Tag Archives: Mark

Foodge Escapes from Buntings

03 Thursday Jun 2021

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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You know, if they told me I was going to appear so much I would have charged more…

Foodge Escapes from Buntings

Written by Mark

Foodge was sitting in the foyer of the court house rolling a durry, well with tobacco and some other funny green stuff. O’Hoo was busy talking to some official over at the counter. Foodge was in deep thought mode, why am I here, why was I born, what is my first name and you know all those things that race through you mind in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.

“O’Hoo, hoo were you talking two” speaking phonetically so O’Hoo wouldn’t understand, asks Foodge as he deeply inhales on his durry.

“Clark, I think his name was, no Clark Cell, a standard primary cell producing 1.4328 volts at 15 degrees C which consists of a mercury cathode and a zinc amalgam anode both dipping into a saturated solution of zinc sulphate” says O’Hoo.

Oh fuck off thinks Foodge. Never ask a simpleton a question that you don’t know the answer too. “Anyway pass us the scotch”. Foodge is discombobulated now(thanks Gerard, my spell checker doesn’t know it still, after all this time).

Come here lad, have a whiskey…

“Where’s the press throng?” asks Foodge as he inhales deeply on his durry. Oh yes, South Sea Islands Scotch sure does taste good in the morning.

O’Hoo runs out of the foyer onto the front steps of the court house and spy’s a group of school kids passing by on an excursion or just running away from their teachers. O’Hoo approaches them and says “Look kids, I understand that this is a kid friendly web page but can you pretend to be from the media, you know asking questions, pointing microphones and taking pictures when my mate come out from the court?”

“Um, yeah, um, yeah, okay mate! Wot’s in it for us?” says a little smart arse in the front row.

“Sausage sizzle, with fried onions and tomato sauce, all round at Buntings, oh on white bread, nothing healthy” blurts O’Hoo relating to the inner psyche of the modern generation.

“Yep, wheeze in” says the smart arse.

Foodge stumbles out of the court to face the “media throng”.

“Mr Foodge, what have you got to say about the court case?” says the smart arse kid who is getting way too much media attention.

“Well” replies Foodge “ I can’t say anything while the case is in front of the court”

“Well that’s only literally, not metaphorically”. The smart arse kid is really stating to grate and you can fucking well spell that how you want to and I’m the author.

“No more comments from me except to say the chicken schnitzel on Monday night with mushroom gravy is to die for.”

Hmm, Tastes like chicken…

O’Hoo pulls up in the Zephyr. “You drive Foodge. We are being followed. I’ve read the script”

“But I’m pissed and stoned”

“Doesn’t matter we’re fictional and anyway Gordon will get us off any charges.”

Foodge accerlates the Zephyr down the boulevard. O’Hoo jumps into the back seat and smashes out the back window.

“Why did you do that for? Emmjay will be really pissed that we went over budget.”

“I’ll get a better shot this way. Keep speeding, we are being followed by the FBI, the CIA, ASIO and worst of all the CWA” cried O’Hoo as he lets fly a few salvo’s out of the recently renovated rear window.

Foodge dodges and swerves through the back streets of Inner Cyberia as O’Hoo fires indiscriminately out the back window, trying to take care to hit any one at any time.

The FBI and ASIO cars go down when the CIA call O’Hoo on a two way radio that he didn’t know he was carrying up until now.

“Wheeze hungry” says the CIA goon.

Stop, I’m from the CIA, no the CIB, no the CIC, no the CID…

“Take the next left and into the McJacks drive through” says O’Hoo thinking he should have added and extra T and said thought. So many questions so little time.

Everyone is going through the drive through, try saying that after a few drinks but the CWA ladies want a Fillet-O-Fish so wheeze is all held up. Wears the pleece when yous want them. Don’t you just love phonetics.

The race continues but O’Hoo is a bit too sharp for his opposition and quickly takes out the CIA car as they munch on their McJacks. The CWA are a different story. O’Hoo fires another round of high powered tracer bullets into their car from loaded magazines thanks to granny, an eternal pacifist. Don’t you love her. Peace man.

