Tag Archives: O’Hoo

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.

Foodge versus Buntings

24 Saturday Apr 2021

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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Foodge and whiskey go hand in hand…

Written by Mark

Foodge was feeling pensive, no apprehensive, no nervous and a little ill as he had just taken a long swig from a pocket flask with South Seas Blue Label scotch that O’Hoo just happened to have in his jacket pocket. This was his day in court after being kicked out of Buntings for wearing his pant bulger.

“I rang the clerk of the court last night to find out who the Judge is” says O’Hoo “ It’s genitalia”

“Genitalia is your private parts, you know your dingle dongle” replies Foodge.

“Here look, I writ in down”

“That’s Jenny Taylor not genitalia. You have a one track mind O’Hoo and Judge Jenny has her own television show, you know, on one of those channels that no one watches.”

“Here, drink this” as O’Hoo passes the flask as he steers the Zephyr down the main boulevard to the court house “and granny has put a couple of semi-automatic rifles plus extra ammo in the back seat just in case we need a fast get away. Isn’t she a sweetie.”

Hmm, thinks Foodge, neatly doing away with the need for apostrophes saving the author extra typing. What have I got myself into. Well if anything at least it makes a good story. Gee this South Seas Island Blue Label tastes great as the scotch kicks in.

“Park here” cries Foodge.

“It says no parking and we wouldn’t want to encourage kiddies to break the law now would we.” replies O’Hoo desperate to get more screen time.

Hmm, thinks Foodge, since when has O’Hoo developed a conscience. At least Judge Jenny will give us a fair trial and with the extra whiskey Foodge’s confidence is growing.

Judge Jenny addresses the court “Ladies and Gentleman we are gathered here today to join this loving couple in matrimony, oops, that was the last case, anyway we are gathered here today to hear the case of Foodge versus Buntings for personal and professional damages. Mr Foodge a poor downtrodden man who not only has lifted himself off the floor of the Pigs Arms to prop up the baa to being appointed to the baa of the legal profession. Versus Buntings, a mutlibillion dollar international conglomerate that steps on anyone to get their own way. The poor downtrodden Mr Foodge is naturally representing himself and for Buntings Mr Blah Blah.” The groans are palpable, this guy can talk under water with a mouth full of pebbles.

Mr Blah Blah kicks off “Well ma’am, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. I refer you to your book of documents ma’am 1 A, B and C. A being the story written by Big M with B and C being statements from the sales attendants. We plead not guilty.”

Foodge gets thrown out of Buntings https://pigsarms.com.au/2021/03/31/foodge-gets-thrown-out-of-buntings/

Foodge replies “No dispute from me ma’am however I do have a witness who was standing behind me in the queue. I call Private Road.”

Private Road takes the stand and swears and oath “I swear to tell the whole truth nothing but truth so help me Gordon O’Donnell, oh and maybe a few porkies, just kidding.”

Judge Jenny points the pointer, now now…

Judge Jenny intervenes “Are you in the Army?”

“No ma’am”

“So what is your first name?”

“Well it’s private ma’am”

Hmm, thinks Judge Jenny “Well yes when my husband and I go for a weekend drive in the country we can see you are very popular.”

“Ma’am, I would like to question my witness, with you leave.” interjects Foodge as he senses this episode is getting away from him. “Can you tell the court what you witnessed on that day being the 31st June 1904?”

“Well yes. Big M’s story and the attendant statements are all true however Mr Foodge here wasn’t doing anything wrong, he simply had his pant bulger in place. I was standing behind him with two of the same. You see ma’am I have Micropenile encephalopathy, colloquially called small dick brain however the medical fraternity refer to it as MP’s. I had two pant bulgers in my hand when security guards pounced on Mr Foodge and threw him out and he didn’t even get a sausage from the sausage sizzle.”

“Yes well, Mr Foodge, what are you seeking in damages?” asks Judge Jenny.

