Archive for January, 2010



09
Jan
10

The Saturday Post: 9 Jan ‘10

I’m gonna keep this one short and sweet guys, there’s a whole bunch of stuff we need to get sorted today and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather spend the rest of today with my lady than bashing out another epic post.

All the posts this week have actually been pretty epic. Life just seems really full at the moment, I don’t know if you’re feeling it to, but there’s a buzz in the air this year that I swear is so tangible it feels like my skin is sparking with electricity.

 

 

Of course, that could also be because I’m tearing through the gym these days like a loose propeller. We’re only 9 days into the year and I’ve already clocked 4 sessions. Admittedly, for the first two I was embarrassingly sweaty and red-faced, but once those were out the way, session 3 and 4 already felt better.

I’m lucky to come from a lean gene pool – there is no history of obesity in either my mom or my dad’s side of the family, and as such, I have the metabolism of a race horse. Of course, given another 4 or 5 years I’m sure this will change, but that doesn’t bother me.

Gym is really funny though. I watch other guys in the gym who go wearing their designer Body In Motion gear with all the latest gym accessories money can buy, run for a bit on the treadmill, do a few sets on the machines and go home without breaking a sweat, and I think to myself, Why bother?

I go in loose fitting faded shirts, brown shorts and old Nike shoes, I do cardio until my heart feels like it’s going to explode, catch my breath, and then hit the machines and free weights, working steadily toward that killer burn you start to feel in your muscles that sends endorphins flooding like a capsized oil tanker into your blood.

 

 

And then I go back and do it all over again. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, I’m a sucker for punishment.

My goal is 4 sessions a week, every week of this year. If I maintain that and try keep the binge drinking to a minimum, by December I’ll be a fucking MACHINE.

And yes, THEM’S fightin’ words 😉

-ST

08
Jan
10

The Body Corporate Where I Live Are A Bunch Of Fascist Pigs

Fascism, my friends, did not come to an end with the defeat of the Axis Powers at the end of World War II, no. Like a cockroach after nuclear Armageddon, it has come crawling out of the gutters of history and  is alive and well and fucking thriving in the complex where I live.

I don’t remember when it all started because there’s a better than average chance that I was drunk at the time, but not long after moving into our complex in Craighall Park, we became aware of a menacing presence residing in the flat behind us in the form of the Chairlady of our Body Corporate, whose name shall remain anonymous (because fuck man, she scares me).

We’ll just call her Beelzebub, that means Satan.

 

 

In the two and a half years we’ve lived in our flat we’ve had various altercations with Beelzebub because like many people aged between 20 and 30, we like to party. We like to have friends over, we like listening to music, we like the occasional drinky-poo, is that a crime?

Apparently yes.

The best way I can explain everything that’s happened over the last two years in our flat would be by copy/pasting, this awesome summary of offences that Beelzebub sent our landlords near the end of last year:

 

Hi (name withheld),

I’m writing to you to request that you address the issue of noise disturbances with your current tenants.       I can’t recall exactly when you moved away from Braemore but at that time you let your unit to three, young men.      Shortly after they took occupation, I called on them & provided them with Braemore’s Conduct Rules which they acknowledged by signing my copy & I left another copy with them.      For the first few months, they were well behaved & didn’t create any disturbances.     However, their behaviour soon changed.    You will recall that I spoke to you about 18 months ago to complain about a party that they held in the flat, which was accompanied by music played at full volume & which continued throughout the night & into the early morning.    On that occasion, I went to unit 32 at around 4.30 in the morning to speak to the occupants about the noise disturbance.       The crowd in the flat were inebriated & I raised my complaint with two of your tenants, whom I recognised from when I delivered the Conduct Rules to them.    Unfortunately, and possibly due to their state of inebriation, they were argumentative & unapologetic.   One of them (The Glaze!) almost shoved his finger in my face.     They continued to disturb the peace on numerous occasions thereafter with noisy parties & often there would be upwards of 20 people in the unit.    Unfortunately, I didn’t keep a record of the dates & times but going, forward, I intend to keep a record of every incident.

Two of your three tenants have vacated unit 32 in this year, one of them is (The Glaze!).       Again, I haven’t kept a record of when they moved out, but we’ve had relative peace & quiet for the last few months, until this week on Wednesday & again last evening.  

