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26
Mar
13

Monopoly Is For Assholes

By SlickTiger 3 Comments
Categories: Being Slick, Good Times, Killer Posts and Satire, Irony And Vitriol
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

MonopolyManOn Saturday morning I drank six cups of coffee as I sat writing the first chapter of the book that’s gonna make me a famous for something other than writing the SlickTiger Guide To Klapping Gym, Boet.

I got the entire chapter out, not quite the way I’d planned it but close enough, and afterward this weird feeling of satisfied detachment washed over me that I wasn’t expecting.

I was happy with what I’d written but I’d climbed so far into the world of my story that, as dramatic as it sounds, coming back to reality was difficult. It was in this detached state of mind that I decided it would be a good idea to buy a Monopoly board.

It’s probably been a good fifteen years or longer since I played Monopoly last, but it was fun back when we were kids right? Overcast winter days spent hiding under blankets playing marathon games of Monopoly and sipping hot chocolate, good times right?

So I convinced Graumpot and his lady that instead of J-Rab and I coming over to eat pizza and watch movies, we were going to come over and play Monopoly and it was going to be awesome just like when we were kids, KAPOW!

 

 

So we set everything up and started playing and very quickly two things became apparent: 1) This was hardly the thrill-a-minute game I remembered from my childhood and 2) I was basically the only person who remembered how to play.

Oh, another thing also became apparent – whoever designed the new South African version of Monopoly is very clearly retarded.

I mean how Blouberg Strand, Tygervalley and fucking Mitchell’s Plain can be worth more than Sandton, Randburg and Hyde Park is beyond me.

Also (spoiler alert) Boksburg, Soweto and Hillbrow are worth more that Plett, Knysna and Wilderness.

 

 

It took awhile for us to get things going but before I knew it I’d managed to buy up all the pink and yellow properties which I very quickly started building houses on.

Soon afterward the wheels started coming off. I had random properties that other people needed to start building houses. When asked how much I wanted for said properties, the only child in me (read: greedy little asshole) started rearing his greedy little asshole head.

“One thousand,” I firmly replied.

“What the fuck the property’s only worth 250!”

“One thousand,” I repeated unflinchingly. “If I give you this, you’ll start building houses and that will definitely come back to bite me in the ass.”

“Dude, you’re the only one with houses on the board! If you don’t sell some of those other properties, none of us will be able to fucking play the game! I’ve already got the other two, just sell the last one to me for a decent price and stop being such a douche. Three fifty. C’mon.”

“One thousand,” I said, completely unwilling to negotiate with the terrorist forces that were threatening to usurp my game of Monopoly.

 

 

Not long after that, cash started rolling in thick and fast and I somehow managed to acquire the red properties as well which I also started developing hell for leather.

I’m not sure at which point I realised that I was the only person actually having fun but when that realisation dawned on me things got pretty damn awkies.

“Is anyone actually having fun playing this game?” I eventually blurted out, hoping beyond hope that someone else would say yes.

A resounding silence settled over the room, interrupted only by the distant sound of a lonely cricket grinding his legs together in a desperate attempt to get laid.

“Fuck,” I said. “How about I sell you guys some properties, special discount, nine hundred a pop!”

Once again, the lonely cricket.

“Christ, does anyone actually want to carry on playing?” I asked in exasperation.

“No,” Graum replied. “I mean, there’s no point dude. Even if you do sell us those properties, no one has any money to buy any houses on them cause we keep paying it all to YOU.”

“Huh,” I replied. “I guess that’s that then. Best R300 I ever spent…”

 

 

We packed up the board in awkward silence and then sat and stared at one another for a bit.

Luckily wine was at hand (though obviously J-Rab couldn’t indulge) and so things soon loosened up a little and an hour later Monopoly was just a distant, awkward memory.

I was so unsatisfied by the whole ordeal that I seriously considered trying to take the board back the next day and get a refund on the grounds that I had this false childhood memory that Monopoly is awesome when it’s actually a gigantic pile of shit game that is fun for no one.

The problem is there’s no way to fight back after a certain point in the game and that point comes frighteningly quickly.

If you don’t get a good haul in the initial land-grabbing phase, you’re fucked. And if you do get a good haul, you better be willing to make some deals you’ll probably regret later in the game or you risk going the SlickTiger route and crushing your opponents like ants two hours into the game.