“Well ma’am ten million Inner Cyberia Dollars and free sausage sizzle on white bread with onions and tomato sauce for the rest of my days.” replies Foodge.

“Order granted, case upheld. All damages accepted. Court costs to be paid by Buntings seeing you sell pant bulgers. Just one last question Mr Foodge, what does a pant bulger do?”

“Well it makes you appear more attractive to the opposite sex, not that I would ever tell granny that, by giving the impression that you are well endowed ma’am.”

The packed gallery went wild.

Hooray yippee, the excitement is overwhelming

Merv’s Brain Biopsy

03 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by in Big M

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Enema day Merv…

Written by Big M

Foodge had tried his best. He’d contacted Janet with the offer of acting as mediator between her and Merv. She seemed fixated on the word ‘mediate’. “Mediate, mediate, you couldn’t mediate at a piss up.” Foodge had absolutely no idea what this meant. He was under the gun, coffee wise, so went back to brewing.

FOW had been listening in between pouring glass canoes and operating the EFTPOS. “Sounds like it’s over, but she may be happy to speak to a man of the cloth.”

“What cloth?” Foodge was as sharp as a bowling ball.

“You know, a minister, such as myself.” FOW pushed the bottle of South Sea Islands Irish whiskey along the bar for Foodge’s Famous Irish Coffee, which had become popular amongst the Night Duty Nurses.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think she’s a Callithumpian.”

“You know there’s no such religion as Callithumpian?” They were interrupted by Big M asking for a tray for the Irish Coffees.

“Youz aren’t Callithumpian, are you? We’ve had no end of trouble with back home.” Big M interjected.

“No, mate, just chatting.” FOW replied, as he replaced the whiskey bottle on the top shelf.

Foodge grinned. “See there is such a thing!”

South Sea Islands, real class…

“Whatever.” This wasn’t a battle worth fighting over. “Are you going to take Granny to see Merv?” Granny had responded to her favourite nostrum and was in fine form brewing a batch of Granny’s Pale Ale.

“Yes, indeed. I was hoping to give Merv some good news regarding Janet, but I think I’ll be hooking him up with a Family Solicitor.”

“Can’t you handle stuff like that?” FOW was wiping and stacking a bunch of trays.

“I’ve never handled a divorce, all criminal law, me!” Foodge hasn’t appeared in a court for three years, which may be more of a reason. “Oh, here’s the lady herself. How’s the brewing going , Granny?”

“The wort has been boiled, cooled and pumped into a fermentation tank. It just needs to cool down by a cuppla degrees then I’ll toss in some yeast. I heard youz talkin’ ‘bout Merv and Janet. Any hope?” Granny nodded to FOW who slid a canoe across the bar.

“Well, she doesn’t want to talk to me. Father wants to talk to her, but I don’t think it will help.”

“No, them Callithumpians keep to themselves. Very intolerant of other faiths.. I wouldn’t bother.” Granny skulled her drink and nodded for a second, which followed the first one quick smart.” I’m going upstairs for a shower, are you still happy to take me to see Merv?”

“Yes, O’Hoo will take over while I’m gone.”

………………………………………………………..

The van arrives for Merv…

The hospital visit went as hospital visits usually go. Twenty minutes of driving around looking for an overpriced parking spot. Then ten minutes of trying to find the ward. At least that gave one time to try to acclimatise to the smell of disinfectant, which failed to disguise the smell of urine. Eventually they found the ward where they were pleased to see that Merv was no longer manacled to the bed.

Merv had assumed that MRI-Brain was some sort of brain biopsy so had been getting worked up over the idea of a big needle, or blade, going into his brain. The nurse had allayed his fears by telling him that it was a brain scan using big magnets and shit. The scan, according to a verbal report, was unremarkable, which is medical speak for normal. He’d eagerly conveyed all of this to his visitors.

“So, what’s the next step, son?” Granny was stoic, but in reality was pretty worried.

“Well, they’re considering an orchidectomy, which seems odd, because we don’t grow any flowers!” Merv exclaimed.

