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14
Jul
10

Album Review: The Black Keys – Brothers

By SlickTiger Leave a Comment
Categories: Album Reviews
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I can’t tell you how badly I’ve been itching over the past two months to write this review. Usually if an album’s older than a month I won’t touch it because this is the internet goddamnit! If you miss something by even a week, it’s dead and buried.

I’m making an exception in this case though for one simple reason: this is an album that will go down as one of rock music’s finest and as such, it doesn’t matter if I post this review now or two years from now, this album is timeless and will sound just as good then as it does now.

 

 

There’s a universal formula that you can apply to most bands almost without fail. The first album comes out rough and ready, gets a few people talking, has one or two singles but otherwise doesn’t make much of a splash. A decent producer gets a hold of the band and turns the second album multi-platinum and suddenly they’re everyone’s favourite overnight.

By album number three, the pressure’s on. The band changes its sound, loses half its fans and spirals into a dark period of drug-fuelled loathing and embarrassing moments at awards ceremonies.

Then a few years later they bang out a couple more albums that deal largely with how they kicked the drugs, how much they love their long-suffering wives and what being a dad is like, by which stage no one really gives a rat’s ass anymore.

The Black Keys are not that band. Since their debut The Big Come Up back in 2002, they have steadily gotten better and better with each successive album, continually exploring and pushing the boundaries of the blues rock genre, picking up from where legends like Robert Johnson, Junior Kimbrough, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and Hendrix himself left off, fine-tuning that sound and making it their own.

 

 

Right from the first few seconds of the opening track “Everlasting Love”, the foot-tappingly infectious grooves that define this album strut confidently to the fore and make it known that what you’re listening to is fucking cool, plain and simple.

The tone throughout the album is so mind-blowingly warm and authentic, it almost sounds like you’re listening to vinyl. Not only is it blues rock the way it was meant to be played but, more importantly, it’s blues rock the way it was meant to be heard.

“Next Girl” comes on big and bold, strapping its fists like a prizefighter going into a bare-knuckle brawl which, considering the song’s written about an ex-girlfriend, speaks volumes about how expertly the duo understand and handle their material.

If you’re going through a nasty break-up, there’s a good chance “Next Girl” will instantly become the best song you’ve ever heard in your life. Auerbach’s riffs tear through the rhythm section with the kind of subtle menace every man’s felt at some stage in his life when contemplating what a bitch his ex was.

 

 

It’s poetic in its simplicity “My next girl / Will be nothing like my ex girl / I made mistakes back then / I’ll never do it again.”

It’s an album that shifts gears fluidly between upbeat, big drum, fuzzy guitar riff-laden monsters like “Howlin’ For You” to slower, more sincere blues-driven tracks like “Unknown Brother” and the awesome cover of Jerry Butler’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” (not to be confused with the Rick Astley song of the same name that’s only cool because it’s crap) and somehow manages to stay solid as a rock throughout all 15 tracks.

I usually take great joy in slating the songs that piss me off on an album, even the albums that I really love, but the honest truth here is that on Brothers there are none. Auerbach and Carney keep Brothers lean and mean, which makes for a refreshing change from albums that have three great tracks and nine shit ones thrown in as pure filler.

My expectations were set high right from the start with Brothers, and it still managed to surpass them which basically never happens.

 

Brothers is a sure-fire winner in my books and definitely gets my vote as the best album I’ve heard this year so far. I’m leaving you with “Next Girl” for you to decide for yourself whether this album is everything I’ve hyped it up to be.

Enjoy 😉

 

 

Final Verdict: 9/10

-ST

13
Jul
10

The Tiger’s Top 3 Swearers Of All Time

By SlickTiger 11 Comments
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Swearing is something nobody stops to think about because all of us do it all the fucking time. There was a time when slipping the odd ‘fuck’ into everyday conversation was like flashing your willy at your girlfriend’s parents or flashing your vagina at err, well, anyone really.

I trawled the internet for information about swearing to back my theory up about how nobody gives a fuck about it anymore and after countless hours of searching, found the following useful infographic:

 

 

As this graph clearly illustrates, since the new millennium began way back in 2000, people’s attitudes to swearing have changed quite drastically. So much so, that except for a sharp spike around 2010 (which was probably a result of the graph artist being shouted at by his boss for drawing silly graphs instead of doing his day job) we can see without a shadow of a doubt that people actually enjoy the fuck out of swearing.