The following day, J-Rab and I were bored and decided to play just the two of us and my God did the tables turn!

 

 

It was merciless. Actually no, I lie, it was merciFUL which made it worse because even though she was sharing her Free Parking jackpots with me and letting me off paying rent in some instances, she was still murdering the fuck out of me and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.

Suddenly childhood memories of overturned Monopoly boards, hurling those little metal pieces at my “friends” and screaming my very first swear words all came sharply into focus as I realised the undeniable truth that Monopoly is for assholes.

So the moral here is the next time one of your buddies decides to have a Monopoly evening to relive the nostalgia of youth, rather kick that fucking douchebag right in the shin as hard as you can and ask him, “Was that fun? No? Well neither the fuck is Monopoly.”

The End.

-ST

08
Mar
13

Other Level Friday LOLZ

By SlickTiger Leave a Comment
Categories: Killer Posts, Radass Videos and Satire, Irony And Vitriol
Tags: , , , , ,

tumblr_mitevdEbCn1qj26eao1_500It’s a rainy-ass day in Cape Town, what I like to call a classic GTFH day (gothefuckhome). I swear I’d actually pay my company R500 to let me just go home and go back to bed. Five hundred big ones. Done deal.

But sadly that’s not gonna happen. Instead I’ll get through today as best I can and try to duck out at 4. Hopefully by then it’s still all rainy and overcast and I can nail a flippin awesome afternoon nap.

Meanwhile, life carries on, but to make it a little more bearable for you badass mofos I’ve thrown together yet another random collection of Friday LOLZ that I think you’ll enjoy.

Starting with this spoof intro for Walking Dead from 1995:

 

 

And if that weren’t awesome enough, here’s Breaking Bad 1995 style:

 

 

Ahh 1995… you kill me every time…

In other news:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have a killer weekend party people!

Be rad Winking smile

-ST

19
Feb
13

The Day It All Changed

By SlickTiger 7 Comments
Categories: Being Slick, Good Times and Killer Posts
Tags: , , , , ,

summer1Back in December, J-Rab and I decided to try to go to the beach as much as humanly possible whenever the weather was calm and the skies were blue.

We’re both summer people, we love going to the beach with an umbrella and a good book, soaking up the sun for hours on end and when we’re feeling brave, bolting into the sea, diving under the waves and feeling the icy water hit us with defibrillator force.

The day it all changed was exactly like that. One minute we were totally care-free, dozing in the sun on Clifton 2nd beach, listening to the sound of people around us playing beach bat and ball while waves crashed on the shore and children screamed and laughed as their sandcastles came crashing down.

The next minute J-Rab was crashing down, sliding down the bedroom wall, her hands covering her mouth in shock as she said “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” over and over and over again.

It only took me a second to realise what had happened and another to join J-Rab in her slug-like descent of the bedroom wall while my heart pounded like a Slipknot drum-solo and the bottom of my stomach dropped fifty feet.

“Oh Christ,” I said.

If you’d told us two hours before that this is how our day was going to end, both of us would have burst out laughing.

As it was, I was already half-way out the door, hard drive in hand and en route to Barbarian’s house to get the final episodes of the last season of Survivor when J-Rab called me frantically from the bedroom.

That was our plan for the night – make some supper, watch Survivor, curl up and drift off to sleep to the quiet hum of traffic on De Waal Drive.

But life, a sugar packet once told me, is what happens when you’re making other plans.

And life, as it turned out on that fateful day back in December, is exactly what had happened.

And no, it wasn’t like the movies, we didn’t jump up and down and scream like crazy people as the realisation washed over us. On the contrary, we remained slumped against the bedroom wall, mostly in silence, our thoughts racing as we tried to comprehend what had just happened.

I was the first one to start coming to my senses. I got up, poured myself a whisky and took this picture.

I think it aptly sums up exactly how I was feeling at that point:

 

 

Now it’s two months later and I’m writing this with a huge smile on my face because that overwhelming feeling of absolute soul-crushing terror has disappeared and in it’s place there is only joy and a sense of almost uncontainable excitement at what the future holds.

We went for the big scan yesterday, the one where they check for any defects that could indicate that something is wrong, but nothing was wrong, everything was perfect and healthy and strong.

