As a blogger the most vital skill you can have, more important than actually stringing a sentence together, is the ability to spot cool shit on the interwebs and post it before it goes supernova.
I failed dismally with Gangnam Style. The first time I saw that video, it had only had about 230k views compared to the 476 MILLION it has had to date.
If I’d posted it back then holy shit. I’d be MADE! The traffic from Google alone would have launched this site straight into the stratosphere. But yeah. I watched it inbetween other stuffs I was doing at work and was like “Huh. That was weird…†and carried on with life.
Fast forward two weeks and Gangnam Style is exploding all over the place, by which stage I’d completely missed the boat.
So instead I’m reduced to posting Gangnam Style parodies. Having said that, this Ghostbuster / Gangnam mashup is awesome though.
Check it:
Ah internet. You are the best fucking invention EVER.
There is no better feeling known to man than the deep-down happiness you experience after two hours on a scorching hot Cape Town beach when the Grenedilla Lolly Guy rocks up.
“GRENEDILLA LOLLIES!†he belts out in his hilariously legit accent, “A LOLLY TO MAKE YOU JOLLY!†And my God! The man’s right! You’ve never tasted a jollier lolly in your life!
In that golden moment when the ice-cold lolly hits your tongue, you basically don’t have a single care in the world. There’s just the sound of the ocean, the feeling of the sun beating down on you and the taste of granadilla heaven in your mouth.
I’ve watched people go into full on lolly-induced paroxysms of sheer ecstasy when they’re only three licks in. By five, every muscle in their body has become inert as they lie there deliriously licking their lollies.
The GRENEDILLA LOLLY rates right up there with biltong, boerewors and koeksusters as one of South Africa’s most ingenious culinary delights. The catch is, you have to be on the beach in the sweltering hot sun to experience the full power of The Lolly.
The Grenedilla Lolly Guy knows this. I mean Christ, he’s no idiot. He knows he’s got what marketers call a “captive audience†because let’s face it, you’re not going to get up and go try find a GRENEDILLA LOLLY anywhere else right? That would totally defeat the point!
So sure, he’s definitely going to mark up his product by at least 200%, he’d be an idiot not to. The poor guy’s got a family to feed and lugging that cooler box up and down a scorching hot beach all day can’t be fun.
The going rate for a GRENEDILLA LOLLY on most beaches in Cape Town is roughly fifteen South African Ront and has been for some time.
This is literally the only money I’ll take to the beach. Thirty Ront. Fifteen for me, fifteen for the missus, 2x GRENEDILLA LOLLIES when we’re so hot it feels like our blood is about to boil and Bob’s your motherflippin uncle! We’re in Lolly Heaven and life couldn’t be better.
So imagine my total outrage and utter despair last Sunday on finding that the GRENEDILLA LOLLY price has increased by no less than 33.33333%!
That’s right! The next time you’re on your favourite capetonian beach, don’t be surprised if you get fleeced for no less than TWENTY FLIPPIN RONT for a GRENEDILLA LOLLY.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?!†I asked The Grenedilla Lolly Guy indignantly, “I was literally here two weeks ago and it was fifteen ront a lolly, what the hell is going on?!â€
“Ag you know man,†he replied, “petrol price is going up…â€
“What the hell does the petrol price have to do with grenedilla lollies!?†I shot back, furious, “that makes absolutely no sense, I demand a fifteen ront lolly or we’re leaving!â€
“Sorry Captain,†he said in his infuriatingly jolly way, “it’s twenty rend a lolly now Captain.â€
“And that’s supposed to make me jolly?!â€
“Yes Captain. A lolly to make you jolly.â€
“Fine. Whatever. Have you got change for a hundred…?â€
I was flippin ripped off I tell you! And the size of the lolly! Half the size of the lollies they were selling on that exact beach one year ago!
I swear next time I’m taking my own grenedilla lollies. I’ll make myself jolly from now on thank you very much.
