine Analysis) from his IDC(In Dwelling Catheter) for an MSSU(Mid Stream Specimen of Urine) and send it to path(pathology). Put him on NBM(Nil By Mouth) and flush his PEG(Percutaneous Endoscopic Gastrostomy) with 100mls of H2O(Water). Initiate a TS(Treatment Sheet) for his ST(Skin Tear) for his (R)(Right) Shin(Shin).” This will bluff them thinks the RN.

“What will that do for his pain?” asks the EN.

“Look, I am the RN, you are the EN, the pecking order is I tell you what to do” asserts the RN but yes it will do SFA(Sweet Fuck All) for his pain but it may take his mind off it. “Is he a BSP(Believer in Sky Pixies)?” proffers the RN hoping another red herring will prevent having to do paper work.

“Nah, look he’s an NFR(Not For Resuscitation) but it says in his notes that he is a Jedi” replies the EN.

Jesus H. Christ, thinks the RN, a loon(an abbreviation of lunatic)(Loon – anyone that does not agree with the RN). “Ok, I’ll ring the MO(Medical Officer) but lets give him some haloperidol(a really nasty drug that sedates you), midazolam (a really nasty drug that makes you forget) and some morphine(a really nasty drug that relieves pain by making you sleep and dream. Morphine is more addictive than air). Bloody hell, thinks the RN, this job would be great if it wasn’t for the patients.

 Keywords: Nursing, terminology, palliative care, humor, humour

 

Foodge 28 – A Hot Foodge Sunday

26 Monday Dec 2011

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

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Punting - for folks with just a couple of Oxford scholars

Story by Big Magnum

Merv had been pacing the floor behind the bar all morning. Two problems, one was the bloody Christmas decorations. He’d finally found two, foot high, tinsel trees and a red and green banner with the words ‘Merry Christmas’ emblazoned across it, then spent ten minutes sticking the damned thing up. Problem two was Granny keeping a shotgun in the hotel, so had decided that it would be best to get rid of it. The Pleece had an armistice for illegal, or unregistered, weapons, but that was now over. The miserly part of him knew that the Purdy was worth a few Oxford Scholars, so, rather than simply letting the piece go, Merv had started to think about ways to get rid of the gun and, get some easy readies. His ruminations were disturbed, not so much by a presence, but more by an aroma, Foodge had just staggered in, resplendent in his new track-suit and running shoes.

“Jeez, Foodge, it’s thirty five degrees out there, yer gunna die of heat exhaustion!” Exclaimed Merv, as he hefted another tray of glasses into the rack under the bar.

“Well, Merv, as you are fully aware, I missed our morning’s training session so I’m trying to make it up.” Foodge had been on surveillance all night, only managing to take a couple of murky photos of a man behind the wheel of the senator’s car. Later, the man in question would prove to be the hotel valet who was moving the car to the forecourt. “Anyway, thought I could procure some rehydration therapy here.” Foodge had an enthusiastic gleam in his eye.”

“Too right you can, Foodge, here’s a glass a water, on the house.” Merv pushed a glass canoe of cold water across the bar. “I’m not sellin’ you beer in that state!”

Foodge reluctantly took the glass, knowing that Merv was probably right. “Well then, Merv, what’s on the luncheon menu today?”

“Same as it’s bin for thirty three years, but, for you, Granny will knock up a salad.” Granny had been ‘knocking up’ a salad for Foodge for the last eight weeks, which, with reduced alcohol intake, and some training, had brought about a quantum improvement in his overall health. “While yer waitin’, yer can give me a hand.”

“Oh, um…er” Foodge, in spite of his improved fitness, was still averse to any kind of physical labour.

Merv motioned, with his index finger, for Foodge to lean in closer. “What do you know about guns?”

Foodge breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry, don’t do shooters.” He’d heard Phillip Marlow say this in a film.

“No, not to shoot someone, I’ve got to get rid of Granny’s Purdy, so, thought I might try and sell it.”