 
Wednesday, 14 October

At around 10.30pm I went to speak to your tenants about a noise disturbance.   The front & kitchen doors were wide open & the sounds of their yelling & music could be heard from my flat, which is in the block behind them.  I was not confrontational at all, I simply asked them to keep the noise levels down & suggested that they close their kitchen door, which they did.   I mentioned to them that it was a week night & some of the residents have to get up early in the morning to get their places of business & it’s not acceptable that they should have their sleep disturbed by the inconsiderate behaviour of other occupants.

Friday, 16 October

Just before 11pm last evening, I was again forced to go & speak to your tenants about a noise disturbance.    There were three guys in the lounge & one of them was playing the guitar & singing (shouting?) at the top of his voice (Guitar Jon!).     I think what fuels these noise disturbances, is their intake of alcohol – from the perspective of my personal observation, it seemed that they weren’t exactly sober.    To their credit, I must say that they apologised & were quiet after that.

I’m attaching another copy of the Braemore Conduct Rules & specifically draw your attention to Conduct Rules 17 and 18.      Each one of your current tenants must sign the Conduct Rules, acknowledging that they understand the rules & are prepared to abide by them.     I must also point out that the other occupants in that block – from units 31 to 36, all fall into the age group 20 to 30 & none of them cause disturbances.    Therefore, if your tenants raise their youth in defence of their behaviour (as I suspect they will), you may just point this out to them.     If your tenants are unwilling to abide by the Conduct Rules, which are in place to ensure that the rights of other occupants are observed & respected, then perhaps they should consider living somewhere else.      

Kind regards,

BEELZEBUB (HAIL SATAN!)

What a load!

I know people that are a million times worse tenants than we are. I knew these guys back at varsity that lived in a digs aptly named ‘Mordor’, who threw a ‘bring something to burn’ house party at the end of our third year there and ho-lee fuckballs, you should have seen the resulting chaos.

 

 

Because a lot of the kids I was at varsity with had more money than they knew what to do with and were too lazy to sell their furniture at the end of the year, I watched in total disbelief as the following items were tossed into the bonfire they started on their lawn:

2 x wooden bedframes
1 x old queen sized mattress
2 x TVs
1 x CRT computer monitor
2 x vacuum cleaners
2 x single couches
1 x double couch
1 x wooden door (ripped off the hinges from a bedroom inside Mordor)
And my personal favourite:
1 x 2-man fibreglass canoe

The resulting ‘fire’ if it can be called that, was so unbelievably MASSIVE that it actually felt like a small sun had come blazing through the cosmos and crashed in the back lawn of Mordor. You could tell who was at the party the next day because their eyebrows and lashes were singed from the heat, I shit you not.

 

 

The fire melted the gutters off the roof, cracked every window down the one side of the house, and burst the piping coming out of the geyser.

Now THAT’S what I call disturbing the peace.

So anyway, I come home from work yesterday, and there’s a letter from the Body Corporate under our door expressing intense dismay because of the fact that some jerkwad keeps taking the creepy out the pool and leaving it disconnected in the sun.

Granted, that’s a pretty dumbass thing to do, but Beelzebub and her committee’s reaction is nothing short of completely retarded.

Did they send a letter to everyone asking them not to take the creepy out of the pool or further action will be taken? No, they didn’t do that. Instead they are now permanently locking the gate to the pool area and making everyone sign a register with the security guard at the front gate every time they want to take a dip in the pool.

Added to that, if you are caught tampering with the creepy in any way, they reserve the right to slap a R500 fine on your ass right there and then, no questions asked.

 

 

Those fascist fucks! THEM’S fightin’ words!

I can’t tell you how tempted I am to take drastic action in the face of this abhorrent abuse of our basic human rights to enjoy a dip in the pool on a hot summer’s day. What the fuck?! People have fought and died for the ideals of democracy and freedom, which are founded on the basic premise that we should have have some kind of influence, no matter how big or small, over the decisions that are made by the leaders of our country, our province and our body corporate.

So I need your help. Here is a list of all the actions I’ve thought of taking in the face of this blatant fascism, which one(s) should I do?

1. Fill the pool with cement. That’ll show those fuckers. I’ll sneak in at 3am with 10 bags of PPC and get pourin’, then NOBODY will EVER fuck with the creepy because well, they’ll need a jackhammer to get at it.

