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 had endured a torrid time with his ‘blown out’ knee. He’d been to the GP, orthopaedic surgeon, MRI, and then physio. He’d hoped that a quick arthroscopy of the knee would fix it, but, no, now it’s all knee brace and physio exercises. Maybe he’d have an arthroscopy when all this fails, he pondered. Just then the phone rang. “Hello Mr Merv.”
“Ah, Foodge, we’re all wondering ‘ow you an’ O’Way were getting’ on in the Old Dart?” Merv bent down to adjust the Velcro on his knee brace.
“Well, it’s all plain sailing over here. I doubt they’ve ever had a paedo here in England, well, except Jimmy Saville and Rolf Harris, and Eric Gill, but he was a famous artist so doesn’t count.” Foodge enthused. “How’s the knee?”
“Painful and tedious. Can’t run or lift. Have to wear a kneebrace and do stupid feckin’
I see the problem with your knee…
exercises. How’s O’Way settling in?” Merv sat heavily into the old Chesterfield.
“I’ll put him on.”
“It’s O’Way here. Can’t talk. Too much going on. Have managed to infiltrate the tykes. They’re a tight bunch. Can’t get a word out of them. Foodge has joined a Gentleman’s Club. He’s hopeless. He’s lapped up all of the usual guff because they have free Scotch and cigars for new members. I’ll pop him back on.”
“Did you hear that? Free Scotch and cigars. How could these folk be harbouring paedos?” Foodge took a drag on a stogie.
“Mate, you don’t think they’re trying to bribe you with cheap booze and tobacco?” Merv took a sip of South Sea Islands Scotch (it seemed to enhance the pain killers).
“No, no-one escapes eagle eyed Foodge. O’Way wants to say something.”
“Merv, O’Way here, Foodge has no idea of what he’s doing. Way out of his depth.The
Oh, book him Danno…
only thing protecting him is his complete ignorance and ineptitude. I think I’m pretty safe, because I haven’t really managed to get anywhere, but Foodge wanders around talking about paedos at the top of his voice. I’m not sure, but I think we’ve been followed a couple of times.” O’Way was nervously twitching the Venetians. “We either need to withdraw or get backup.”
“There’s no-one here we can send.” Merv was secretly pleased that his knee prevented him from helping. “Hey, what about me nephew Wes? He’s built like a brick shit-house, he can fight like a threshing machine, and hasn’t even had a cameo in an episode for years.”
O’Way ruminated for a few minutes. “Yes, Wes, I met him once. Unforgettable. He’s a nurse, isn’t he?”
“Yes, male nurse, can drive just about any vehicle. Used to work in an abattoir, so he’s good with a knife. He’s been to Bali, once, so he’s an international traveller.”
Okay then…
“He sounds like he possesses useful skills, plus we can get him to snoop around some of these London hospitals. Merv, so you feel comfortable with recruitment? Usual deal, Leer jet from Sydney to London. Five thousand pounds a week, plus board. We also provide a very generous hosiery allowance!”
“Granny won’t be what?” Granny (obviously) roared from the landing of the Mary McKillop Memorial Staircase (somehow the naming of things has gone all Catholic).
Foodge looked up and started wringing his plump little hands.” Err, um, ah, um…happy?” Which was hardly a revelation as Granny was rarely happy.
“It was rhetorical!” Granny waved a bony finger at our hero. “Why won’t I be happy?”
“Oh, Christ, I mean, God, I mean Crikey, I’m going to vomit.” Foodge lurched forward, managing to spray his entire stomach contents into the fireplace, which didn’t really help. It’s not like you can burn the stuff.
This time Father O’Way spoke up. “The London trip is being financed by the Vatican, highly sensitive, and they specifically require a single male for the job. When the personal characteristics of the agent were forwarded to me I immediately thought of Foodge. I mean, he’s highly educated, has an encyclopaedic knowledge of criminal law with detective skills that put Holmes to shame. This comes from the Pope himself, with Extreme Unction.” O’Way had no idea what unction was, ordinary or extreme, but thought it added gravitas when working for the tykes.
By this stage Granny had descended the stairs, and stood in front of the Good Father. “So yer sayin’ that this is gonna be a priestly type of excursion, vow a chastity and all that?”
