Got an email from our favorite Aussie, Johno.

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Johno, (my email)

Everything alright? haven’t heard from you in awhile, checking up on my favorite Aussie. You become a merc for the Ukrainain Army? Why the silence?

Let us know huh?

Kevin

Johno’s reply: “The Ukes? They couldn’t pay me enough to duck those Russki drone strikes.  No big deal, Kevin, I left my phone in my car and I hurt too much to go and fetch it.  We don’t all have Mexican 4-legged gofers, you know.”

John 

15 thoughts on “Got an email from our favorite Aussie, Johno.”

  1. So relieved to know you are okay Johno. Yer a good one. Some of us appreciate and love you. Prayers for you. Take care.

    • Thank you, miss Sandy. I’m certain that your patients appreciate your empathetic care.
      Oh, imagine the dour faces in a ward if the patients were expecting Sister Sandy to do the rounds and see if things were alright, and they instead got Nurse Cederq, with a glowering eye and a hypodermic that he’d swiped from some large-animal veterinary practice!

        • I think that Cederq reuses them at least once, Jen. Just turns them inside-out, saves him some coffee money!

          • Damn, I sent an email to a fellow compatriot unsure of his status and wondering if he was even alive and for some reason somebody sticks quarters in him and is a chatterbox. I don’t know if I am going to do that again…

  2. Told me he was shacked up with some tourist.
    At least that’s what I was able to make out what he was saying. I don’t know. He talks funny.

  3. Well, you don’t want your phone around when you’re fuckin the wrong Sheila, do you?

  4. Welp, Johno, I’m sorry to read you are hurting, but I’m glad to read you are still around to give Cederq hell.  Hang in there and heal up the best you can.

    • Thanks, miss Judy. Crikey, a bloke is getting more “get well” wishes than I’m used to. I’ll have to go radio silent more often to milk the sympathy!

  5. The simple, unadulterated truth of the matter is that I spotted a pair of young Swedish girls on the side of the road beside their broken down hire car. Being the helpful soul I naturally am, I stopped to enquire if I could be of assistance, it being a mobile phone dead spot area.
    It seemed that they were in the sort of trouble that only a man is capable of attending to, changing the flat tyre on their tiny Mini Moke, an ancient Leyland product (look it up if you want to be impressed by British workmanship) now in use purely as a cheap rental runabout for backpacker tourists.
    The car was so light that I didn’t need a jack to change the wheel, but showing off did cause me to throw my back out (it goes out more often than I do!). The two young ladies enquired if I’d be interested in joining them at their beach picnic, as a thank-you. I was happy to accept the invitation, being the sociable sort of bloke that I am.
    It being the middle of winter in the Southern Hemisphere, it’s real whitefella weather, you can venture out of doors without first donning clothes with an SPF of 50+, real beach goers weather so long as the wind doesn’t pick up any powdery sand to annoy you.
    Well things were going swimmingly until those pesky sand particles found their way into parts where it wasn’t welcome. Again, me being the helpful sort, I helped both young ladies to divest themselves of the attire not really suited to the beach.

    Did I say young ‘ladies’? Let’s just say that I was making a presumption, because those Swedes weren’t no ladies! In fact, my poor, poor back ended up not just out, but in, and then sideways! I’m way too old to play the part of a Satyr, but I gave it my best shot, didn’t want them going back home unimpressed with the Far North!
    I’m not about to go into lascivious detail here, poor Phil could get his walking papers from Wordpiss (the swines).
    And impressionable types, like Deathray, could end up trying to emulate my deeds, and if an in-heat Grizzly sow is the only female handy, well, Death may pay a visit to Deathray, unless he impressed that girl Grizz, which could bring about other problems, which I won’t go into here.

        • Spoken by the mountain man who picks the spotted toadstools growing from bear scat, because they’re “Mother Nature’s feelgoods”. Probably because that last hiker that the bear ate had a bottle of Fentanyl in his pocket!

      • No, not too much information, mister Igor. I left the rest up to your own imagination, which was the “too much” part!

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