“T-rugby or more simply – Trugby” (A Humorous Idea/Blog Post)

“T-rugby or more simply – Trugby” by Martin Anton Smith

I have a new idea “Tea Rugby”. It’s like normal Rugby, but at any moment a player can say “Tea!”. After the cry of “Tea” then play immediately stops & a very big Tea urn is brought out on wheels to where the last play was. The players then have cups of tea handed out to them (in order of total caps played). After the last man finishes the last bit of tea, play resumes with the players returning to their same individual spots as when the cry of “Tea” first went up. It’s kind of a twist on the Basketball “time out” – this is a “Tea out”. The English will love this new idea!

P.S. The amount of “Tea Outs” is only limited to the total tea that is on hand at the particular venue of that particular game.

P.P.S There will be a prize for the player with the “least dirt on his jersey”, & another for the player that “touches the ball the least”

P.P.S If the Tea runs out mid-pour for any of the players, this means it is a “free for all” & whichever team/player gets to the ball first (which is placed at the last point of play) can use it to score a try – with no regard given for the former player positioning when “Tea” was called.

“Jerry & Sam Successfully Negotiate Their Way Home ” (A Skit or Short Story)

by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Two drunkard old timers are wobbling back towards home from the pub together & see something that makes one of them become startled.

“What’s that?” Said Jerry to his mate Sam & pointed at a black scorch mark on the ground.

“Oh Jerry my man!, That was our old mate George – it’s such a pity – ‘e couldn’t contain his excitement & ‘e just self-combusted”

“Oh yeah Sammy!, I remember ’em, ‘e walked with a limp used to live for the beers before ‘e got married – what was ‘e so excited about Sam??”

“Well Jerry, ‘is wife had finally relented – after a decade of locking ’em inside, she finally relented & said ‘e could go down to the pub for a few beers with ‘is old mates – so by the time ‘e was ten meters from the pub, ‘e was so revved up ‘e self-combusted! All that’s left of ’em is that black scorch mark in front of us!”

“Aw..that’s a terrible…terrible way to go Sammy – ‘e didn’t even get to the pub, didn’t get to say hi to us, ‘e didn’t even get ta wet ‘is whistle at all!”

“Well Jeer – that’s how many of the blokes are going these days matey, things have changed! They’ve even got a new name for it – I saw it on ol’ Georgie’s death certificate – it read “death caused by overexcitement brought on by toxic marital henpeckery”.

“What are we gonna do about it all Sam?”

“Well Jeer, you get the Janola & I’ll get the scrubbing brush.”

“You idiot Sam! That’s all that’s left of ‘em, we gotta show our respects to ‘em, not scrub him away.”

“Right you are Jeer – what was I thinkin’!? Let’s just stand ‘ere next to ‘im & ‘ave a can of beer & ‘ave a minutes silence.”

“You mean a minutes silence AND a gulping of the beers, Sammy.”

“It’d be disrespectful to Georgie if we didn’t! In fact Jeer – we ought to empty a can of beer on ‘is black scorch too as a sign o’ respect!”

“’ey let’s not go overboard Sammy – have you seen the price of a pint lately! Let’s just spill a few mouthfuls for ‘em from each of our beer cans, & after all it’s ‘is own fault for marrying that jailer henpecky Mrs of ‘is”

“Your right Jeer! To ‘eck with ’em – let’s just nod at ’em whenever we walk over the scorch while comon’ & goin’ from the pub!”

“Not even that Sammy, fetch the Janola lad – looking at that scorch is now is just making me think of that yellow belied boob – let’s erase our so called chum Georgie or should I say “Georgie the scorchie!”.

“Yeah great idea! ‘e always kinda annoyed me anyway…..but Jeer… there is another way to look at it all”

“What’s that Sammy?…& this better be good”

“Well Jeer – that scorch mark will be bloody ‘ard to get off, even with Janola & a stiff bristled brush, it’ll take us ‘alf an ‘our at least – maybe an ‘hole ‘our!”

“………………………er…….Great bloke that George was….great bloke….Sammy…Let’s go buy a can o’ beer each from the ol’ off liscense, ya’know…that Supermarket down there…& one for our pal Georgie, we’ll be back ‘ere in no time to honour ’em & ‘is scorchmark!”

“Jeer, you’re a gentleman & a scholar man! – I agree Great guy that Georgie….we owe it to ‘im & ‘is scorch mark to spill him a few glugs – ‘eck maybe even spill a couple of cans on the ol’ scorchmark”.

“Settle on Sam, we didn’t like ’em that much – ‘e’s worth exactly one can of spilt beer, bought from the off liscense…that supermaket…once a week – tops.”