O’Hoo and Foodge drive into the car park at the Pigs Arms with the Zephyr looking in bad shape with bullet holes and smashed windows, however Foodge won’t budge until he has finished his Big McWhopper, fries and slushie. “Let’s get the fuck out of here” screams O’Hoo as he finishes his chicken burger and Coke drink.

Apparently it’s a restaurant

Foodge and O’Hoo run into the bar avoiding eye contact with Emmjay. Big M and Algernon cock there weapons and the three sisters, Yvonne, Barbara and Shoe just keep studying the form guide, totally disinterested in the shenanigans. The CWA drive straight through the front doors and get out of their car opening fire with their weapons. Big M, Algernon and O’Hoo return fire and bullets are flying everywhere.

Meanwhile back in the kitchen granny is really peeved. Emmjay walks through the fire fight into the kitchen and says to granny “Lets have a bake off so we can stop this madness.”

Granny walks into the bar and yells “Stop. Stop now.” Funnily enough everyone stops. “Lets have a scone bake off to sort this out.”

All the cooks head out to the kitchen and start cooking. Scones, cream and jam are served to everyone. Hmm, all taste great. Granny says “Well, what was this agro all about?”

“Dunno” says the lady from the CWA.

“Baby, what baby” cries Foodge.

Mrs O’Way is Aggro

30 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by in Mark

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

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

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

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

“So fuck you” says Mrs O’Way.

The rest is real or maybe…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did that come from Belinda?”

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

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

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

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

GOD rescues the Pigs Arms

30 Monday Nov 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

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Gordon comes to the rescue…

Written by Big M

It had been a busy morning, what with the Night Nurses enjoying their first post lock down get together. It all went swimmingly until Big M knocked over a bottle of Shiraz, which managed to contaminate everybody’s uniforms. He had no excuse for the sudden lack of balance; he was only five pints in. Mark managed to steer him towards the door. “It’s orright, I’m ketchin’ the 3801” Big M slurred.

“That’s right, buddy, just wait for that big steam engine to pull up, then you’ll be on yer way.” Mark soothed as he dumped Big M onto the bus stop seat.

Foodge had been at the coffee machine all morning. He was desperate for a piss, I mean, micturition, so turned to ask Merv or Mervette to man the coffees. He suddenly realised he was alone, with a group of thirsty concreters bearing down on the bar. “Manne, Granny, O’Hoo, anybody??”

“O’Hoo popped his head around the corner. “What’s all of the yelling about?”

“Mate, I’ve been abandoned with a phalanx of thirsty tradesmen bearing down on me.”

“Well, you know that I can’t pull a pint!” O’Hoo tried to stand his ground but the concreters had made it to the bar. “Oh, fuck.” O’Hoo started pulling Trotters Best, all half beer and half foam.

A fresh beer Merv and make it snappy as a crocodile sandwich!

“We aint payin’ for this shit.”

“All on the house.” Mumbled O’Hoo.

Thankfully Granny arrived on the scene. “What in the name of Gordon O’Donnell are you doing?”

“Tryin’ to help.” Muttered O’Hoo as he passed another half arsed pint across the bar.

Granny slipped behind the bar to expertly pour a couple of pints. “Okay youz blokes, happy hour is over so there’s no more free piss.” She quickly checked each tap. “O’Hoo, IPA and Stout need to be replaced, oh, and by the way, thanks for stepping in.”

O’Hoo raced to the cellar, where he was most at home. Foodge tugged on Granny’s sleave. “I’m desperate for a wee wee.”

“Hold onto yer water works for a minute. Where the bloody hell is that barmaid I’m payin’”

“Well, um, you can probably hear her.” Foodge was either going to have to hold onto his knob or micturated in the sluice.”

From the back of the pub. “Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

Granny located the source of the noise and tore open the storeroom door. She was horrified by the sight of a shaved, four legged, gorilla. She suddenly realised it was Merv and Mervette butt naked enjoying a conjugal visit. She was so angry she could barely speak. “Pull yer fuckin’ pants up and get outta my sight!”

Granny wandered back to the bar. “Are you still desperate for a Jimmy Riddle, Darling?” The sight of her lover had calmed her somewhat.

“Not now.” Foodge answered guiltily.

“Oh, Gordon O’Donnell help me.” Pleaded Granny.