Foodge’s pupils dilated. “Did you say a Purdy?? What sort of condition?”

“Sixty years old, and as good as the day it was made.”

“Mmm, let’s see.” Foodge had whipped out his iPhone, and started pushing keys. “Here you are.” He held up the device for Merv to examine. “Nineteen Thirty One model, under and over, sold at auction in the states for thirty one big ones.”

Purdy

Merv went weak at the knees, grabbing the bar to steady himself. “I thought we’d get a few hundred bucks for it, not thousands.”

“Yes, indeed, what you need to find is a high end gun dealer who’s willing to give you a fair price. The other thing you should do is do a Google search and find out what prices people are prepared to pay.”

Merv thought that Foodge was talking gobbly gook with the google business, so nodded and smiled. “Well, thanks Foodge, you’ve earned your keep today.”

“No worries, any Googling needs, I’m your man!” This wasn’t strictly true, as it had taken Emmjay the best part of two weeks to teach Foodge how to use the iPhone. Foodge was hoping that this would be another traditional Christmas spent sucking down Trotter’s Ale, imbibing wedges and regaling the assembled piglets with tales of derring-do, only to wake up on the floor of the Gent’s on Boxing Day. He was surprised to see the place filling up. Gerard and the Mysterious ‘H’ were the first in (he hadn’t seen young Viv pop in through the kitchen to start on the evening meal), followed by Emmjay and his First Mate, both dressed like Bogart and Bacall on a date.

A small band, composed of O’Hoo on the bass, Asty on the guitar, Dr Mick on the euphonium and DCI Rouge playing percussion, had started playing some new fangled pop music. ‘Steely Dan’, or some such thing. Sandshoe and Lehan Ramsay had started to dance, and were quickly joined by Atomou and his missus. The music was suddenly drowned out by the deep throated roar of un-silenced Charlies. Algy’s group had arrived! The party was in full swing, the music occasionally stopping for an oration by J.G Cole, Atomou and even O’Hoo.

Foodge was gob-smacked. It looked like becoming the family Christmas that he’d missed for so many years. “Merv, I think it’s time I shouted the bar, Trotter’s Ale all round!” Merv couldn’t help but notice a film of tears in Foodge’s eyes, but was polite enough to ignore it and started pouring.

“Yes, Foodge, Merry Christmas to us all”

The Big O Visits Australia – O-mania Rocks Canberra

16 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Emmjay

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A Huge wave of excitement washed over the unwashed press gallery. The Big O is in town !

Only the Lonely, Dum Dum Dum Dum-dy doo-wha.

The Pig’s Arms rock critic – with a nose for news – Glen A 20, rang in today with the exciting news that the Big O is in town, scorching rumours that he hasn’t been amongst the quick for years.

Princess PowerFox – the president of Australia is eagerly awaiting her next instructions – after setting up a new US base in Darwin (and raising the hopes of all those US Marines who have grown tired of molesting the women of Okinawa), we look set to be told to export Uranus to Indira – but our correspondent is having a bet that there is no way Pakistan is getting a load because, you know, they’re dodgy and anyway they fix cricket games and that’s not cricket.

Fixing games IS cricket, but getting caught is more like getting caught doing cricket commentary and jumping out of hotel windows because you got very agitated and all those bastards mumbling “kiddie fiddler” can get well and truly sledged up deep middle off.

Let’s hope the PowerFox has more luck with setting up a base for the US Marines than she has had getting up a processing centre for asylum seekers.

Where was I….. oh yes the much delayed and much anticipated drop-by of the Fuhrer of the Free World.   One can only imagine that having stitched up the oil middle east for democracy, the irony sands of the Pilbara and the gassy North West shelf will be the next to be liberated by the sons of Columbus.

From the Halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli

From the antarctic up to Alice,

We’ll be free, we’ll be free, we’ll be free.

