Tag Archives: Sandy O’Way

Merv versus Nothing

28 Sunday Jul 2019

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I’m glad we have a conservative government…


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?

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…

The Pres talks to Jim

28 Sunday May 2017

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He said he was from outer space…

Hi, Sandy here, you know, the parish priest from the Church of St. Generic Brand, down the road and round the corner from the Pigs Arms.

Wwwwweeeeeelllll. I have some breakout news for you. Currently I’m in space with Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, the creator of the universe and we intercepted this phone call from Earth. The message was intercepted by a SHITBOX(Sub-ether Hologram Intergalactic Transmission Broadcast Over X). X is the operating system. So here’s how the theory works. Many aeons ago a single-minded company decided to create objects called shitboxes. I’m sure all who are reading can identify several shitbox

a shitbox

episodes in their life. These shitboxes ended up all over the galaxy and they transmit all means of communication available. They play news from Bad Aunty, sport, music, even country and western!

This transcript is between an orange roughie called the Pres(TP) and a foodie called Jim Kong Ung(Jim) who just loves a deal and whose hobby is rockets however is somewhat a sticky character[one for the nurses].

The Pres decides to give him a call. Ring, ring, ring, ring[get the picture].

Image removed.

Here’s a transcript and I really hope that this will put your minds to rest.

Jim: Heeelo Jim speaking, are you ready to place your order. Today’s special is a burrito called “The Wall” and you build your own, pay on the way out, extra fries 50 cent today only.

TP: No, I don’t want food, I want to speak to the leader of North Career, is that you?

Jim: Yep, that’s me. Crispy fried chicken wings 3 for a dollar, waddy ya say?

TP: Look, it’s about this missile thing with really dangerous stuff on-board.

Jim: Don’t worry bout that, that’s just for the locals, keeps them on their toes, bhawawahahahahah, I made a funny. Schnitzel 7 fifty, just for you.

TP: Hey, ewes a smart man, wheeze could do business. I tell you, what would it take for a man like yourself to reach a peace deal?

[At his stage the phone is muffled by a hand over the talkie bit. The Pres could hear

When you’re smiling

phrases but nothing to much, “sigh,basket caper, go hurt the dill, lots of sauce and don’t go sour on the dough, moucho dough”. The Pres then realised that these guys were tough negotiators. That’s pretty high praise for fictional characters].

Jim: Can we get a signed basketball and some smoked salmon with sour dough and a yogurt and dill sauce dressing, oh hang on, [muffle, muffle] and capers.

TP: Is that all? Anything else.

Jim: Um, yeah enough to feed the crew.

TP: Okay, how many?

Jim: Five.

TP: And so we won’t bomb each other.

Jim: Okay, you drive a hard bargain. Sure you don’t what some fried rice?

TP: Now I’m taking your order.

Jim: Yes, so it seems Pres.

You call that a shitbox now this is a shitbox

Episode 84 Sandy Goes All Out for Mary

29 Thursday Dec 2016

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I think the Bish has a message...

I think the Bish has a message…

 

 

Episode 84 Sandy Goes All Out for Mary

By ‘Shoe

“Spitting chips,” the Bish said. The door of the manse was flung wide open in a classic Big Bish grand entrance.

All Sandy could do to earn his keep in the instant was pray the Bish stand back away from a clutter of plaster of paris statuettes on the hallway table, freshly painted in especially the sparkly gold and pink of the official Pigs Arms you-all-barrack-for-uniform, each a quick throw, quick turnover statuette ready to refill the cabinet in the Sports Bar. Any left over could go into the glass display case at the the clan tartans Emporium, Gawdy Geordie, the Pigs Arms Group invested in as a back up in case the pub didn’t pay.

Scotland! Home of the Brave!

Traditional Scot celebration...

Traditional Scot celebration…

With the Bish coming in, light had poured through the open manse door in what seemed a blinding explosion of it.