You are kidding me right!
“Err, yep, that kinda sums it up.” O’Way mopped his brow with a linen hanky that the Pope had given him. “We need someone with intelligence and decorum. Someone who can rub shoulders with the common man, chat about current affairs in a Gentleman’s Club, then enjoy theological discussions with the Bishop.” O’Way felt like he was losing his way. For all he knew Foodge could be a Freemason.
“So what youz are sayin’ is that I’m not goin’, but neither are any other sheilas?”
“Absolutely!” O’Way almost heaved a sigh of relief. “No sheilas, I mean birds, I mean ladies at all.”
“So who’s goin’ with him, Merv?”
“I just ruptured an anterio-posterior crucio-menisceal ligament.” Merv gestured for someone, anyone to get another bag of ice.
Granny nodded to Foodge who ambled off sullenly to the ice machine. “Well, we couldn’t send Manne, on the basis of him being a sexual deviant.”
“It was only internet porn, Granny!” A voice came from the kitchen.
“What about O’Hoo, he’s always lookin’ for extra work, unlike the rest of youz, plus he really is a detective.” Granny’s face lit up. “That way youz can try and work out where yer dragon tattoos come from.”
This was an excellent idea, as Big M had forgotten about the tattoos, and, for that matter, O’Hoo!
“The problem with O’Hoo is that he isn’t allowed into England, or, should I say, back into England.” Foodge piped up.
“That’s true, Granny, I can never set foot in England ever again.” O’Hoo was pulling a Piglet Pale Ale. “Well, not since the incident.”
Big M was uncomfortable with the way this episode was heading. Well, more of a
Big M seems upset…
collection of paragraphs, than an episode. Anyhoo.
“What incident?” Granny gasped.
O’Hoo tapped the side of his nose. “Need to know basis.” Enough said.
“Enough said.” Replied Granny, suddenly experiencing déjà vu, or whatever they say in France. “What about you, O’Way?”
“Well, agh, err, um, look there’s a dwarf!” O’Way tried to sprint towards the exit, only to find himself face down on the putrid carpet, thanks to Granny’s almost imperceptible foot work.
“Ah, the jokes on you O’Way, because there’s no such thing as a dwarf!” Granny looked triumphant.
“Actually there is, and plenty of different types; achondroplastic, hypochondroplastic, Laron, Hypophophataemic rickets, there’s a long list…” Merv was warming to his favourite topic.
Anyone for cricket…
O’Way hadn’t realised that Merv had a penchant for dwarfs, or had chosen to forget. Regardless, he’d been hoisted by his own petard, so to speak (Actually he hadn’t but Big M like to get this into conversations, along with ‘damp squib’, and ‘chance would be a fine thing’, which he didn’t understand, either). Petard or not, O’Way sat there rubbing his shin. “I couldn’t go, I’ve got Church business to attend.”
“I thought that this was a mission for, and on behalf of the Pope, hence the Mother Church Herself.” Granny smiled. “No, that’s it, yer goin’”
Merv had endured a shit house morning. He’d run to the gym, full of the lightness of running, or whatever that quote was, hit the squat rack, gone too heavy, too early and had his right knee collapse from under him, which wasn’t the purpose of doin’ squats! He’d bludged a lift from one of the young blokes and hobbled through the yard to the rear entrance, only to hear O’Way’s dulcet tones. “I said it’s a paedo job!”
“Yes, Speedos, everyone should have a pair!” Foodge was just pushing a Cup of Chino across the bar as Merv hobbled in.
“Morning Father, how’s the Church of St. Generic Brand goin’?” Merv tried to push himself in between Foodge and the expensive Eye Tallion Expresso machine.
“Dunno, I’m here on behalf of the Church of Rome, with Extreme Unction.”
Hey man, smoke this…
“Oh, shit.” Merv quickly crossed himself. “Spectacles, testicles, wallet ‘n watch. Now what does Holy Mother Church want with our own Foodge?” Merv had assumed that the good Father was trying to co-opt Foodge into summit. He was clever that way.
“Promoting sales of Speedos!” Foodge piped up.
“Not Speedos, paedos.” The Father gestured for something stronger than a chino.
“So the church is selling paedos?” Now Merv was confused.