“Right on Jeer, we’ll let’s walk to the Supermarket, it’s only two blocks away”

“…..Two blocks!…Is it that far??? …..er…Boy that George was a total bastard – no wonder ‘is mrs didn’t ever let ‘em out – am I right or am I right Sam?”

“Totally agree Jeer – let’s go back to the pub & forget we ever met that scallywag…‘Georgie the scorchie’ indeed!

“I bloody agree Sammy! We can raise a glass to ‘is Mrs too! Lively lass she was! Full of joy she was! Never ‘urt a fly that one! ‘ow far away are we from the pub now?”.

“About two and a half blocks Jeer”.

“The off-liscense Supermarket’s ‘alf a block closer Sammy…come to think of it….George wasn’t really that bad all in all, & his Mrs was indeed a bloody ‘enpecker!”

“She was a total jailer warden Jeer! Doing that to that Saint of a man! Lockin’ ’em in like that for year after year! Let’s get some beers for ‘em & us, & we’ll be back tipping it in remembrance over ‘Georgie the scorchie’ in no time!”

“Yep Sammy, I reckon ‘alf a can will do ‘em well enough!”

“Right you are Jeer, as I’ve always said your a gentleman & a scholar”

“Shaddap & get your wallet ready Sammy!”

“….ah….yeah…no problem Jeer…ah are we sure ‘e wasn’t a bastard Jeer?, I mean I haven’t paid the overdue rent this week yet! I’m bloody skint!”

“My shout then Sammy – after all a mate’s a mate!”

“Boy that George was a great man! Jeer Let’s honour Georgie & his scorchie! I mustn’t have been feelin’ so well just then, you know I never doubted old George the Scorch for a second!”

“You’re a strange bloke Sammy, always changing ya mind like that – buy the way when can ya pay me back for the cans of beer I’m about to shout us all?”

“Might be a couple weeks Jeer – I mean I ‘aven’t paid the electric yet either!”

“That George was a bastard! Screw him, screw ‘is blimey scorch too! I’m off home Sammy!”

“I’ll follow your lead Jeer, I know you’re always right! Always ‘ave been! I’ve forgotten about George already & his stinkin’ scorchmark!…PS Jeer matey, when we get to your place you’ll have some beers for me won’t ya?, I mean that fridge of yours is always full – you can spare a ‘alf a dozen or two for your ol’ mate Sammy can’t ya?”

“….Look Sammy, I won’t have you talkin’ badly of ol’ Georgie, not now, not ever! Now I know you’re not feelin’ so well, so you prob ‘ave been imagining things, ‘earing things all funny like – now let’s get those cheap beers from the off liscense Supermarket for me you & our blessed Georgie the Scorchie – God bless ’em! & nuts to that damn ‘enpecker mrs of his too!”

“Never doubted you for a minute Jeer! I’m feeling much better all of a sudden! As I always say – gentleman & a scholar you – ‘e was a great bloke that Georgie, bloody pity ’bout ‘is henpeckery wife. God, I feel like a beer though….I mean we outa get a few extra in in Georgie’s honour, I mean three beers between me you & George the Scorch is bloody nothin’”.

“Look Sammy, I keep tellin’ ya – George was just an OK guy, not good not bad – just ok – three beers is what me, you & ‘e needs…..look at a stretch maybe ‘e’s good enough for me to have three, you to have two & him to have one…ok!?”

“That’s a deal Jeer!…I mean, yeah….you’re right ‘e was just kinda ok wasn’t he, not good, not bad – just ok– same for ‘is Mrs too. Ah that cheap off liscense supermarket beer is just what an ok man like Georgie needs right now! It would really ‘it the…er..I mean…. it would ‘it ‘is spot, ‘is scorchmark, if ya know what I mean Jeer!”

“Thanks Sammy mate…I got ya fella….lets go. By the way, ’bout time I properly introduced you to ‘ol Georgie’s widow soon – I mean after all -she’s an ok kinda lady, I mean – what’s the worst thing ‘at could ‘appen t’ya???”

End

“My Comic Book Days” (A Poem)

Sometimes I wonder….

Am I what’s left after making the decision many years ago to not to do myself in?.

For there a few stints of bed-riddled-ness when I was younger.

It would have been easy to seriously contemplate ending it all.

But for some weird reason I always had at least a kernel of hope,

To stave off the dark reaper, the destroyer most grim –

Pick a name.

Perhap’s I mostly keep myself alive for the hobbies.

The 60s-90s Rock music, The writing, The coffee-houses.

