Curly Dish Pig Tales

By Stephen Scala

Maybe he is getting serious but then if he wants Winnie the Pooh to be elected God maybe he is still out there in the never never land, stuck in the dreamtime by intelligent Australian aborigines so that he harms nobody but himself

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Mar 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452513577

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Curly Dish Pig Tales

Stephen Scala

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Copyright © 2014 Stephen Scala.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-1354-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-1357-7 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/13/2014

Contents

4 t’2

A pocketful of peanuts and pants full of penis

After the race

Jilliper’s delights

Baby’s birthday

Back on K.I.S.A.

Justice and being judged after a traffic accident in Vietnam

Bitch maybe but she’s not the mother of my puppy

Cohabitational bill sharing for lovers made easy

Curly dish pig tales and the life of kitchen mice

Forever younger

George the cranky and oversexed Monkey

Growing up

Hashie, Dupree and thin Lizzie

Hi

I can utter words and I shall

I knew I was in trouble

Linda

My mistake, my problem

My name is Mai, please do not no banana leaves me

One day part two

Painless Torture

Passing on my pain

The three wars led by the general

ROCCO Skillshares Collingwood

Yacht Yearnings and seeking a Scholarship to Sail

Suspiciously useless soccer stars in Vietnam

The feminazi

The guitar

The pig with no pongs

The pliable plight twixt pleasure and pain

The Subject

The wind whisks in around me

Tips on how to stay a single man

To cut a long story short

Waking up

What if

What was it like when we were friends

ZZZ!

curly dish pig tales

Stephen Scala is a

Fabulist.

Who doesn’t know quite which culture

he finds more

spectacular,

Australian, French or Vietnamese;

and hence does not know quite

where he can live,

or where he is welcome.

He is currently holed up in a flat in Heidelberg recovering from dying from the failure of two major organs and living with his intoxicatingly stunning and beautiful wife who is too embarrassed to leave the flat and socialise because of her husbands particular lack of financial status.

There along with their very cheeky smart arse rug rat who smiles just a little too wide and often, they are often heard pissing themselves laughing amongst the ruin of their lives.

This book is

dedicated to

the person who manages to

make it illegal to own a food

establishment without

having to have any idea of

food,

hospitality or being

hospitable

and of course my lovely wife

Nguyen Thi Ngoc Hien.

Who even though she is a brilliant professional Vietnamese cook,

I am sad to say that

I personally find her food

largely inedible because of the high content of fish sauce, MSG, salt and sugar that people from the Mekong Delta region insist is a necessary part of almost any sauce.

Well this is the fourth volume

of short stories

and at last he has managed the courage

to discuss the mental and physical damage that

he did to himself back in the days

when he was learning to be an ordinary chef

and cheese maker,

pretend photographer, painter and musician.

4 t’2

Yes well we all know that 42 is the answer to the ultimate question of life the universe and everything but unfortunately before Douglas Adams passed on to the next life he never managed to tell us just what it meant. He made it a part of his very famous Hitch Hikers to the Galaxy series of books that everybody on this planet should read before they die, but he never got around to explain just what it meant. It was a question asked of the universe’s greatest computer as to the answer to the greatest query ever conceived.

The fact that the real significance of that answer has never been explained is; I personally think, a travesty of justice that I would like to rectify.

If you have read the books you will remember that it was a computer that uttered that famous number; or these famous words, as it may be more accurate to say. You see back in the early days of computers, as we are still in the midst of now, when they first managed to get them to talk they had a sort of, well computer sounding voice to them. Much like that other genius Stephen Hawking, they tended to sound like what a Sci Fi robot may be thought to sound like, like the dreadful Daleks who gave me countless nightmares from the Dr. Who TV series. If you try and sound like a computer, or a Dalek, or a genius who has a computer instead of a human voice, then maybe you can imagine the mistaken true identity of the message trying to be portrayed.

Well this particular famous computer in the Adam’s books had a similar voice and if you can imagine what he was actually trying to say you may realise that it was not the number forty two but the phrase for the two. It is the answer that has been known for centuries as to how to live our lives and just what the true nature of the universe is. You know for every action there is a reaction, everything has it opposite, turn the other cheek, there is always two sides to a story, and of course the very famous yin yang principle.

So there you have it, that wasn’t really so very hard to understand was it?

Whilst I am at it I thought I might as well explain the nature of God for you as well as all other deep and troubling things.

You see the problem with Christian religions and most third grade religions as I call them is that they insist that God created man. The more probable truth is that man invented God.