“No, well that sounds good, love, we’ll push off, I’ve still got wort that needs my attention.”

As they wandered through the maze of hallways and tunnels Foodge whispered to Granny. “Why do they want Merv’s orchids?”

“I suspect it’s just some medical thing.” Granny replied, nodding knowingly.

Advanced Hair. Yeah! Yeah!

13 Sunday Dec 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

≈ 20 Comments

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Written by Big M

Wot? Me worry…

Foodge was stood at his station behind the coffee machine. He was in a pensive mood (No he wasn’t, he was just plain embarrassed). Sorry, (Thanks Mark) he was just plain embarrassed after having to piss in the sluice behind the bar. Of course, Foodge’s idea if micturating in the sluice involved piss going everywhere, especially with an over-distended bladder. “Thanks, Father O’Way, for cleaning up yesterday.”

“No worries, I suppose you mentally lapsed back to those days of micturating through the ship’s railing.” FOW, as he liked to be called, was struggling with a leaking tap. It seemed like a cellarman’s job. “O’Hoo, are you there?”

“Yeah.” Came a muffled voice from the cellar.

“Leaking tap on Bitter, can you have a look?”

“Yep.” O’Hoo was trying to keep a low profile in view of the mad rooting in the store room incident.

“What ship?” Foodge had some vague idea about being on a ship but somehow his brain was stopping him from remembering. “Not the Wasted Seamen?”

“Where did you hear that name?” It was FOW’s turn to be pensive, or was it wary?

“It went down last week with three passengers missing, three Australian blokes.”

FOW realised that he had said too much. “Perhaps I heard it on the news. How about a pint?” FOW pushed a canoe in Foodge’s direction.

………………………………..

Merv needs to get dressed…

Merv realised that he had slept in. He tried to get up but his balls ached and his arm seemed to be trapped. He was spooning the most delightful creature he’d ever seen. Like a fitness model she had delts like boulders, traps like the hind leg of an ox and muscular striations that Mr Schwarzenegger would die for. He gently nuzzled her ear. “Mon Cheri.”

…………………………….

Janet puts on the death stare…

Foodge heard the back door slam. Looking around he was face to face with Merv’s ex, Janet. Where is he?” She spluttered.

“Who would that be?” Foodge answered.

“Who dya think!”

FOW stepped in. “Now there’s no need to get excited dear.” In his most ministerial voice.

“Shuddup Padre. Where is he?”

FOW and O’Hoo avoided looking at her. Foodge couldn’t help himself and nervously glanced up at the ceiling.

“Still in bed, the lazy great oaf.” Janet sprinted up the Memorial Kristina Kennealy staircase.

Foodge tried to ring Merv, suddenly realising that Merv didn’t own a mobile. It was too late; the sound of thumping on Merv’s bedroom door resonated through the building.

Janet burst through the door. “Get up you lazy…what, I’ve been gone five days and you’re already playing hide the salami…whoozat?”

Mervette awkwardly tried to cover all of her bits. “Merv, you told me you were well and truly divorced. Five days? Separated five days. That’s barely a holiday!”

“So, who’s this, Merv, yer twin sister?” Janet was shaking with anger.

“No, wait…why…we’re nothing alike.” Now Merv was discombobulated.

“She looks like you with a sex change.” Granny, Foodge, FOW and O’Hoo all nodded in agreement. Gordon only knows what they were all doing in there.

Mervette spoke up. “I think I can explain it. Merv, did you ever donate tissue for cloning experiments?”

“Well, Advanced Hair paid me a thousand bucks for some hair follicles to clone for baldy headed blokes, but that was over thirty years ago.”

“What do you think happened to that tissue?”

“I assumed they made hair out of it!”

“Well, they did, but they also made me.”

“Hang on, if they made a human, why didn’t they publish, or sell the technology to make human organs and medical treatments.” Big M interjected. He’d been sleeping in the bar since the last episode.