Nowadays you can’t even go to the fucking video store without hearing a ‘shit’, ‘ass’ or ‘fuck’ somewhere, whether it’s the dude behind the counter lambasting you for returning the Lord Of The Rings boxset 6 months late or the car guard outside attacking you verbally for reversing over his leg, it seems EVERYONE thinks it’s cool to let rip with a ‘eat shit muthufukka’ whenever it suits them.

I blame rap music for this diabolical drop in societal standards. That and Verimark infomercials which though they may not contain any swearing, really make you want to swear.

 

 

Inevitably, with this increase in volume of swearing comes a marked decrease in the quality of swearing. People just don’t say ‘fuck’ like they used to, they don’t say it with any feeling or any meaning which I think is not only an insult to this brilliantly versatile word, but also reflects poorly on the swearer himself who is probably only doing it to sound ‘hip’.

And so I’ve compiled a list of my top 3 swearers of all time so that people can listen to these cats and learn how to swear fucking well, because until you can do that, no one’s gonna take you seriously, not your boss, not your girlfriend, not her parents, not your parents, not even your friends, nobody.

So pay attention, this will change your life.

 

NUMERO TRES: Jack Nicholson

Jack Nicholson has been swearing since way back when he was banging your mom at Woodstock, which makes him a certified pro at dropping the F-bomb with maximum impact.

He’s got the whole devilish charm thing working for him tinged with a healthy dose of sheer insanity which makes him really compelling to watch because you constantly get the feeling like he’s going to flip the fuck out at any given moment.

 

 

When he says ‘fuck’ he means it. He doesn’t just fire the word out there willy nilly, no. He says it with enough gravity to crush planets. He makes you feel like he’s swearing at you, like you’re the one who fucked up, asshole.

Just rent The Shining and watch for the scene when he verbally assaults Shelley Duvall on the staircase of the Overlook Hotel. Or how about the one where he explains to Duvall why she shouldn’t bother him while he’s writing? It’s pretty brutal.

Jack Torrance: Wendy, let me explain something to you. Whenever you come in here and interrupt me, you’re breaking my concentration. You’re distracting me. And it will then take me time to get back to where I was. You understand?
Wendy Torrance: Yeah.
Jack Torrance: Now, we’re going to make a new rule. When you come in here and you hear me typing
[types]
Jack Torrance: or whether you DON’T hear me typing, or whatever the FUCK you hear me doing; when I’m in here, it means that I am working, THAT means don’t come in. Now, do you think you can handle that?
Wendy Torrance: Yeah.
Jack Torrance: Good. Now why don’t you start right now and get the fuck out of here? Hm?

It’s bad enough just reading it, but hearing him say it makes you want to get the fuck out of there too. Take a note out of Jack’s book, swear like you’re dangerously close to losing your mind and people will simultaneously fear AND respect you.

 

NUMERO DOS: Edward Norton

What’s great about Ed Norton’s swears is that he is able to load his colourful language with SARCASM AND IRONY. When he swears he sounds like he’s sick to death of all this fucking hypocritical bullshit y’know?

 

 

His ‘fucks’ are LADEN with burning, biting sarcasm that communicate a kind of world-weariness that can’t be faked.

You can’t get angry at a guy like Ed Norton when he swears at you because he’s so completely beyond giving a fuck that you’d just look like an asshole if you took any offence to him calling you a backward, cousin-fucking retard.

Of course, when he’s angry his ‘fucks’ land like haymakers, just watch the monologue scene when Norton’s staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror in The 25th Hour and you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Monty Brogan: Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck *me*? Fuck *you*, Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car – get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped-up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin’ and dealin’ and schemin’. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE!

Powerful stuff. When he doesn’t give a fuck, his swears are cool as hell, but when he does you get the fuck out of his way FAST.

 

NUMERO UNO: Chris Rock

No man on this Earth swears with the passion, explosiveness or brute force of Chris Rock, it’s like getting blasted in the face with a shotgun, awe-inspiring stuff I tell ya!

The thing about Mr Rock is he relishes his swear words, he knows how powerful they can be when delivered correctly and has probably worked his whole life to make sure that no other man on this planet can match him when it comes to the sheer force of his swears.

 

 

He’s like a fucking force of nature, especially when he’s doing stand-up. Rent one of his shows and watch it nice and loud to get the full effect.

Also, the man’s funny as fuck.

