Sunday, October 30, 2011

The Famous 5, the Secret 7 & the Communist 10. [Part1]

The Famous Five have the sort of adventures most people dream about, in a world where ginger beer flows and ham rolls are a staple diet.

Dick, Lassie, Slim, Boris and Bazza enjoy making up stories, trying to arrest any sort of development, going without a wash and getting together for a naked frolic in the woods with the Secret Seven.

The Secret Seven are a secret society who hold regular meetings and organise things to do, whether it's throwing a spanner in the works to halt development or just having fun playing hard core extremists in the woods.

The Seven have a secret password, a badge, and a secret headquarters in a garden shed.

The Seven are a jolly lot and are led by Bob and his sister Christine, and their friends Pegg, Helen, Bill. Philip and Maddy.

They all ride their bicycles to school all the while ringing their bells and blowing bubble gum.
Just as Bob and Christine are very close in the Secret Seven, Dick and Lassie are very close in the Famous Five.

Too close according to Slim who has suspicions they are playing hide the sausage.

Slim feels cheated and rightly so!

The Famous Five entered into a partnership with the Communist Ten to take charge of the woods.

Slim should have been given a Chalice in the new pact.

But Dick gave the Chalice to Lassie and Slim has been plotting and scheming ever since.

The Communist Ten have lost almost half their friends over the partnership agreement.

It has been a disaster from the word go!

The Communist Ten were dishonest about their relationship.

They tried to pretend everyone was suddenly friends.

They were warned they should be honest but took no heed!

Bob and Christine from the Secret Seven regularly had to take Dick aside and spank his bottom at their secret headquarters in the garden shed in front of all the others.

The others thought this was quite jolly and the spankings were usually followed by a naked frolic in the woods!

Bob and Christine had to show they were boss and when Lassie was caught by the police riding her bike naked and without a license they both gave Lassie a proper spanking.

Slim was beside himself with glee and hoped Dick would be forced to give him the Chalice.

Alas this was not to be and Slim and resentment grew closer and closer.

Things were getting worse all around.

The Secret Seven were losing their friend base.

The Communist Ten were so badly split it would take decades to recover.

The Famous Five’s credibility was at an all time low.

So low Lassie was forced to defend their record in Lindsay’s school mag!

to be continued ...

Friday, October 28, 2011

The Secret Seven and the Sandy Bay Bike Lane Debacle

The Secret Seven are a secret society who hold regular meetings and organise things to do, whether it's throwing a spanner in the works to halt development or just having fun playing hard core extremists in the woods.
The Seven have a secret password, a badge, and a secret headquarters in a garden shed.

The Seven are a jolly lot and are led by Bob and his sister Christine, and their friends Pegg, Helen, Bill. Philip and Maddy.

They all ride their bicycles to school all the while ringing their bells and blowing bubble gum.

The Seven have their meetings at their headquarters in the garden shed.

Bob enforces the rules and delegates tasks for the members.

The Seven investigate imagined corruption, block any sort of progress, peddle propaganda, take the high moral ground and, most importantly, frolic naked in the woods.

The Seven embrace all sorts of weird and wonderful things like wind turbines that don't generate any power.

The weirdest of all though was The Seven's plan to build a bike lane from Sandy Bay to Taroona. Bob and Christine have developed a smashing idea but they want their involvement kept secret it has the potential to blow up in their face.

They invite Pegg around to the garden shed for a very secret meeting.

They ask Pegg to get the others to build a bike lane from Sandy Bay to Taroona.

Pegg duly carried out Bob and Christine's orders.

Helen, Bill, Philip and young Madeleine drew plans up for a bike lane.

They trick young Madeleine into getting the plans printed in the school newsletter.

Helen, Bill and Philip do not want the blame if things go wrong.

After drinking some orangeade and taking the biscuit tin with them, they wander around in the woods where they are somewhat taken aback to find Bob, Christine and Pegg having a naked frolic!

Although somewhat disturbed at first, the rest of the Seven all removed their clothes with reckless abandon and joined in the naked frolic in the woods.

Pegg and Christine were passing around lentils and patchouli oil while Bob rode Bill around the woods, laughing all the while.

“What a jolly time we are having!” said Phil.

The Secret Seven and the Sandy Bay to Taroona Bike Lane Adventure safe in the knowledge that Lindsay would dutifully publish the bike lane plans in the school newsletter, their stomachs full of lentils and reeking of patchouli oil the Seven all got forty winks.

They dreamed of riding their bikes around in Salamanca Place, throwing Frisbees and watching nuns smiling at four year olds playing the violin near a fountain.

The Seven’s salad days, however, were soon to come to an end.

The woods were soon alive with the sounds of police car sirens, an angry mob and chainsaws.

The Vice Squad, the Drug Squad and Special Branch were climbing over each other to get at The Secret Seven.

Bike Lines Indeed!

