Tag Archives: Mark

Sandy goes to Britain

12 Wednesday Jun 2019

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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…

Merv finds more family

24 Sunday Dec 2017

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Merv and family

Story by the guy at the keyboard.

Merv was standing behind the bar, washing the glasses and refreshing the spittoons when the door opened and a man walked in an ordered a beer. Merv didn’t take any notice at first but when he looked up at the man he saw a reflection of himself.

“Um, er, Mick?” asked Merv thinking it was his identical twin brother Mick from Mick’s Auto Mechanics and Florist Shop.

“No, I’m Mack, your other identical twin brother” said the man, um, er, I mean Mack.

“But doesn’t that make us identical triplets?” enquired Merv intelligently for a change.

“But wait there’s more. There are five of us, me, you, Mick, Mike and Mark. All identical twins” said Mack.

“But that makes us…”

“No, identical twins. The author can’t spell that word so we won’t mention it, okay?”

“Um, er, suppose, okay I guess. What’s brought you here Mack?”

“I went to see my doctor, Doctor Doctor and I said to her, doctor doctor give me the news I gotta bad case of lovin you but she told me that I have Stupiditis and that it runs in the family”

My Christmas outfit

“Stupiditis!!” double exclamation marks remarks Merv.

“But wait there’s more. It also affects our identical twins” counters Mack.

“You mean our qu…”

“Don’t mention that word, the author can’t spell it plus he wants an extra set of steak knifes hence the double mention of but wait there’s more”

“Stupiditis” say Merv “I don’t get it”

“Exactly” replies Mack. “It’s a disease that is so subtle that you don’t get it till it’s too late. Like what did you do this morning?”

“Dunno, got up, had a shower, got dressed, ogled granny, scratched my nuts, washed glasses and replaced the spittoons” says Merv feeling quite bewildered.

“Yes, that’s because that is what you do every day. When was Gordon here last?” presses Mack.

“Dunno”

“Stupiditis” says Mack. “Lets test it out with a few of the patrons. Hey Foodge, what did you do yesterday?”

“Smoked lots of cigarettes, drank heaps of booze, represented a fine defaulter in court, told the Prime Minister to stick his head up his arse, usual sort of thing why do you ask?” replies Foodge.

“No reason” says Mack. “See Merv, what do really remember about yesterday?”

“Dunno, I fink I got outta bed, came down here to the bar and later went back to bed”

“Stupiditis, big time” says the twins.

Merv and family

Episode 93 – Foodge The Bowelactic Wars 1

01 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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This is shit mate, trust me, I’m a nurse…

 

Foodge Episode 93 -The Bowelactic Wars.

Story by Mark.

Foodge paints a lonely figure at the bar, nudging his tonic and gin, it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday, la dee blah dah dee dah dah dah dah.

“Shut the eff up Foodge. Monty Python rules here mate, no singing and especially Billy Joel” says Merv.

Billy and Joel give each other a hand

So the painted lonely figure got up and walked away and said “Ewe Finnish Foodge? And wheeze in the EFFALL Union mate, wheeze fictional and wheeze want our money now, turn your head to the left and cough!” The phoneticists in the viewing audience were hysterical, not Foodge of course, he simply held his nuts in one hand and said “Fank ewe my darlin, may fertility haunt ewe and meek.”

Counter reset.

Gin and tonics are wonderful on a hot afternoon under the shade of a good tree. Sensibly my parents, Mr and Mrs

This girl once saw a Fig Tree

Foodge Senior, planted Moreton Bay Figs. One in the front yard and one in the back. Never had to mow a lawn ever. Please don’t ever challenge me on the veracity of that statement, kiddies may be watching.

Merv turned the corner behind the bar. “Foodge, mate, I need help, like real help, like you know, help mate. I got a letter that says I have to go to court as I’ve breached the constipation, under section infinity, sub section A + B = C plus square rooting, what ever that is but I wouldn’t mind trying it” grins Merv.