Chris Rock: Damn. It’s all fucked. The world’s fucked up man. Michael Jackson lost his mind. What the hell is wrong with Michael? Another kid? Another kid? I thought it was groundhog’s day when I heard that shit. Another kid. Get the fuck out of here. That’s how much we love Michael. We love Michael so much. We let the first kid slide. Another kid. I’m fuckin done. I’m done with Michael. I was a fan my whole life. I am fuckin’ done! I’m handing in my glove. I saw Michael on 60 Minutes. Ed Bradley tried his best to make Michael look like a mammal. Someone that drink water and breathe air, right? He gave Michael the easiest question in the world, the easiest GED questions in the world, and Michael could not pass the test. He said, "Oh Michael, do you think it’s proper for a 45 year old man to sleep in the bed with 13 year old boys?"
[Michael says]
Chris Rock: "Yes".
[Ed Bradley says]
Chris Rock: "Ok, ok, oh let me rephrase that question." "Michael, would you let your children sleep in a bed with a 45 year old man that has been accused of child molestation?"
[Michael says]
Chris Rock: "Yes". Ed Bradley looked at Michael Jackson like he wanted to say, "Nigga, is you crazy?" Like he wanted to take the 60 Minutes clock and push the shit forward and say "get the fuck off my show!"

Hope you’ve enjoyed my choice of top 3 swearers of all time. I’d challenge the people reading this to add to this list, but I know they won’t because a) I’ve fucking nailed it! NAILED IT IN THE ASS! and b) No one fucking reads this.

-ST

12
Jul
10

Afrikaans Porn – TRANSLATED!

By SlickTiger 5 Comments
Categories: Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Last week Monday, I shocked and enthralled the Afrikaans world with my epic short story entiteld: Afrikaans Porn. Seconds after posting it, a whole flood of people retweeted the piece, both of them commenting on how I’d reached a whole other level of blogging excellence by catering specifically for the Afrikaans market in such a thoughtful way.

 

 

What was even more amazing than the piece itself was the Google Chrome translation of it, which my main man Civilian sent through to me on the weekend.

Prepare yourself for the awesomeness of this post. Actually no, fuck that. Nothing can prepare you for the awesomeness I’m about to blow your mind away with.

Good Luck.

 

AFRIKAANS PORN (TRANSLATED)

It was a cold Monday evening, and Charles Bester was in his favorite bar Charnelle, enjoying a bitjie brannewyn and coke while Kurt Darren on the jukebox a nice song played.

"You know what the fucking problem with Marikie is?" Charles said as he was a long drink from his brannewyn took, "she is not at all adventurous."

"Not adventurous not?" Said Charnelle asked, her eyes darting between Charles’ face and his krotch, "which means you, Charles?"

"Well, the thing is, I Marikie and is now nearly five years of loyal and do not take me wrong I fucking love her in pieces."

 

 

"Jaaa …" said Charnelle said as her long, pink fingernails on Charles’ duk, hairy arm gestrook did.

"But it does not matter how hard I pray, she would not gatsteek try it!"

"Wow!" Said Charnelle called out, "but you’re a naughty boy for poor Marikie daaie to ask!"

Charles has blood-red geblush. "How drunk am I?" He thought. "I certainly would not Charnelle this shit about me and her sister whore.”

"Sorry Charnelle, I, I, fuck me mat…"

Charnelle has slowly licked her lips while her length fingernaels further Charles’ duk, hairy arm gestrook have.

"Charles, do not be so blerrie Shy," said Charnelle gewhisper, "we are old buddies long before my sister had married …"

"Charnelle…" Charles said, "it is cabbage than I… umm… your nice hole in the pitch…?"

"Oh, Charles! You’re so fucking romantic, for sure it is cabbage! Come, let us go to my place, we can be a bitjie KY loob and buy biltong on the way. "

 

 

                    *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

 

"Fuck, but Charnelle’s place looks nice with all those candles," said Charles as he thought of her naked on couch sat, "as daaie late night television programs on E-TV."

Charles has his soft shlerm in his hand frantically gemaseer. "Come now, you fucking lazy thing," said Charles to himself gemumbel, "Charnelle would now come through the bathroom, and then you active as a pole so that I can in her poepgat jam."

As Charles said that had Charnelle the bathroom door open quickly so that it cast a harsh blow between the wall had made.

"Charnelle …" Charles said, "I’m fucking Speechless …"

Charnelle lived in Leathers stood with a red rubber ball gag in her hand.

"You look beautiful," Charles said.

"And you look like a softly bitjie ne?" She replied.

"Yes, sorry man," said Charles Embarrassed said, "I think I have a bitjie brannewyn drank too much.But if you cook me come slurp it will get nice hard. "

"Your wish is my kommand," hey sexy Charnelle already said as she got on his knee and Charles’ dick in her mouth were.