Monday, October 11, 2010

Baby Bianca's Baptism

Little Bianca’s baptism day was filled with joy, laughter and alcohol fuelled merriment.

I spotted the proud parents Gordon and Anna and baby Bianca make their entrance just before I spotted Moree and his good wife turn the corner from their house into Cramwell Street and walk hundred metres to St Gerald’s church.

I was surprised to see Moree as he was well under way the previous evening and his wife informed me he would still be in bed had he had his way.

The sun shone on the cross on top of St Gerald’s producing a sparkling effect.

I became all emotional and thought about the Immaculate Conception.

I thought about the three lost men on donkeys trying to find Mary only to find the pub had the No Vacancy sign out when they did.

I followed Moree in and the priest greeted him with “Good morning sir, and where do you know Gordon from?” “I drink with him at the pub.” Moree replied.

That was the end of that conversation.

We settled into the stall like seating arrangement.

I believe they are called pews.

There was a hymn book and some other literature.

Moree involuntarily shouted out something inaudible and then followed that up with “Praise the Lord.”

He was shaking and shivering one minute and sweating the next.

Clearly he was in the dry horrors.

He turned to me and said “I have to give up the piss.”

What has brought this on I enquired.

You’re current surroundings or your current physical condition.

No reply – both I imagined.

I looked around the church.

Sinners galore.

Just thinking of the sins that I know of was horrifying let alone the ones that I don’t.

The church is obviously structurally sound.

I must have been the only person in the building who has not sinned.

By now we are singing hymns or psalms or whatever they are called.

Moree can belt out a tune but in his condition and given this is not really his genre it sounds bloody awful.

He points to where we are up to in the Hymn book.

I remain silent.

I spent the whole time biting the insides of my cheeks.

Moree is now mumbling about hypocrites and he is criticising the theme of the service.

I can’t help but agree.

“If someone offers you food for no reason refuse it “says the priest.

It is time to take the children out the back for what now appears to be known as Kids Church.

It was Sunday school in my day.

The world has gone soft.

They go out the back where there is a mini playground.

In my day you had to recite the part of the bible you were taught the week before.

If you couldn’t you would get a belting.

No wonder there is so much crime these days.

I ask Moree jokingly if the psalm numbers on the wooden board are the Tattslotto numbers.

No you dickhead he replies. “That is the amount of days the church has gone without a workplace accident.”
Now it is time for the baptism.

Moree hip and shoulders me out of the stall – he needs a cigarette.

As they begin the baptism Moree questions what the priests get up to during the week.

“What do you mean” I ask.

You know what I fucking mean he says.

I would put money on it he is right.

We are back inside the church just as the baptism is finishing.

Everyone else return to their seats.

I stay put.

I decide I will watch the rest of the proceedings from the back of the church.

I am concerned about the structural integrity of the church.

The congregation is singing.

Standing up or sitting down as orchestrated by the priest.

Moree, in his confused state, is the only one standing and singing.

It is a hilarious sight.

Finally the service is over and everyone gathers outside smoking cigarettes as they do at funerals.
The plan is to move on to the Community Hall for refreshments.
Moree tells his wife that I will escort her back to their place to collect the wine and the present.

This is news to me.

Discussion ensues and Moree runs off after the wife.

Eventually we all gather at the Community Hall and pizzas arrive from across the road.

By now Moree has consumed two bottles of red and the colour is returning to his cheeks.

Jacko decides to make a speech. “I grew up around here .....” Moree heckles Jacko.

Jacko heckles Moree back.

Moree’s wife tells Moree to keep quiet during the speeches.

A tree planting ceremony then takes place in the park next to the Community Hall.

Gordon and Anna’s house is next to the park.

The tree planted hard up against the wall of the house which prompts Moree to note that the tree will lift the house up.

I go home to potter in the garden.

A quick reconnoitre of the manor about 5.30 pm reveals that the police could have helped their ‘benchmarks’ by loading drunks into those enclosed vans with the locks on the back.

I enter the Shipmakers Arms to find Moree delivering the same sermon delivered earlier in the day in the style of Garner Ted Armstrong.

Moree would make a very good evangelist.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Letters to Morey 6 - Pete

How are you going Morey?

Pete Comaine here.

Long time no see.

You would not believe it.

There I was last week in a pub in Alice Springs and in walks Wazza.

I said “Fuck me dead! It’s Wazza!

He was reeking of cheap rum and was banging on about how you gave some politician $35 and he accidently won the election so you rocked up to his election night piss up at midnight pissed out of your fucking mind and told him that all you ask for your $35 is not to get in bed with the Julia.

This bloke is apparently a simpleton and thought you meant (get in bed with Julia).

Next thing you know is you have politicians, rock musicians and terrorists seeking your advice.

Thing is Morey, I am in a bit of a bind myself.

I am fast running out of places to hide otherwise I wouldn’t be in Alice fucking Springs!