Indian Call Centres – Fighting Fire with Fire

11 Tuesday Oct 2011

Posted by in Emmjay

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Simulated Emm-tel Call Centre

The other day I made the mistake of trying to work from my home office.  The phone rang.  It wasn’t my mobile.  It was that piece of Bakelite artistry up the end with the Neolithic dust and the desiccated cockroach carapaces.

I answered it.  Pause.

“Hello – can I speak with the home owner”
“She’s out”
“Who am I speaking with ?”
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Darren”
“Hello Darren – who are you with ?”
“I’m calling about your mobile plan”
“Why are you calling me on the landline?”
“Is this your mobile number xxx-xxx-xxxx?”
“Might be – what interest is it of yours?”
“I’m calling to offer you a better plan?”
“Why don’t you just give me the better plan?”
“…. something garbled…….. Telstra…….”
“Where are you calling from, Darren ?”
“ I am calling from the Telstra call centre”
“Where?”
“The (somewhere in India) Telstra Call Centre”
“I thought so”
“I am able to offer you an improved plan for your mobile”
“I sincerely doubt that, Darren”
“Do you want to hear about the plan ?”
“No, I was trying to earn a quid to pay my phone bill”
“OK, thank you for your time”
“No, the pleasure was all mine”

It seems that two of the most frustrating timewasters in modern life are accepting rubbish marketing calls – and the other side of the coin – complaining to Telcos when something goes awry.

But I chanced to let the two pains in the arse stew awhile together and in the manner of the old aphorism that if it doesn’t kill you it will make you stronger – or that a tiny amount of some poisons are actually useful, and I think I have come up with one of the great inventions of the 21st century.

I plan to set up my own call centre in some place that’s cheaper than India, – let’s say Chad- but which costs a shitload of money to call from anywhere, but especially from India – maybe even Tierra del Fuego) – and I rent a slice of it out to you.  Well, I rent out a very special service that I can offer you for a very reasonable price.

Here’s how it works:

When a call centre calls your phone, the service switches the call to my call centre where it is answered on your behalf.

“Hello, this is Gez and Helvi’s service, how may you help us?”
“Is this Hung One On’s mobile number XXX XXX XXXX?”
“No, this is Gez and Helvi’s service, how may you help us?”
“Can I speak with Warrigal?”
“No, he’s busy at present”
“When will he be available?”
“Who, Hung ?”
“No, Gez or Helvi”
“I thought you wanted to speak with Warrigal”
“You said that Warrigal is unavailable”
“I could find out if Neville Cole is available”
“Is this his number?”
“No, perhaps you would like to speak with Voice or Vivienne”
“Are they there?”
“No, this is Gez and Helvi’s service – how may you help us ? – I might be able to put Big M or Jayell on”

Of course we would get a cut from TeleChad or TeledelFuego – and we would pay you a dividend for every call that went over half an hour.

But it gets better.

Suppose you need to complain to Telstra about your ADSL line dropping out.  Only a mad person would want to call Telstra directly – otherwise you get to spend an eternity in hand-offs amongst every call centre in the western and eastern worlds.  And I for one love the good people of the Philippines, but their telephones, well, ………

So here’s how my outgoing call service  helps you.

You write your complaint on a crisp $10 note and send it to Emm-tel, briefly detailing your issue / problem / complaint.

We ignore the words and bank the $10.  Then our Chad operator calls up Telstra and complains that your service is not working and that you want it terminated immediately.  We say words like Telecommunications Ombudsman.

We demand a full refund of all monies you have paid for the service and say that we will be phoning Ellen Jones – using our neighbour Sandshoe’s phone.

They offer a full refund and a superior plan.  We say that we will consider their offer after we have had a chat with Optus.  They offer an even better improved plan.  We say that we will consider it.

They say that you can have x amounts of free stuff.  We say we will get back to them.

We call Sandshoe and she asks you whether the deal is a goer or not.
It’s your call.
Nobody recontacts the Emm-tel Chad.
They go ahead anyway.

Note, we suggest (but not strongly) that you only use this service if you have a genuine complaint – otherwise that wouldn’t be ethical, would it ?