"Fuck yes," Charles said, "that’s right bitch, my banana trunk, aaaahhh."

 

 

Before he knew what was Charles gebeer iron-hard and ready to Charnelle’s Hershey highway driving.
"Come now," Charles said, "I leave my hard cook fast in your beautiful hole stretch, I must go home before I leave the evening repeat of Noot vir Noot wrong."

"Fuck, is it tonight?" Said Charnelle said, "I thought it was on Tuesday evening."

"No, it’s tonight. Now sit daaie gag in your mouth down, and give the KJ to me. I wanted to enjoy loob hole so it does not tear. "

"Yes, do as you are not guilty, he gave me so terrible hole I getear poepsak a month for a bore."

"What?!" Charles said, "you and me modeled gatsteek whole new …?"

"Yes, but do not worry, your chef is completely bigger."

"Oo, that’s ok then," Charles said as Charnelle the gag in her mouth and sat on the coffee table gebend did.

Charles has already KJ gesquirt over his privates. "It’s now or never," he thought, "I hope her Charnelle stinkgat good washing, I did not want any dinglberries my pubes have not."

 

 

Charnelle’s hole was the tightest thing Charles throughout his life felt. It took a few bands before he was completely in and then a few more good hard before he came.

"Aaarrararargrahggrhrggrghahrgagragrgahghhhhhh," Charles said.

"Mmmommommmommmommoo," said Charnelle gemumble back.

"How does it feel!" Charles shouted, "it feels good when I come into your hole pump? Ohh yes, take it!Who’s your daddy? Wies your daddy bitch! "

"Mmmmmomommmmommo," he said Charnelle.

"Ahh …" Charles said. "Okay, thank Charnelle, I’m ready." Charnelle have taken the gag off and back to Charles commented.

"Did you enjoy my hole?"

"Yes!" Charles replied happily, "jib, it was very nice feeling, I can you in the hole next week stretch?"

"For sure!" Said Charnelle replied.

"Thank goodness Charnelle. Pleasant evening. "

"And you, Charles," he said as Charles Charnelle colors dressed and out the door walked.

"Wow, I really enjoy daaie Charles," said Charnelle thought.

"I hope I am not my krotch crickets for him gave …"

THE END

 

-ST

11
Jul
10

Song For Sunday

By SlickTiger 1 Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

Doing weekends right is an art that can take a lifetime to perfect.

Me, I’m still learning. Some weekends I spend partying my ass off and living to regret it when I’m suddenly back chained to my desk on a Monday, blinking red-eyed and unshaven in the artificial light and wondering how the fuck I got there.

 

 

Other weekends I chill to the max (read: do absolutely fuck all) and arrive on Monday feeling somehow cheated and like I’ve wasted my time in the worst possible way.

Depending on how the weekend’s gone, these feelings of regret usually start setting in late afternoon on Sundays while I make frivolous attempts to at least tidy the house or put on a load of washing or SOMETHING.

Today’s different though because I actually got a shitload of stuff done this weekend and I’m pretty damn proud of that.

On rare days like these, the Radiohead song ‘Everything In Its Right Place’ starts playing in my head like this:

 

 

So I’ll leave you with that thought while I get ready for the WC final tonight where I’ll be supporting Holland because my sister lives there and I’m a huge fan of the underdog, having been one more times than I can count 😉

Later masturbators.

-ST

09
Jul
10

Tell The Tiger (Episode 9)

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Tell The Tiger
Tags: , , , ,

Picking each week’s Tell The Tiger mail is like shoving your hand into a tank of Piranhas to rescue a kitten. You gotta be quick or that poor sucker’s going to be a little kitty skeleton in about 5 seconds.

 

 

Of course, there are always some cats that just deserve to be left in the tank, which brings me neatly to this week’s mail.

 

S’up ST,

So I’m lank into this chick, but she’s got a kid. Is it wrong to buy it toys and stuff and get it to like me so that she digs me? I don’t see a problem, but my friends think it’s wrong.

Shot bud!

Fuzz

Ok, Fuzz, all I can say here ‘bud’ is hell yeah! Buy that little fucker toys dude! Load bakkies FULL of shit from Toys R Us, back it up into her driveway, get a shovel and start off loading!

 

 

In fact, why don’t you take it a step further? Take the kid to the movies a couple of times, go ride bikes together, buy him ice creams on hot summer days, read him bedtime stories and tuck him in at night, then go bang his mom stukkend and when she starts getting clingy, dump the bitch.