“What can I do, dear?” Gordon appeared in the doorway of the Gents, busily trying to pull up his fly.

Wanking is fun…I’m a big wanker

Granny’s eyes misted over as she tried to put her arms around Gordon, but finding nothing but air. “Now, Granny, you know that us supernatural beings don’t like to be touched. I’m aware of the problem and I’ve summoned my best man for the job.

Father O’Way suddenly appeared. “Where shall I start Granny, oh, perhaps I should deal with the smell of piss behind the bar?”

Parrot Fish

29 Thursday Oct 2020

Posted by in Mark

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I feel sorry for the parrot fishes! Yes this fish can be eaten, but for us divers this is a big No No!!! There are important reasons why we should not eat them and we should educate the fishermen to stop catching these beautiful fish! Please do spare them … the ocean needs them to regenerate. Read below to be educated. They’re lots of fish you can catch in the sea. They can sell and cook the other fish, but leave the parrot fish!

Here is why: (c&p from the web)
 

Parrotfish eat algae and dead coral*. They spend up to 90% of their day nibbling. In other words, they clean the reef. This is important because most of the reefs across the tropics are being smothered by algae because there are not enough parrotfish and other herbivores out there grazing.

After all that eating, get this: They poop fine white sand – lots of it! Each parrotfish produces up to 320 kilograms (700 pounds) of sand each year.

Their numbers are so depleted, and algae levels are so high, that they cannot be fished sustainably right now anywhere in the Caribbean. These flamboyant, algae-eating, sand-pooping fish need to be left in the water. And when they are left to chomp away, they do a brilliant job. A massive new report concludes that reefs where parrotfish were abundant in the 1980s are the reefs that are healthy now.

There is a reason for their existence so please let’s not eat them … To our Govt. Please educate our fishermen… Say no to catching parrot fish! Let’s not buy parrot fish so they won’t catch them anymore.

Please share..

Kangaroo Court

18 Sunday Oct 2020

Posted by in Mark

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Kangaroos hop down my street every day or so. They eat your lawn, veggie patch and anything else that takes their fancy. They are environmentally friendly and let vegetation regenerate. 

The king kangaroo would stand at over two metres high and would kill you if you got too close. People around here hate them and will shoot them at any opportunity. Dickheads around here love to run them down in their four wheel drives, makes me sick at times. Roadkill, what for? Fucking nothing. 

I can’t eat them as once I got really sick but the details are gory so I won’t go into it except to say that it wasn’t the kangaroo steak that made me sick.

When it’s drought I leave water out for them but I don’t tell my neighbours as the shotguns would come from me. They eat so little compared to sheep and cattle. It’s the sheep and cattle that are ruining the river flats.

In the last week I’ve seen, snakes, turtles, roos, echidnas, wallabies and goannas. After 35 years in Adelaide I’m now the lucky one. I can look outside my side door and watch Rosellas, King Parrots, Major Mitchells, White Cockies, Wheat Birds, Kookaburras and have Sea Eagles, Owls, Hawks and other birds that stay high up in the gum trees. The only bird I don’t like is the Koel bird that has an awful cry and is a cuckoo. The Koel bird comes down from Indonesia each summer and is a pain in the arse. Lays it’s eggs in the nest of honey eaters. The hatched chick eats the other eggs in the nest then keeps the parents feeding it till it flies home. 

If I go down to the headland and can see whales going up and down the coast depending on the time of year, dolphins surfing and the local creek has flathead, bream, ducks and pelicans.

Geez, I’m lucky and I never realised it.

Written and authorised by Mark at a town near you.

Merv meets no Name

12 Saturday Sep 2020

Posted by in Mark, Merv

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Did you say root darling?

Written by Mark

Hello, Merv here or hear, whatever you like. Never been one for correctness. Anyhoo this geeza walks into the bar the other day. This is what happened.

“Gidday mate” replied in my normal friendly but neutral composure.

“Yeah mate, I’m here for the job” says this geeza.

“So what job was that?”

“An exciting new character at the Pigs Arms Hotel. Here, I was sent by the agency, the Fictional Characters Union, all the paper work is here.”

“So, what’s your name then?”  being always on the lookout for a scam.