2. Kidnap the creepy and hold it for ransom. Another stroke of ironic genius. Also, I’ve always thought it would be rad to make one of those ransom notes out of cut out magazine letters whilst wearing rubber gloves in a dimly lit room. We’ll send the ransom note with a list of our demands and pics of the creepy lying naked and exposed in the midday sun. Evil, yes. Effective, you bet your ass.

3. Write a letter, copy it 40 times and slip under everyone’s door (except Beelzebub’s) giving detailed instructions, with illustrations, explaining how to safely climb OVER the 3ft gate that they’re planning on locking. To add insult to injury, the letter will also encourage everyone to swim naked. Let’s see them try and kick our asses out THEN.

4. Throw another party. You’re all invited.

The gauntlet has been thrown down people. I didn’t start this, THEY did, and unfortunately, they fucked with THE WRONG MEXICAN.

 

 

Hasta la victoria siempre!

-ST

07
Jan
10

Goodbye June

I always knew she was coming over to visit because of the dogs she had, these tiny little scruffy things, I’m not sure what breed they were, but she had two and you’d hear their tiny nails scratching as they ran excitedly toward our house in the hope of finding our cat and terrorising it.

The doorbell would sound and June would be standing there with a big smile on her face, a cigarette in her hand and a glass of whisky in the other. She’d be smiling and she’d be in a good mood, always in a good mood, and we’d shoot the breeze and catch up on what I’d been up to while my mom busied herself in the kitchen, making supper and throwing in a random comment into the conversation here and there.

Sometimes she’d stay for supper and have one or two more drinks, she knew how to have a good time and was full of fun and mischief, and more than once, when my mom was trying to give up smoking, June would come over and the two of them would sneak a ciggie like two naughty schoolgirls.

I wrote a post about June last year, halfway through October, and sure, I understand you’re busy and probably just quickly stopped by because it’s become part of your daily routine while your email downloads or while the coffee percolates, but if you have a moment, please read this because it’s the last memory I have of her.

My mom called me in tears yesterday to tell me that June passed away on Tuesday night.

She might have been no one to you, even to me she was never anything more than a good friend of my mom’s and a woman who lived in the same complex, but she was a mother, a sister, an aunt and a damn good friend to a lot of people and I firmly believe that we are all connected to one another in ways we will never know or understand and that if you take a moment to spare a thought for the people that loved June, it will make a difference in their lives.

It was cancer that took her in the end, she underwent extensive chemotherapy to try and beat it, but it didn’t make a scrap of difference and as far as I know she made a decision to end the treatment late last year, because all it was doing was making her feel worse and worse.

I think about that and it scares the hell out of me. I can’t imagine what it must be like to reach that point, to accept the fact that you are never going to get better and that in a matter of months or possibly weeks you are going to close your eyes and never open them again.

These bodies of ours are never truly ours, are they? We loan them from the stars, feed and nourish and hopefully look after them as best we can while we can, but sooner or later we have to give them back.

I wrote this post because I wanted it to be known that June was a good person, one of the few I’ve met in this life, that she lived a good life and that she made this world a better place by being here.

I never got to finish the bottle of Red Breast whiskey with her, but as far as last memories of people go, that evening we spent laughing and enjoying a dram together is definitely one of my favourite.

I’m not a religious person, but I do believe that there is no ultimate end, you don’t just die and that’s it – there is more, much, much more, and just because your path has disappeared, it does not mean that it’s ended.

Wherever June’s path has taken her, I hope it’s perfect there. I hope there’s all the whiskey and cigarettes anyone could ever ask for and that she’s laughing like she always used to and making the people there as happy as she made all of us 🙂

 

 

-ST

06
Jan
10

Album Review: 30 Seconds to Mars – ‘This is War’

I’m all for a little on-stage banter at rock concerts, it’s nice when Mr Big Rich Rockstar acknowledges the thousands of screaming fans that have just financed his new holiday house in the Hamptons, but when Jared Leto opened his mouth to speak (read: swear) between songs at Cokefest 2008, the general consensus was that he really shouldn’t have.

 

 

‘Alright all you crazy motherfuckers! I wanna see you fucking crazy motherfuckers fucking jumping up and down and fucking going crazy during this next fucking song, ok? Fuck yeah!’ Sure Jared, whatever. Wipe your face, your eyeliner’s running.

The best part was when he climbed the giant 50ft scaffolding rig on the left hand side of the stage all the way to the top and then, staring out at the Alberton Racetrack declared, ‘You should see how fucking beautiful you all look from up here!’