I put religions into categories, first we have the pagan ones, the so called lower level ones that come in many forms, yet have almost identical practices with different names. Different cultures of this form; from totally unrelated or connected places, have come to almost identical answers to identical problems when pondering the nature of life. Nearly all tribal cultures follow similar rites and as far as I can see they are largely good, like all these attempts at achieving reasonable human behaviour. Unfortunately for some of them the power of God comes down to the tribal witchdoctor and depending on his or her sincerity and goodness, the rest of the tribe suffers or prospers at their will.

I don’t want to get into too much debate about these however because largely in the modern world we have to deal with the three levels of religion. As I have said we have at the bottom of the evolution ladder of thus things, Christianity, Islam, Judaism and such.

The problem with all these is that they are based on the premise that God created man, when this is a total fallacy and merely an excuse for men to control people and in particular the women in their lives. Men are born with a penis and whether they will admit it or not the thoughts of their penis decides many things for them, to control women means that they can let their penis have their own way when it so chooses. Man has an innate ability to want to believe in something merely because all seemingly normal humans realise with some introspection that they are not perfect in guiding their own lives. The next thing that ventures into the normal brain is to find someone or something to replace the inadequacies of their parents, elders and great and admired friends. In other words no matter how good these people may seem, they all fall by the wayside and appear lacking when push comes to shove. Many even believe in the inability of God to create the perfect world and so they make excuses even for the fallibility of their God to correct injustices in our lives. There will always appear on the horizon a problem in the form of a storm of trouble where none of these people will be the perfect solution solvers.

So the next obvious solution to this dilemma is to create a God, an ultimate being to answer all the questions that life the universe and everything might bring within our horizons. And this is exactly what humans did they created a creator and then proceeded to pretend that this creature had in fact created them. Quite ingenious really if you think about it. A total absolution from all responsibility of all things. It was God who did it. God created me and God made me do it; in the name of God I can murder even other human beings, an eye for an eye is even acceptable by their God. But then they thought who made me do all the bad things. Enter the devil.

Thank God for all that man has created in his own image.

Basically I actually am a spiritual being, I actually believe in God and I believe in the Devil too what’s more. This may seem strange after what you have just read but let’s go back to where I said that man created God.

God is merely the positive thoughts of all the humans on the planet at any particular point in time; he/she is an energy of positive and loving thought. And so the devil is the power generated by all the evil thoughts of all the people on the planet at any particular point in time. Obviously there is and has been a delicate balance between these two forces since time began. There actually seems to be a need to be a balance between these opposing forces for life to carry on.

Why you may ask and this is where the Hindus manage to raise their religion up into the second class of religions. If there were not balance in the world it would spin out of control, there needs to be a yin and there needs to be a yang or else the world could never approach harmony. So we have people not fearing the devil but merely acknowledging the force.

Buddhism is depending on the form that you practice on the cusp in the second level of religions, also tribalism and witchcraft is probably dependent on the persons practice and ego of the high priest. Then at the top of the pile there is the Tao where rules are not needed to be adhered to word for word, because people have the possibility of brains to think for themselves without complicated instruction manuals with which they can declare that they can murder people in the name of their particular God.

This insistence on manuals in particular, a type of rule book that must be adhered to precisely, is especially amusing because it prohibits thinking in the brains of all who follow it. But then that is what we humans seem to need rather than being less lazy with our own brains.

I still firmly believe that since killing in the name of God has been fair play for centuries, especially for the American war machine then we need to have a vote every so often to decide on just who is God, maybe we could do this globally once every four years or so. All humans on the planet can vote and form groups or religious parties and whichever God is voted into power for their term in office shall reign supreme until the next election.

Personally I am nominating myself for the campaign manager of Winnie the Pooh.

Vote 1 Winnie the Pooh for God.

© Stephen Scala 2010

A pocketful of peanuts and pants full of penis

Or just where the fuck did that testosterone that made me hard for women come from.

And is it unjust that as young men that we have to walk around with a handicap of either a limp dick or a limp in our ability to walk straight because of the hard thing in our genes, (sorry jeans).

Peanuts may be but small bikkies (crumbs from biscuits for youse un Australian types, lets face it if you have the whole thing they are referred to as whole) to a pretended evolved monkey but if you have an endless supply then, as they say, you are in.

You may ask just why a boy may be satisfied believing so strongly in such things that arise and die in a boy’s nether region protection clothing, but then you may not be a boy, or have never been a boy and maybe you have no idea of what it is like being such a boy and understand what it is like to have such small things like testicles wishing to drop from your torso and so dangling around your legs, that can cause such weighty bearings on your thinking. Let alone your ability for self protection, let’s face it they are a hindrance to many sports and way too vulnerable. Some things I can help you with if you want to understand the universe, but some things are driven by a higher power and I know for a fact, that personally I have absolutely no control over many things, in fact I tend to control not a single dam thing. Most things in fact are uncontrollable and I would even go as far to try to be pure enough to realise most people have no real control at all. But then explaining a boys mind is just not a subject found in any university rocket science 101 curriculums. Our evolution is quite simple really; have peanuts will travel, have penis will travel further.