I held J-Rab’s hand while my face lit up with this big, goofy grin from ear to ear as I stared in total bewilderment at what we today found out was our 13-week old daughter.

That’s right Party People.

Your Tiger Pal is gonna be a dad.

World, meet the heir to the throne.

We don’t have a name for her yet, but somehow SlickTigress seems fitting Winking smile

 

 

The times they are a changin’ folks.

And I have never felt more full of hope and wonder for what the future will bring.

-ST

01
Feb
13

Okes Who Like To Klap It #20: Brett van Rooyen

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Killer Posts, Klapping It and Satire, Irony And Vitriol
Tags: , , , , , ,

Brett's HeadI tell you, time flys hey okes? Jus-laaik, I can remember back in 2010 when I first wrote the “SlickTiger Guide To Klapping Gym Boet” and ous were like, “Boedie, you have written the gym BIBLE charna!”

One of those ous was a lekker charna of mine Brett van Rooyen who wrote to me and was like, “Slick, I’m a lank skinny oke what can’t pull lekker cherries. Please help me boet, I wanna be exactly like YOU!”

So of course being the good oke that I am I was like, “Brett my boedie, don’t SQUEEZE A SALTIE, lemme come pick you up, I’ll take you vest shopping, then we can grab schweet spray tans, smash lekker dangerous anabolic steroids into our butts and KLAP SOME GYM, BOET!”

It weren’t easy in the beginning, I’m not gonna lie. I mean, Brett was big into his cardio as the picture of him below shows:

 

 

In the beginning he was like, “Slick, I’ll NEVER be like you, all MASSIVE AND RIPPED in the interwebs, writing like a proper gym boychay and making ous lag, you are the ORIGINAL interwebs CHARNA! No oke can EVER beat that!”

But I chooned ol’ Brett straight, I was like, “Brett boedie, one thing you must unnerstand about the interwebs is that you can flippin go NUTS stealing another oke’s shit, copying EVERYTHING that another oke does and getting lank famous for it. Stealing other oke’s kak is what the interwebs was INVENTED FOR boet, are you dof or something?!”

And so with my help and enough roids to kill a elephant, Brett started KLAPPING IT on a whole other level and three years later, THIS is how FLIPPIN’ TIT the ou looks:

 

 

The next thing Brett knew, he was banging TWO BLONDE BELTERS at the same time, every night! He was my greatest cre-hation and jassie the ou made me proud.

I’ve never knowed a oke to take so many shots in the bum, I mean JUS-LAAIK! Just when I used to think “One more shot and this oke’s arse will be so sore he won’t be able to walk straight” Brett would be like, “C’mon Slicky! Another shot boet! I scheme I can handle it charna!”

After that, there was only one thing to do to be completely like me and that was write like a doos on the interwebs. At first Brett was like, “Slick, I really wanna write for that kak funny site ‘Hayibo’ boet, do you scheme they’ll schmaak me?”

But I was like, “Brett ma charn, a oke like you is too good for a kak site like that. Have you heard of The Gatsby? It’s exactly like Hayibo boedie only with a different name, you’ll fit in there lank well hey?”

 

 

And Brett, that flippin BOYCHAY, we went for his dream to be exactly like his hero Slicky-T and jassie did he KLAP THE SHIT out of that dream or what?! I mean hell, reading that ous BUFF movie reviews you could almost swear it was ol Slicky-T his self writing them.

Read this first one the ous done for a movie about miserable lesbians or some kak like that, it’s on ANOTHER LEVEL!

The oke has come so far from that moff cardio kid I met back in 2010.

Brett you legend, keep KLAPPING IT BOEDIE, I’m so proud of you charn.

-ST

28
Jan
13

SlickTiger Klaps The Most Seffrican Flight, Has The Jol Of His LIFE!

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Being Slick, Killer Posts, Klapping It and Sponsored Posts
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Lead imageJus-LAAIK have I just flied back form the flippin’ BUFFEST event IN THE LAND or what! How buff am I talking about here?

Boedie, I’m talking about going up to the city of ous who INVENTED klapping gym, I’m talking about staying in a flippin SIX-STAR hotel, klapping flippin buff-it PRAWNS for supper, flippin GAMBLING with a other ou’s money, getting showferred to Lanzeria airport and meeting my pel Jacque Perrow!