Me, I got so excited, I couldn’t help but pump my fist in the air while chanting, ‘Die! Die! Die! Die!’

They’re a pretentious band, and why the hell shouldn’t they be? Besides the fact that Mr Leto is every angst-ridden 13 year old girl’s (and in some cases 13 year old boy’s) ‘happy tissue’ fantasy, the band’s second album A Beautiful Lie catapulted them into international stardom almost overnight and was certified as platinum after selling 1 million albums worldwide.

 

 

So it’s no wonder that fans and critics alike were keen to sink their teeth into This Is War, which was released in December last year, to see which direction the band would take after the previous album.

Before I launch into this, I think it needs to be said that I never heard their first album and only caught the singles off A Beautiful Lie, so I’m writing this largely from an outsider’s perspective.

So what did I think of the album? Well, if I had to sum it up in a word, sadly that would would be ‘meh’.

The album was produced by Flood (aka Mark Ellis) who has worked with everyone from The Killers to PJ Harvey, The Smashing Pumpkins and more importantly, U2.

I say this because the U2 flavour on this album is undeniably strong. This Is War can best be described as stadium emo at its best. Almost every track is wrought with maudlin emotion and over-sentimentality, punctuated by slow, eerie Depeche Mode synth sections and Leto’s sometimes whispering / sometimes screaming vocals.

 

 

The album starts slow with the opening track ‘Escape’ that introduces the two most irritating aspects of this album – the monotonous Tibetan chanting that begins and ends the album and the vocal sections that are sung by a huge crowd of people who sound like they’re mostly made up of prepubescent girls.

‘Night of the Hunter’ however, is a vast improvement. The hard, cascading drum beat and Leto’s rasping, screaming vocals hook you on the first listen and, along with the effects-laden guitar riffs, carry you through all five and a half minutes of sheer emo hedonism.

This segues nicely into ‘Kings and Queens’, which is a surprisingly upbeat, anthemic track with a reverbed guitar riff in the verse that smacks of U2, but keeps the song interesting. On the first listen you may not think much of this track, but it does grow on you in time.

However, from there on in the album starts to miss the mark. The title track, ‘This Is War’ sounds like a rehashed version of ‘From Yesterday’, the acoustic track ‘100 Suns’ starts out well enough, but shoots itself squarely in the foot thanks to the inclusion of the aforementioned faux ‘crowd’ harmonising with Leto’s vocals and clapping at the end of the song, which I can only assume is because at 2 minutes, ‘100 Suns’ is BY FAR the shortest track on the album.

 

 

You’ll listen to ‘Hurricane’, ‘Closer To The Edge’ and ‘Search and Destroy’ 20 times and still not remember them, ‘Vox Pupuli’ contains the most cringe-worthy, gag-inducing crowd chanting I’ve ever heard on an album (‘This is a call to arms / Gather soldiers / This is a battle song / Brothers and sisters / Time to go to war’ – bleaugh) and the closing track ‘L490’ is pure filler and nothing else.

Having said that, track 10 (‘Alibi’) offers a nice change of pace and is the only song on the album that comes across as being sincere, thus proving that there might actually be real people underneath all that man-scara.

‘Stranger In A Strange Land’ with the classic lines ‘Enemy of mine / Fuck you like the devil / Violent inside / Beautiful and evil’ is also noteworthy. The dark and heavy bassline is the closest this album comes to being badass and as such, definitely deserves a mention as one of the stronger tracks on the album.

All in all, there is hardly a track off This Is War that can stand up to the singles that came off A Beautiful Lie and unless you’re a die-hard 30STM fan, there’s a good chance this album won’t make much of an impression on you and after 4 or 5 listens you’ll lose it underneath the passenger seat of your car and never find it again.

Call me a cold-hearted bastard but after hearing This Is War a number of times, all I’m left thinking is that maybe it would have been better if Leto had fallen off that scaffolding back in ‘08.

Ouch.

Final Verdict: 5/10

05
Jan
10

The politics of pulling a sickie

I woke up today opened the curtains and seriously considered drinking a shot of drain cleaner to avoid actually going to work. It’s still grey and rainy in Joburg and lemme tell you, nobody is impressed.

 

 

Can we have some sunshine please? Is that too much to ask? It’s supposed to be summer – you call this fucking summer? I want my money back. This is bullshit.

