Purveyors of fine sarcasm

Tag: Burwood Smorgy’s

The Haught guide to learning fast

…the restaurant manager, a man I once found in the men’s toilets vehemently accusing a whole defrosted turkey of cheating at Texas hold ‘em. (He made the turkey talk back by opening and closing its beak using a pair of tweezers, doing a C-grade impression of Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men…

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The Haught guide to bringing stuff to life

I went into the [Smorgy’s] cellar to look for the propane torch we sometimes used to keep at bay the warthogs that accumulated around the restaurant’s perimeter after midnight.

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“There are no stupid questions” is a lie

I walked into the storeroom at Burwood Smorgy’s and found the manager wearing only a felt sock puppet and dancing a passionate samba with a 45 kilogram bag of desiree potatoes. If this was written into fate at the beginning of time, then the Predeterminer must have one hell of an imagination.

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The 31 year old curmudgeon

In my day there were horses over the back fence in middle-suburban Melbourne, my Grade 3 teacher wrote “Go the Demons” on my report card and the 20 cent piece you found lying on the ground in Coles New World bought you a veritable cornucopia of milk bar lollies.

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The Haught guide to doing what you wanna do

As I was de-mounding the plates of porcine humans, I saw no prospect of becoming the Universe-famous digital vigilante and high-profile columnist I so longed to be. I saw no prospect of anything, really.

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