THEN I’m talking about KLAPPING the most Seffrican flight to ever be flied, having a lag at Kurt Schoonrad and getting lekker emotional when secret KWAAIER OUS start singing the Seffrican national song 10,000,0000km above land.

This was another level of brand event, a level where you feel flippin SWAK when it’s all over but you carry the memories inside your flippin BRAIN for all of time.

kulula were of course the BUFF OUS who made all the flippin magic happen. Jus those charnas can make a ou lag! I mean HELL, from the time I arrived at the Cape Town airport and met my first charna of the trip, Murray Turner, until the time when I arrive back in Cape Town the day later now with FIVE new pels, I was lagging for THE ENTIRE TIME!

 

 

kulula also know a BELTER from a GROT OTTER, I can tell you that much and they ONLY invited BELTERS on this trip. After I met Murray at the airport I got on the plain to the land of the GYM KLAPPERS and sitting right next to me was BELTER NO.1 of the trip, let’s just call her “The Aeroplain Shouter”.

This chick was on ANOTHER FLIPPIN LEVEL! I was like, “Jus-laaik is this real or have I died and gone to a DREAM!”

Of course, she had nothing on my klap gym BELTER girlfriend J-Rab, you can see lekker pics of her here.

But ja… as per her name, The Aeroplane Shouter’s a bit loud on plains hey? When we took off from Cape Town, the Aeroplane Shouter was having a lekker chat with me and then the aerohostess was like “Hey! You! Flippin shuppud man, I’m trying to read out the safety instructions in case of sudden LOSS OF CABIN PRESSURE, ok?”

 

 

The adventure wasn’t over their! In The Land Of Okes Who Invented Klapping It we arrived and it was all dark and stuff already and rainy and hot and their was crazy traffic and charnas trying to crash into us and ous were like “Is this flippin MORDOR or what?!”

On the bus to Monty Casino Hotal where we stayed is where I met my second charna of the trip, Mr Cape Town who can only make a ou lag hey? Jus-LAAIK, with him and ol’ Slicky-T on the trip we had the belters and other ous flippin KAKKING THEY’RE PANT with laughter the WHOLE TIME.

Schweet thing about this Mr Cape Town ou is he’s like a flippin walking CAR BAR! We land on the other side and the ou’s like “Ive got warm Scottish beer in my bag!” and I’m like “Oke! Marry me!”

 

 

So the next thing I know we’re at the flippin larniest hotal in the land, Monty Casino, klapping BUFF-IT PRAWNS for supper and drinking Scottish beer what tastes like this fruit punch I made one time for a party but had to hide in my cupboard cause ous were drinking it on roids and klapping ous IN THE FACE and smashing they’re teeth in with chairs and kak and then I found it like a year later and was like, flip what’s that smell and so I drunk it and the next thing I remember I was naked in the street flippin RUGBY TACKLING CARS!

At that time, klapping the prawn buff-it was when I met the last two members of TEAM SLICKY-T, THE TEQUILA MONSTER and my charna Kuil from Jus’ Kickin’ It.

THE TEQUILA MONSTER was another one of the BELTERS kulula invited and FLIPPIN’ HELL! This belter from the minute she arrived until when we all were back was just like “WHO WANTS TEQUILA? LETS HAVE TEQUILA! COME HERE, DRINK THIS TEQUILA, DON’T BE A FLIPPIN MOF!”

 

 

So ja, we were the best of pels even though she made me feel like a ou had PUNCHED me in the liver the next day.

Kuil was a bit of a doos in the beginning, but then he gave us all his money to gamble with and we lost it and he was like “whatever, schweet” and I was like, “what a flippin legend!”

 

 

Also, when he rehalized I was THE SlickTiger what writed “Klapping Gym” he gave me this lekker long hug and I was like “Flip Kuil is that a banana in your pocket boet? I’m lekker hungry ou, do you mind if I have it?”

And he was like, “NO! I’m, um. Saving it for later…” Which is fine. A ou’s banana is his banana. NEVER eat that ous banana if he’s saving it for later. Unless, you know, you’ve had a bit of brannewyn en coke and ‘”Careless Whisper” is playing and the ou is passed out on the couch and stuff…

 

 

But ja. Anyway.

The next day we started early and went to Lanzeria airport where their was gumboot dancers, ous flippin JUGGLING soccer balls, photo booths and the best of all, my good buddy JACQUE PERROW rapping his songs before we all got on the most Seffrican flight.