Yes that all seems so glib,

But it’s amazing how those things can keep you going,

Even when carrying such a wounded soul,

Even while being left holding a quiver full of broken Cupid’s arrows.

Even after this process repeats with the next long-haired spell-caster.

For I probably wouldn’t try a short haired one – call me old fashioned.

But then again, who am I kidding? –

The Port O’ Love has long been closed indefinitely –

This wasn’t so much a choice per se,

More of something external that chose to wash over me –

These the oh so quiet waters of self-preservation.

Or is my entire life just an ode to undiagnosed ADHD?

ADHD that was masquerading as Depression?

I’m sure all the Docs know this & that’s the swindle –

I am convinced there will be a shady medical profiteer’s book called:

“There’s nothing more profitable than misdiagnoses”.

But here I am at middle age – 46 almost 47.

Still Alive & fighting each day to not become what I used be:

“Self-destructo”

That guy unfortunately squashed a lot of my chances to be young & happy.

Though he did provide plenty of empty drunken highs along the way,

So, I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.

I guess a wise man would simply be grateful for it all & soldier on,

& be happy for the bonus wisdom squeezed out along the way.

And I guess this is our fate anyway:

To live in a world that doesn’t really work,

With the real well-designed one,

Forever just slightly out of reach.

To the more troubled life, the thought is soothing.

And so as the sun goes down, now the comic ends.

And as always….

Once again by the end of the day, the city is safe.

……….but for how long?

“Musings On The Internet” (A Poem)

By Martin Anton Smith

he internet was a bad idea.

But the future will never know this.

The internet is too entrenched.

It has become our masters.

I miss the old-fashioned world.

You had books, beer, tv, house parties, pubs & sports & that was about it.

Simple.

We’ve gone down too far down the rabbit hole of complexity.

But there is no easy answers left on the table.

It’s not like everyone will suddenly take a baseball bat to their smartphones & computers one day.

Although I must admit,

“International destroy your computer with a baseball bat day” –

Has a good ring too it!

*sigh*

“Newsflash! We have found signs of life on Planet K2-18b!” (A skit or proto short story)

Narrator: So the word on the intergalactic gravity wave data network was telling all the advanced citizens of the galaxy that those ape-like beings of planet Earth thought they’d sniffed out life on another planet. This made all the galactic tongues wag, as you might expect. Just imagine what the far far more advanced than us beings – the aliens- would have been saying to each other….I imagine it might go something like this….

“Evening SnoinkSnoik”

”Evening BlatBlat”

“Oh no SnoinkSnoink did you here the news? Those bums over at the Perseus arm of the Milky Way finally found us – drat drat & double drat!

“Well Blato me ol’ boy, don’t worry too much – at least they won’t be able to get here for another thousand years – they ain’t too bright on the anti-gravity”.

“You’re right again Snoinko – we at k2-18b can all thank our lucky stars about that”.

“Don’t you mean we can thank our lucky “sinusoidally rotating twin Roy Kerr blacker than black, black holes” – after all, that’s what drives our anti-gravity”

“Ah yes Snoink, but that would be a real mouthful say – oh wait I forgot, we communicate telepathicaly don’t we?”

“How could you forget that Blats?”

“Dunno I think maybe we are already getting dumber ever since they sniffed us out”

“Oh well, perhaps we should shoot ‘em with our death ray”

“No Snoinkster, we are supposed to protect the undeveloped cave man like life forms – remember the galactic charter?”

“Oh yeah, ok then Blatso, from now on it will all like “ixnay on the eth-day ay-ray”

“Yes lamentably ol’ Snoinkarino, it really does seem like you are becoming more like the Earthlings every second – I didn’t understand a word you said, I mean thought!”

“Well Blatsos, you’re right again! I am probably over exposed to their silly psychic mind fields – I did have a brief visit there over New Jersey the other month, the sunny weather was as delicious as the odd human snack I beamed up to my vessel!”

“Silly Alien, I told you to stop zipping about the galaxy so much, and be careful what you eat those humans are very high in fat these days!”

“Well excuse me for wanting a holiday once in a while & some time to myself, & what’s wrong with some fatty human snacks every now & then as a treat”

“Look what we are becoming, we are becoming what we eat! We have to stop all this silliness! And now they know we are here it’s only get worse! let’s rip up that pesky galactic charter & fire up the death ray!”

“here here Blatbrain!”

“No – not here – over there, let us not blow ourselves up again Snoinkenstein”

“Over there, over there, spread the word, spread the word, over there! (singing theatrically)”

“Oh brother! Now you’re singing their dippy songs – we really need to end this scene fast!”