Such things we ponder over but then we probably really haven’t quite given a fuck yet enough to think about such things that may govern the lives of others. They are but questions and why bother with such things as queries when we have a life of our own to consider? We could consider many plausible possibilities in our life or we could just wash over these things as we do our laundry if we were so inclined to do such things; but I must say that I get a certain smile to have a bag of peanuts in my pocket. Chestnuts are better but rarer, cashews are good but cost more money and of course the best of all is having a girl suck on your own nuts as you lick pecans doused in praline parfait from her pussy. Of course that has never happened to me but I am not dead yet. They say you can get anything you want in Bankok, Manila or Saigon, but then they say a lot of things that do not turn out as good as the story.

Laundry is a funny thing, I do it when it is absolutely necessary but I have a girlfriend at the moment who will come home at three in the morning after a nineteen hour double shift and not be able to kiss me hello until she has done the laundry; by hand.

(PS by the way this did not last, I married said girl and the woman when she was wife had rules of her own that were more for me to adhere to than her)

Dirty laundry is the only type worth doing, because why would you clean something that has no need for such attention and would you bother to notice if there were not a woman in your life to make you pay consideration. But then you may be gay and happy and clean, shaven and nicely smelling. So I have questions not about your sexuality but your laundry habits. Are you man enough or are you woman enough to hear about all this. I think not because I suspect that you just exuded hormones strong enough to keep a satellite in orbit, or even your own planet on a path of sorts. There is that very sad boy’s joke about how to make a hormone, but of course, you just punch her in the tits. You must realise that unless you have paid too much money for the priveledge and you are a man with balls you will be getting a kick in the nuts soon enough. Either way you are a complete arsehole and if you do not adhere to societies rules you may find yourself behind bars and deserve to have your bad sense of humour tickled by male sisters in the nearest penitentiary.

You may be wondering about the connection between washing machines and hormones, but there is one tentative one. A physical connection as it turns out but then you may have pondered such things and know all the answers that the universe seeks.

Or why are there so many perfectly good washing machine lids found in dump sites around the world that could be useful with just a straightening out and a quick lick of paint. How do you get beaten up so much that you need to be replaced so as to be a perfectly proper plastic replica of a man’s original part, and not really a replica, but just something going through the motions for you. I am talking about the myth that women really get off on sitting on washing machines as they clean their clothes of course. They are metal or once were, and even now are strong plastic things that should not be beaten or thrashed as much as other rubber things designed for the pleasure. Why can just one part of a machine be held in such high regard by women that it can be worn out and need to be replaced? But then the proper and original object of the desires usually only needs a kick up the arse or some drugs to stir it back into action, that is exactly why men developed Viagra as well as many other drugs designed to keep women happy and sated. The washing machine will always need new replacement lids if it is to be used and abused and it will never penetrate quite as well as will the real object of women’s desires. Besides I reckon that tongues must be much more pleasant to the touch. And why are there so many slightly used vibrators discarded and wrapped in alternative newspaper just because the batteries went dead and the owners could not bring themselves to ask someone how to replace the dead power source. Why alternative newspaper, well that is easy, it manages to keep the investigators off the track. It is not easy to find just where the power source lives and can be replaced in an electrical tool, and just how you can open that tomb, so that it can again continue to move you to pleasure. Double ended dildos not being an exception because it would seem that having two heads, sometimes conjoined vaginas and four breasts does not make it any easier to replace batteries. I have it on reliance of a good source that dead dildos and vibrators are commonly found discarded at refuse points. It maybe that the device did not live up to one’s expectations and so was discarded, but like discarded SIM cards with money on the clock, you have to wonder. Some of us young hormoanly ravished bodies may wonder just why they can not get it off or at least teach us young folk just how to do it good and right for them, but then maybe horny women are better in the result rather than the personal instruction. Men they say cannot express themselves, yet why is it that there are so many males passionatly in love with women that they would do anything for and yet are discarded for lack of proper use or the education to be of proper use.

When I finally turn twenty I expect proper and full disclosure to these questions or I will never ever be a man. Maybe I am just asking too much from women.

Upon reflection the previous rant was a sad, sorry and possibly sexist contemplation; I am at present just a set of hormones of a young boy and I do ponder sex just for a moment each and every day and not surprisingly to women readers a single boy to boot. After all if a girl knows how to replace batteries in one single appliance it is probably her vibrator, so my most sincere apologies to all lesbians and women of battery knowledge that may possibly be out there and offended at present. I will presently try to rectify their disease with a few kindly placed words of male wisdom. But in the meantime I also have been wondering what you wash a dildo with, is warm soapy water good enough or do you have to douse it in nasty chemicals. Dildos and vibrators actually do little for my sex life or my imagination except to conjour possible future sexual persuasions. Sometimes I just dream of meeting a woman with a greater and more pleasurable imagination than me.