“Shut up, Big M.” Yelled Mark. How he got into the story, no one knows. “Let ‘em tell the story.

“You’re female, you can’t be a clone!” Merv’s head hurt.

“They developed a technique to convert the cells into female cells by substituting X for Y, because women are less likely to become bald. They left some cells dividing and they became me. I am your female clone!”

“So you’ve been having an affair with yourself. I’ve heard of dedicated Onanists, but you absolutely take the cake” Janet seemed to make sense. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go and fuck yourself?”

A couple of onanists…

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?”

Merv is back in the Saddle

17 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

≈ 20 Comments

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Written by Big M

The traffic outside the Pigs Arms is horrendous

Foodge had spent the morning trying to make four leaf clovers and love hearts in cappuccino froth. He’s progressively become more discombobulated as the morning progressed. Mervette was suddenly at his side vigorously wiping over beer taps and flushing stale beer through the overflow trays. “Mate, you’ve got a face like a dropped pie!”

“Yeah, yes.” Mumbled Foodge. “I feel like I’m missing time, I mean, there’s a huge gap in my diary…nothing for three weeks, then there was a news story this morning, about MI5 catching paedophiles. The thing is, I feel like I’ve met the agent in charge, and the street looked familiar, even though I’ve never been to England.”

“Ah, yes, it’s just Deja Vu, you know, the brain detects vaguely familiar patterns and makes sense of them by creating some sort of story.” Mervette pulled out a middy glass. “You wanna a swift half for morning tea?”

“Well, why not, it might settle down the over active brain.” Foodge thought he saw a fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eye. Was it Gordon O’Donnell?

“You know those coffee patterns are easier to do in a real cup of coffee. That way your skewer drags some coffee up into the froth forming a darker line.”

Foodge ponders his bowel habits…

“Oh, yes, thanks.” Foodge drank his beer in silence. He was suddenly alerted to a news flash on the telly. “A container ship, the Wasted Seamen, has sunk in the Indian Ocean. Three middle aged, male passengers are feared drowned as they are unaccounted for.” Foodge crumpled his brow trying to remember where he’d seen Wasted Seamen before.

Suddenly a familiar face loomed large. “Gidday, Foodge, you’ve got a face like a slapped arse. What’s wrong?” Merv enquired.

“Well it’s all to do with MI5, paedophiles and Wasted Seamen.”

“Why, what have you heard?” Merv looked worried.

“Just the news.”

“Oh, so no one’s said anything?” Merv looked pensive.

“Why would they?”

Their exchange was interrupted by Mervette. “Where have you been all my life?” As she pushed a glass canoe across the bar.

“Right here, sweet heart.” Merv skulled his pint, hoping for a second helping. “That’s something you don’t see every day in Inner Western Cyberia.”

“What’s that?”

“A beautiful lookin’ sheila.” Merv drank the second pint a little more slowly.

“Another silver tongued bastard.” Mervette gave Merv one of her come hither looks. “How about you sit yerself down and we’ll organise some breakfast?”

“I’m not that hungry, I suppose I could put away some scrambled eggs, bacon, chipolatas, tomato, mushrooms, Cumberland sausages, maybe a bit of leftover steak.” The words were barely out of Merv’s mouth when Granny appeared with her famous Pigs Arms Big Breakfast with customary wedges.

Both women fussed over him while Foodge stood behind the coffee machine. He reached over and pulled another beer. “I suppose he deserves all that fuss, but no one’s recognised my existential crisis.” He muttered to himself. “I could have been abducted by aliens for all I know.”

Pigs Arms patrons

Granny rushed off to attend some wort that she had left on the boil. Mervette placed her hands either side of Merv’s neck. “You’re full of tension, Merv, you really need a massage.” As she worked on a particularly knotty trapezoid. “This might be better performed lying down.”

It was Merv’s turn to feel a stirring in the nether regions.