Gordon aka Gordy, near, sang in Sandy’s ear, “She’ll be apples. How y’goin’.”. Sandy noticed always as if it was the first time every time the same depth of fine voice as Charlton Heston’s when Sandy saw Charlton in the matinee of his flick all those years ago and was inspired. Except Gordy’s accent was as Aussie as an, well, Aussie. The Irish came out in him when he was drunk and there was a telephone directory in him if not a book, for sure.

“Come through, Bish.” Sandy beckoned his boss. He extended an arm and a hand

Sandy is upset, well sort of...

Sandy is upset, well sort of…

forward to take the Bish’s wide brimmed hat, the other to wrest statuettes off his boss needs be. The Bish was known to be light fingered if he thought something belonged to Gordon and thus by definition to the Bish.

“You’re the best, Bish. Let’s slip through the back door and go to the pub.You won’t need the hat. No sun today. I’ll put these statuettes of Nurse Barbara back with the other Pigs Arms merchandise.”

Sandy did not want the Bish to see Mary Xmas and her partner, Ginger Pumpkins,

A facsimile of Ginger Pumkins

A facsimile of Ginger Pumpkins

were sprawled asleep in the living room in not much. He hurried the Bish down the corridor and across the back laneway to the pub carpark. The Bish seemed keen, a little bleary maybe. Gordon needed no invitation to tag along. The three of them arrived in the Sports Bar worse only for wear from the rain, shadowed by an accompanying trinity of Hells Angles in tow.

“Three’s our lucky number,” slurred the Bish who truth to tell started work early in the morning by hosting a Boxing Day Sales mass for the terribly poor. It is not hard to rope a homeless crowd into a cathedral with the incentive of a Maker’s Delight Breakfast with old doughnuts and stale

Yum, breakfast...

Yum, breakfast…

white bread after the mass served with a choice of orange or green cordial, weak tea, weak instant coffee or watery Milo, and then everybody got handed an envelope with a hundred dollars in it to spend at the sales. “Score,” the congregation mouthed each to their neighbor.

The Bish would not be drawn at the bar. He was allowed to fall asleep special concession and snore with his head on the bar and as if he didn’t often when he was in town. Sandy as Father O’Way readers will appreciate had time to go back to the manse and get Mary and Ginger up and dressed out of the St Generic Brand props box in some table cloths and singlets marked St Michael Quality Promise.

“Mary Xmas,” murmured Sandy in Mary’s ear. Gordon’s in Sandy’s ear all the way egging him on to an expanded consciousness. Sandy was pursuing a simple goal,

Gordon interviewing space recruits

Gordon interviewing space recruits

keen to return to the bar before the Bish woke himself up with a snore or Manne called on Merv to help him throw the Bish out of the bar.

Sergeant Legless (pronounced to rhyme with Steggles, please) was on sole charge duty at the station with a bicycle for transport so, that known, unlikely to come for the Bish no word of a lie and no disrespect intended but some of you could lose some avwadupwa.

“Mary Xmas,” Sandy repeated, “Mary Xmas,” when he thought Mary did not hear him and was sleep walking to where he led Mary and Ginger. Father Sandy was returning the two women to their lodgings at the Pigs Arms and gracious with it.

“Where are you?” he huffed and puffed and asked as he bundled the two of them up the stairs after a fashion.

“The Wedding Suite,” yawned Mary. “Thanks, Sandy, for letting me crash with Ginger at the manse, all the cheap wine we drank. We would never have made it

Mary's brother Nigel...

Mary’s brother Nigel…

back to the pub. I won some more scratchie money too, but I gave it to the Bish to give to the poor. I heard him knocking on the door last night and got up and let him in. He brought round three bottles of altar wine. More cheap wine like vinegar. We drank the lot between the three of us and finished with a cheap night cap of granny’s brew over at the pub. We came back here with the Bish and a cellar door bottle of a vintage drop of the first brew Granny put down.”

Sandy had to wait for Mary to find the key to the Suite. Where she did find it he didn’t know. He levered and pushed Mary and Ginger through the door of their accommodation and said his goodbyes.