“Let me see that young man, where’s the bong?” Foodge foodigises, checking navel lint theory and querying cyberianism.

“Foodge, read the letter, she said her name is Maria and shes addressing this to your wife says he won’t be coming home, on a Saturday night…”

Foodge nose what he wants(wink, wink) “that’s twice now, no more singing please especially who ever that was.”

You know, Foodge is a good man, a decent man, a man of honor or so, in his most humble opinion and reading the letter basically upside down “You have a case young man. Not just to the High Constipation Court, not even to the Very High Constipation Court or the Extremely Very High Constipation Court. We go straight to the Stratospheric Constipation Court”.

To be continued…

Oh yes, it’s real…unfortunately

Episode 91B – Foodge steps up to the Plate

07 Friday Jul 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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Foodge likes to set his hair before court

 

It was midnight. It had to be midnight, it was dark and Foodge slivered underneath the covers to keep warm and doze back off into dream land. You know the one, where money is plentiful and the girls are, well endowed. No matter how hard Foodge tried and yes it got really really hard at times, the banging at the door would not go away. Oh I get it, you thought…

“Foodge-o-rama, get the fuck up, you have an episode at the Pigs Arms to appear in, Big M has put you in it” cries O’Hoo, standing at the door of the baristas apartment.

O’Hoo just has this way about him

“No one wants to write it so Hung is going to do it. I’m off for a few glass canoes, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Who’s Big M?” says Foodge.

“Gib W, now hurry up. Granny has been reminiscing and you know what happens when granny gets emotional and has access to a shotgun.”

Hmm, yes, I do, thinks Foodge and if only granny could see him as her real soul mate and lover. He imagined walks along the riverbank on sunny days, picnics, good coffee, absorbing the suns rays and then intimacy, touching, feeling, lovingly man to woman [Okay cut, Mark here we get the picture].

Granny had contacted O’Hoo after Manne had handed her his mobile phone. “Get Foodge, Manne needs help.”

Manne, temporarily caught up

The bar is now buzzing with activity, no not the insect kind but everyone came in to try and help Manne.

“[Theme from Rocky as Foodge makes a grand entrance] Yes everyone, it is eye, Foodge, come to avert this horrible crisis. Show me Granny, this offensive phone message that our poor intellectually challenged Manne had to cope with.”

Granny hands Foodge the phone. Foodge diligently, like all legal folk, reads everything in the message very carefully. He pauses for a few moments,

“Hmm, battery is low, shit, now even technology has depression.”

Ewe fink dats funny, wait till Episode 92

Merv: Now it’s Stress

15 Thursday Jun 2017

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I had short back and sides before I read this article…

 

Now it’s Stress.

Story by Mark.

Merv stands behind the bar, erect and proud, [Mark here Hung, steady now] surveying the ambience of the Pigs Arms, you know stale cigarettes, spilt beer, those unique fruity flavours however there was something worrying him.

“Granny, I’m worried and stressed” he cries.

“Oh for fuck sake Merv, what’s wrong now. Are you having another shitbox moment?”

Granny in her PJ’s

For those who failed to read the last highly stimulating, drama packed episode, and you know who you are, yes I see a few hands, you can find out what a shitbox is here.

“Here, have a pill, works for me, just happened to have a sleeeevvveee, hehehe hahaha” crows Sister Yvonne.

“Nah, 50 ml eucalyptus oil, 500 ml normal saline, rubber tube up the arse, works every time and wait till the koalas start humping you” interjects Nurse Barbara as she puffs on a fag, sips a pint, reads the form guide and takes part in conversations. Womanhood, wonderful to watch. “Anyway if enemas aren’t your thing ask Hon, she’s a survivor.”

“Yeah mate” says Hon using Cyberian vernacular “wot’s the problem Merv, car won’t start, fingernail broken, kicked ya toe. I can deal with it mate, been there done that.”

