Don’t you just love it when some hacker punk gets access to your email address and spams every single person in your address book with the usual assortment of dodgy misspelled pharmaceuticals, presumably-toxic weight loss products and virtually guaranteed to make it fall off cures for ‘male’ issues? #awkward
I’d love to get hold of one of these these pale LAN-gaming clowns. I’m from Pretoria. I spent many years pinting in Hatfield Square, and survived. As an English speaker nogal! It’d be brutal. But oh so sweet. And totally worth it.
By the way, I got some great deals on dodgy misspelled pharmaceuticals, presumably-toxic weight loss products and virtually guaranteed to make it fall off cures for ‘male’ issues if anyone’s interested…
I used the word “hippies” in the title of this post, but I was actually supposed to write “stoners”. It’s an honest mistake – the term can generally be used interchangeably, not so? Let’s be honest – if you have a fondness for tie-dye, Grateful Dead T-shirts and sandals, one can safely assume that you’re a pothead with a penchant for ‘munchies’ and saying profound things like “Shew bru”.
This weekend cities around the world, as well as in South Africa, will play host to the ‘Global Marijuana March’. SA cities involved are:
Johannesburg
Soweto
Durban
Cape Town (now there’s a big surprise).
George
There doesn’t appear to be a march by the Knysna Forest hippies – I’m guessing that they either (i) didn’t get the memo, or (ii) did get the memo, but rolled it up and set it alight when their stock of Rizlas ran out.
Reaction to this is of course mixed. I’m imagining that stoners the world over are saying “Fully! Sweet! Who’s bringing the munchies?” and “Down with the man!” On opposing council, my brother’s sentiment tends to sum up the opposite outlook: “Personally I think a water cannon and a few police dogs should do the trick, but hey that’s just me…”
It’s not just you. Remember the words of the great Eric Cartman? “Hippies, hippies… they want to save the world, but all they do is smoke pot and play frisbee!” Well played son, well played. Hit the nail on the head right there.
Speaking of hitting on the head, “here hippie hippie hippie…”
Here is the latest incarnation of DJ Earworm’s (yup, he actually chooses to call himself that) annual United State of Pop (Don’t stop the Pop) mix. If you’re unfamiliar with the lad, what he does is take all the top pop hits and their accompanying music videos of the previous year, and rustles up a mix/mashup of them. Here’s 2010′s:
Check out the previous year’s one – Top 25 Pop 2009 Remix… For the 2009 version I whined that I was so slow to post it that nearly half a million of you beat me to it (by YouTube views). This time 11 million of you lot did so! Strewth!
And dear Mr CockroachEarthwormEarbud whatever it is you’re calling yourself lately: the name probably needs to change. It’s for your own good. Aight?
The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats, and have therefore raised their security level from “Miffed” to “Peeved”. Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to “Irritated” or even “A Bit Cross”. The English have not been “A Bit Cross” since the blitz in 1940, when tea supplies nearly ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from “Tiresome” to “A Bloody Nuisance”. The last time the British issued a “Bloody Nuisance” warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.
The Scots have raised their threat level from “Pissed Off” to “Let’s get the *******s”. They don’t have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from “Run” to “Hide”. The only two higher levels in France are “Collaborate” and “Surrender”. The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France’s white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country’s military capability.
Italy has increased the alert level from “Shout Loudly and Excitedly” to “Elaborate Military Posturing”. Two more levels remain: “Ineffective Combat Operations” and “Change Sides”.
The Germans have increased their alert state from “Disdainful Arrogance” to “Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs”. They also have two higher levels: “Invade a Neighbour” and “Lose”.
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Americans meanwhile, and as usual, are carrying out pre-emptive strikes on all of their allies “just in case”.
Canada doesn’t have any alert levels.
New Zealand has raised its security levels – from “baaa” to “BAAAA”. Due to continuing defence cutbacks, New Zealand has only one more level of escalation, which is “I hope Australia will come and rescue us”.
Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from “No worries” to “She’ll be alright, mate”. Three more escalation levels remain: “Crikey!”, “I think we’ll need to cancel the barbie this weekend” and “The barbie is cancelled”. So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.
Nicely done lads. By the way, at least wait until the 0:13 mark before closing this window – surely you can deal with 13 seconds of Mr (Ms?) Bieber, painful as it may be. Right? Right? Such a trooper!
To illustrate the things I have to deal with (cry me a river), please find below a copy of an email I sent to my landlord barely five minutes ago (with a fair bit of censorship of course – this is after all a family-friendly site, innit?) politely laying out a concern I may have developed:
Dear Landlord
Dude! Seriously? What’s up with your house trying to cause me to literally crap myself into a semi-comatose state?
What I can only assume (hope?) was a bushbaby launched itself onto the bedroom roof in the middle of the night around 2am. Are you f’king kidding me? A bushbaby sitting in a tree at dusk is all very well and oulik and ag-moeder-escue – the same bushbaby going all f’king SAS paratrooper on the place and diving headfirst onto my roof in the middle of the night? Sound EXACTLY like a gang of bloodthirsty gangsters out to violate me. Time for some pepper balls in my paintball gun. Or that nifty little crossbow I see you’ve got lurking in the storeroom. Either way the place is going to look like a scene from Apocalypse Now next time Fluffy-Wuffy Big-Eyes reckons he’s gonna swan-dive onto my ceiling while I’m snoring away and dreaming of Jessica Alba with an itch that needs scratching! Not cool.
Half-rent this month for pain and suffering!
Sincerely
Stu
And here’s the reply from slumlord millionaire the landlord:
Holy shit that is funny! But are you sure it was a bushbaby and not a cat? We had that quite often. I suppose though, your dogs would sort out the cat situation with ease!
I think you’re just too used to being in a noisy suburb where thugs/cats/bushbabies/asteroids probably regularly jumped/landed on your roof in the middle of the night but the noise from said thug’s stolen Toyota Tazz speeding down Hans Strydom at Mach 5 plus, and his mates hooting at him from their beaten down rides was a great sound cover-up for such “bumps in the night”. Now with the peace and quiet of Tipperary way, you can hear your neighbour’s neighbour, 2 houses down, scratching his balls when he wakes up in the morning! So its no wonder Fluffy-Wuffy Big-Eyes paradropping on your roof at 2am sounds like a nuclear explosion!
I would have LOVED to capture that “What-the-f’ck-was-that?!?!” moment on camera, it would have been priceless!
I’m detecting a slight lack of sympathy here. I assume that’s a “no” on the half-rent then?
So guess what I’ve been up to lately. No Simon, not drinking heavily – that’s your department. I’ve been on the golf driving range, thinking I’m about ready to give Tiger Woods a run for his money (golfing, not womanising/getting thrashed with a 3 wood), whereas in retrospect I’d battle to give Helen Keller the remotest challenge.
“Who gives a flying rodent bollock?” I hear you grumble. Well, folks, the point of this fascinating newsflash is not so much centred on my soon-to-be-legendary golf club swingage (new word – my blog, my rules beatches!) but rather on the fact that I’ll be allowed, nay expected, to dress in a manner that would make Snoop embarrassed.
No idea what I’m on about? Then take a look at some of the highlights that Googling “bad golf outfits” returns (granted, “golf clothes” and “bad golf outfits” are interchangeable search terms in general). Fashion Week this is not…
John Daly looking like a champ. Or an LSD trip.
Oh look, John's back, and methinks he mugged a clown on his way in.
First up, I normally reckon that the majority of these “he said / she said” lists are a bit lame, so I don’t normally repost them. This one, however, resulted in a chuckle or two, so I figured I’d share it with you. You’re welcome.
Check it: Nine words women use:
Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.
Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.
Go Ahead: This is a dare, not a permission. Don’t Do It!
Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)
That’s Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a woman can make to a man. That’s okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you’re welcome. (I want to add in a clause here – This is true, unless she says ‘Thanks a lot’ – that is PURE sarcasm and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say ‘you’re welcome’. That will bring on a ‘whatever’).
Whatever: Is a woman’s way of saying “Go to hell.” (edited)
Don’t worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ For the woman’s response refer to #3.
Did y’all notice just how quiet it’s been around these parts lately? Well there’s a good reason for that – I moved house last week.
Right, before we go any further, we need to first clarify a few things (that’s what she said, aiiiiiiiiii) about said move:
I live in a regular run-of-the-mill suburban home, you know: the kind every yuppie dreads up ending up in, but normal folks like me aspire to – meaning that there is a LOT of stuff to move. This ain’t no “pack up your one-bedroom hipster loft/apartment, toss it all in the back of a Mini Convertible and off you zoot” kinda move then. Lotsa kak, and it all weighs a kakload. (in an effort to make my international readers feel at home here, allow me to translate that last sentence: lots of stuff, and it’s all generally rather heavy. You’re welcome.)
There was no big-ass truck with a legion of heavily-biceped lads ready to carry the 84 gazillion boxes of shite my missus has managed to rustle up in the last couple of years. Just moi. And one friend. One friend who undoubtedly won’t be visiting again anytime soon in case we ask him to move something heavy. Everyone else? Suddenly VERY busy. “Umm… I got this thing to go to, at that place” and “I’m in P.E.” (thanks for nothing Simon) and “we’ve got guests this weekend” (you know who you are), etc. Friend FAIL – the lot of ya!
ACT ONE
INT. STU’S LIVING ROOM – MORNING
(NARRATOR, STU, STU’S MISSUS)
A WORN-LOOKING COUCH IN A FAMILY ROOM IN A SUBURBAN HOME.
A RAVEN SCREECHES IN THE BACKGROUND. TWO ADULTS – STU, A DASHING AND FRANKLY RATHER DREAMY FELLA, AND HIS MISSUS, CRANKY — SIT ON THE COUCH. THEY LOOK AT THE CAMERA AND LISTEN TO THE NARRATOR.
NARRATOR (O.S.)
Okay, I’m gonna tell you two what you’re in for. Stu’s Missus, you get to sip Hot Chocolate and “supervise” all day. Helpful hints and pointers about putting that box there, no here, no over there, no wait maybe over here will be greatly appreciated. Stu, you get to spend the next 72 hours putting your back out carrying yet more boxes of clothes that will be worn a maximum of once sometime in the next five years. And smile the whole time too. Coz if you don’t… this script’s gonna read more like something starring Freddie Kruger and his BFF Jason than an episode of How I met your mother.
STU’S MISSUS
I hope you’re feeling strong, because I bought even more stuff this week. And it’s all heavy! Isn’t that wonderful?
STU
Yes Dear, I’m so pleased. I’d hate to not have to carry a lot of really rather heavy kak all weekend.
I thus found myself spending the next three days lugging, nay crumbling under the weight of, a seemingly endless pile of boxes of… stuff. No, I have no idea what was in all of them (it sure as Hell wasn’t my four shirts or three pairs of socks). For all I know they could’ve been filled with stolen artefacts from King Tut’s tomb. They sure felt like it – no, not some stuffed little kitty, rather a minimum of one half of a pyramid per box. Or at the very least a medium-sized sarcophagus.
My trusty sidekick was ever so slightly displeased by day three too – something about a lack of both monetary, and more importantly, alcoholic, reimbursement. “Mush, I tell you, mush! Those boxes aren’t going to carry themselves, now are they?”
Long story short: the world’s biggest trailer…
lots and lots of Red Bull…
multiple trips across the suburbs of Pretoria East…
and three days later I found myself waking up in a strange house, realigning my spine and getting ready to start the next chapter.
The next chapter
Ummm… currently in progress? Or at least it will be right after I get back from the chiropractor’s.