“Seasons Greetings,” Sandy called after them in a tone of great tenderness, “Mary Xmas.”

Mary having a quite moment and yes I know.

Mary having a quite moment and yes I know.

The Tail of God 3

05 Friday Sep 2014

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Pic by Warrigal

Pic by Warrigal

Just a recap, my name is Gordon O’Donnell. I am scientist from another dimension and me and a couple of class mates accidentally created the universe. Our teachers have sent us here to study for our degrees and I am heading for the planet Earth in the galaxy know as the Milky Way. My task so far is to create a monetary system, teach everyone in the galaxy to speak English but more importantly teach them cricket.

“C’mon Gordon” says Viv. Viv is my SNAP (Space Normalisation Adaptation Process) Coordinator, oh, in case you forgot, space an acronyms go hand in hand. Damn. “We are heading up to the bio so I can show you where you will be living till Earth is ready for you” Viv informs.

“What’s a bio Viv?” I ask as I glance around my beautiful cabin, a book list to die for, my own cook and a bar that never runs out.

“With long distance space travel you need to live in a biosphere otherwise you will go mad or in your case, madder” laughs Viv.

“Do you think I’m mad Viv?” I question.

“No, not so far anyway Gordon but you will eventually live in Inner Cyberia at the Rectory of the Church of St. Generic Brand with Bishop Bishop, Father O’Way and Belinda the housekeeper. Most of the time this lot are found drinking at the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle affectionately know as The Pigs Arms. A stoic bunch of drinkers are always there and they are going to test you out. You need to know how to respond to fit in.” says Viv.

I find I cannot speak. Never in my wildest dreams could I have ever imagined such a scenario. We jump in an elevator and after a few minutes the lift door opens and we are in the main street of some sort of village. A mixture of housing surrounds and I can see a hotel, café and a few shops. People are moving around the streets.

“C’mon Gordon, I show you your house” instructs Viv and we walk a very short distance to a beautiful bungalow style house that over looks the beach.

“Wow this is fantastic” I mutter out loud, more really thinking about my surroundings than making any intelligent comment.

“Fair dinkum Gordon, anyone that doesn’t like this is a few kangaroos short in the top paddock” says Viv. Viv reads my face in an instance. “Fair dinkum means is that right and a few kangaroos short in the top paddock means that if you didn’t like this then you must be a mad” Viv informs with that irrepressible smile.

“This bio is the beach side village with fishing harbour, point break for surf and foothills at the rear and cricket oval in the centre of town. There are about 50 droids here who will create the atmosphere so it seems as if you are having a normal existence plus a four team cricket comp. The central computer has set the weather to replicate your birth planet and is fairly similar to Earth, you know day night, summer winter.” Viv states as this is all fairly ordinary.

Me, I’m overwhelmed. This amazing house with wrap round verandas that take in all possible views. A village, here in space, fair dinkum, hey its working, maybe I can settle into Earth after all.

“Come on Gordon, lets hit the pub for a couple of frothy’s, beers, before tea, dinner” says Viv, teaching as she goes along.

We enter the pub. A magnificent low lying building with a grand bar and a dining room to one side. Several droids are sitting at tables talking about the weather and some at the bar like they are propping the place up and watching sport on the screen.

We perch on a couple of stools at the bar and are approached by the barman. “Gerard, this is Gordon” says Viv. We shake hands, a custom I’m not quite used to yet.

“What will it be Gordy, we have Trotters Ale or Trotters Ale” informs Gerard.

“Make that two” says Viv. I’ve been drinking this Trotters Ale since coming on board and I must admit I really like it now although it did take some time. “So for tea Gordon it’s Bat Shit on toast or Kanck’s gizzard sandwiches?” smiles Viv.

My jaw drops and the bar erupts in laughter, hmm, Inner Cyberians, a tricky lot.