Forty ront for two flippin grenedilla lollies, bloody country’s falling apart.
And they wonder why everyone’s moving to Australia. I’ll bet their grenedilla lollies are half the price and three times the size of ours.
Lava has always fascinated me. Something about it is so primordial – rocks in their liquid form, I mean shit, how badass is that?!
The following pics were shot by photographers Nick Selway and CJ Kale who claim they are the only photographers to ever enter the surf next to an active volcano to do lava surf photography.
The resulting photos are nothing short of insane. Two powerful elements merging and swirling together, duking it out to see which is mightier. Some of the pics literally look like Titans doing battle so yeah, if this doesn’t help you escape Monday for a few minutes, nothing will.
I really dig photography like this. In fact, finding material for my Escape Mondays posts is fast becoming one of my favourite blogging pastimes.
We live in an incredible world, which is easy to forget when you spend 5 days out of 7 locked in what feels like perpetual corporate-grey cubicle limbo.
It’s important to have a “happy placeâ€. A mental place you can retreat to when you’re in the middle of a particularly boring meeting / having lunch with the in-laws / at the dentist having root canal.
That’s really what the Escape Monday project is all about. Giving you guys some awesome images to file in your “happy place†archive to make life more bearable.
The pics you’re about to see are all taken at Cabo San Lucas, a beach in Mexico that has some of the most stunning rock formations I’ve ever seen. Find this place in your mind the next time the boss craps on you for mentally tuning out every time someone craps on you.
Some Inception shit going on right there…
I’ve tried to give credit where it’s due to these images by not cropping the watermarks out, but I’d be stealing these outright if I didn’t include the link where you can check out more work by these artists: http://abduzeedo.com/breathtaking-photographs-cabo-san-lucas
There’s another Escape Monday post comin’ your way at 13.00 so don’t be a stranger cause I think this one’s gonna melt faces.
Phew! What an epic festival review hey Party People? Christ, feels like all I’ve been posting for the last two weeks is Daisiesdaisiesdaisiesdaisies.
Time to wrap it all up with my Saturday post and then I promise you’ll not hear anything more about this festival until next year rolls around.
Like the day before it, Saturday morning was a hoot. Myself, Peggles, Barbarian and Spu spent it all chilling together while the girls hit the Daisy Den which took at least about two hours, just enough time for us to smash a couple beers and ease ourselves into the day.
From there everyone got all Tiger-striped up and we went to actually explore the festival and try to catch some bands.
We started by checking out the Hemporium stage where Little Kings were playing the most chilled out set you could ever imagine. I liked this band a lot, they just had this great vibe about them, very loose and easy breezy but great songwriters and performers, all of them.
This is what that looked like:
After that we met PURPLE MAN! Well, if by met PURPLE MAN I actually mean watch a man in a purple morph suit walk casually into the dam, then ya.
We met PURPLE MAN!
Once we’d finished laughing and taking pics of PURPLE MAN, I finally hit the media lounge for the first time at the festival where I had an ice cold Red Bull, ate some kind of cranberry / cereal snack thing and contemplated using one of the laptops there.
Next time. I swear I’m blogging from Daisies next time…
Next stop was the beach bar, which was PUMPING! On the way I ran into some proper BOYCHAYS and this happened:
I don’t remember how long we stayed there, but eventually we decided to hit the road when the people there started tweaking out and tried to fingerbang each other’s nostrils.
At the main stage we half-heartedly watched a band before deciding to wander over to the lemon tree theatre where we caught our good buddy Dylan Skew’s set which, again, had all of us literally in tears.
That guy is my favourite South African comedian, hands down. I swear, it’s like he’s read my mind, found the funniest, most random thoughts and made stand up out of it.
Hats off to that man. His material is seriously amazing.
Then we met these guys in lumo vests with camel packs who, judging from this picture, loved the shit out of me.