Wow, is it lunch already? That’s all the time we have this week folks. If anyone else has any advice for this fine, upstanding young man, by all means let rip, you could be saving some poor child the psychological scarring of having this douche as a stepdad.

Have a killer weekend 😉

-ST

08
Jul
10

Our New Neighbours

By SlickTiger 1 Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

Don’t you think it’s fucking weird how baby animals from other species are cute to us? I mean, I can understand why we would find our own young cute (it’s so we don’t eat them) but what evolutionary purpose does it serve to find other species cute?

So we got some new neighbours on the wine farm where me and J-Rab live, they moved in about two weeks ago and live in the house adjacent to ours.

Check these little guys out.

 

 

 

 

I haven’t actually met my new neighbours face to face, they’re still too little to be around strange, disease-ridden Tigers like me, but soon as they are, you bet your ass I’ll post some more pics.

And yes, you’re more than welcome to visit, the full tour costs R350, but I’ll settle for a fine bottle of single malt.

Mail tellthetiger@gmail.com to book, but hurry! Spots are filling up fast 😉

-ST

07
Jul
10

Album Review: Morcheeba – Blood Like Lemonade

By SlickTiger Leave a Comment
Categories: Album Reviews
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

There’s a man out there, name of Brett Schewitz, one of the many I’ve met through Twitter who’s proven himself to be a stand-up guy, the kind of dude who says what me means and does what he says, which makes him pretty rare in a world of people who are full of talk and not much else.

Anyway, he hooked me up with the new Morcheeba album, Blood Like Lemonade, about a week before it launched but instead of jumping in there and reviewing it right away, I dicked around for about two months and missed the scoop on this album completely.

So Brett, this review’s for you and the good folks at Sheer Sound, sorry it’s taken so long to bash out, I blame the whisky.

 

 

So, Morcheeba. There’s a name you probably haven’t thought of since the late 90s. They KILLED it with their album Big Calm back in 1998, which quickly became the soundtrack to many a late-night  toking-session with pseudo-intellectual varsity students the world over smoking ridiculous-looking glass bongs and zoning-out to trip hop masterpieces like “The Sea” and “Part Of The Process”.

Since then it’s been a little patchy for the formidable threesome of DJ Paul Godfrey, multi-instrumentalist Ross Godfrey and singer Skye Edwards, who comprised the band’s original line-up. Remember the nursery-rhyme vacuity of “Rome Wasn’t Built In A Day”? Yeah, it was pop-inspired tracks like that gem that lost Morcheeba almost all it’s street cred.

I mean seriously, “One fine day / We’ll fly away / Don’t you know that Rome wasn’t built in a day / Hey hey hey”. Yeah, and then we’ll make hay, down by the bay, we just may, make hay all day. Dr Seuss could have done a better job.

 

 

Around 2003 the band axed Skye Edwards and pumped out another few albums which I’m sure some die hard fan is going to come out of the woodwork and attack me for saying that nobody really gave a crap about.

Queue 2010 and I’m sitting with my headphones on on a sunny Friday at work spinning Blood Like Lemonade and I’m thinking “Holy fuck, this shit’s good.”

The band’s come full circle, both musically and in terms of their line-up, which (thank God) now includes Edwards again and believe me, that fact in itself is reason enough to go out and buy this album right now.

 

 

The woman can sing. It’s like listening to Billy Holiday’s older sister. Every note Edwards sings is clear as a bell and warm as a logfire on a winter’s night.

And don’t even get me started on the lyrics, because I honestly won’t stop. The opening track “Crimson”, which is also my favourite on the album starts with some of the most powerful and evocative lines I’ve heard in a long time.

“I can smell the Goodyears burning / And it won’t fade away / Windscreen broken, you’re bleeding / Rolling action replay / Hellbound hopeless for you / Nothing left to hold on to…”

There’s a subtle darkness to “Crimson” that is so goddamn seductive it’s impossible to ignore. It almost sounds like a Massive Attack track, something off Mezzanine, except infinitely more chilled. It’s trip-hop without the pretence, beautiful in its simplicity.

Then cut straight to a track like “I Am The Spring” and you’ll start to understand what makes this album really stand out. “I Am The Spring” is as sparse as it gets, the entire track is just Edwards being accompanied by an acoustic guitar which, in my humble (read: overinflated) opinion is the ultimate litmus test for any musician. Strip all the production and fancy studio effects out of a song and what have you got left?