We enjoy a few more ales and I’m feeling quite relaxed but there is something that has been puzzling me. “ Viv” I explore, treading carefully, afraid to be thought of as mad “ Look in the last episode someone spoke to me about getting on with it, I thing the name was Hung”

“ Oh, Hung” reveals Viv, full of knowledge “ Hung’s the author of this story. Look see that screen over there, and how you can see a faint image of a person typing at the keyboard, well that’s Hung”

“ Author, story, you mean I’m not real but simply a fictitious character.” I blurt confused as to what’s going on.

“ Of course you are real Gordon. Everyone that reads this story knows you created the universe and this website has over 450,000 hits so mate you are very real” asserts Viv.

“ But he spoke to me” again my anxiety rising.

“ And yeah, you can speak to him any time but it must be inside closed brackets like this []. If you don’t like something or have a suggestion on the story just type you request inside closed brackets and Hung will talk to you” says Viv. “ Here I’ll show you”

[Hey Hung, great gag about the bat shit on toast]
[Thanks Viv. Gordon may need some sedation later till he understands]
[Yeah, he’s a bit wet behind the ears but I think we can work with him, I mean he likes beer for starters]
[Hung, Gordon here, am I real?]
[As real as anything else in this universe. Don’t worry, any concerns just talk to me. My closed brackets are always open to you.]

First published: http://hungsworld.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/the-tail-of-god-3/

The Tail of God – Part 1

30 Monday Jun 2014

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my kinda santa

My kinda Santa

Hum diddy hum, diddy hum hum hum. Hmm, I hate waiting don’t you. Now I have been called to a special meeting and I just can’t wait, yee esse. Aren’t you excited? I am. Hmm, sorry, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Gordon O’Donnell and I am the second youngest student ever accepted into Astrophysics at the spring chicken age of 512. Yes that’s right only five hundred and twelve years old and I’m going to become an astrophysicist, amazing.

Anyway I’m waiting for the lift to take me to the office of Professor T.D. Schnitzel who along with his partners Professor C. Chips and Professor G. Salad want to interview me after a couple of fellow students, Gees Ass and Holly Ghost and I created a new universe in a shoe box. The box resides in a cupboard at the back of lab, Astrophysics 101. The Professors want to talk to me about this universe and how to study it.

“Welcome Gordon” says T.D. “I’m Ten Dollar Schnitzel and my compatriots are Chunky Chips and Garden Salad”.

Wow, fancy being on first name basis with these legends. And what a combo they make, ten dollar schnitzel with chips and salad, every boys dream.

“So Gordon” T.D. leads off “A very interesting thing you have created with your fellow students and we have decided that we want the three of you to study your experiment for your astrophysics course. How do you feel about that?”

“Fantastic” I reply not knowing how to really feel until we get to the crux of the matter.

“Well, we have invented a machine so you can explore this new universe at your will. It’s called a Schnitzeliser. You go in one end as a Meupian and you come out the other end as a being that is proportionally acceptable to your project at the other” smiles T.D.

Oh, sorry. For those of you that don’t know, I’m from a planet called Meup. It revolves around a Sun we call Star T. Meupians live forever except for accidents. When an accident happens Meupins can then reproduce a new being. That way our planet is never over populated and degraded unlike some planets.

“So T.D.” I lead off “Let me get this straight. I start at this end as a normal Meupian male and end up in the shoe box the size of a sub atomic particle inside a space ship that will take me through this dangerous and unexplored universe where any thing could go wrong at any time”

“Yes” replies T.D. is his own unique way reflecting that I’m the one in danger while he gets the bus home at five each night, hmm.

santa“And if I don’t I will never pass astrophysics and live a miserable lonely life until one day I meet with an accident and die”

“Yes” replies T.D.

“Okay, where do I sign” I groan.

Wow, I’ve just been schnitzelised and here am I in a brand new space ship. You can tell it is brand new it has that smell. Yes, two arms, two legs, hmm, yes two something else. It’s funny when you have been schnitzelised, you feel as though someone has just punched all these little holes in you and you feel very tender, hmm.