After that, we went back to the main stage to listen to some more bands I don’t remember and J-Rab met Bob, who she instantly fell in love with.
The temperature started plummeting pretty soon after that so we went back to The Mushroom and suited up for the evening. I had some jelly tots that a buddy had spare and wandered out into the night like some high-powered mutant.
God’s own prototype
Among other things we checked out the New World Beat Barn and I instantly regretted the fact that I hadn’t discovered it sooner in the festival. It was like some kind of crazy carnival in there, good times as far as the eye could see.
We also posed for a pic with this skeleton who was in a bath tub:
Above us there was this long string of balloons and lights that must have been at least 300 meters long. It floated like this long, luminescent string of glowing blue dental floss against the night sky. Like a lot of things I saw that night, it inspired awe and child-like wander in me and I knew things were going to be ok.
Believe it or not we actually stayed for the end of Arno Carstens’ set so we’d have a good spot for Shadowclub when they came on and Jacques and the boys did NOT disappoint.
I made a mental note to watch them live more and actually support this band. Their set was super-slick without losing its badass bluesy-rock edginess.
Which left only one main stage act left. The reason a lot of people were there in the first place. The band that inspired a million million bands to pick up guitars and write dancey indie rock.
Bloc Party. And man-o-man did their first three songs suck.
The sound was shocking which was sad because it had nothing to do with the band, but all their levels sounded way out with the vocals drowning everything out completely and the bass being almost non-existent.
Things quickly improved though and the crowd started losing their minds to this awesome band.
At some stage in Bloc Party’s set they let the balloons go. Actually, it could have been before, I’m not too sure, but watching them drift away, I felt a profound sense of loss, like the very stitching that held the festival together was coming undone.
And the truth is, it was.
I loved Bloc Party’s set but festival fatigue was kicking in and when they launched a barrage of fractal-patterned fireworks after it was all done, I felt totally satisfied in every conceivable way and ready to call it a day.
It was a great Daisies, no doubt. One that will live on in our minds as long as this post lives on, rattling in this junkyard site that I call home.
The first morning of a festival is the best by far.
All the troopers from the night before slowly start surfacing, giving one another silent nods of approval from across their respective campsites while the morning sun shines impossibly bright all around you.
First thing I did when I woke up was put my sunglasses on. Second thing I did was down a sachet of rehydrate followed by two liver pills and two Myprodols in rapid succession.
Lastly, I put the Tiger hat on and got ready to face the day though all the preparation in the world wouldn’t have got me ready for the insanity to follow.
First thing was first – the mushroom.
It had been decided that instead of sorting ourselves out with a gazebo, we would tie a series of sarongs together to make a canopy and tie this with string above all our tents to make shade for us to chill under at Camp Tiger.
Of course, this proved a lot more difficult in practise, so I fetched our beach umbrella from the car and next thing you know, The Mushroom happened:
After getting that right, J-Rab and I decided to take a long, slow, lazy breakfast while we lay on our backs and watched the clouds shift and swirl because The Mushroom was working; it was shady and there were no bands starting for a good couple of hours.
We passed our morning listening to music through some Shox speakers connected to my phone (a festival must-have for campsite chilling), eating fresh fruit salad and drinking Bloody Marys which, I’m pretty sure it’s scientifically proven, are the world’s best hangover cure.
A peaceful, easy feeling breezed through Camp Tiger and all was calm in the dappled tie-dyed light that fell, glowing on our skin.
It was a good, long time before we decided to head up to the main stage and explore the festival a bit, but when we did we hardly got far when Barbarian called to say he had just arrived and was at the main gate.
I remember sprinting down that orange / red sand road leading up to the main stage, my feet hardly touching the ground as I sailed effortlessly through crowds and crowds of people like a minnow over the surface of a glassy pond.
Barbarian, his brother Spu and his girlfriend Millie got settled in back at the campsite as the afternoon sun slowly faded and I think we stayed and had a few more drinks there before deciding to head to the beer tent at the main stage.