“Um, dunno. They didn’t tell me”

“So you don’t know your name, your from the agency, hmm, so what can you do that’s exciting and new ?”

Never get between Merv and a pie…

“Well, I can play chess, sort of and the ukulele, sort of , oh yes and I once had a piano lesson.”

Things were starting to go downhill.

I decided to ramp up the atmosphere.

“No skydiving, no rodeos, so how exciting does it get. So if you have no name then the Pigs Arms will have to name you” Merv is now ruining a good story.

[Merv we didn’t want that till later. I frigging hate you sometimes]

“How about Neville or Baxter?” says the man with no name.

“Fuck off, something spicy for the viewers like Gonzales or Geoffrey.” Funny thing was that I hate both of those names.

“So, Merv, what is your last name?” says Gonzales or Geoffrey or Neville or Baxter.

I wished I looked this good…

“I don’t have one” says hypocrite Merv. “Wot’s yours?”

“Smith actually”

“So no first name Smith, lets call you Abba Zoodoo” Merv ponderously states.

“Okay from now on my name is Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville  Baxter ” says Abba. “Fuckin’ happy now.” Gez I hate authors.

“ So Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville Baxter getting the word count up with you new name is invaluable, but in your view given this is comedy should have I said knew instead of new? And if I had a last name I would call myself …”

Merv wants to go to School

12 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by in Mark

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Yes, we are all for education…

Merv wants to go to School.

 

by Mark.

Hi, Merv here, I fink like, you know, I wanna go to school, just so I can say smart arse things at the bar when I’m working. Like you know if some gezza comes in and orders two pints of Special, I can turn around and say “I think therefore I am”. Whadda ya reckon, sounds good to me. But education is shit so I talk to my good friend Foodge(FOO), who is my legal adviser and any direct questions from this article should go directly to him via the Fictional Characters Union, 000, at your nearest capital city.

FOO: So what’s in an education for you. Let me ask you this. If you have nothing to start with and nothing at the end what do you have?

Merv: Nothing

FOO:1 take away 1

Merv: Nothing

FOO: Two hungry navvies arrive at the bar and order a pint and a pie. What’s left?

Merv: Nothing.

“Thank Gordon we have turned that interview technique off, so Merv you don’t need school” says Foodge reverting from FOO.

“Well I did have to go to the doctor” says Merv, “hey why can’t we go back to that old interview technique, boy, is this eating up the word limit and it’s good fun”.

FOO: What did the doctor say?

Merv: He said I was sick and that I should go home.

FOO: So what’s wrong with you?

Merv: I don’t know. He said it would be a breach of privacy.

FOO: But it’s you and your health.

Merv: Yes, he said I’d need birth certificates and affidavits from my parents just to prove that they were there at my birth so he could go ahead and release the information. Shit happens as they say.

FOO: I’m ringing your lawyer right now, we’ll get you out of this.

Merv: You are my lawyer.

FOO: Oh shit.

Sandy goes to Britain

12 Wednesday Jun 2019

Posted by in Mark

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Hello Britain, it’s me Sandy

Hi, Sandy here, you know Father O’Way, your local parish priest from the Church of St Generic Brand which is down the road and around the corner from the Pigs Arms Hotel.

So when you drop in here from now on you will only see me in the background, you know, casual, gig economy. Exploited I think the other word for it is, just sayin’ like. I’m sure you can see the analogy.

Anyhoo, something has happened, I got a call from the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop the one we all affectionately call the Bish. As usual he rang early in the morning, about eleven o’clock, bastard, I hate early mornings and he knows it.

My wake up call…

Ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, ring, ring ring, well I could let this go on for a while so I can get my word count up but I’ll put you out of your misery and answer the phone.

“Retired priest Sandy speaking” knowing full well that it will be the Bish.

“Sandy, we have a problem” says the Bish. No Bish you have the problem but wish to push it onto me.

“You need to have Brekkie in Britain with Princess Theresa about the EU’s” barks the Bish.

“Well, I’m retired, hate breakfast and am scared of emu’s and where is Britain?” I ask knowing I won’t want to know the answer.

“Britain is somewhere between the North Pole and the South Pole. EU, not emus and Bex-it not breaky or something like that. Now I’m in Cairns so I can’t go and Gordon has said we must get this sorted otherwise there may be no cricket this summer.”