Anyway I’m in some sort of bedroom, very swish and grandiose. It has a bathroom, shower and utilities area, very nice. One wall of the room is a book case absolutely full of all kinds of books, hmm, this could be one heck of a journey, only problem is I don’t know where I am going.

There is a knock at the door. I open it to find a droid standing in the passageway. Oh, let me explain a couple of things you will need to know about space travel. Droids or should I say, androids are sophisticated robots that can travel anywhere any time, need no food or oxygen and recharge themselves usually overnight or as necessary. They, for all intent and purposes, are your crew and it doesn’t take long before you forget they are machines and you very quickly see them as your travelling companions. The other thing about space travel is virtually everything that has a name is an acronym. You need to be alert as this will always hit you when you least expect it.

“Hello” I say to the droid “My names Gordon O’Donnell, please call me Gordy or Gord” I tick off trying to get on the front foot.

“Yes hello Gordon, T.D. has told me all about you” replies the droid. Now this droid is a rather large person with a big white beard and long white hair. He is wearing a red jacket with white cuffs and a white strip around the bottom of the jacket. His pants are red with white cuffs at the bottom. He has on large black boots, a black belt with a huge buckle and a red hat with a white pom pom. “My name is SANTA” says the droid “ I’m your navcom.”

“Please to meet you Santa” I hesitate.

“Yes Gordon, I’m an acronym. SANTA stands for Sub Atomic Neuroleptic Transparent Android but hey just call me Nick” he offers.

“Come down to the control room and I’ll show you around then I will introduce you to Viv” informs Nick.

We enter the control room and wow, this ship is state of the art. I peer out through the window where I can see out over the nose of the ship. There is a distinct red glow coming from the tip of the nose.

“What is that red glow Nick?” I ask in bewilderment.

“As we are travelling so fast Gordy the very tip of the nose of the ship excites any gas in space and that generates heat” explains Nick.

“And who built this ship Nick, it is of high quality?” I ponder.

“The Reindeer Company on Meup” replies Nick.

“And does the ship have a name?” I enquire.

“Yes. It does have a model number but basically it’s name is Rudolph”

Well you go figure. Here I am flying through space with Santa and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, unbelievable but true, well sort of.santa1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First published: http://hungsworld.wordpress.com/2014/06/30/the-tail-of-god-part-1/

Greece is the Word

31 Thursday May 2012

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Story by Hung One On and Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy O’Way here, you know the, yes I guess you know by now. I’m in a cab on my way to the Nazi Goering Airport on Barley when the phone rings. Guess who, the Bish.

“Sandy, hop a plane to Greece. They are in great trouble and need your help to prevent them dropping out of the Eurozone” bleats the Bish.

“Hmm, Eroticzones, sounds good to me Bish” I answer eagerly.

“No you dimwit. The Eurozone is a common European currency used by all European countries, you know like Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain, Austria, Romania, Moldova and Switzerland you must rescue them or you’re fired” demands the Bish.

Hmm, there goes my comfy retirement but Portugal, Ireland, Greece, Spain, Austria, Romania, Moldova and Switzerland spells PIGSARMS. It’s a sign from Gordon, I’m on a mission from GOD! This must be connected to the Pigs Arms, the home of  pink drinks and Trotters Ale, well I’ll do it for them, they are worth saving.

On the plane I am seated next to a strangely attractive female dressed in black leather and teased hair however there is something not quite right here, like since when do women have an Adams apple and a five o’clock shadow, hmm.

“Hi cutey. I’m Olivia Neutron Bomb” er, um, she states and extends here rather hairy hand.

We shake hands and she nearly crushes it, crikey more grip than a hooker up the Cross. “Er, um Sandy O’Way, nice to meet you, now can you give me my hand back” I blurt in pain and agony.