Wazza says he called into Osama Bin Laden’s cave for a chat.

Wazza reckons Osama is not a bad sort of bloke really.

He told me of this plan you and Osama have of using Nugent as a fucking training camp.

I could join you cunts in blowing things up – I like blowing things up.

Also no cunt will know where I am.

By the way is it alright if we have a photo of you, me and Osama on this fucking tractor of yours.

I will give it to Fran – she will love it!

I heard how the Americans installed a tracking device on top of the Marine Board Building and Osama had to send one of the brothers in dressed up as a plumber to fuck with it.

Wazza reckons they still can’t fix it but they might so you blokes are going to blow the fucker up along with every cunt in it.

Can we blow up Empress Towers as well?

What about that shithole Magnet Court?

And the Silos too?

I’ll be back in Tassie soon and I’ll meet you in the Pembroke for a swift one on the way to Nugent.


Monday, September 27, 2010

Letters to Morey 5 -Wazza

Hello there morey, Osama here!

This little fellow named Wazza came waltzing into the cave reeking of cheap rum and smoking the cave out with fucking cigarettes claiming he knows you and telling me a whole heap of long involved stories.

He told me how he ate the barman at the Stevedore’s Arms dinner, poured a bucket of water over the bar manager at the Doctor Syntax, would light up cigarettes in pubs to piss the management off and was liable to get naked in drinking establishments.

He reckons he wants to be a fucking martyr and blow himself up and take the Stevedore's fucking Arms up to heaven with him.

I told him of our plan to set up Nugent as a training camp, gave him the airfare and sent him on his way down there as my ear holes were fucking hurting as he didn’t shut his trap.

See you soon morey!

Lay off the piss a bit!!


Thursday, September 23, 2010

Letters to Moree 4 - Osama

Hello there Brother Brian,

Osama here.

My old Nazi friend Erica tells me you are changing the political landscape over there in Australia.

I am in a bit of a bind here I tell you.

A man can’t even step outside the cave to take a piss without his dick being showered with fucking shrapnel from these fucking American infidel cunts.

The brothers need a new hiding place and somewhere to train.

Your huge grazing property at Nugent looks ideal.

We could use some cattle for target practise and then have a BBQ afterwards eh?

Old Erica tells me you have a tractor.

Could we make a video with you and me sitting on the tractor so we can taunt these infidel cunts in the fucking Pentagon and the White House?

Just imagine “Hello you cunts – Osama here with Moree” [film cuts to you waving an AK47 and yelling “Fuck you infidel cunts, me and Osama here are going to have a violent Jihad against you fucking American cunts and the Jews as well.
The Jews are fucking masters of money lending at exorbitant rates and leaders in fucking treachery and the American administration protect the fucking arseholes.”

Film cuts back to me.

“So as you can see Moree and I are not fucking about!

We will be fucking you cunts up the arse and raping your missus.

I personally will fuck that ‘Tiger Wood’s’’ missus and Moree here will fuck anything that is alive – that is why the sheep here are looking so worried”.

Camera pans across the paddock to worried sheep.

So Brian, I think with our combined talents we will be a very successful unit.

Go down in history so to speak!

I already have our first target picked out.

The fucking American cunts erected a tracking device on top of the Marine Board Building disguised as a wind turbine.

So I had to get one of the brothers to disguise himself as a plumber and throw a spanner into the works.

Young Omar here has a heavy vehicle license and is desperate to be a martyr.

He will drive a semi-trailer load of Hexamethylenetriperroxiamina and Triacetenetryperoxide straight down Argyle Street and flatten the accelerator.

No more Omar, no more Marine Board Building. no more fucking waterfront!

I will be in touch Brian


Letters to Moree 3 - Erica

Dear Brian,

Canberra is humming with talk of your political nous.

How cunning of you to persuade poor silly Willie to stay away from Mad Bob and those other morons and jump into bed with Joolea.

Then Pieter Harriet sidles up to me in the parliamentary dining room and tells me you are a smart operator [he is still bitter he was fucked him up the arse and hung him out to dry] and him and Willie are both having their photos taken with you on your tractor.

Would I be able to do the same?
I could use it for my website.

That soft cock Young Bill reckons he is going to fuck me up the arse and take over.

I run the Conservative Party in Tasmania.

Not that limp wristed commie pinko.

He would have picked up the phone and jumped into bed with the filthy fucking greenies had I not intervened.

He reckons he wants to reach out to the Tasmanian people.

What sort of homosexual is he?

What would Enoch Powell, Hitler, Margaret Thatcher or Genghis Khan think of this sort of soft cock approach?

I also have some idiot trying to get me to leave parliament just because I have 2 passports.

I need him to be taken out of the equation [so to speak].

Now Brian, I can tell you are a man who could take care of this.

I will drop into the POW and the Shippies Brian as they reckon you can handle an ale or two.