Oh FFS, cricket, the most boring game in the universe.

“So working in cans must be very restrictive for you Bish, I mean how do you go to the toilet?”

“Cairns is a town you ninny, somewhere between the North Pole and the South Pole”

A coupla cans…

vibrates the Bish. “Now get over there and sort this mess out. If Gordon can’t watch cricket this summer it will be on your shoulders!!”

Gordon is the creator of the universe by the way and he taught every simian based planet to play cricket, speak English and develop money. Hmm, starting to think that Gordon may be a loser.

So to get to Britain, I’m not going to fly any more, stuff that. I will go by boat. Much more relaxed and in a style to which I have become accustomed. Yeah, so I go by a cruise ship.

On deck I decide to go for a walk on the poop deck. Now one needs to be very careful from this point about what is said otherwise something is going to hit the fan, get the picture. I mean, I’m up to my heels in poop, thank Gordon they are high heels.

I meet some of the crew,

“Hi, I’m Chris the captain, I look after everyone’s cap”

“Hi, I’m Pete the purser, I look after everyone’s purse”

“Hi, I’m Paul the Petty Officer, I look after all the small things”

“Hi, I’m Colin the coxswain, I look after everyone’s c…”

“Yes, I’m sure you do” I timely interrupt. Let’s face it, on a PG site there may be kiddies watching.

SS Minnow

The cruise was wonderful and many a rip roaring good time happened, I think. I mean we may not have had a good time but I don’t remember unless I have to remember for some sort of remembering reason. Just sayin’ like.

We arrived in Britain and headed for number ten, the home of the prime minister. It was lovely inside, nice curtains, open fire and tea and scones, Blackwood sideboard, I mean this was class, real class. No plastic forks anywhere to be seen in this place.

“We’re here to advise Princess Theresa about emus and eggs for breakfast” says Sandy.

“Sorry but she’s out” comes the reply.

“But she promised…”

“Sorry, she’s washing her hair, having a high colonic, writing stories for the Pigs Arms…”

“Oh, shit, well there goes a good story.”

Yep, let’s sit this one out…

Merv on Retirement

05 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by in Mark

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Merv bowling from the Randwick end…

 

 

“What the hell are you doing Merv?” asks Foodge as he enters the bar and pointing at the beer tap. “Make it a canoe of Special there’s a good chap.”

“I’m staring out into space” replies Merv, adjusting his gaze to pour a beer. “Some bloke on the telly said staring into space is a good thing to do, especially in retirement.”

“What’s this retirement rubbish Merv, who will pour the beers if you retire?” barks

A cat waiting for a car

Foodge, cutting to the chase. Lets face it, pouring beers is the best skill someone else needs to have.

The noise awoke O’Hoo who had been catching a bit of a nap, leaning semi-fatally across the bar. “When I retire I’m gunna get pissed every day” says O’Hoo.

“Nothing has changed then” replies Merv. “What about you Foodge?”

“Well, I’m gunna drink, smoke, gamble and chase wild women”

Nothing has changed then thinks Merv. Boosh goes the dishwasher as Merv ponders other things.

Seems like all of us need some sort of advice about what we are gunna do when we retire. We need to talk to Gordon, he’ll know.

Merv calls Gordon on his mobile.

“Gordy, it’s Merv. Better get down here, dazes is all talkin re-tyre-meant. The friggin

Hot babe that has no relation to the story at all

union is coming. Ewe no, the FUCU(Fictitious United Characters Union, referred to as the Fark Ewe).”

Gordon appears at the end of the bar. None of the locals notice any more, it’s just the tourists. The tourists run around screaming their heads off like they have just seen an alien, umm, well I guess they just have.

I mean here we are and the creator of the universe beams in for a drink, classic. Does it get better than this.

“So Gordon, what are you going to do in retirement?” pushes Merv.

“Well, I’m gunna watch repeats of BBC crime shows. Either that or take up hurling.” replies Gordon.

Well, nothings changed then as Gordon is already watching repeats of BBC crime shows. Hurling! Are you serious?