 

 

Only the MOST Seffrican ous could go on this flight and what a collection of Seffrican ous did we see! One-legged bee-keepers from Bloemfontein, nervous Indian okes in circus clothes, the WORKS BOET!

I sat next to this lekker ou of the name of DANIEL who was all quiet in the beginning of the trip while I was klapping my padkos and schmaaking all the flippin SPACE I had around me for my PECS, BICEPS, TRICEPS, LATS, TRAPS and DELTS on kulula’s new planes which are obviously built for ous who like to KLAP IT.

Then the most hectic stuffs happened when we were reached 10,000,0000km above the land. Charnas were like, “Ok ous, let’s sing our national song” and I was like “Flip man, I can’t sing for kak, how embarassing are this going to be?” when my charna Daniel next to me suddenly stood up and started singing the national song in the voice of a angle!

 

 

There were secret flippin CHOIR NINJAS on the plane! About 10 of the ous what sang with lank EMOTION and made ous cry they felt so proud to be Seffrican and stuff.

Not me though. Everyone knows COWBOYS DON’T CRY BOET. My eyes were just watering because of the sour worms oke, jus-LAAIK…

 

 

After that I had a lekker jol with my old pel Jacque Perrow and this pic got taken of us too buff ous looking flippin TUFF!

 

 

The plain took us in a lekker big circle over some of The Land Of Okes Who Invented Klapping It’s most beautiful attractions like Haartebeespoort Dam, Sun City and the Mine Dumps.

This was a flight like no other. Ous were all talking to the other ous, finding out more about each other, sharing there stories and having a lag. It were the only time I can remember charnas being treated like kings and queens of the land just because we were all Seffrican.

kulula are flippin LEGENDS for reminding us that no matter all the bad stuff, we can still laugh, we can still be proud that we come from this land because their is no one else in all the world like us and their never will be.

After we landed, me and my new blogger buddy charnas klapped a beer together at the Lanzeria airport bar and agreed that it had been a amazing 24 hours of SHOUTING ON AEROPLANES, DRINKING SCOTTISH BEER, SMASHING TEQUILA, GAMBLING WITH KUIL’S MONEY, CHILLING WITH JACQUE PERROW, BEING PROUDLY SEFFRICAN ON A FLIPPIN PLAIN, LAGGING UNTIL OUR ABS WERE LEKKER STIFF and BEING TREATED LIKE FLIPPIN KINGS AND QUEENS OF THE LAND!

 

 

To all the kulula ous who made the trip possible, thank you for inviting us to be a part of the most Seffrican flight ever, it was a MASSIVE JOL from start to finish.

To the members of Team Slicky-T, The Aeroplane Shouter, The Tequila Monster, Kuil, Mr Cape Town and Murray thanks for putting up with all my kak for a full 24 hours, you ous deserve a prize or something.

Until next time buff ous and serious belters, keep KLAPPING IT!

-ST

27
Nov
12

My Thoughts On Zombies And The Doc Of The Dead Trailer

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Killer Posts, Radass Videos and Satire, Irony And Vitriol
Tags: , , , , , , ,

zombieThe zombie apocalypse might as well have happened because they are EVERYWHERE! They’ve invaded pop culture like a virus spread from monkeys that reduces those exposed to it to mindless, face-eating monsters.

But where and how did it all start? This is a question that has cropped up countless times whenever I get into this topic and it’s one that the documentary Doc Of The Dead tries to answer.

My theory has to do with the increasing alienation we feel toward any sense of true purpose in a world so rife with escapism, nothing seems meaningful anymore.

We’re terminally bored and jaded. We’ve seen it all before, we know how it plays out and we’re desperate for something, anything, to break the monotony of the hum-drum of our day-to-day lives.

The promise of a zombie apocalypse offers all this, and more! The one thing all zombie movies have in common is the devastating way the fabric of society is instantly ripped to shreds.

All the systems that governed and controlled us before fall apart overnight in a violent bloodbath in which only the fittest, strongest and in most cases, luckiest survive.

 

 

I think it’s a really telling sign that countless millions would rather face the horror of a zombie apocalypse than have to sit through a lifetime of boardroom meetings, deadlines, reports, school fees, PTA meetings and eventually old-age homes and adult diapers.