In this case, you’ve got a powerful and haunting song about love that tells it like it is, ending with the line “I am the spring / Love is blossoming / But I’ll take the fall for you” which, much like love itself, is perfect in its tragedy.

 

 

Throw in a track that tells the story of a person who gets addicted to the thrill of murder (“Recipe For Disaster”), one where Edwards takes an honest and introspective look at the band itself (“Even Though”), and the excellently written and produced title track (“Blood Like Lemonade”) which smacks of Big Calm and you’ve got an album that is really hard not to like.

Just watch out for the instrumentals “Mandala” and “Cut To The Bass”, they’re fun the first few times, but the novelty wears off fast after which point they become repetitive and downright boring to listen to, but hey, no album is perfect right?

All in all, I found Blood Like Lemonade to be a great album and it’s sure to go down like a whore on payday the next time you whip that old, ridiculous glass bong out the closet and invite your mates around for an old-school smoke up.

Final Verdict: 7.5/10

06
Jul
10

Truth is

By SlickTiger 7 Comments
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

If you had to ask most people what really makes them happy, they wouldn’t be able to give you a straight answer. “Different things, being with family, hanging out with friends, going to new places, trying new things, meeting new people…” that’s probably what they’d say.

Me, I’m wired differently from that. Sure, I like those things too and of course the feeling of being madly and passionately in love, the company of good friends when life is shit and you just want to be around someone you don’t have to put on some kind of act for, those things mean a lot to me.

But if you asked me what makes me happy, what feeds my soul and makes me fucking come alive I’d tell you straight, it’s writing.

Words are everything, whether they’re spoken, sung, whispered or written. They’re so deeply entrenched in everything we do that we hardly stop to think just how fucking powerful they are. Take language away from us, the ability to communicate our thoughts and feelings and we’re back scratching in the dirt, hunting animals with sticks, dumb as mud.

What I feel on most days, if I had to be totally honest with myself, is a deep dissatisfaction with what I’ve landed up doing for a living. I shuffle into an office looking like my mom dressed me and sit down in a cubicle farm so quiet, all you can hear is the sound of people typing.

Here I spend hour after hour trying my hardest to please every fucking person I come into contact with while secretly all I’m hoping for is someone to get up on a boardroom table one day, in the middle of some big important meeting and at the top of his or her lungs scream, “THIS IS ALL BULLSHIT!”

Truth is I dug myself into this hole. Me. I did it. And now, instead of making a living doing the one thing I truly love and am good at, I’m fading away, turning milky-white under the fluorescent light, the best fucking years of my life wasted, an hour at a time, working my ass off for other people.

So what do I do? I blog. And somehow it makes me feel better because every post feels like I’m clawing my way, an inch at a time, out of this hole and towards something better.

I haven’t been posting lately. I’ve let life kick me squarely in the guts and rolled over like a fucking pansy and felt sorry for myself.

Well, fuck that. When life gives you lemons, you take those lemons and you fucking throw them back as hard and as fast as you can and you tell life ‘FUCK YOU’.

The Tiger’s back and he’s fucking angry and ready to fuck some shit up.

And yes, THEM’S fightin’ words 😉

 

 

-ST

05
Jul
10

Afrikaans Porn

By SlickTiger 5 Comments
Categories: Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dit was n koue Maandag aand en Karel Bester was in sy gunstelling bar met Charnelle, genieting n bitjie brannewyn en coke terwyl Kurt Darren het op die jukebox n lekker leidjie gespeel het.

 

 

“Weet jy wat die fokken probleem met Marikie is?” het Karel gese as hy n lank suip van sy brannewyn gevat het, “sy is glad nie adventurous nie.”

“Nie adventurous nie?” het Charnelle gevra, haar oe darting tussen Karel se gesig en sy krotch, “wat beteken jy Karel?”

“Wel, die ding is, ek en Marikie is nou amper vyf jaar getrou en moenie my verkeerd vat nie ek fokken lief haar stukkend.”

“Jaaa…” het Charnelle gese as haar lank, pienk vingernaels oor Karel se duk, hairy arm gestrook het.

“Maar, dit maak nie saak nie hoe hard ek vra, sy wou nie gatsteek probeer nie!”

“Sjoe!” het Charnelle uit geroep, “maar jy’s n stoute seuntjie om vir arme Marikie daaie te vra!”

 

 

Karel het bloed-rooi geblush. “Hoe dronk is ek?” het hy gedink. “Ek is seker Charnelle wou nie hierdie kak oor ek en haar suster hoer nie.”