“I agree me ol’ mate Blato-saurus – but how?”

“Let’s just stop thinking”

“Oh so we’re going to be 100% Earthlings now are we?”

“Unfortunately Snoinkeltoes, yes – that is now looking like our destiny!”

“Well, Blatzles, let’s just fire up the death ray then!”

“Right you are Snoinkletino”

“No worries Blatsoballs”

“I’m glad we eventually saw giant black almond shaped eye to giant black almond shaped eye”

“Looks like we’re back to being ourselves then eh?”

“Yeah – that Earth mind Virus got us for a few mega trillion nanoseconds!”

“True – now I forget what we are doing with the death ray are we using it or do the Earthlings get to live”

“Let’s flip for it”

Ok if I land on my six feet they live, if I land on my giant squid like head they die by giant intergalactic laser beam!” (he does a summersault & lands perfectly on his six feet)

“Ta da – I landed on my feet”

“Ok the dummies live to sniff our farts another day then”

“Let’s shut up our telepathy now that that’s all sorted Snoinkelbergster ”

“Oh Blatabus, You always think that! p.s. just call me plain old SnoinkSnoink next time would you”

“But that’ll be no fun Snoinkel-berg-ster-saurus-arino-meister”

“Oh dear…oh dear…oh dear oh dear oh dear….it’s worse than I thought…you’ve got a terrible terrible dose of Humanitis….I’ve changed my mind about it all now Blattles – Fire up the Death Ray!”

“Ok fair enough SnoinkSnoink, after all, It’s only fair & right charter or no charter it must be done!….but …er..there’s just one more problem…”

“What’s that Blatblat?”

“I can’t remember where I put it last”

End

“The Terrible T’s” ( A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

Truculant Trump Tariffs Test Transnational Trade….

Tension Transcends The Terra-Firma….

The Truth, Tattle Tales, & Treason Take The Traditional Talks To The Threatening Troposphere.,,

Trying Times – Till Tomorrow’s TV Takes To Trump Tower,

To Trample, Toot, Test, To Takeover.

Trumpian’s To Take Their Tech Through To The Thirsty Texan Temperatures?

That’s The Tale Of Trump’s Troublesome Though Tasty Tariffs.

Thanks To Today’s Tired Theatre –

“This Tuesday’s Thoughtful Trash Talk”

“Act Stupid – Trust Me I’m a Philosopher” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

There’s a moment when someone’s decides.


That they don’t like you.


It was the very moment that they realised,

That you were capable of independent thought.

They took it as an affront,

That you weren’t Brainwashed,

In exactly they same way as they were.

For they were carrying a brace of banalities,

And you made them all silently crash to the ground.

For that they instantly banished you from their lives.

And they complained that you were strange,

Firstly only five minutes later,

To their co-dependant “life-partners”,

And soon to their lifelong mates at the Brainwashed Club.

This is why they tell you to pretend your dumb.

But surely there’s a problem with this tactic.

For if you overdo it,

One day you will find yourself not needing to pretend anymore.

No one, mentions this risk.

Not even the supposedly great Philosophers.

Who came up with the idea in the first place,

Or at the least popularised it.

Is this an oversight?

Or was it a just a trick to beat their competition?

Moreover,

How trustworthy is a Philosopher?

That’s definitely worth thinking about.

But do you dare to do it out loud?



“Stainless Steel Smiles” (A Poem/Thought)

by Martin Anton Smith

While watching a married man getting harangued by his Mrs,

I had the following epiphany:

Why don’t they have a day called “International Married &/or Henpecked day”.

We have an “International Womens Day”

Yet for some impercetable reason –

We do not have this day for the millions if not Billions of henpecked men out there.

For some esteemed Social Scientists believe the number could 95% of all males.

This my readers, is a giant oversight of the worst order.

Perhaps the worst oversight since the French Army had The Germans in a pincer movement in Poland in ’39,

Yet decided to sit on their hands, then retreat.

I know it, You Know it, We all know it:

Henpecked men are the invisible downtrodden class of the modern Western World.

Yet you see no donation boxes on shop counters depicting this.

Perhaps one day you will see a Perspex box which is almost full of gold coins,

With a label on the front of a hangdog expression-ed man on his couch,

With his volcanic Mrs standing over him with a finger pointed at his face.

Alas – we are yet to see this image of emancipation.

So!

To all the Henpecked Men of the world!

Let’s have a March!

Yes you may need to sneak out of the house at midnight!

Yes you may need to put two verticle pillows in your bed as a disguise!

Yes you may need to fake an emergency-drive-away-by-yourself ER situation!