There we briefly saw The Brother Moves On being all freaky on stage and pissed ourselves laughing at this guy:
From there we got seriously stuck into the main stage beer tent so much so that we basically missed every band that went up. Problem is this good friend of ours we hadn’t seen in ages, Molly, suddenly showed up out of the blue and we ended up jamming with her all night.
It was about then that I ran into my partner in crime Mr Dan Nash whose ear I decided to chew off for a good hour or so (hahaha! Sorry homes). Shortly after that (before that?) I barnacled myself to another long-time fellow writer and whisky-lover Sean Lloyd though God only knows what the hell we spoke about.
I also ran into Gabi (www.musicalmover.com) who is one of my all-time favourite people, SA bloggers and musical aficionados.
From there the night melts into a bizarre collage of nameless faces, laughter, loads of beer in plastic cups, more laughter and a vague feeling like time was passing and maybe it would be a good idea to watch some bands.
The good news is we did end up catching some of The Kongos’ set and they were AWESOME! Definite Desert Rock vibe going on there, it’s tragic I didn’t catch more and that the bits I did catch I don’t remember very well.
Oh, and we also caught Beast after that but the general vibe I got is that Inge (singer from Lark) needs to reign it in a bit, her vocals were tearing the songs apart like a wailing cat. The rest of the band was killing it, but most of the people we spoke to thought she was very difficult to listen to.
What happened after that is anyone’s guess, but I do vaguely remember J-Rab breaking into the Heartbreak Hotel compound with my buddy Peggles’ so we could get more booze from his tent.
I swear, I have no idea why anyone would want to camp there. Looks like flippin Auschwitz or something. I guess the clean facilities and free breakfasts are a huge plus, but still, I wasn’t sold and even Peggles himself said next time he’s definitely camping with us.
More hilarity ensued as the night wore on until we all eventually decided to hit the hay and try to get some rest before the big day on Saturday.
My last memory is of walking back to our campsite, happy, fuzzy and thinking I’d NAILED Friday in the best possible way when out of nowhere this random guy bolts past, grabs my Tiger head hat and sprints off in the other direction.
Instantly my happy, carefree state flicked off like a switch and I went straight into KILL mode.
Next thing this guy knew he had 90kgs of 6ft1 gym-hardened Tiger flying through the air like a guided missile into the small of his back. My arms clamped around him as I sent him plunging into the dirt to eat a mouthful of soggy, trodden-on turf – a perfectly-executed tackle for a guy who only played rugby for a grand total of 6 weeks in highschool.
Needless to say I got the Tiger head hat back and walked away feeling totally fine (my only injury the next day was a broken toenail for some reason), while my assailant limped off mumbling grumpily to no one.
Back at Camp Tiger, we crawled back into our tent of lurve, piled on the blankets and fell instantly asleep.
That night I dreamed about a calzone. It was the weirdest dream I’ve ever had and I couldn’t explain it if I tried, but somehow seemed like a fitting end to an awesome day.
Tune in tomorrow for my last piece on RTD12 where I actually watch some bands and have the best damn hoddog of my LIFE!
There were animals everywhere in furry onesies or in animal hats and I was one of them, rocking a tiger head hat rented from a costume shop for six-year old kids.
The baddest cat in the jungle, grinning like a maniac from ear to ear and laughing, just laughing my ass off the entire weekend.
Truth be told, from Thursday to Sunday, way too much awesomeness happened for one post.
The last thing I want to do is ram a 10 000 word piece down everyone’s throats that no one reads so instead I’m breaking this down day by day and hitting you guys with only the good stuff, that infectious craziness that makes festivals like Rocking The Daisies so awesome because that’s all anyone really cares about in the end.
Good times. Sunshine. Good people. We had it all. What a fucking amazing weekend…
Well, except for leaving on Thursday. J-Rab and I were both frazzled from the week we’d had and were keen to just head on through, get our shit sorted, crack open that first icy beer and start partying our asses off.