Stay tuned we plan to offer a premium service where we call Microsoft for you.

Pig’s Psalm 20 – On Saturday Arvo They Rested

30 Friday Sep 2011

Posted by in Emmjay, Pig Psalms

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Blessed be the tireless workers, Our Merv,
For they shall inherit the Long Weekend
At the end of the footy season and
Before the wasteland before the Cricket
And in the morning, it being sunny,  the beach will beckon

But not the beach where the post-season footy tour goes.
Especially the losing teams.
Our Merv, grant everyone their wish for a great season.
Deny only the massed highway patrol their double demerit points.

And the virtuous supporters and the valiant players will walk with thee
Out of the change-room and into the sunny upland of the Sportsman’s Bar.
And restesth there for evermore, with bent elbow and laconic smiles.

Goat Man

26 Monday Sep 2011

Posted by in Neville Cole

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"My goat is very alluring", says Neville, just before .....

Story by Neville Cole

I am Goat Man

As I write this it is 4am. I am brewing some coffee. The sun won’t be up for hours; but I am.

I have just woken from a lucid dream. I was convinced at first I was not asleep but merely dozing. The dream started when I noticed my bedroom light flash on briefly. That seemed strange but I was too tired to open my eyes fully and see what was going on. Then I sensed a woman crawling into bed behind me. Naturally I wanted to turn and see who this mysterious woman was but I could not open my eyes or move. I suddenly became aware I was dreaming but I was convinced that the woman was still behind me. I told myself to wake up. I had to repeat the command a few times but eventually I did open my eyes and roll over to the sudden realization that I do, in fact, live alone and that I was, in reality, just having a weird dream.

I think I know why this dream happened. Call it a perfect mental storm.

For one, I am still very jet-lagged from a recent flight back from Australia. I have made that flight more than 20 times but for some reason this time I have struggled mightily to get back to my own time zone. I have been up each morning by 4 since I got back. I have been napping at sunset for a few hours and for two nights in a row I have been put right to sleep by Bill Maher. Now, I don’t agree with a lot of what Bill says, but he almost always keeps me engaged and entertained.

Apart from this obvious sleep deprivation, I am currently working through a recurring pattern of obsessive self-doubt and regret that is part and parcel of my bi-annual whirlwind tours of my homeland. Add to my fear and loathing the fact that I am currently reading Jon Ronson’s The Men Who Stare at Goats and it is pretty easy to see what is going on.

Ronson’s book is barely recognizable as the source of the enjoyable motion picture romp of the same name featuring among others Ewan McGregor, Jeff Bridges, George Clooney, and Kevin Spacey. At the beginning of that movie is the warning that “more of this is true than you would believe;” but falling into this brief, rabbit hole tale is mind-bending experience of the tallest order. The Men Who Stare at Goats is like something concocted by Hunter S. Thompson for Rolling Stone. In just over 250 pages, Ronson manages to tie the spoon bending skills of Uri Geller; the Heaven’s Gate cult suicides; the atrocities at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay, and the popular US military slogan “Be All That You Can Be” back to the new age ideas of one Vietnam-vet-turned-hippie.

Ronson sets up his tale by asking his reader to accept one of four possible scenarios:

1. It just never happened.

2. A couple of crazy renegades in the higher levels of the U.S. Intelligence community acted alone to put these events in motion.

3. U.S Intelligence is the repository of incredible secrets, which are kept from us for our own good. Or…

4. The U.S. Intelligence community was, back then, essentially nuts through and through.

As each page turns these four scenarios shift about in your brain (or just maybe they actually shift your brain about in your head). “No, that didn’t happen. Oh, that makes sense. Oh my god! Why did I never think of that before!”

The title of the book refers specifically to some secret experiments reported to have occurred at the military installation at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Apparently, a select group of soldiers were trained to kill goats just by staring at them. It’s not clear how many goats, if any, actually died; but the program had enough success that a group of psychic soldier (PsyOps) known as the Earth First Battalion was created. The book suggests this group has been reborn today within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security to help fight the War on Terror.