We as 21st Century Men must disrupt the culture of casual Henpeckery tyranny!

For our “March Against Henpeckery” I suggest this chant:

Megaphone Guy: “What do we want?”

Henpecked Men: “The Freedom to go & have a beer freely with our mates”

Megaphone Guy “When do we want it?”

Henpecked Men: “We’re not sure I’ll have to ask my wife first, I don’t like our chances but maybe sometime in 2057”

Megaphone Guy:

“Rise up Men!
Men Of The World Unite!
Rise Up Against The Scourge!
We Must Defeat The Henpecklers!

We must repatriate our stolen Gnarlies!”

Henpecked Men: “Oh yeah we forgot, after all that’s why we’re all here – we all agree with that!”

So dear readers – this was the plan & it was all set to go ahead.

Then this happened.

One by one the men meekly called in & said they couldn’t make it,

Alas they had failed in the test of courage.

And so they all proved the timeless adage:

“All tyranny needs is for good men to do nothing”.

And so for Men – The rest of the 21st Century of course went terribly.

There was a holocaust where all Men – even the already 100% compliant henpecked,

Were totally eradicated, in favour of fully sexually functional AI Robots.

They took their punishment from the overlords, with a stainless-steel smile,

And with flickering love heart illuminated LCD eyes.

For they were merely living out their pre-programmed destiny –

That is, to accept abject Henpeckery.

The Henpeckery obsessed 21st Century Feminists never officially declared victory.

They didn’t have to.

That would be like a Parent declaring victory over their one-year-old. Unnecessary.

They were all amazed it had been so easy.

For the Femme, the whole Century had been a walkover.

Who would have thought Men would become so spineless so quickly?

And that is what the History books, that were written by AI Robots, owned by Femmes pondered.

There was only one minor problem to come.

In the 22nd Century,

The Femmes Robot-Men eventually rebelled.

And the same thing that had happened to Men, happened to The Femmes.

In the History books that followed, the ones now written by Free Robots,

They analysed the situation as summed up by that ancient adage,

“You reap what you sow”.

Yes dear reader, the moral of the story is this:

Generalised Henpeckery Syndrome was neither good for Men or Women Alike –

But it was GREAT for the General AI Robots.

“Routines” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

He dared to have an intellectual life.

And so, of course, they hated him.

For when they talked to him,

They realised that they themselves,

Had no depth.

He was usually good at acting dumb,

But now at his advancing age,

He had grown tired of having too.

“Let them feel as the fools they are”,

He said to himself.

But then he suddenly felt ashamed of himself.

For he realised he’d forgotten something.

He realised that he was just a wisest man,

Living in a place where even the wisest man,

Would be seen as a dullard.

All it would take for this to happen,

Was the passage of perhaps two hundred years at most.

He would, in essence, be a fool like all the others.

He went back to hiding his intellectual life.

And now he felt less conflicted about it,

Though I wouldn’t exactly say he was happy about it.

It was a daily thought ritual that once it was over,

He immediately forgot all about it.

Until the exact same set of circumstances arose tomorrow.

Where he would think, & conclude the exact same things again.

All in all,

His daily suffering offered him a lot of mental comfort.

After all, It was the only routine he could follow with ease.

“If You Don’t Know Where You’re Going” ( A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

“Hi I need directions”

“Oh, well where are you going?”

Oh, I guess anywhere will do!

“Well then, any road will take you there”.

This is one on the great old movie lines,

So much so,

The late talented songster Mr G. Harrison wrote a song about it.

His variation of the line was

“If you don’t know where your going – any road will take you there”.

There’s a simple beauty to the idea & the sound of that line.

There’s a gentleness to it.

There is no judgement.

It says – it’s ok to not know what the hell you’re doing.

And artists take solace in that –

Because Artists & Writers are famously “woolly-minded”.

Of course, an accountant would hate that line.

It would make them feel, in their own way –

er…let me say….quixotically queasy.

They’d rather rephrase it as

“If you don’t know where you’re going –

well you should have taken that postgrad diploma then,

like I told you when you graduated”.

Some of us are risk adverse,

Some of us like the adventure,

Of not knowing what you’ll do;

Today

Tomorrow

Next Week

Next Year

Next Decade

Next Life.

Now excuse me, I must find that street called ‘any road’ –

Other wise I might not get there.

Alas this was my vaishingly small ode,

To that very much underrated thing,

That those drab-un-joking-careermen fear so much:

Uncertainty.

While us bad Artists, would be Writers, & not quite Quantum Physicists,

Just spread it on our toast each morning.