In a zombie apocalypse, the plethora of choices we face on a daily basis are boiled down to two very simple, drastic options – survive or die. All of the molly-coddling society insists on subjecting us to is violently stripped away and life returns to what it was before civilisation began: something precious, something no longer taken for granted, something you have to fight tooth and nail to hang on to.

I’m interested to see what Doc Of The Dead is all about. We’ll have to wait and see if it offers any answers about our current obsession with zombies and with a release date in 2014, it’s gonna be a long wait.

 

 

Pretty cool, ne? Doesn’t really give much away in terms of what the documentary is actually about, but if it addresses any of the issues I touched on above, I’m keen to watch it.

-ST

23
Nov
12

The Best Music Videos From The MK Music Video Project

By SlickTiger 5 Comments
Categories: Killer Posts, Radass Videos and Sick Tracks
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

ml_mvp_logoFive months ago, MK launched the MK Music Video Project whereby local bands were invited to team up with SA production companies and submit a creative pitch to MK for a music video.

From there, MK chose the 12 best pitches and commissioned those videos to be produced, resulting in some of the videos I’m about to show you.

If you want to watch all 12, check them out here. Otherwise I’m posting my top five right here, right now. I’ve chosen these videos according to two broad criteria – not only do the videos have to be sick, but the songs must be rad as well.

Let’s start with my number 5. Here’s aKing with “Jezebel”.

 

 

I really, really dig that song. It’s got a bit of a Thin Lizzy vibe going and from a songwriting perspective it’s really complex, a lot of moving parts all fitted perfectly together.

The video itself was well shot, but when you boil it down to it’s essence, it’s just the band jamming in a room which we’ve all seen at least a couple hundred times before and is the reason why this isn’t higher on my list.

The next vid from Shortstraw however tells an entire flippin story with schweet underwater shots and everything!

 

 

Great track as well, the way they match the pace of the track with the video is pretty much flawless. It’s a lot harder to get that shit right than it looks and that last shot is powerful as a punch right to the gut.

Moving on we have the Gazelle track “Val Van Die Ryk” which I must be honest I chose 40% because the video is cool and 60% because the track itself is pretty goddamn sick.

 

 

Classic! I’d love to see them do that song live, I reckon it would definitely get the crowd jumping. Great cameo from ol’ Francois as well.

This next track and video are both pretty fucking phenomenal. It’s P.H. Fat with “Business Business Crash”.

 

 

We makin’ love bitches! Hahahahaha! Too awesome. That one was directed, produced, flippin ART DIRECTED even by my man @thefilmo.

Big up to him and the P.H. Fat crew, I thought that video was incredibly well-shot – the editing is fucking tight as a drum and the whole enchilada, the video and the song itself, are both fucking cool without trying hard.

Which brings us to number ONE on my list. You might have heard this one before…

 

 

You guys should have been there in the cinema to see this one on the big screen, people were loving it, great concept, awesome track and an ending that packs a helluva punch.

So all in all, I was really impressed at the standard of videos we watched last night. SA has a shiteload of artistic and musical talent in this country, such a pity there isn’t the proper infrastructure to support and develop that talent but it’s pretty plain to see we’ve come a long way.

At the risk of looking like a total douche though, there’s one last video I want to share with you guys.

It’ isn’t South African but I honestly think we aren’t far off from conceptualising and producing music videos of this calibre.

WARNING: Keep a box of tissues handy. Not that I needed any, but I know how sensitive you guys are, so yeah, I just don’t want you breaking down in front of your co-workers and stuff…

It’s Kodaline with “All I Want”.

 

 

Have a killer weekend party people.

Here’s to finding that someone if you haven’t already Winking smile

-ST

22
Nov
12

Movie Review: Searching For Sugarman

By SlickTiger 3 Comments
Categories: Killer Posts and Movie Reviews
Tags: , , , , , , ,

sugar_manOn Friday last week, J-Rab and I decided to forego our usual routine of rocking out together in our flat, playing music loud, making supper, drinking whisky and passing out stone-cold by 10.30.

Instead we caught the 9.40 show of Searching For Sugarman because my close friends Peggles and Graumpot had both seen it and said it was life-changingly good and I hold their opinions on movies in high regard.

