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Swing the blues all weekend Print E-mail
Thursday, 07 November 2013

Sample ImageBlues Avenue at Regattas, Friday arvo, 5 till 8, November 8, be there.





Sample ImageBlues in the Barossa, The Steve Brown Band on Friday. Saturday and Sunday you will be able to catch The Red Hot Blues Band and Sweet Baby James and Rob Eyers and many, MANY more. Go here: http://www.bluesinthebarossa.com/#!artists/coog





Sample ImageOn Saturday November 9, Amber Joy and the Holy men take Honky Tonk Angels to Laura (Laura Memorial Civic Centre Hall, Tickets $20 book now with Ian on 8663 2367)

…. And on Sunday, November 10, they will perform their new show,  Boots - Country music from the Cradle to the Grave at Moonta (Moonta Uniting Church on Sunday 1pm).  Go here:  https://www.facebook.com/events/758812484136348/




Looking ahead:

Sample ImageSaturday, November 16, THE RED HOT BLUES BAND at the Old Bush Inn, Willunga (8:30pm-12am) – Free







The Curse of Ham

We’d been out at sea for fukn yonks and pickings were mighty slim at the mess table when Captain Noah put out a call on the intercom for me.

“Midshipman Mister Shitsmith, report to the heads immediately!”

When I got there the joint was a mess, awash with water and crap.

“What’s the haps, Captain Nosey? “ I aksed.

“Looks like the head is blocked, lad.”

I had a peek at the crap stew overflowing the bowl and sez: “Yep. Looks like it. That’s’ why you’re the captain and I’m the shitkicker. But, how'd that happen? None of us has had much more than weevil paste on Sao for the past month; we couldn’t give birth to a politician that solid…”

“Just get to it, Mr Shitsmith, and when you’re through here bring your tools up to the cabin; my son Ham is crook.”

“Righteeyo…” sez I.  Sheesh, what a mess! I musta shifted a ton of crap before I got to the bottom of the problem (pun in there…ha fkn ha) and found the weirdest thing blocking the U-bend; some sort of helical tusk…

“What th’ F….” I was muttering when Noah returned.  “Take a gander at this, Nosey; it was the cause of the blockage. What the fuk d’you reckon it is? Eh?”

“Hmm…” sed Noah, scratching his 6 foot long beard. “And double Hmmmmm. Come with me.”

He took me to see his son Ham who was in all sorts of trouble even though he looked pretty well fed.

“What’s up with you, Porky?” I aksed.

“Oh….. Me guts is crook. And me arse…. It’s on fire…”

“Let’s have a look,” sed I flipping up his blood-spatterd toga thing that the fukkers all wore in them days.

“This ringpiece of yours is ripped to shreds and bursting with red grapes mate. What have you tried to squeeze through there…?”

“Would it be this, perchance,” sed Noah, holding aloft the weird helical tusk thingy.

Ham went all quiet

“Ham…. Did you eat a unicorn?”

Ham looked a little sheepish; tricky for a ham, but he done it well. “Um. I might of… accidentally… et one.”

“You ate one of a breeding pair of unicorns, you stupid greedy bastard!!!!”

“But Dad…. I was hungry!!!!”

“Yeah. Well, we’re all fukn hungry and now you’ve consigned unicorns to history, you fat fuk. And look where it’s got you… pains in the guts and great bleeding piles of grapes hanging out of your date. Curse you, Ham… and may the Curse of Ham befall all others who come after you and eat a bathtub full of red meat with no vegetables - to suffer painful bum grapes. With blood and stuff!”

“Ohhh… me arse…” wailed Ham.

“Shut the fuk up and suffer, you dolt!” shouted Noah and dragged me outside.

“Well, captain Noah, sir,” I sez. “That’s fukked that, eh?  … So, what should we do with the other unicorn, eh? It might get onely and pine for its mate.”

“In times and grave as this, Mister Shitsmith, I can only suggest you fire up the weber, and invite the last unicorn to dinner. And perhaps some seaweed will provide the dietary fibre necessary to avoid the Curse of Ham.”


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