Obviously we took a wrong turn going there though and ended up taking the dirt road shortcut to the Darling Cellars turn-off. I was fuming by that point because I was trying to get through before sunset but by the time we actually arrived it was already 8.30pm.
Luckily our friends had taken our tent earlier and set up camp for us literally 5 meters from the main entrance. Chrissie, Pamela, Cat, you guys are fucking LEGENDS.
Thirty minutes later we were finally setup and smashing our first drink of the festival. We went the vodka / cranberry route which I mixed in almost equal proportions.
Yeah. It was basically rocket fuel.
Armed with that we moseyed on over to the Thursday night campsight stage and caught Future Primitives and Goodnight Wembley.
It was sad we missed the other Thursday night bands but lemme tell you, Future Primitives put on such a solid performance, I actually didn’t mind.
It was high-energy surf / stoner rock at its absolute best. The buzz in the small crowd gathered there was fucking electric. I felt all the tension from my shitty week come flowing out as my limbs loosened up and my mind unwound one gulp of rocket fuel at a time.
We went to sort out a refill before Goodnight Wembley got onstage and after that things got a little blurry.
I wasn’t in the best shape to review Goodnight Wembley in any way, but I just remember feeling that while they are a great and seriously talented group of musicians, their material is nothing we haven’t all heard before.
They do it flawlessly, but I don’t remember hearing any tracks that got me as pumped as Future Primitives did.
Also, at that stage some young 16 year old guy was trying his luck with our friend who had been sippin on the rocket fuel so I had to step in there and tell him on no uncertain terms that he needed to back off or the next time he touched her, he’d draw back a bloody stump.
After Goodnight Wembley all I got is flashes of lucidity. J-Rab went to the toilets and came back to find me orchestrating an entire group of people that I’d managed to convince there was a trip-wire between these two wooden posts in the main pathway.
Hilariously we got people either jumping over the imaginary trip-wire or doing the limbo between the posts. I tried to take some pics of it but man-o-man they came out badly.
The last part of the evening was spent back at Chrissie’s tent at Camp Tiger where we jammed some sick choons and carried on smashing the voddies, just laughing and having a killer time.
It was basically the best end to the first night I could have hoped for. Check it:
Obviously I have no recollection of actually going to sleep after that, but I imagine when I did, it was with a huge-ass smile on my face because I was here, I’d arrived, it had been a fucking amazing night and my Daisies experience was only just beginning.
The perfect start to what was going to be an epic weekend.
Rocking The Daisies is finally here Party People and holy balls are we going to have a killer weekend.
Sure, it looks like we’re in for a bit of rain tonight and maybe Saturday night, but is that going to stop us? Fuck no! We are going the man the fuck up, and party like our lives depend on it.
This is not Rocking The Tulips. It’s not Rocking The Roses or Rocking The Motherfucking Chrysanthemums. This is Rocking The DAISIES, bitches! Ya’ll better bring your A-game because this Tiger is rearing to go and ready for ANYTHING.
We’ll be heading through this evening with the goal of getting there to catch some of Woodstock Mafia’s set at 7.10pm. We’ll also be taking truckloads of pics which I hope to upload tomorrow from the exclusive media lounge that your Tiger pal has access to.
Also, I finally got my shit together and made the DVD I posted about earlier this week (The Mind Of SlickTiger) which will be at the Capitec Swapping Mall at the Daisies this year.
Originally my plan was to put all the awesome movies, games and music that has influenced my life on that bad boy for you guys to sink your teeth into, but that probably would have taken at least 5 DVDs and between smearing myself with baby oil and klapping the cricket ous, I just didn’t have the time this week.
Instead, you’ll be getting a selection of FULL ALBUMS from a whole lot of artists you’ve probably never heard of but who WILL change your life.