Unfortunately when it comes to such thought most gay men have a distinct advantage over the sexual enticements and preferred extra curricular activities of men. There is that one woman however, out there, so urban legend tells it of a woman who can and wants to cater for the pleasures of men. Hell I have spent my mis spent youth devising hot spots for women. But then most have fallen into the what the fuck are you trying to do category. You know when you try to pull a manourve that somebody has told you about, usually a man, and unfortunately, and it has turned out to have been a serious clitoris deflater for the woman that you tried the trick on. But then as I said I am only nineteen at this point in my life and I am sure that I will learn for the better.

I have nothing against lesbians per se; I have actually had sexual encounters with quite a number of them, as apparently they seem to prefer me to a normal full blooded male when they sink so low as to give in to their desires for a fleshy piece of male firmness. I have noticed however that they do seem to prefer positions that I would consider somewhat demeaning to the feminine of the species. In fact I have refused to participate in a number of dalliances with creatures as such as would normally prefer a plastic cock; purely on the grounds that it seemed to me that they wanted me to help recreate a previous encounter with a male who had debased and raped them in the past. Not being fully comfortable with their suggestions of sex I referred them to a nearby building site where I was sure they would get the eroticism that they desired. I would imagine that they took my advice and merely asked at the site office if there may be a man who wanted to fuck a lesbian that particular day, but I seriously doubt that this has ever happened. I actually heard in a bar one night that a cousin of the wife of the sister of the man holding court and a beer at the time said that he heard that one of his mates had converted one of the nearby lesbians and she now demands real penis for breakfast every single day. She even prefers it in the oral form if you can possibly believe that. Of course construction workers are never known to exaggerate their sexual encounters so I for one am willing to believe that this particular piece of urban myth is in actuality more fact than fantasy. Sure cause these bastards never ever lie.

A pocketful of peanuts and pants all full of penis. This could well be the situation a woman may find herself in, but then we all know that is probably most implausible. Women have bags for their excess bullshit and generally do not brag about penises in their pants that do not have a famous or rich owner on the other end of the line. Let’s face it if you are a man and have to stand in line at the bank at attention to get some service, then you are less likely to have your penis in someone else’s pants at this present time, or even on a regular basis. Trams and trains are better places to procure pussy than banks, look for the seated woman rocking and smiling just a little too much. She is usually wearing headphones so as to disguise her slightly exaggerated rocking to the pulses of the vehicle and she is not totally disturbed by the inappropriate touching of her upper thigh area as you pretend to shuffle in your seat. She may even want to sit on your lap and dance if you time your movements appropriately. I have even overheard women discuss the benefits of sitting on massage balls as the steel wheeled vehicles traverse a particularly old and rickety bridge. I could tell you where that bridge is and you could go there on a tram and watch the smiles creep onto the women’s faces as you traverse it and the steel wheels bump and grind along the tracks but if you think I am going to narrow down my chances of getting into some sexy girls pants that you must think I am much more stupid that I seem.

Some eye contact is good at this point coupled with a sly wink, a dribbling mouth and suggestions that she may enjoy the inside of his bedroom as he would desire to see the inside of her panties. Braver souls may describe the brand and model of one’s washing machine or the dexterity and scope of one’s peanut collection but then sometimes the thrill is in the hunt not the kill, you don’t want to catch her too easily.

A pocketful of peanuts and pants all full of penis. This is more likely to be me because I am a young man and this is how we live, below the belt where it is said that no good man would dare to punch. Away from all the intelligence that life has to offer, but down to where all good things that exists dwells. Across the boundary of our own waistline our lives exist, yet above the belt of depravity we care not a great deal about what goes into our bellies and less, what is on our minds. And also we belay where we place our private parts as any port is a home in a storm and down there we have a fire in the belly that will want to rage for many years to come. Because it must come and come again so that the beast can be sated, so that the mouse has something to nibble on and we can wake another day full and at attention in our somewhat seemingly non starched pyjamas.

Down there also hidden in the not yet formed folds of excess flesh is our real selves, somewhere amidst our midriffs, below the folds that our belt insists on carving into our bodies with the coming and passing of age. That little hangman’s noose desperately trying to hold aloft our integrity in those excesses and folds of flesh. Down there that rope of life tries desperately to form our integrity, our guts and our fortitude. Down there in that place where the rainbow colours filter all but yellow chakras and it is down there