Simply put, Searching For Sugarman is a documentary about the life of Rodriguez and how his music has influenced South Africa over the last forty-odd years.

So powerful was Rodriguez’ appeal in South Africa that two men in particular, Stephen ‘Sugar’ Segerman and Craig Bartholomew Strydom, dedicated a great deal of their lives to unravelling the mystery around this phenomenal and hugely enigmatic artist.

 

 

What they discovered is a story that is so heart-breaking and yet so incredibly uplifting and inspirational that it defies all logic and rationality that it actually happened.

More than that I really can’t say because a huge part of the charm of this movie for me was the fact that I went into it knowing so little about it and so little about the story of Rodriguez’ life.

What’s important is how I came out of it which I can only explain by relating the following story.

When I was 11 years old, I signed up for classical guitar lessons at my school because, like every other angst-ridden kid back in those days, I wanted to play like Kurt Cobain.

In that instrument I found shelter. I found a place that I could shut the world out of completely, I found comfort in loneliness, I found belonging in alienation, I found purpose in meaninglessness.

 

 

I got good fast because I played obsessively. The first guitar I had was on loan from the school and God knows I knocked so many dings and dents into that guitar that I was surprised the school even agreed to take it back when I sheepishly handed it to them before leaving for highschool.

I played that much. I wrote songs throughout my teenage years and played in various bands all doomed to failure because the Johnson electric guitar I bought was a total piece of junk and I couldn’t afford anything better.

My parents were also dead against any ambitions I had of becoming a rockstar, so that effectively put an end to that dream in highschool.

However, the minute I got to varsity, the dream came alive again and my playing kicked into overdrive.

It became a ritual for me – the gunshot sound of the latches on the case springing free, the fresh scent of rosewood I would breathe in through the sound hole before I began playing.

 

 

The deep-down jangling sound of the first chord I would bang out – E minor, always E minor, my favourite. I could write you a novel about that chord.

I left varsity having played a number of live solo gigs that went about as well as you could expect considering my audience was blind drunk and had never heard my material before.

But once in awhile someone would come up to me afterward and say how much they enjoyed my stuff.

This probably happened five times over the course of my “career”, but it was an amazing feeling to know that what I was putting out there had resonated so strongly in a complete stranger that they felt the need to come up to me afterwards and say, “Hey man, great set.”

Music has that power. The power to unite people from completely different times and places, completely different religions and creeds.

It’s inside us and has been since the first heartbeat thundered inside the first homo sapien. It is as primitive and imperative to the survival of our species as fire, only it burns with an intensity no inferno could ever match.

 

 

Even if you destroyed every scrap of music ever written and smashed every instrument ever made, you could never stop it. It is a force of nature made human.

Searching For Sugarman reminded me of the power music has to change lives and affirmed one of the only truths I have ever found that I know will never change no matter how old I get or how fucked up this world becomes.

Music will save us.

For that reason alone, you have to see this movie. I don’t think it’s on at the cinema for much longer, but even so, rent the DVD when it comes out, it’s an incredible affirmation of the benevolence of the human spirit and will make you unbelievably proud to be a South African.

Final verdict: 9/10

-ST

30
Oct
12

SlickTiger And The Terror Island #5GumExperience

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Being Slick, Events, Good Times and Killer Posts
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

2012-10-27-132Shit guys. I don’t even know where to start with this one. I think I’ve thought up about a hundred different ways I could slice this post, but it would all be lies I tell you. Shame-faced lies.

Which is probably the route I should take here because if blogging has taught me anything, it’s to never, EVER abuse the freebies you get by being too honest (Synergy review, I’m looking at you…).

But unfortunately in this case I don’t really have any other option. I love you 5Gum, I think you guys host killer events and look forward to all your parties and telling everyone I know about them, but yeah. I botched Saturday’s party completely so please forgive me for what I’m about to write…

It all started at about 2.30 in the afternoon last Saturday. The sun was shining, the weather was sweet and J-Rab and I were hitting up a good buddy’s 30th birthday party.

 

 

Soon after arriving, I realised that I was the biggest ou at the party by a country mile which is a very bad thing because without the threat of someone bigger than me putting me back in my place if I get a little rowdy, well, I get a little rowdy.

So I began putting the double whiskies away like nobody’s business and administering life to the party like some kind of human defibrillator.