In the end, it’s not the truth that matters; as whichever scenario you finally accept, the story is still by turns entertaining and harrowing but always thought-provoking. All of which adds up to exactly the wrong kind of book for a highly fatigued and self-doubting individual to read into the early hours, especially on a work night.

Still, as Robert Plant once famously sang: “Ooh, it makes me wonder. Ooh, it makes me wonder.”

You see, I have, for a good part of the last two decades, turned my back on metaphysics and anything even remotely new age. That’s not to say I haven’t had my moments of elevated thought; but, for the most part, I have stayed grounded (and mostly satisfied I might add) in the here and now.

I was raised in the distinctly new age, some say cultish, religion known as Christian Science. Yeah, that’s right, the ones who don’t believe in doctors. As my faith faded, I dabbled, as many ex-CSers do, in Eastern thought, Tao, Zen and Buddhism in particular; but finally, in my early thirties, I resolved to accept that life was indeed a cabaret and decided that I would be a lot happier if I just learned to enjoy the cabaret.

I have been pretty happy and pretty lucky and remarkably healthy ever since. I haven’t wasted much time wondering what it’s all about. I’ve been resigned to fate. I’ve described myself from time to time as a secular humanist, a cynical optimist and an hopeful pessimist. I’ve tried to do my share of good things mostly because it feels good to do so. I’ve noted that, for the most part, when I make the effort to do something that I don’t have to do – especially something creative – well, somehow it seems to work out that I gain something from that effort. I’ve also seen that things I’ve tried to hide or lied about eventually get uncovered. I don’t call this karma. To me, it’s just the way things work.

The only problem is, when you leave things mostly to fate for too long, you tend to feel a little bit out of control and I’ve been growing increasingly tired of that feeling. As a result, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time trying to figure out how to get a little bit more proactive with my existence. I’m tired of doing OK. It would be really nice to excel for a while. Maybe I have fallen down the rabbit hole myself a bit this morning but I have a very real sense that somehow things are about to fall into place.

Yesterday, on a whim, I sent in a headshot and resume to a casting agency and asked them to arrange an audition for an upcoming TV commercial. I could really use the extra cash right now. I also have a long term plan. I would like to return to acting before I am forced to retire and see if I can finally realize my dream of getting a decent role in one really good movie. I am interested to see if I can influence my future in some small way right here, right now. Can I project myself to that audition? Am I able to influence the casting agency from a completely blind call and get myself in front of the director? If I do get the audition, how do I overturn past failures and finally find some success? After all, I gave up acting all those years ago because I was useless at auditions.

But now I am getting ahead of myself. If I’ve learned anything from The Men Who Stare at Goats is that metaphysical projection takes intense focus. I need to start with some baby steps. I can’t kill a goat right out of the box. Let’s see if I can get that audition first. Then I’ll take things from there.

After all, if I can control my dreams, why shouldn’t I be able to control my reality? Isn’t it better to be the man staring at the goat than the goat?

Father O’Way in Sri Lanka

08 Thursday Sep 2011

Posted by in Mark

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Licky licky goo goo

 

Hi, look Father O’Way here. I’m really miffed. The Bish, you know Bishop Bishop of the St Generic Brand Church of Inner Western Cyberia has got the audacity to ring me in the Caribbean on my holidays with the beautiful Belinda to do a job.

 Anyhoo, enough whingeing. I have to go and find out what is going on behind the scenes in the Australian cricket team. Apparently the selectors have been dumped and everyone hates Greg Crapell, I mean, is this the bleeding obvious or what.

So I fly to Sri Lanka, you know the home of the paradise island, tea, coconuts and rocket launchers. Geez, thanks Bish.

Using some suspicious white powder, some green looking dried vegetable and gold bars I work my way into the inner sanctum of Australian cricket, the bar.

As usual all of the players have finished their lines, cocaine usually and are chatting around the bar.

“Did you all hear old chaps that Greg Crapell will be staying on for the tour?” I asked the group of players.