Holler if you track that sick puppy down, would be cool to know a reader found it and not a total random.
Otherwise tune in tomorrow for a post of epic proportions and wish J-Rab and I luck.
In the meantime, here’s a quote that perfectly sums up how I’m feeling at present and if you get the reference, how the rest of the weekend is going to roll out:
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.
Excitement for this year’s Rocking The Daisies 2012 is mounting party people! Three sleeps and I’ll be there, cracking open a cold one at Camp Tiger and letting the good times roll.
So in this, the last instalment of my must-see bands, I am going to be tackling the bands you can’t miss on the main stage on Saturday.
Sure, there are other stages and other bands I could be covering, but as mentioned before, I can’t research every band at the festival so if there are other acts you think deserve some love, hit me up in the comments section.
If you’re also in this for the long haul from Thursday to Sunday, then Saturday is either going to make or break the festival for you.
Thursday night you’re probably gonna go balls to the wall and the same goes for the entire day on Friday so by the time Saturday rolls around you’re going to feel like you need a blood transfusion to boost the level of blood in your alcoholstream.
The trick to getting Saturday right will be to take it as super easy as possible during the day. Go for a dip in the dam if you’re feeling brave, indulge in a hot Woshbox shower, get a hearty breakfast in you and down at least a litre or two of orange juice and as much water as you can handle.
Flush your system out, rest up as much as possible and don’t even think about hitting the sauce until at least 4 or 5 in the afternoon because it’s gonna be a looooooooooooooong night and you want to be as fresh as possible when the big acts of RTD12 take to the stage to melt faces.
Though the main stage kicks off at 10am, I’m probably only going to mosey on over there at 12.10pm to catch Southern Gypsey Queen (featuring Al Frost).
It’ll be a bit like holding a defibrillator to my chest, cranking it to 11 and hitting the “charge†button (watch the video below and you’ll see why), but I do love me some loud, bluesey rock and roll.
This is the band sans Mr Frost – throw him in there and you’ve got a guaranteed recipe for face-melting good times.
Dig that drummer. What a flippin boychay.
After that it’ll be time to grab a bite and head back to your campsite for some R&R in the shade. Or go have a float in the dam (inflatable lilos are a must. Or you could go the Tiger route and take an entire inflatable BOAT. Bada-BANG!).
At 2.20pm Moving House are lighting up the main stage, a supergroup of sorts consisting of Andre Pienaar (Ashtray Electric) and Rob Davidson (ex Zebra & Giraffe).
I haven’t been able to find any of their material, but if I can summon the strength, I’ll definitely go check them out just based on the merit of their two previous bands.
The next band to watch out for will be Jeremy Loops at 6.05pm, who is one seriously talented guitarist and songwriter.
As the name suggests, this guy’s loop pedal skills have to be seen to be believed. One man. One guitar. And here’s what he’s capable of:
Insane sheeit right?! People who use loop pedals like that fascinate me because if they fuck up one of the loops, the whole song falls apart. So yeah. No pressure.
After that it’s Desmond And The Tutus on the main stage, but I’m gonna leave that one totally up to you guys.
The new single (“Zim Zala Bimâ€) has been murdered on local radio to the point where when it came on 5FM the other day the guy in the lane next to me deliberately swerved into oncoming traffic.
But let’s not forget what these guys are capable of. Here’s “Tattoo†off their most recent album Mnusic in case you need some reminding:
After that, run away.
Arno Carstens is up next and he’s probably going to play material off his new album, Atari Gala which, if the first video “Two Dogs†is anything to go by, could very well send you spiralling into a post-90s, ballad-rock depression guaranteed to kill whatever buzz you might have been feeling up until that point.
My advice would be to go line your stomach and start drinking heavily. It’s time to up your game, once Arno clears out it’s going to be two and a half hours of bone-rattling badassery, starting with Shadowclub, the made-in-SA version of The Strokes.