“Jammer Charnelle, ek, ek, fok ek is dof…”

Charnelle het haar lippe stadig gelek terwyl haar lank fingernaels verder op Karel se duk, hairy arm gestrook het.

“Karel, moenie so blerrie shy wees nie,” het Charnelle gewhisper, “ons is ou vrinne lank voor jy my suster getrou het…”

“Charnelle…” het Karel gese, “is dit kool as ek… umm… jou lekker in die gat steek…?”

“Ag Karel! Jy is so fokken romantic, vir seker is dit kool! Kom, laat ons na my plek gaan, ons kan n bitjie KY loob en biltong koop op pad.”

 

                                                 *          *          *         *          *

 

“Fok, maar Charnelle se plek lyk lekker met al hierdie kerse,” het Karel gedink as hy kaalgat op haar couch gesit het, “net soos daaie laat aand televisie programme op E-TV.”

Karel het sy sagte shlerm in sy hand frantically gemaseer. “Kom nou jou fokken lazy ding,” het Karel vir homself gemumbel, “Charnelle sou nou nou uit die badkamer kom en dan moet jy stuif soos n paal wees sodat ek jou in haar poepgat kan jam.”

As Karel dat gese het, het Charnelle die badkamer deur vinnig oop gegooi sodat dit n hard klap tussen the muur gemaak het.

“Charnelle…” het Karel gese, “ek is fokken speechless…”

Charnelle het daar in leathers gestaan met a rooi rubber gag-ball in haar hand.

 

 

“Jy lyk pragtig,” het Karel gese.

“En jy lyk n bitjie saggies ne?” het sy geantwoord.

“Ja, jammer man,” het Karel embarrassed gese, “ek dink ek het n bitjie teveel brannewyn gedrink. Maar as jy my kok kom slurp sal dit lekker hard kry.”

“Jou wish is my kommand,” hey Charnelle al sexy gese as sy op sy knee gekry en Karel se piel in haar mond gesit het.

“Fok ja,” het Karel gese, “dis reg teef, slurp my piesang, aaaahhh.”

Voordat hy geweet wat gebeer het was Karel yster-hard en gereed om Charnelle se Hershey highway te ry.

“Kom nou,” het Karel gese, “laat ek my hard kok vas in jou pragtige gat steek, ek moet huis toe gaan voordat ek die laat aand repeat van Noot Vir Noot mis.”

“Fok, is dit vanaand?” het Charnelle gese, “ek het gedink dit was op Dinsdag aand.”

“Nee, dis vanaand. Nou sit daaie gag in jou mond vas, en gee die KJ vir my. Ek wou jou gat lekker loob sodat dit tear nie.”

“Ja, moenie soos jou boet wees nie, hy het my gat so vreeslik getear ek n poepsak vir n maand gedra het.”

“Wat?!” het Karel gese, “jy en my boet het gatsteek gehe…?”

“Ja, maar moenie worry nie, jou kok is heeltemaal groter.”

“Oo, dis ok then,” het Karel gese as Charnelle die gag in haar mond gesit en oor die koffie tafel gebend het.

Karel het die KJ al oor sy privates gesquirt. “Dis now or never,” het hy gedink, “ek hoop Charnelle haar stinkgat lekker gewas het, ek wou nie any dinglberries in my pubes kry nie.”

Charnelle se gat was die tightest ding Karel in sy hele lewe gevoel het. Dit het n paar stroke gevat voordat hy heeltemaal in was en dan n paar meer voordat hy lekker hard gekom het.

“Aaarrararargrahggrhrggrghahrgagragrgahghhhhhh,” het Karel gese.

“Mmmommommmommmommoo,” het Charnelle terug gemumble.

“Hoe voel dit!” het Karel geskree, “voel dit lekker as ek my kom in jou gat pomp? Ooo ja, vat dit! Wie’s jou pappa? Wies jou pappa teef!”

 

 

“Mmmmmomommmmommo,” het Charnelle gese.

“Ahh…” het Karel gese. “Ok, baie dankie Charnelle, ek is klaar.” Charnelle het die gag af gevat en terug na Karel gedraai.

“Het jy my gat geniet?”

“Ja!” het Karel gelukkig geantwoord, “fok, dit het baie lekker gevoel, kan ek you in die gat volgende week ook steek?”

“Vir seker!” het Charnelle geantwoord.

“Dankie tog Charnelle. Lekker aand.”

“En jou Karel,” het Charnelle gese as Karel sy kleure aangetrek en uit die deur gestap het.