“The one thing I do know” continues Gordon “is what’s the one thing we all have in common?” asks Gordon. The issue Gordon failed to grasp was that the audience had a collective IQ of the square root of nothing. Sometimes an artist sees a blank canvas other times sees rivers of gold. Well this was one of dem times when no one had any idea.

Blokes, Pigs Arms patrons, etc., etc., came the cries till Gordon said “We are all fictitious. Foodge, Merv, O’Hoo”.

“I’m real” shouts Merv “Well sort of…” then realising that he wasn’t real.

“Don’t worry about retirement, it’s dem, out there, they age, wheeze are always the same. Anyone had grey hair or arthritis written into their contracts lately? Didn’t think so!”. Gordon’s on a roll and he can’t help himself.

Yes, it’s me too…

“And do you notice that the author always portrays me as an old man with grey hair and a flat cap whose chewing his hands off. Hmm.”

“Well I want to be a ninja that stares out into space” says Merv.

Merv does some kung fu moves and shoop, swah, zonk.

“And notice how the author usually portrays me as Rumpole with cigarette ash on his tie, a beer belly but an incredible sense of the law”

Foodge, with beer belly and ash on his tie, just sayin’

interjects Foodge, feeling left out of this dreary episode, hmm, thinking, 10 minutes of your life that you will never get back.

Look, it’s starting to sound like a character revolution coming so whoever I am I better get going. Let them eat bytes I say.

Merv says

11 Sunday Mar 2018

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Helvi considers the appeal…

 

 

Merv here. This is terrible. The Shit Carters Arms have challenged us to a game of cricket, down at the park and wheeze have to provide our own umpires.

“Fucking cricket” says Gez “where ennui meets boredom”

“Eyes hates cricket, now chess, that’s a man’s game.” says Gib.

The change rooms

“Well mes and Hung love cricket but wheeze need at least eleven plus umpires so that’s around about thirteen folk needed give or take a decimal point” chips in Angler.

“Fucking 13 people. Wears wheeze gunna find 13 brain dead people with there eyes gouged out to play the most boring game ever invented” says Gez again. Gee, Gez gets two says in this story, he must be important.

“I’ll umpire” pipes in Sister Yvonne “just what are the fucking rules?”
Crikey, a lot of fucking going on, what is happening.

“Me fucking too, so there you go wheeze have the umpires and there is no rules, not in a social game, lets sledge the bastards.” says Nurse Barbara.

 

Let me at the batter, gnarl…

“I’m the fast bowler, can gnash teeth, swear and insult the batsman’s missus” says Honshades “Oh and I’ll chuck in a fucking”.
How come my spell checker recognises fucking? Hmm, something odd is happening here.

Just when crisis point is about to be reached Gordon appears in the bar. Lets face it, if Gordon hadn’t taught the universe how to play cricket none of this would be happening. Isn’t blame appropriation a wonderful thing.
Gordon fills the room with his aura or as we know from the old days, garlic.
“And so be to Gordon, go the farce has ended, oops, wrong story. Now the Shitties have a really good team so we sledge them big time, for example, we remind them that their washing is on the line and that they must check the letterbox whens they get home” dictates Gordon.

“Oh fuck off,wheeze gunna kill them” says Gib getting in a second says an upping his strike rate and hence his remuneration package.

“Yeah, fuck off” says Angler feeling the financial pinch of raising 16 children plus

Angler and children

realising that the Shit Carters have a vicious fast bowler that says naughty things.

“Hash tag, me too” says Hung not really knowing what to say but deciding to be like everyone else “and fur, fur fur, fuck off.” Gees, fancy telling the creator of the universe to fuck off, well I never.

Oh well, thinks Merv, we may as well declare and tell the Shit Carters Arms to fuck off.
“What about fucking Helvi, she’s from fucking Norvay, theys wouldn’t declare, theys would fight” says someone not yet named but gets a says.

“Oh yeah. Forgot that, in the park Sunday I guess” says Gordon racking up yet another says.

“Hung you can’t say fuck off, this is a family friendly blog” says Emmjay.

“No, it’s alright boss, I’m Merv in this story.”

“Well that’s okay then” says Emmjay racking up another says.

You know, I have come to this point in time where I hate says gatherers, don’t ewe.

Helvi goes vild…