On days like today you wish you’d pulled a sickie, and not just any kind of sickie, I’m talking epic sickie here, I’m talking not getting out of bed until lunchtime sickie, but you didn’t do that did you?

No, you pussied out, and now here you are, reading my blog instead of working and wishing you’d had the stones to pick up the damn phone and, in your best ‘moments away from death’ voice tell your boss, ‘I can’t come to work today, I’m sick.’

‘Well, how sick are you?’ your boss would have asked.

‘Well, I just fucked my sister,’ you’d calmly reply. ‘How sick is that?’

Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I saw the gap and just went for it. This blog in no way endorses sister fucking, we aren’t apes for chrissake.

 

 

It’s ok though, I fully understand why you didn’t take this course of action, it’s because we all adhere to a societal contract that binds us to doing all manner of shit we really don’t want to by using the most powerful motivator mankind has ever come up with.

Guilt.

That one small, single syllable word is the lube that greases the system and makes sure we don’t wander too far off the beaten path.

Think about it – the second a co-worker phones in sick, what’s the first thing that goes through your mind? Cause the first thing that goes through mine is ‘Sure, whatever. He’s not sick, the big faker, the big softie, he’s probably already on his third beer by now, screw him!’

 

 

And in that way, I keep the cycle alive. Aarrgghh! The irony!

So I say we change our mindsets when it comes to sickies. I say from now on, we applaud co-workers who are very obviously pulling a sickie and we start a culture of caring and understanding that extends so far that ‘not feeling like working’ will eventually be a legitimate excuse for not rocking up at work.

And what a wonderful world that would be 🙂

Aaaannnyyyyyway, I guess I’d better get some work done.

Take care now. Same time tomorrow? You bet your ass 😉

-ST

04
Jan
10

5 things that going back to work today is better than

If you live in South Africa, specifically Johannesburg, and today is your first day back at work after an amazing and relaxing holiday, please believe me when I say I feel your pain.

To add insult to injury it’s also grey and pissing down with rain here in Joeys. It’s one of those mornings when all you want to do is burrow deep under the blankets and tell the world to fuck right off.

And so I decided to spread a little cheer and write a humorous post on ‘10 things that going back to work today is better than’, but I couldn’t think of that many things. Five is fine – enjoy 🙂

Thing No. 1 – A Full Frontal Lobotomy

Sure, you may think your job is mind-numbing, but until you’ve had the neural connections severed to and from your prefrontal cortex, you have no idea what mind-numbing truly is.

Lobotomies were a popular way of dealing with loonies in the 1940s and 50s, because basically the procedure turned them from complete maniacs into mindless zombies and therefore made them much easier to control.

 

 

Problem was, the procedure was deemed too expensive and needed to be carried out by neurosurgeons, thus making it largely unfeasible in state mental hospitals, where it was needed most.

And so an entirely different kind of lobotomy was devised, whereby the patient’s upper eyelid was lifted and the point of a thin surgical instrument inserted against the top of the eyesocket.

A mallet was then used to drive the instrument through the thin layer of bone behind the eyeball and into the brain where it was swept from side to side, mashing the patients frontal lobe good and proper. This was then repeated in the other eyesocket.

So yeah, work might suck today, but man up! It’s better than having your brains smooshed around like lumpy mashed potatoes. Fact.

 

Thing No. 2 – Being One Of Frank Zappa’s Children

For the uninitiated, Frank Vincent Zappa was an American songwriter, producer and director who was really, really um, how do I put this? Fucking weird.

 

 

The poor dude was quite a sickly child and suffered frequently from asthma, earaches and sinus problems, which his doctor treated by prescribing radium pellets, and no, he didn’t swallow them, he was told to insert a pellet into each nostril and just kinda walk around like that.

Whether or not that lead to his boundless eccentricity remains unknown, but the guy recorded over 50 albums in his brief 52 years on this planet and had a killer sense of humour, which not only extended into his art, but also into the names he gave his four children: Moon Unit (his first daughter), Dweezil (his first son), Ahmet Emuukha Rodan (his second son) and Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen (which I presume was his second daughter)

So yeah, your day today might be sucking, but if your name was Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen, your entire life would suck.

Feeling better yet?

 

Thing No. 3 – Suffocating in 200 pounds of poop

It is a universal fact that bosses are largely full of shit, but they’re nowhere near as full of shit as, say, a constipated elephant.