Sure, I might have been a little douchey, but at this stage I was still on the level so a great time was had by all until we had to duck out at 6pm to start getting ready for Terror Island.

The tickets we had said dress Halloweeny and the party was called Terror Island, so naturally my drunk-ass brain put two and two together and was like “PIRATE!”

 

 

But my brain was like: “No… That’s not Halloweeny enough…”

Which of course lead to: “GHOST PIRATE!” and me spending the next hour in the bathroom with these Bostick face-paints we had leftover from the Soccer World Cup, trying to do my make-up like some sad, sorry, drunken clown getting ready for a 6 year-old’s birthday party.

J-Rab came in half-way in to find out what the hell was taking me so long with the white stick of face-paint and as I turned to show her the killer job I was doing of turning myself into Carolyn Manson (Marilyn’s lesser-known cousin), what was left of the white stick of face-paint fell out of its lipstick-like holder and plopped into the loo.

In a flash I was elbows-deep in that basterd to save the white face-paint (don’t worry, J-Rab and I are meticulous flushers so there was nothing dodgey in there) which I did and um… dried it off and um… why am I telling you guys this?!?!

 

 

Anyway, we got our shit together and cabbed it to Grand Central for the big party only to realise that maybe 20% of the people at the party actually made an effort to dress up.

Not that I gave two shits at that point. I was a GHOST PIRATE MUTHUFUKKAH! Shiver me muthufukkin’ TIMBERS, BITCHES YEAH!

That’s the closest approximation I can give to what my internal dialogue sounded like at that point. It was 7.30.

We were eventually shown the way to go to the #5GumExperience which involved walking past a gigantic taxi rank on our left ripe with the smell of old urine.

It added perfectly to the terror J-Rab was feeling at this point and rightly so. Her knight in shining armour had been replaced by the village drunk who would have been as effective as a balloon sword in a knife fight if any shit went down.

Luckily none did though and the evening started off really well as J-Rab and I befriended all the crazy party people who had also gone all out to dress up in the Halloween theme.

Which resulted in the following pictures:

 

 

 

 

By my estimate we probably jammed with the people in the pictures above for about two hours, after which point I headed to VIP to say WAZZUP to THE MAEN!

At this stage, I think I’d drunk about three quarters of a bottle of whisky over a 7-hour period. I was gone daddy gone. Then this picture happened, apparently:

 

 

After that we headed to the main stage where someone was playing.

I got down on the dancefloor (READ: flailed my limbs around like a frog in a blender) until I had cleared a sizeable circle around me, then I schloomfed off with J-Rab to get some food, then I ate that food in a terrifying massacre of melted cheese and salami and then I felt like a nap so we went home.

It was hands down the worst attempt at rocking out at a gig since I went to watch Saron Gas when I was 17 and had five tequilas and about 10 Redds (Redds! Hahahaha!) before we’d even arrived.

Twenty minutes after we arrived I proceeded to smash my head against a low concrete ceiling on the upstairs balcony at The Doors in Edenvale which scrambled my brains so badly I staggered inside, puked on the actual bar, was promptly thrown the fuck out and had to be driven back home with all my buddies because we’d shared a car to get there.

Fun times.

 

 

To the organisers of the Terror Island in CT, I am truly, deeply sorry. It’s not my style to be the guy so blitzed he can’t remember if he had a killer time or not and you have my word if you guys throw another one, I’ll at least show up sober like a normal human and actually write a decent event review.

At this point, I’d be hugely grateful to anyone, anyone at all, who can jump onto the comments section below and tell me how Terror Island actually was.

There’s a lesson to be learned here kids. NEVER put on face-paint that’s been in the loo. It instantly becomes toxic I tells ya!

Face –> palm.

-ST

16
Oct
12

Granadilla Lolly Price Skyrockets, The Tiger Loses His Shit

By SlickTiger 3 Comments
Categories: Being Slick, Good Times, Killer Posts and Satire, Irony And Vitriol
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

granadilla2There 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?!”

“Ag you know man,” he replied, “petrol price is going up…”

“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!”

“Sorry Captain,” he said in his infuriatingly jolly way, “it’s twenty rend a lolly now Captain.”

“And that’s supposed to make me jolly?!”

“Yes Captain. A lolly to make you jolly.”

“Fine. Whatever. Have you got change for a hundred…?”

 

 

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.

-ST

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