“Fuck no!” The good Father downed half a pint of Trotters Pilsener. “They’re forming a special task force of Paedo Hunters to root them out, for want of a better word.”
Sweet budgies
Merv now had a pool of water forming under his knee from condensate on the bag of ice balanced on top. “Foodge, old son. Can you throw us a towel?”
“Throw in the towel? No, I’ll be a Paedo Hunter until the end!”
Christ, Foodge, why is everything a double entendre for you? A towel, the cotton thing hangin’ up!”
“So, if I’m to become a Paedo Hunter will I get a gun?” Foodge was finally making himself useful and had mopped up the ice water and started to help Merv to one of the lounge chairs where he could elevate the knee.
“Of course you won’t get a fucking gun, you can’t be trusted with tooth picks.” Which was true, Foodge had endured a previous episode with toothpicks. Let’s just say the magistrate was lenient.
“Let’s just say that the London trip has two aspects. You will be on a fact-finding mission as a Private Detective learning about English detection methods. That’s the cover. The other, secret, aspect is looking for paedos. You’ll be liaising with MI5’s Paedo Branch, and no one else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, so I assume that I’ll be getting a special Paedo Hunter Badge, or MI5 Paedo Officer ID?”
Merv has a fag…
“No, Dopey Dora, it’s fucking secret!!” O’Way had ducked behind the bar to pull a second pint. “Oh, and we expect you to travel alone. You need to maintain the façade of the swinging PI, man of the world, type of presentation.”
A small smile crossed Foodge’s pale lips. “So Granny can’t come?”
“Of course she can’t come. She’ll fuck the whole thing up!” Father O’Way finished his second pint. He certainly wasn’t used to drinking this early. Normally he waited until nine, or even ten.
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 was feeling quite unrestrained. He’d read an article in the newspaper that said “nothing is good for your health…”, wow, how powerful is that sort of shit. What he didn’t read was the next paragraph which just happened to say “except for a Trotter’s Ale”, don’t just some facts interfere with a good way of living, I think so and I’m not even Merv, just the low grade author.
Merv is standing behind the bar, index fingers and thumbs clasped and eyes closed, thinking of nothing he nothingly thinks when in walks Father Sandy O’Way, you know, our parish priest from the Church of St Generic Brand.
“Hi Merv, pint of the best , granny’s special and a cone of the good stuff, nah, only kidding, on the wagon this week. Nah, Triple bourb’ instead.”
“Sorry Sandy but I’ve read that nothing is good for your health and from now on I’m going to do nothing as much as possible to keep in good health.”
“Yessss Merv but what you are now doing now is something because you are talking to me.” Sandy’s starting to have some second thoughts about this whole conversation.
“ Yesss but Sandy, I’m really worried, if I have nothing in this hand and nothing in the other hand surely this gives me nothing.”
“Um,er, yessss. You know, we need Foodge.” Foodge is the local private detective and barrister that drinks down at the Pigs Arms. He also smokes to much, eats too many wedgies and is a terrible punter so he tends to need the wealth to flow to the needy lawyers so this episode can run for a little bit longer. Let’s go to court, yee ha.
Foodge has a spiv
Well the court session has been called and unfortunately we have landed the hanging judge, Sir Suppository.
“All rise…” dribble. The judge has been asked to rule on a definition of nothing versus something.
“I sentence the defendant to death by hanging” states Sir Suppository.
“But Me Lud, no evidence has been stated” says Foodge for the defence. Anyhoo,
“Oh, shit, what about the prosecution?” barks the aperient of knobility, Sir Suppository, pretending he knows what’s going on. And look I say good luck to him because I’m writing this and I don’t know what’s going on.
“This is an arbitration matter Me Lud, two bits of nothing equals nothing. We argue that if you have nothing in one hand and nothing in the other hand then at the end of the day you have nothing” says John Citizen of your local Credit Card Legal Firm.
“I interject your suppository, if I have nothing in one hand and nothing in the other I therefore have two bits of nothing therefore I have something”[Geeps, just what I need now is a Donna Summer song] asserts Foodge.
Go Foodge otherwise Merv will be hanged and someone else will have to pour the beers, poor us.