This discovery proved to be the last that German zookeeper Friedrich Riesfeldt would ever make after he fed his constipated elephant friend Stephan 22 doses of animal laxative, followed by an entire bushel of high fibre berries, figs and prunes.

Amazingly, this didn’t have any effect on Stephan so Riesfeldt, concerned for the welfare of his elephant pal, then administered an olive oil enema and bada bing, bada bang! Result!

 

 

Stephan trumpeted loudly and released 200 pounds of clogged elephant poop like a cannon blast from his rear end, the sheer force of which knocked Riesfeldt to the floor where he was promptly buried alive in the grateful animal’s turd.

Game over. Bleew, bleew, bleeeewwww.

So the next time your boss shits on you, just be glad he’s not an elephant with the business end of his poop chute aimed squarely in your face.

 

Thing No. 4 – Waking up from a kickass drinking binge to find you’ve been buried alive

How crazy is this – back in the 1500s people used to drink ale and whiskey out of lead cups and the combination of the alcohol and the lead would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days, during which time their vital signs barely registered.

Typically these people would then be laid out on the kitchen table in their homes for a couple of days during which time the  family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a ‘wake’.

At around this time in England they started running out of space to bury people and so they would dig up coffins and reuse the graves, which lead to a startling discovery.

One in twenty-five coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside of them from people who were being buried alive. One in twenty-five!

 

How much does that suck? One minute you’re out gettin’ wizasted with your cronies and the next you wake up in a coffin, snug, warm and buried six feet under the earth’s surface.

All the scratching in the world ain’t gonna save you from that.

 

Thing No. 5 – You could be a barnyard masturbator

Yeah, apparently people like this actually exist. The basic job description is collecting animal semen from various farm animals to help them reproduce.

As a barnyard masturbator your tools of the trade include an electric probing device to stimulate God knows what, fake rubber vaginas and bucket loads of lube.

 

 

The plus side of a job this rad is the awesome cocktail-party conversations it would definitely lead to.

‘I’m the head of a successful private banking firm and just bought a 60-ft luxury yacht, anchored off the coast of Barbados, and you?’

‘I jerk animals off.’

‘Hm, you… what?’

‘Sure. I mean there I was, fresh out of highschool, not really knowing what to do with my life when I happened upon a lonely stray dog one day with his lipstick out and one thing kinda lead to another…’

 

*******************************************************************************

 

So there you have it! I hope I’ve made you feel better about your day. Now go do some work, that agitated bull ain’t gonna jerk itself off 😉

-ST

03
Jan
10

Site Overhaul 50% complete

Check out the amazingness of this guys – the site overhaul is 50% complete! On the right you’ll see a number of new things have been added, namely a ‘SEARCH’ bar, where you can search Them’s Fightin’ Words for your favourite posts to show to your friends and loved ones (and be the envy of them all).

OR you can just type a random phrase in to read my opinion of that particular topic, like ‘The Cuban Missile Crisis’ for example (um, yeah, don’t type that, it was just an example).

 

 

But that’s not all! There’s also now a new section called ‘TOP 10 POSTS’ also on the right where you can check out all the site’s most badass posts according to how many times they’ve been viewed.

You’ll find some classics in there, like the controversial ‘Death By Ayoba’ post and my killer album reviews.

I mean seriously, how fucking rad is that?! This site is MUCH better now!

I wanted to add other stuff too, like a ‘Tweet This’ button after my posts but I couldn’t figure out how to get it working after I downloaded it 😛

I’m no techno-genius. I’m more of a Snake Plissken kinda dude. Ever see that movie Escape From LA? At the end of that, Snake (played by Kurt Russell) detonates this massive electro-magnetic pulse that fries every piece of electrical equipment on the face of earth and basically plunges us all back into the dark ages.

 

 

That would be rad. People would run riot in the streets. There’d be no choice but to arm yourself to the teeth, band together with whatever friends and family you could find and fight tooth and nail to survive.

Actually wait, maybe that would be crap…

I wanted to add a whole bunch of other pages to the site too, not just the ‘About’ page, but I need to think carefully about how I want the site navigation to work before I go there and possibly buy and customise my own theme for the site.

Any web developers out there with some spare time on their hands? I’ll take it off your hands for you, no worries, but please note I charge an hourly fee for such services. I’m open to negotiation though 😉

Otherwise we spent most of today making sushi in an effort to not to get too depressed about going back to work tomorrow. I tried my hand at making rainbow rolls and wow! They were TERRIBLE! J-Rab’s were way, way better, partly because she’s more meticulous with her sushi than I am, but also because she actually remembered to roll both the salmon AND the avo on the outside, instead of just the avo.