Ah f#@k, s@#t, p@#s, Geez a@#s were some of the more notable replies.

“What do think Greg can add to the team?” Geeps, who are my script writers, I’ll get killed for this.

F@#k all, he’s absolutely s#@t from a alpaca, for f@#k sake burn him at the stake and he doesn’t even eat meat, eeeewwww, were some of the more common answers.

“You have won the first test and would be confident going into the next match. I see that a former groundsman has been capped and did well, what are your thoughts on this?” Man, I’m shitting my self asking this one, I mean these guys are on coke, pissed, rich, ego centric, fit, aggressive, nasty, win at all costs sort of dudes.

F@#king good on ‘im mate, geez them wops are p@#s weak, can’t beat a f@#king groundsman, a@#s lickers mate, again were some of the more notable comments.

“Do you think Greg  Crapell is the sort of guy that attracts lots of # symbols and @ symbols?” I venture rather nervously. This crowd is getting ugly.

F@#king oath, you bet you a@#e and F@#k you uncle, again were more of the notable replies.

Father O’Way here. Signing out, in his lounge room, Nowhere, I hope….

Pig’s Psalm 18 The Pub is My Shelter

24 Wednesday Aug 2011

Posted by in Pig Psalms

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I love you, our pink slice of heaven.

I’m loving you all through and through.

From your chromium-legged laminex tables

To the Mondrian Brothers’  tiled loo.

I love your pub ceiling yellow

And the tiles that bedeck all your walls

The nourishing pub food sustains me

And the beer puts fat hairs on my balls

I love all the patrons who attend thee

I’m loving our dear Mervyn too

Say hello to the beautiful Janet

Say hello to the Hell’s Angles crew.

And the bands that rock all our socks off

In the Nathan Rees Memorial Ballroom upstairs

I’m fond of the Hedge in the carpark

And the deals done when nobody cares.

I like all the Cooks River Fishies

And most of the Sea Scouts, don’t you ?

And the always-rigged Friday raffle meat tray

Lady bowlers who hang out there too.

Let’s give thanks for our

Wonderful Pig’s Arms

And Bless all who go for the view

The writers and painters and poets

The clowns and philosophers too.

So we can all come and raise up our glasses

Drink a toast to the great Trotter’s Ale

Drink a toast to the friendliest piglets

Drink a toast to the curl in the tail.

 

FOW – Climate change for Dummies

22 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by in Mark

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Hi. Father O’Way(FOW) here. You know me now as Sandy, affectionately I’m sure. Anyhoo I have been asked to interview Lourdes Shitstirfer Muckrake(LSM). As you know there has been a lot of debate going on over at The Drum about climate change so I’m interviewing a leading critic against climate change. Here’s a transcript.

 

FOW: So, Lourdes Shitstirfer you oppose climate change and even say that the planet is cooling?

LSM: Please, call me Shit. Most people that know me refer to me by that name.

FOW: Okay, Shit, you claim that the planet is cooling?

LSM: Yes, from one year to another the temperature changed, big deal, I mean who gives a fig. If you look at 2000 to 2010 the temperature went down.

FOW: However the temperature from 1880 to now has gone up, how do you explain that?

LSM: That’s crap.

FOW: Sorry, I thought you said it was Shit.

LSM: Yes, it’s Shit but that’s crap.

FOW: Crap?

LSM: Yes, shit.

FOW: Hmm, how about the oceans are acidifying?

LSM: Hey, nothing wrong with a bit of acid man, I mean, my school days and that, wow.

FOW: What about the rising coastline?

LSM: Yeah, man, surf’s up in the western suburbs, whoa!

FOW: How about renewable energy?

LSM: If it’s renewable and that energy can be renewed then I think that renewable energy is very renewable and therefore renewable.

FOW: That’s crap?

LSM: No, Shit.

FOW: You actually didn’t say anything

LSM: No shit.

 

Sandy O’Way signing out, In His House, Nowhere.