“Me Lud, I will present a case that will irreparably oops I mean irrefutably resolve the whole issue.” Oh Gordon[the inventor of the universe], I love spinning out a story. Have I mentioned hanging Merv yet, hmm, just asking, for a friend like, you know.
“What’s this Me Lud shit?” says Me Lud.
“It’s a minced form of My Lord and it’s found in the No Idea Major Crossword Me Lud, August 2017, Edition 4, Pages 121-122, 389 and 392 Across, two words, minced form of legal brownnose, just sayin’ Me Lud.”
My darling, I have a case to hear
“Oh FFS, lets get on with it and that’s coming from Me Lud.” Don’t know whether I should say Me Lud or not at this point, I mean all that extra typing. Lets face it, typing prevents so many good stories from being told as I would be flat out typing about them.
Foodge rises to the stand “ I call Pythagoras Me Lud” as the court gasps.
Foodge pushes on. This is mind numbing stuff, one of those events when people will sit around at parties in the future saying, where were you when Foodge called Pythagoras to the witness stand so that Merv didn’t get hanged for saying that two times nothing is something. Wow man, this is unbelievable and I make this shit up.
“Now Pythagoras can you recall to the court your early life and the effect that it had on you?” pleads Foodge.
“Well, yeah, like, it was shit, like yeah, you know, shit yeah like you know, then this geeza hits me right, with a stick right, and it breaks right, I arrange it in different patterns then this gezza , Socrates was his name, smart geeza always wanting
Yes a2 +b2 = c2
someone to think for themselves, I mean, ever heard of anything more stupid then that, you know, so I arranged it like you know, drink hemlock, gets ya pissed, you know, like and den all of a sudden I writ this book, Equilateral Triangles for Dummies, den you know, the rest is history.”
“The witness may stand down. Mr Foodge I suggest your witness should indeed consult an encyclopaedia before telecasting Socrates. Anyone else?” says Me Lud.
“Yes Me Lud, I call George Boole.”
“Anyone else alive Mr Foodge?”
“No Me Lud. Liveliness tends to get in the road of a good story.” Foodge pushes on, again.
“So Mr Boole, is it possible for nothing to have a value?”
“Well, um, er, um, ah, um I sorta don’t know, yes, no, maybe.”
“But Sir, you are an architect of the modern age of communication, I put it to you Sir, has nothing got a value?” asserts Foodge.
“True”
“And what is that value?”
“False”
“Me Lud, I rest my case. If my client has nothing in one hand and nothing in the other then therefore he has something.”
The roar from the gallery was amazing…
The court erupts with joy. Complete strangers hug and kiss, TV presenters pretend they like each other, cameramen take photos of men and women rejoicing in confetti lined streets so that in 50 years time we can all try and guess who they were, oh yes isn’t living in Inner Cyberia just wonderful, isn’t it?
“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 wakes to the usual smell of bacon, gently frying in the pan, some freshly brewed coffee and hot toast but today is different. Merv has decided not to get out of bed, he wants a day orf. After finding out he has family, Mack, Mick, Mark, Mike and Minx, a sister, he has decided he needs some time out. All identical twins, as the author can’t spell sextuplets, plus there will be nothing for perverts in this story, I mean surely there must be a better word for six then sex. Merv has to use all his fingers and toes to get the counting right but yes, six of them. Uno, duo, duo plus one, duo plus duo minus uno and so it goes on, all the way to sex, oops, I mean six, you perverts.
Granny knocks at the door as it is getting late, thinking that Merv is masticating about somefink. “Wake up wanker, I have your breakfast ready and it’s almost time to open the bar”
Stick it up your arse, I need a day orf
Granny pushes the door open hoping to find Merv doing somefink he wished he didn’t only to find Merv snugly covered by his doona or nona or blanket, so many words so little time.
“Granny, I’m having a day orf. I is overwhelmed by all this family all of a sudden and eyes need a day orf. Get Hung to run the bar and the Jones boy to take the money.”
Granny places Merv’s breakfast on his bedside table, bacon, scrambled eggs, dry white toast, tomato juice and black coffee. One of the meals she lovingly makes for him everyday. For Merv to want a day orf this must be serious, granny decides she needs some wise council(yes I know).