“ I’ve just finished my last year at Rydell’s High School and had to leave behind my boyfriend, John Travolting, but look sweetie I’m always open to any mile high suggestions” she gushes batting her eyelashes faster then a hummingbird on heat. “You see Father, I got chills. They’re multiplyin’. And I’m losin’ control. Cause the power you’re supplyin’, it’s electrifyin’! You’re the one that I want, (you are the one I want), o,o, oo, honey, The one that I want. (you are the one I want), o,o,oo, honey. The one that I want, (you are the one I want), o,o, ooooo, The one I need.
Oh, yes indeed”

“Er, um, well, look Miss, I’m a parish priest and I’m on a mission from GOD.” I search unwittingly for an answer to dispel, well, um, this young lady.

“So you’re in the missionary position Father? See Greece is the word, Greece is the word, is the word that you heard, It’s got groove it’s got meaning, Greece is the time, is the place is the motion, Greece is the way we are feeling” she says.

“No I’m off to save Greece from dropping out of the Eurozone.” I state rather firmly.

“Well look up my old friend, Evangeos Venizelopoulos, he is a handsome Geek man that likes things Greek style in every way, if you know what I mean”  he, er, um, she smirks.

Well no, I don’t know what you mean but someone get me out of here.

I head to Evangoes’ office but I mean fancy being in Greece, the centre of the world, handsome men, pretty women and the best food I have ever eaten. Yeah, Greece is the word.

“So Evangoes” I start “ the country is up shit creek. What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I will win the next election and trash everything from the IMF and anyone else” he says rather firmly.

“The IMF?” I ask rather dimwittingly.

“Yes, the Internationally Myopic Financers” he replies.

“Hmm, what about asking people to pay tax? I mean Christine “Frenchy” LaGrange, head of the IMF,  said so herself only the other day” I moot carefully.

“Sir, you insult me and my nation. We pay no tax. Tax is a pox. When I attend the school dance with the T-Birds and the Pink Ladies there is no talk of tax. We will win the dance off and fund the country that way. Anyway, Frenchy has insulted my car, a Datsun 120Y, and I have challenged her to a race to the death” he asserts loudly and demonstratively.

“So Evangoes, what is life for you after politics?” I ask.“Well” says Evangoes “Frenchy has promised me a head job in the car park so I expect to be Le Comminsioner de stationnement [The Commissioner of Parking] I guess.”

I rest my car.

The Return of Father O’Way – in Barley

28 Monday May 2012

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Nazi Goering

Story by the Great Hung One On – Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

Hi. Sandy O’Way here. You know the good father from the St Generic Brand parish, around the corner and down the street from the Pigs Arms. Well the Bish, you know Bishop Bishop, wants me to get Shappy Corebee out of jail. Apparently Shappy got caught smuggling thugs into Barley as the local thugs aren’t strong enough and that’s why they need Australian thugs and let face we have plenty of thugs in Australia.

[Stop.  Cut. Cease.  Hung here. Look Sandy you idiot it’s drugs not thugs, now get on with it and stop being silly]

Oh, sorry! Okay so she’s a drug smuggler and is in jail in Barley which is an island in Donesia. Donesia is rated the most corrupt country in the world just above Australia. The Barlenese don’t want to be part of Donesia but when asked to join they didn’t have enough guns, tanks and jetfighters so they agreed. Anyway what can you bribe corruption with?  I ask myself as I land at the airport in the capital of Barley, Nazi Goering.

I check into my hotel, The Nazi Goering Combination Hotel, and head for two private investigators, Beef and Chicken Satay. The Bish told me that these two old skewers are really peanuts but know the island. I send them out to get the low-down on how I can get Shappy out of the can.

The next day Beef rings me at my hotel “Look Sandy, we found high level criminal activity, hookers, inappropriate reporting procedures and set up merchants” Beef spluttered.

“Look Beef, I didn’t ask for a report on the Health Services Union, anyway you sound a bit overdone, I’ll take it from here”.

What in the name of Gordon am I going to do? The Bish said get her out or you’re fired so I better come up with something. I know I’ll ring the jail and make an appointment with the Governor, Berguling Gado Gado.

“Mr Gado Gado’s office” the voice replied.

“Er,um, hi, can I make an appointment to see the governor?” I ask rather nervously.