Merv in the PA XI

“Well, I read that I’m going to be replaced by Aut O’Mation, some Irish bloke apparently. And I’m getting pressure from my agent who thinks I signed up for too many episodes at the Pigs Arms.”

“So who’s your agent?” asks Hon.

“Emmjay”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm…”

“So what is the most pressing issue?”

“Well I signed up for 20 episodes per year at the Pigs Arms and I’m finding it way too much work.”

“Hey I only got 10” pipes in Angler.

Yeah, us too, come the calls from the crew. “What about you Hon? How many did ewe

The Crew

getz?” asks Gib W who suddenly appears at the bar. Must let him know that this magic stuff can scare kiddies as you never know they may be watching.

“Er, um, yeah, like, you know, sort of maybe 15…”

Angler calls the crew together. “What do we want?? ” he cries.

“Um, dunno, wot do wheeze want Angler?” says Gib.

“Um, I know EFFALL and we want it now.”

“EFFALL? Nah mate we don’t want eff all, this is for us fellow space travellers, we make a stand together, yeah, another round.”

“No EFFALL(Equally Fair Fiction for All Languishing Linguists).”

So the chant followed four hours after with many a Trotter’s consumed and a happy night had by all. As the crowd faded the chant still echoes.”Wadda we want, eff all, when da we want it, now”, think about it.

Hung and the boys

Breaking News: Gordon has sent Hung to the scene of a meeting between the management of the Pigs Arms and the Fictional Characters Association. Hung can you hear us,

Yes, look, I’m just going to interview some of the key players as they come out of the building here at Cyberia Central, this is quite a revolt, the characters are threatening strike action if their demands aren’t met. Here’s what Merv had to say,

“…bloody terrible, never knowing one day to the next, ever playing the goon…”

then Granny

“… shocking. It’s either me or Sister Yvonne in the black underwear, must give Hung a chubbie…”

and Foodge

“…the matter is before the court therefore I am unable to say anything however it’s a fit up…”

Feelin lucky punk…

Gordon Drops Inn

21 Friday Apr 2017

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How people find this shit funny is beyond me

 

Well there is a buzz around the Arms tonight, buzz, buzz, kabang! Sorry, that was a fly, anyway, Hung here, tonight Gordon is going to drop in with a special guest, unknown at this stage. Even I don’t know and I’m the author, well sort of. Now would I lie to you?

The door swings open and in walks Gordon, one of his magic tricks he loves, opening the door without touching the handle, bloody miracle worker that guy, hmm.

“Where’s ya guest?” asks Merv.

“He’s still in make up at this stage” replies Gordon.

“Wheeze was getting all excited, like the good old days”

“The good old days were actually pretty shitty but I’m glad you are excited, finally”

PA’ XI 1863-Won Grand Final by a fingertip

quips Gordon.

“So have you made him up yet Gordon?” enquires Angler.

“Hmm, now that you ask no, so I’ll do what the pollies do and create a distraction.”

Again, the front door opens but this time it’s a funny looking man in a cap with a black uniform.

The Colonel in better days

“I’m Colonel Wilhelm Wafflekurgenburger from the Licker Licensing Board attached to the Inner Cyberian Pleece. My friends call me The Nasty. Your Licker Licence please.”

“So what about your enemies then, wadda they call you, Bozo the Clown?” calls Merv and much mirth displayed by the crew.

“They, my friend are all shall we say inconvenienced.”

Gulp! Never seen a character like this before at the Arms, must be the warming thingy.

Well Merv had never seen a licker licence before so he had no idea. Just when it was about to get a bit confrontational like, the patrons loading up their weapons, Gordon steps in.

“We don’t need a licence” chants Gordon as he waves his hand around the room.

“You don’t need a licence” says The Nasty.

“Why don’t you just leave”

“Yes, why don’t I just leave” and with that the Nasty packs up and scurries out the door.