 

 

Duuhhh Slick.

But now the sushi-making is over and the pre-work depression has hit home hard. I love my job and the people I work with, but man-o-man, I don’t wanna go back to work, I just wanna stay here and hang out with you guys.

The whole day’s been grey and rainy and sad songs keep playing on J-Rab’s iPod which isn’t helping.

Tomorrow we join the traffic. Tomorrow our inboxes govern our lives once again. Tomorrow we lift the yoke of modern life again and we beat on, boats against the current…

The good news though is that Random Cat came back to our flat today. Good ol’ Random Cat hasn’t come for a visit for at least a month, but is now comfortably resting on the big couch with that lazy cat look in her eyes that tells me she’s probably going to sleep soon.

 

 

If you live a great life, you come back as a domestic cat that gets fed and pampered and has a big garden to explore and play in with your other kitteh-pals.

If you live a shitty life, you come back as a caged tiger and you dream of jungles and hunting all day, but are kept in a tiny enclosure and fed horse meat while kids throw pinecones at you endlessly.

Well, not this tiger. They had no idea what they were dealing with when they built the walls around me and by my guess, they’re more than a couple of feet short.

On three guys.

One…

Two…

😉

-ST

02
Jan
10

Site Overhaul Initiating… beep… fail

Today looked different in my head.

It started with me waking up before 9.30, making a killer breakfast with bacon and eggs and sausages and fried tomatoes and mushrooms cooked slowly in butter, freshly squeezed cold orange juice, toast from homemade bread, more jam than you could shake a stick at.

 

 

Can you taste that? Fahk.

After that I was going to take J-Rab somewhere away from here, away from all the cement and asphalt. We were going to drive, far out there and find a place where the two of us could be alone, there would be a river there we could drink out of, we’d spread a blanket out under some trees, pop a bottle of champagne, drink it out of crystal flutes and eat expensive sandwiches, the ones from Woolies.

We’d look up at the sky through the leaves and see big ‘ol lazy birds circling overhead, riding thermals for kicks.

 

 

We’d drive back home just before sunset, the warm feeling of the sun still on our skin, and we’d be happy, our heads fuzzy from the champagne, and we would want nothing, nothing else from this life except for everything we had already.

It would be raining as we fell asleep.

Instead we got up sometime after 10 and tidied the flat until 2. We went to Sandton City, I exchanged a shirt J-Rab got me for a better one and we came back home.

And all the while, these dreams kept coming back to me from last night. In one I was preparing for war, and when it broke I was unstoppable. They sent me in there armed with a giant machete, and I hacked the shit out of anything in my path. Problem was, it was my own ranks I was hacking my way through.

Bummer.

 

 

In another dream I dreamed this girl I know appeared in Playboy magazine and had a horizontal instead of vertical vagina. As in, not up and down but left to right. Freud would love me.

Then my brother called from Australia where he’s just moved and we talked for about an hour. It was good to make contact again, I think it’s been about 6 months or more since we spoke last. He’s a good man, my brother and he’s living a good life over in Oz. I really hope I can visit him sometime soon.

My day got better from that point and the evening has been pretty damn awesome. J-Rab cooked us up an amazing stir-fry and I rented the new Star Trek movie to watch, which I really, really enjoyed and I would encourage everyone to watch, doesn’t matter if you’re a sci-fi freak or not, it’s a great action movie and the script is rock solid.

 

 

Now I’m watching Alexander on E-TV and thinking man-o-man Rosario Dawson has a great rack, it’s pretty much the best thing about the entire movie. Something about Colin Farrell makes me want to punch him in the face when I see him in some movies, same is true for Jared Leto (yet another reason why I fucking love Fight Club. What Edward Norton does to Leto’s face in that movie? Yeah, I’ve wanted to do that for years).

But anyway, the overhaul of this site never happened. I’m sorry. I know you’re heartbroken. Please, let me make it up to you with this great pic of Rosario Dawson I just found…

 

 

All good? Great 🙂

I will say one thing about today though, it may not have started like I wanted it to, but it’s raining slow and heavy outside, so at least it’s going to end the way I hoped it would.