“Certainly Sir, 10:45 tomorrow morning. And your name Sir?” the voice asks.

My name, zark, what’s my name, crikey it’s been such a long time I’ve forgotten, oh hang on it’s at the top of the page, you know how you characteristically introduce yourself, see Sandy O’Way. Don’t you just love having conversations with yourself, yes I see it now, I say Hi. Sandy O’Way here so that must be me. “Sandy” I reply confidently “Sandy O’Way”.

“Thank you Sandy Sandy O’Way we will see you tomorrow” the voice affirms.

“No my name is just Sandy O’Way” I state rather awkwardly.

“Okay then Just Sandy O’Way see you tomorrow”.

I give up otherwise I will chew up my word limit and you won’t find out what happens in the end. I mean lets face it that’s why you read anything, to find out what happens in the end. So me I just read the end first and that saves me a lot of time. Like Frodo drops the One Ring into the Crack of Doom, now that saved me a heap of reading.

“Well Governor how can I convince you to let Shappy out of jail?” I ask. May as well get on the front foot.

“Yeah sure. I have 27th July 1965, 8th Feburury 1982 or August 1st 2003. Which date would you like?” the Governor exclaims.

“But Governor all those dates are past” I state rather bewildered by it all.

“Well in that case we better let her out then”

And so that is how it happened, honest, well sort of.

Father O’Way: Religion for Dummies

24 Friday Jun 2011

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Hello. Hung One On (HOO)  here. Look, all this brouhaha about religion has sent me to the far corners of the earth to interview our own parish priest form the inner western suburbs of Inner Cyberia Father “Sandy” O’Way (FOW). As two intellectual giants we will battle it out about religion, God and life after death. Here’s a transcript.

HOO: So Sandy, all this stuff in the media lately about religion over at the old Unleashed, you know about how Chaplains are being placed in schools and how they may proselytize?

FOW: Sorry Hung but I take deep offence that you accuse us of us having sex with little boys.

HOO: No, Sandy, that’s paedophilia, I mean proselytize.

FOW: If you think that I’m going to get dressed up in black suspenders and stockings and stand on a corner then you have another thing coming.

HOO: No, Sandy, that’s prostitution, I mean proselytize.

FOW: We can never be guilty of that however we usually do this,  convert someone to another religion or opinion; convert to another religion or faith; enlist someone to one’s cause (also proselytise) . Get the picture?

HOO: So Sandy, the big one, is there a God?

FOW: Well, there’s a Gordon but don’t know about God.

HOO: Is there life after death?

FOW: No, unless you owe the tax office.

HOO: What do you think about the articles posted by Astyages an atomou concerning their views on Greek mythology?

FOW: Isn’t it marvellous watching two geniuses arguing over absolute bullshit, I mean they take bullshit to a new level. I mean the different side of the river bank, cut me to pieces that one.

HOO: Hmm, Do you speak with God?

FOW: Oh, shit yeah, all the time, I have his number in my mobile, lets talk to him.

[Ring, ring]

GOD: Hello God, here, Gordon O’Donnell [GOD]

HOO: Er, Hung here God, there has been a bit of a storm here lately about religion and you know the big one, life after death, that sort of thing and I was wondering if I could get your view on these issues?

GOD: Jesus Hung, pretty big subjects but let me see, religion is the choice of the individual but should be kept away from kids, life after death, well sort of, I’d probably give you two to one on but you probably just die, well sort of, you know what I mean.

HOO: But Gordon, that sounds like you are trying to have a bit each way?

GOD: Well Hung, I’m not dead yet so I can’t answer the question, anyway got to go, watching 25 years of The Bill.

Whew, heady stuff. Anyhoo I’ll sign off, Hung One On, Inside his House, No Where.

The Eye of God as seen from the Hubble Telescope

 

PS: For Warrigal, hopefully a smile has been delivered by the good Father.