“Gordon, out hero” cry the crew “drinks all round on Gordon”

Hung comes over to Gordon’s side “Gee, Gordon, that was some show, now what gizmo did you use?”

“Are you saying I’m not honourable Hungsie?”

“No, but none of this farce crap, okay!”

“Shit, it’s called a DOWOP(Drowns Out Waves of Other People) hence people

Do what? No do wop…

walking down the street singing Do Wop dah dah diddy Do Wop are trying to use the technique. Ten bucks in Start Wars at Space Mart, alters mind waves, useful at times anyway it’s 5 O’Clock somewhere in the universe, time for an ale.”

Gordon’s Cat

01 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in Big M

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Cat and chips, hmm…

Story by Big M

Mark and Algernon were perched at the bar, having enjoyed a lovely morning tea of Granny’s best IPA (Impressive Pig’s A…, I mean, Ale), and were sipping on banana daiquiri chasers. The doors burst open to reveal Big M, wearing his best socks and sandals, Bermuda shorts, and a long sleave shirt, a picture of sartorial excellence.

“Hello Brother, Sister.” Chirped Mark. “Didja come down on the 3801?”

Big M was still brushing dust from his shirt. “Nah, the Flyer’s electric, now. They only

Big M gets ready for work

get the 38 out for spesh. How are you pair? Another round?” Our intrepid bar flies nodded eagerly, with daiquiri forming little yellow moustaches.

“Well, there’s been some concern.” Proffered Algernon. “We think the Bish is dead, or paralysed, or worse, and Gordon’s bin arrested!”

“Feckin’ stupid heap of shite!” Roared Merv from behind the bar. “Oy, Mark, you’re a plumber, aren’t you?”

“Nope”

“But you’ve got an interest in plumbin’?” Merv was red faced.

“Well, sort of.” Mark swallowed the last of his cocktail, placing the glass on the bar, and nodding enthusiastically towards the empty glass. “I do know that Thomas Crapper and Sons were the finest dunny makers in the Old Dart.”

Merv assiduously ignored the empty glass and the nods. “Well, can any of youz fix

Mark

a busted glass washer?” Merv was desperate to avoid washing anything by hand.

“We need to get to the most important matter at hand.” Algernon took control, of the floor, and the cocktails. “Gordon’s cat is missing, feared dead!”

“What, like Schrodinger’s cat?” Mark sounded excited.

“Well, yes and no. Schrodinger’s cat may have been dead, or may be alive.”

“Well, which is it?” Big M raised his a butt cheek off the stool to let out an enormous fart, or was it a shart?

“No, it was Schrodinger’s famous thought experiment, where he put a cat in a steel box..”

“A dead cat?” Mark had taken control of the cocktails, but not the floor, or the conversation.

“No, alive, anyway, it goes into a steel box with a Geiger counter, which feeds into a relay which can crack open a bottle of cyanide. I think Einstein wanted to add explosives, but that’s beside the point. If one single atom inside the box undergoes

Algernon thinks about it

nuclear decay, the Geiger counter detects it, the relay cracks the cyanide bottle, and the cat dies.” Algernon wasn’t sure they were following. “You don’t know if the cat’s dead or alive until you open the box. So in the meantime, the cat could be in two states, alive, or dead. It’s all quantum physics.”

“So can this bloody Schrodinger fix my bloody glass washer?” Merv was about to throw the machine into the yard.

“No!” The trio yelled.

“So Gordon’s cat is in a steel box?” Big M looked self-satisfied.

“No, Schrodinger’s dead cat is.” Laughed Mark, picturing a dead cat in a box.

“No, it’s either, or both, dead and alive!” Yelled an exasperated Algernon.

Yum

 

“So where’s Gordon’s cat?” Chimed in Christina, as she reached between them to grab some coasters.

“How the f#@$ would we know, it’s your story, ‘shoe!”