Funny story is I interviewed these guys back in ‘08 before they skyrocketed to fame. I used to do this fucked up show on UJFM called The Tuesday Night Bandslam With Rick Hunter And Al Burton (I was Al Burton).
Myself and Graumpot would go around with a roving mic and arrange to interview bands in weird places like bowling alleys, the Zoo Lake, the planetarium and in the case of Shadowclub, the putt-putt course at Fourways.
Our sound equipment kept fucking out and Jacques from Shadowclub (frontman) had this look like he was smelling a fart throughout the interview.
Then we started playing putt-putt so we could record some funny, random shit like we did for all our shows but Jacques was so over it by that stage he just walked from one course to the next hitting his ball into the water, kicking it around and generally just making it known that he thought the whole thing was a load of shit.
We ended up throwing the interview in the bin. The bassist at the time (forget his name) felt bad and suggested we try again when Jacques was in a better mood.
Second time around, we just interviewed them at Fuel Bar one night before they got onstage to play a gig at Carfax. The interview went a lot better and Jacques seemed to be much more chilled until about 30mins in when he started laughing in this really creepy way and told us he’d taken a large quantity of acid before the interview that felt like it was kicking in.
Crazy cat that guy. In my experience a bit of a douche, but I can’t fault the band, especially not Isaac the drummer, he’s a real stand-up guy and one of the best drummers in the business.
After that, it’s time.
Get your head in the game, smash a tequila or three, go take a long pee, fight for a spot nice and close to the stage and steel yourself.
Bloc Party, this year’s headline act are up at 11.20pm and trust me, you are not gonna want to miss this one.
This band was instrumental in kick-starting the indie movement that’s been rolling out in its various guises over the last decade.
Here’s their best track, “Banquet†which I’ll be losing my goddamned mind to when they rock it live:
So those are my must-see bands on the main stage on Saturday, like I said before, holler if you think any other bands deserve a mention and I’ll gladly show them some love.
Otherwise I’ll try have a review up by Monday / Tuesday after the festival has ended, so watch this space because I have a feeling Daisies is going to be pretty damn epic this year.
You can still get tickets from www.webtickets.co.za so get on that if you haven’t already.
Oh, and if you see a guy with a Tiger on his head missioning around, don’t be a stranger
Ma charnas, I have to just say that yesterday’s post where I showed you ous how the Champions League Twenty20 Cricket flippin STOLE MY SHIT has gone MASSIVELY virile.
That was the biggest numbers this site has ever done in one day and not one ou, NOT ONE, had a bad thing to say about it because ja. The ous STOLE MY SHIT! Flippin THIEFS!
KLAPPING IT is a INSTITUTION! It’s a flippin RELIGION to ous (WOLFPACK! You BUFF CHARNAS know what I’m talking about). So after gym last night I did a bit of a photo shoot of myself and my flippin BELTER girlfriend so the Twenty20 ous can see what KLAPPING IT is all about.
Check these flippin HIGH QUALITY shots we took in our home studio.
Here’s another one in case the white pant cricket moffies didn’t get the message the first time round:
And just to rub home my point:
After that I had A THOUGHT, which was unusual for me so you better flippin listen carefully.
I know for a FACT that literally millions of MASSIVE AND RIPPED BUFF CHARNAS and SERIOUS BELTERS read this site about ten times A DAY because this site lets me spy on them.
So why don’t you flippin MONSTER okes and BELTER chicks send me your sexy pics that show how you like to KLAP IT to tellthetiger@gmail.com and I’ll IMMEDIATELY put YOU on my site.
It’s time to show those flippin banana eating cricket moffies once AND FOR ALL what KLAPPING IT actually means so that never again will ADVERTISING RATS steal from a interweb oke and think they can get away with it.
As a blogger the most vital skill you can have, more important than actually stringing a sentence together, is the ability to spot cool shit on the interwebs and post it before it goes supernova.