12.1 We Drop in to the Mire

01 Tuesday Mar 2011

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Pictures by Warrigal

We drop in to the Mire, that’s the planet the Haggins’ live on, on the way to meet Alexrod, convenient hey. Mire revolves around a star called god knows what. God Knows What is around about the size of the sun. Don’t just some things run in your favour when you are out in space, fantastic.

Throwdough Haggins

So Gordon has told me that the Habits, that’s the Haggins tribal name, believe in magic, you know, goblins and sorcerers and all that airy fairy nonsense that we all know ain’t true however some folk, some planets do.  The Habits live in Inhobitable. They are always having parties, loud music and of course plenty of ale. Sound like my kinda guys however Habits are smaller then us so things are a bit cramped for us apes on Mire. Gordon suggested I try a 3 wishes deal with the Habits to test the water. You know,  one the two then the punch line. So okay lets try.

“So Throwdough, you like the party time hey, must go through a lotta beer?” I ask with great interest, well sort of.

“Lots of beer Sandy” he replies.

See the beer on Mire is called Oink Lager and the name says it all. Tastes like bats piss but hang on what does bats piss actually taste like? Yuck! And what sort of person would drink bats piss? I think I might change the subject, I’m feeling ill and I’m the one writing this.

Sandy O’Paramatta

“Look, on my planet we have this great technology. You just chuck this in here, fill with water and it makes beer, 25c per 375 ml bottle, waddya say?” I pitch like a car salesman on Parramatta Road.

“Just this stuff and water, Sandy is that right?” replies Throwdough.  “Well, hmm, well, no, hmm, hmm no, no oh no, hmm, oh no,  I’ll have two more of them.”

So with that Throwdough and Dildough handed over their cards. We left minus six home brew kits, oh and enough supplies to last them a century. I’m sure though the Habits will do as much as they can with addictive substances.

Viv having a break, literally

Back onboard the Julian we now start to head for Automaticus Tellericus, reset the password on the One Card and grab the bail. Easy for sure, well not really.  Meeting my brother is going to be very interesting.

“I’ve ordered the Vivienne 59 for tea Sandy” chirps Belinda who walks in with Helvi.

“Hi Helvi, kill anyone today?” I quip hoping it’s taken in jest.

“No but if you want me to” grins Helvi.

“Anyhoo, what’s a Vivienne 59?” I request

“Some blokes name Ross Jogan, you know, curry it’s your favourite” says Belinda.

“Ready to fight Sandy or still shaking at the knees?” declares  Helvi

Daves jigger

Dave the Guitar Droid goes “Hey, It’s. Shakin All Over”

“When you move in a-right up close to me
That’s when I get the shakes all over me
Quivers down my back bone
I got the shakes in my thigh bone
I got the Quivers in my knee bone
Shakin’ a-all over”

“Well perhaps not Dave” I say rather limply “ but a good rendo.”

“Girls, battle plans okay, lets go.” I float and with that the battle council gathered. They are well armed and well trained. Us’, well, we are just a pack of losers. However we have the Julian, the best spaceship in the galaxy but not necessary in the universe. Lets try and overlook that.  This is complex fiction and I don’t want to lose you.

Helvi and Al Foyle with Catherine and Neville take charge. Ships are launched and deflector shields are activated. We are on silent mode. The ship runs on minimum power. Warrigal, the chief sensor,  is flashing his torch at his tranny trying to get some sort of

Silence is Deadly

positive response, under the quilt, late at night, yeah. Noise of any kind a this time is not welcome. I can’t help myself and I take my part in all this very seriously, as you all know, none more dedicated than me, oh yes. So I says, you know, I says, you know,  to the command group “Hey listen, I need to fart, but, look, you know silent is deadly” I announce to the delight of the crowd.

The Command group is thrown in to Chaos, “Oh, no, Sandy wants to ffffaaarrrtttttt’……”

Central Computer calling…..

Warning!

Warning  again!!

Look I’ve told you, there is a warning of some description. !!!

Look, don’t keep pressing the escape key, it won’t help. !!!!

I’ve issued a bloody warning what else do you want?

I think I’ll shut down.