Ain’t that wonder 😉

-ST

01
Jan
10

2010 And All Is Quiet

Guys, good news. I’m still alive and I’m proud of that fact because man-o-man, I felt rough as an ogre’s ass this morning.

Never again right? Hells no. Yesterday started out pretty calm and breezy but very quickly started spinning out of control.

It was late afternoon when the first few beers of the evening were cracked open here at our flat. Action Jackson and his buddy Q came over. I found J-Rab’s camera and got all creative with the following incredible result:

 

 

Then J-Rab and I did the cute, coupley thing where you take about 50 pictures of the two of you trying to get the perfect one while everyone else in the room vomits a little into their mouths.

 

 

The best part of the day though was the fact that my good buddy from highschool, Van Barman, was down here (across here?) from Puerto Rico, where he works as a rescue swimmer with the US Coast Guard.

I always respected him for that and always will. He jumps out of fucking helicopters into oceans that are sometimes rough as hell and saves people’s lives.

He makes a real difference in the world. He also gets to live in a tropical paradise, and from the pics he’s sent us I can tell you there’s nothing fucking wrong with that at all.

We headed up to our pool / braai area for a swim, but only Barman and I jumped in, everyone else was lame. It was a beautiful afternoon though, just the six of us up there while the sun set slowly, one last time for 2009.

 

 

From there, our merry little band of drunkards headed back to the flat and continued boogying on down, only Barman and his GF (pictured above) had a family dinner and had to leave, only to be replaced by Johnny D, another good highschool friend I haven’t seen in years.

We hit the liquor store just before it closed and I bought a gigantic bottle of champers to fire off at midnight. It’s not New Year’s unless some douche is shooting a bottle of champers like a shotgun, and I figured that douche might as well be me.

Back at HQ, we decided to lay a whole bunch of blankets out in the parking lot so we’d have a good view of the moon for the eclipse that was going down. Last night was not only a full moon, but it was also a blue moon (ie. the second full moon in one month) AND an eclipse.

I was stoked! Also, I was 100% convinced by superpowers were going to kick in the second that eclipse hit, fuck yeah! And so we lay on our blankets, drank, talked a load of shit and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Finally, after about an hour, here’s what we saw:

 

 

Moments later I got a call from Barman cause his dinner thing had ended and I went to pick his ass up and kick things up another notch.

From there on in, it gets a little blurry. There was Jagermeister guys, there was whisky, there was red wine, there was brandy and coke. There were great conversations, life changing shit was discussed, I just can’t really remember whats.

We decided to head up to the pool again to ring in the New Year and I became fanatically obsessed with the sparklers J-Rab brought out and insisted that I light mine before New Years and then promptly dropped it in the pool.

When the countdown came around I was ready for it though and had my bottle of champers in hand to fire it off triumphantly as the countdown hit 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Pow! Off went the cork, my timing was immaculate, which was pretty surprising considering the fine form I was in.

 

 

Um, yeah. I’m sorry you had to see that.

Personally, I don’t remember that photo being taken, but it goes a long way to explaining why I felt like eating a 9mil for breakfast this morning.

Good times 🙂

Of course, everything ended in tears. I’m not sure if I’m just really acting well in this pic or if I did indeed suffer some kind of emotional breakdown. It’s quite possible that the awesomeness of the day was just too much for me to handle.

Good thing my old buddy Barman was there so pull me back together.

 

 

I don’t know what time it was when it all ended, but I think we were all more than ready to pack it up, pack it in by the end of it.

I was a good party. Good times were had, and I feel ready for 2010. I sure as hell didn’t this morning, but I do now. I bested my hangover, I came out tops, nothing can stop me.

Me and my lady spent most of today sleeping. It started out all sunny, but turned black and rainy just after lunchtime.

Now it’s drizzling lightly outside, we’re listening to The Dave Matthew’s Band and J-Rab’s curled up with The Persimmon Tree by Bryce Courtney.

Me, I’ve got a hankering for ice cream so I’m gonna wrap this up. Tomorrow I might actually get around to overhauling this site a little, but I won’t make any promises on that front.

Let’s just take it as it comes. I got 2 days left of holidays.

It’s gone by too fast, don’t you think? Let’s not go back to work on Monday! We can pull a sickie and stay home and watch DVDs, it’ll be awesome!

Fahk! I come up with THE BEST ideas sometimes!

Later masturbators, happy New Year!

-ST