Well the girls aren’t in yet so there goes that option, Foodge and O’Hoo, don’t think so and when the door opens and it’s Gib and Angler fresh from a cat shoot and wanting some
Did you say cat?
refreshments and revelry before facing any reality, yes thinks Granny, these are my people, well till they fuck up.
“Granny, drinks and wedges all round” cry the lads, none of this shut up and take my money bullshit.
“Boys, can you talk to Merv. He wants a day orf after meeting all his family. He didn’t even have a wank this morning” replies Granny as she pours some glass canoes.
The boys quickly down their beers, then another one and maybe one more, perhaps even another then quickly ascend the stairs to Merv’s room.
“Merv, what’s wrong old cock?” asks Angler, feeling a bit wobbly plus knowing Merv didn’t even have a wank this morning. Something is seriously wrong. I mean the
Stick your hand up your own arse
last time you would have went without one was the day you got your electric bill. See how serious this is!
“Yeah Merv, get out of fucking bed and down to the bar” discreetly requests Gib, gentle and kind as always.
“I’m having a day orf, so go away.” replies Merv.
“So look Merv, I’m a nurse and Angler is not a nurse so trust us, what’s the real problem?” pleads Gib.
“Well, you promise not to laugh” well like a red rag to a bull the boys laugh but swear allegiance to Gordon, the creator of the universe, that they will be on their best behaviour.
“Well” says Merv “Now I have all these identical twin brothers and twin sister, how am I expected to know their birthdays!!”
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”
There was a loud banging on the door at the Pigs Arms.
“Let me in, let me in” cried Gordon “I need a drink, something tragic has happened.”
Merv rouses from his slumber and opens the door. “What’s up Gordy?” he asks without a care for the answer, it’s 8 o’clock in the morning and opening time is still two hours away, one hour and 59 minutes of blissful sleep lost.
“Six pints of Special and two serves of wedges, me gizmo is broken” wails Gordon.
Merv pours a few pints for Gordon then goes out to the kitchen to fire up the ovens
Simulated Trotters Special Ale
and fryers. “What frigging gizmo is broken Gordon?” he yells.
“It’s me SPIT” replies Gordon. “My Small Personal Interplanetary Teleporter”
Thank Gord I didn’t need an explanation for that one thinks Merv as he returns to the bar and pours some more pints for Gordon.
“Well go and see my brother Mick, down the road and round the corner at Mick’s Auto Mechanics and Florist Shop, just between Rosie’s and Glenda’s” says Merv.
“I didn’t know you had a brother” says Gordon as he downs yet another glass canoe.
Nah, me neither thinks Merv but then again I don’t write this shit either.
Gordon downs his last pint and his two servings of wedgies with extra herring and
Simulated wedgies
Vegemite sauce and heads down the road and round the corner to Mick’s Auto Mechanics and Florist shop although the road seems to be acting funny, it’s swaying all over the place making it difficult for Gordon to step forward on every occasion. Maybe I should have had seven pints thinks Gordy, these planets in the Milky Way are trouble.
Gordon enters the foyer at the workshop to be greeted by a lovely display of petunias, orchids and lilies. No one is in attendance so he rings the bell on the counter.
A man appears in overalls and a sweaty face. “Yes, how may I help you?” says the man.
“Hey” says Gordon “you’re Merv in a set of overalls and some water chucked on your face to look like sweat”
“Look, I’m playing my identical twin brother Mick as Emmjay has said to cut down on
Simulated Mick
production costs so just go along with it, okay? Extra casts means extra expense, get it!” asserts Mick or Merv whoever.
“Hmm, well I need my gizmo fixed and your identical twin brother sent me here to get it fixed” blasts Gordon thinking maybe he should of had eight pints. “Don’t have any other brothers do you?”
“Not sure yet till we get to the end of the story” replies Mick. “Lilies are on special you know.”
“Fuck lilies, can you fix my gizmo?” says Gordon wishing for another pint and handing over his SPIT. Don’t ya just hate people who spit.
Simulated ripoff merchant
“Um, probably, it will be costly” replies Mick as he takes the gizmo from Gordon. Mick looks at the bottom of the device and notices that the on/off switch is in the off position and switches it back on and hands it to Gordon. “That’ll be $500 fanks.”
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 