 

 

 

I’ve had a bad day, don’t ask…

 

The Raid Goes HO On

08 Wednesday Jun 2016

Posted by in Mark

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Any poor individual that missed part one go here,

The Pigs Arms gets Raided

[ HOO here. Now, the situation will return to normal shortly, so in the mean time lets have a larf.]

r711197_5561452“I’ll telling you lot once and for all, keep quiet and ewes is all under arrest for terriblism. Father O’Way, Foodge, commie crap and really bad crap at that, bloody terrible” affirms DCI Copper Wire and he tries to engage inside his own broadband width. Note to self he thinks, double time Sunday, what a trap and the neo-cons want to dump it.

“Now Sargent Sulfate here will have to take statements from everyone here tonight,  meaning we will run past midnight and into over time.”

Roars from the Federal Pleece.

***

“Hey, Gordon, what do you want to do?” asks Angler On.The Face of God, Gordon O'Donnell

“Nothing yet Ace. It’s like this, I own all the money on Earth and I can always settle a score by making DCI dickhead bankrupt. Let the pleece have their moment in the sun as it will only get worse for them from here. Political tools, hmm” replies Gordon.

“Shut up ewes. I’ve got some really good acetic acid here, battered flathead and chunky chips, you know, the off your face stuff. Let’s catch the Flyer to Newcastle?” injects Gib W.

“Yeah, lagers…” say the boys and are off.

***

[Interval music]

Helen_ReddyI am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know two much to go back and pi squared
‘Cause I’ve herd it all before
And I’ve been out there on the moor
No one’s ever going to make me go down again

Whoa, yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I ingrained

If I have to I can do anything [if you have to?]
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
‘Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I’ll come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
‘Cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul

Whoa, yes, I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained

If I have to I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

[Round of applause as feminism strikes back]

Now, here at the Pigs Arms we want you to rush out and buy some of these from our in house shop. Yes, we have secretly brainwashed you throughout the show so far to behave as free thinking individuals, yes I know, scary isn’t it, imagine having to think for yourself, wouldn’t want that now would we.

burger

Hmm, Helen burger…

fries

& McReddy Fries

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t you just love it folks. Mass produced gulg, just for you.

***

Nurse Barbara and Sister Yvonne  having given statements about how terrible is a nasty word, oh and they promise on their collective magnificent breasts that they

will never be terrible ever again , no, never, hmm, guffaw,guffaw, fair dinkum.nurse02

“Do you see that Sargent’s arse Barbara?” asks Sister Yvonne.

“Is the Pope Catholic!!” replies Barbara.

Roars of laughter from the crew.

***

“O’Hoo, last episode you said you liked blue, cream and honey, did you mean that?” asks Fern.

O'Hoo

O’Hoo

“Yes, those colors were important to me in a previous life” replies O’Hoo.

“O’Hoo?” says Fern “Will you marry me?”

“Most certainly Fern but can I check with the missus first?”

 

 

***

“My dick hurts” says Foodge after making a big mistake by not ensuring that a true biological genital juxtaposition is necessary after a trip to

The last know version of Merv

the Men’s to get said member sufficiently away from the zipper in question.

“Too much information bozo” warns Merv.

 

 

***

So my writing is so terrible it qualifies as a breach of Section 70 from the Act. Pretty impressive really.

When I discovered baked bean theory I knew that I was at the top of my game. Sandy O’Way, one day you will be a legend. The first Inner Cyberian to charged

O'Way Returns.under Section 70.

What, baked bean theory?

How long have you got.

In a nutshell baked bean theory is that the average number of beans in a 440 gram can of baked beans in tomato sauce equals the average number of runs scored in one day cricket games in the Milky Way. Brilliant stuff, wish I’d thought of it.

***

Wot?

Wot? Me Chesney

***

DCI Wire weeps, unable to report to his political masters he returns home, tail between his legs, exactly where the whole matter should have rested. Shame on you Inner Cyberian Federal Pleece, you have sold out to a group that trusted you, the man in the street, reap now what you sow.