“Sjoe, ek hou baie van daaie Karel,” het Charnelle gedink.

“Ek hoop ek nie my krotch krieke vir hom gegee het nie…”

DIE EINDE

24
Jun
10

Silencing The Rat

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Cave liked to get good and drunk and punch things.

Sometimes it was doors and cupboards, he’d curl his ridiculously long fingers into ridiculously large fists and punch dents into the wood until his knuckles were skinned and bleeding.

Other times he’d let his pent-up rage out on a window or two – we’d all be sitting around at another blurry digs party, making insidious efforts with random girls to get laid and next thing a window would smash somewhere and we knew without even getting up to look that it was Cave throwing another one of his inexplicable drunk tantrums.

You’d meet him sober, in daylight hours and he was a reasonable enough guy. You might say he had a ‘kooky’ side to him, but that was about it. He spent a lot of time avoiding the drama department at all costs, despite the fact that he usually got the leading parts in all the plays. It was pretty hilarious actually, he’d skip out on as many rehearsals as humanly possible and then take to the stage on opening night and steal the show. He was a natural.

So yeah, he was a reasonable enough guy, maybe a little crazy, nothing too out of the ordinary. But once he got started on the sauce something else took over and the guy, all six feet five inches of him, became uncontrollable in every way.

He was skinny as a bean pole, but fuck me, it took at least four guys to wrestle him to the ground once he got started. I never got involved, it was way more fun to watch everything go sprawling in every direction in a tornado of whirling limbs as they tried to subdue the raging monster that was Cave after a hard day’s bingeing.

On the night in question I was out at the Rat with other friends when Cave, and all hell, broke loose. I dimly remember getting invited to the party in The Gutter (a friend’s digs) that Cave was at, but I’d decided to opt for regular insanity at the Rat that night instead of the particularly potent strain of insanity The Gutter bred.

If memory serves me right, it was Guitar Jon, Pansy and Mr D who had the pleasure of wrestling Cave that night. He’d been hitting it hard all afternoon and sometime around 10pm decided to pick a fight with the windows upstairs in The Gutter.

Problem this time around was Cave caught a major artery as he drove his right fist through one of the panes and he started pissing blood in dark squirts from his wrist all over the place.

Of course, in his magnificent and drunk state he flat out refused to be taken to hospital and physically assaulted anyone who came near him to try and help him out. It took them half an hour to drag him, literally kicking and screaming, into Pansy’s car so they could drive him to hospital and even once he was inside the car, he fought like an asylum escapee to get them to pull over and let him out.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Grahamstown, things at the Rat were getting rowdy. The usual crowd of loud, drunk jocks that hung out in groups of five or more were belting out James, Counting Crows and Bon Jovi songs at lung-busting volumes while the rest of us grimaced and ordered more tequila.

I swear, the Rat and Parrot in Grahamstown is like some kind of washed up old pirate ship that beached itself in the middle of that ghost-riddled town and refused to budge. Empires will rise and fall, but that place will always stand, a bastion of drunken debauchery, until Judgment Day, and even then, ol’ Satan himself will probably drop by for a smoke and an ice-cold pint.

Anyway, back at Settler’s Hospital, the guys had just managed to wrestle Cave out the car, but noticed he wasn’t putting up the fight he had been before. Somehow they got him to the casualty ward after much drunken swearing and half-hearted flailing on Cave’s part and explained to the shocked nurses what had happened.

He was immediately given some kind of sedative to calm him down and once the nurses had wheeled him off to get him fixed up, the three of them breathed a collective sigh of relief, got into Pansy’s car and went to find a bar.

In four years of drinking in that town, I’d never heard the Rat go as quiet as it did when they walked in there half-drunk, all scuffed up and disheveled from fighting Cave and covered from head to foot in the man’s blood.

They looked like three murderers coming for a drink after their last kill, but they hardly gave a fuck. Pansy ordered a couple of beers and shots while Mr D scanned the room with tiger eyes and Guitar Jon lit a smoke.

From there they got stuck into the earnest job of getting completely fucked up as the jocks around them welcomed them like heroes returning home off some ancient battlefield and bought them one shot after the next while the guys told and retold their story, making it more outlandish with each telling.

I left sometime in the early morning, shortly after Mr D took down one shot too many and ended up puking all over an oil heater in the corner of the room. I think most people left after that.

One thing’s for damn sure though, nobody getting fucked there that night will ever forget the three guys who came sauntering through the door, beat down and bloody, not giving a flying fuck, untouchable in every way.

Silencing the Rat.

-ST

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