Just let me near an employee, I’ll root ya…allegedly

Meet Mervette

10 Tuesday Nov 2020

Posted by in Big M

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Mervette ponders life…

Written by Big M.

Foodge had decided to step up to the plate, as the Americans say, on account of Mr Merv being away on ‘family business’, so had thrown himself into cleaning the coffee machine. “Bloody filthy.” He muttered to himself, suddenly realising that a pin striped suit wasn’t ideal for such a job. “Merv should have a filter on the water inlet, no wonder Pigs Arms coffee tastes like pool water.”

“How did you learn to overhaul a coffee machine?” O’Hoo was enthusiastically purging air from one of the beer lines.

“When I was training to become a barrister I accidently went to a barista’s course.” (I know, this joke never gets old).

“So you’re a barrister /barista?” O’Hoo now had a steady flow of Trotters Best.

“Yes, there’s probably a televisual show in that.” Foodge now had coffee grounds all over the bench. “I’m going to have to get new seals and a filter for this.” Foodge ignored the brown stains over the front of his white shirt and took off.

“You couldn’t pull me a pint of one of those, couldja love?”

O’Hoo looked up from the taps to gaze at one of the strangest looking women he’d ever seen. She was tall, well muscled, may have once been quite attractive but the broken nose put pay to that. She was wearing an odd get up, gold boxing shorts, a pink singlet with ‘Barmaids do it standing up.’ Scrawled across her ample bosom and dirty running shoes. She reminding him of someone, but couldn’t place her. “Christ yer a beaut lookin’ sheila!”

“Christ yer a silver tongued bastard. Now what about that glass canoe?”

O’Hoo nervously pulled a pint which resulted in more head than beer. “Move over, love.” She expertly pulled two pints, pushing one along to our inexpert friend. “Cheers!” She downed the pint like Bob Hawke at a cricket match. “What’s yer name, handsome?”

“O’Hoo, but most people call me O’Hoo.” O’Hoo downed his pint. “ I don’t normally drink before ten!”

“Well, it’s passed five somewhere in the universe. I’m Mervette, but me friends call me Merv.” Mervette pulled a second round of Best. What the feck has happened to yer coffee machine?”

“Foodge, our resident barista is halfway through servicing it. Went orff to get spares.” O’Hoo felt a warm glow, not just from the alcohol, but also in his nether regions. “Anyhoo, what are you doing here?”

Merv on Man Arse Island now he is a boat person…

“I’m from the Inner Cyberian Bar Staff Agency. A woman named ‘Granny’ rang for help.”

Almost on cue Granny emerged from the cellar, pointing a bony finger. “You must be Mervette, we spoke on the electric telephone.”

“Hello Granny, yep, you can call me ‘Merv’! Do you want a sherbet?”

“I don’t normally drink before ten, but it must be after five somewhere in the universe.” Grinned Granny. “Do you like wedges?”

“I feckin’ love ‘em!”

The two women sat down to a bowl of wedges and another round of beers while Granny discussed her own range of beers, as well as the usual brewery -bought stuff such as Wretched Pilsener, Three Ex Bronze, and so on. Suddenly the back door slammed as Foodge re-appeared with a bag of coffee machine bits. “Who…what…Merv in drag?”

“Ah, that’s who she reminds me of.” O’Hoo nodded sagely. Hoping that no one had noticed his stiffy.

“Oh, Mervette, this is our resident barrister, barista and the love of my life, Foodge.” Granny blushed.

Mervette stood up and delivered a finger-crushing handshake. “Call me Merv.”

“Merv it is, then.” Gasped Foodge.

Me and Granny really hit it orf…

Episode 102 Merv and Unexpected Travel

08 Tuesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 18 Comments

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Granny and Father O’Way talk politics…

 

Written by Big M.

 

“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’”

O’Way sat there nodding miserably.

Merv on Retirement

05 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by in Mark

≈ 11 Comments

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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.

Episode 91B – Foodge steps up to the Plate

07 Friday Jul 2017

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 14 Comments

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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