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 Gig of the week is Susie’s Blues Day with a cracking line-up of talent. Saturday January 21, 5pm-11pm. 6 hours of the best of Adelaide’s Blues featuring Done & Dusted, The Bluescasters, The Shades of Blues Band, Nikko & Dennis, Steve Brown & Dave Rhodes and Paul Hay. This is a fundraiser for the V2 Classic Motorbike Run, Bikes Number 13 & 32, raising funds for Variety, The Children’s Charity. Pre-sale tickets $25, Door Entry $30, BYOG, Food provided. For details ring Susie 8379 5102 or email
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.
 Thursday, January 19, SWEET BABY JAMES – SOLO – at Suzie Wong's Room (7pm)120 Port Road, next to the AEC. See: http://www.suziewongsroom.com/
 Friday January 20 at the Whitmore has Smoke ‘n’ Mirrors.
 And It’s pan!c at the Dan on Saturday January 21. Get the best entertainment and pub scran at the Dan (you may need to look up ‘scran’ in a colloquial dictionary but I can give yer a clue… Scran - slang in the British army and navy for rations.). So – here we go with the sequitur – get yer dancing shoes and yer scran spanners up to the Daniel O’Connell Hotel on Saturday January 21 for a cracking good time. Pan!c cranks up around 9 pm.
 Go to: www.wheatsheafhotel.com.au for great roots music gigs this week.
 The Gov has Jay Hoad on Friday January 20 and Beth Orton Sunday January 22. Go here: http://www.thegov.com.au/gig-guide.html
Looking Ahead…. Saturday February 4 The Gov. presents the return of a local favourite – Ronnie Taheny in '!Score – 20 years solo'. Ronnie Taheny brings her musical exuberance to Adelaide’s Governor Hindmarsh Hotel for one show, kicking off her 2012 “!Score” tour. Ronnie promises to  deliver a zesty selection of satire-driven gems from her past two decades of work, lubricated with some of the ‘inspirational dirt’ that helped create the songs. She will be joined on stage by Jarrad Payne on drums. Ronnie Taheny “!SCORE!” tour 2012 starts at The Gov., Sat Feb 4th then bounces into Europe from April till June. Tickets: The Gov., Moshtix and Venue*Tix Table reservations: 0413 450521 or
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See: ronnietaheny.com The adventures of Tintinnitus and the Lake of the Brown Trout Marlinspuke Hall. The wet area…. Wooah! Wooah! “Put a sock in it, Snotty! Your infernal yapping is bouncing off the tiles and making my ears ring….” Wooah! Wooah! “All right, All Right! You want to tell me something, eh? What? There’s something in the toilet! An Otter in the toilet????? Let me see…. Why Snotty, you’re right… and yet you are not quite right…. It’s a dead otter. A huge dead otter. The captain, the dirty bugger, has forgotten to flush. Here let me try…..” 13 flushes later “I dunno, Snotty. The bastard doesn’t want to go to turd heaven....” Wooah,wooah! “What’s that Snotty? Something something something where…? Oh yes. Right again Snotty. There’s something on the side of the greasy brown behemoth? Written in undigested sweetcorn kernels. It’s a message... it says: ‘Help. Kidnapped. Trapped in septic tank with nothing to drink but brown water.’ ” “Holy fuk, Snotty! The Captain’s been kidnapped. We’ve no option but to take the brick out of the cistern and give the fukker a decent flush while you and I ride the dead otter down into the sewer pipes.” Wooah wooah! “What’s that, Snotty, take my typewriter?... to write a story of our adventures for le nationale Geographique? What a good idea, Snotty. Let me strap it on your back. There… and I’ll take my camera just in case there are some topless natives as well.” “All set? Right, I’m pulling the chain!” Kerfloooooshh. “COWABUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!......” Wooah, wooah. Sweeping crazily through the putrid pipeline, Tintinnitus, the intrepid reporter and his faithless mutt, Snotty, rode the crankingly huge turd through the reeking darkness for seemingly endless seconds before shooting out into a vast ocean of septic waste in the massive tank behind Marlinspuke Hall. “Look, Snotty! Over there! It’s the Captain. Marooned on a soggasshole sea of toilet paper and womens' absorbency products. But wait! There’s someone with him! Look, it’s that filthy Greek bastard Rastapopopopopopopopalot! Look what he’s doing, Snotty! He’s torturing the poor Captain. He’s got a bowl of soggy Greek salad and he’s making the captain eat it. No! Stop! You old goat-fukka! Salad will poison the Captain!” Wooah Wooah! “What's that, Snotty? the Typewriter...? You’re right, Snotty! Lets write a story to the paper to put a stop to these heinous, inhuman practices….” Wooah, Wooah! “What’s that, Snotty…? Oh! I gotcha! That is a better idea….” With a mighty gut-busting grunt, Tintinnitus hurled the typewriter at Rastapopopopopopopopalot, smacking the bastard right in the ear with an almighty earsplitting yelp! “Shite! Should of untied Snotty before I did that. But we’ve saved the Captian! “Captain, you’re saved!” “Aye! And a fat lot of fukken guid that’s gonna do me now... he was about to open a bottle of restina to go with the bowl of weeds' n curd, ya daft wee chicken-choker.” “We’ve no time for jolly chat now, Captain... we need to find a way out of here.” “Well, ye’d better be quick aboot it; we’re aboot to be murrrrdered by a rampaging brown trrrout the size of a double-decker bus. AAiiiiiieeeeeee!” “Just a moment, Captain. It certainly looks like a humungous dinosaurus turd but take a gander at the front end where the heat shield should be…. There’s a window! And look…. whose dopey face can you see in that window????” “Billions of blistering bilious blue arthropods belonging to infraclass Cirripedia in the subphylum Crustacea! It’s …. It’s….. who is it, ye merkin-headed little twat?” “It’s Professor Catheter Khuntbubble, you drunken Shetland sheep-shagger, in a submersible power-driven poo-shaped pigboat! We’re saved!” “Hello, Tintinnitus. Hello Captain,” piped the ratbaggy professor. “Get on board, but be quick. I’ve dropped a packet of senna pod powder and a litre of chili oil in Bianca Castalloy’s spaghetti bog and she's gonna be hitting the Marlinspuke dunny screaming in precious few seconds.” Tintinnius had barely closed and sealed the hatch in the submersible mechanical turd when the tidal wave hit. The huge swirling tsunami of acrid, burning loose bowel movement hurled the marvellous vessel across the surface of the septic pond and drove it toward the overflow pipe at breakneck speed. With an almighty clang the vessel lodged in the pipe and the tide surged behind it. Then, with a colossal wet pop, the tin turd shot out and skidded to a stop in the silage pit. The occupants breathed a sigh of relief. Then somebody farted. “Ohhhh, my guts,” groaned the Captain. “After that oily mess of Rastapopopopopopopopalot’s rabbit food I could manage a Brad Pitt meself. Give us that copy of Reader’s Wives, Pubehead; I’ll see you in half an hour.” Up on a balcony outside the glorious Marlinspuke bathroom, Bianca Castalloy hung herself over the railing, looking white and ill. “Ohhhhh, Captain,” she groaned as the air behind her shimmered greasily. “You’ll have to tighten your nipsy….. I’d give it at least ten minutes, if I were you! Bloooooooargh!!” |
