Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category



02
Aug
10

We Interrupt the USOMFA Tour To Bring You This Important Announcement

As of today, the nominations are officially open for the SA Blog Awards 2010. In fact if you look DIRECTLY to the right of this post, you’ll see the badge I’ve stuck up on this site for you to click on which automatically nominates me for the following 3 categories:

  • Best SA Blog
  • Best New Blog
  • Best Post On A Blog

Nominating me for the SA Blog Awards will not only guarantee you a place in heaven, but it will also grant you an extra 3 inches onto your penis or your money back!

For girls it will instantly transform you into an amazing driver, just like this lady right here:

 

 

So don’t delay – nominate me TODAY and I’ll make your life as awesome as a DOUBLE RAINBOW!

-ST

20
Jul
10

Vote Slick

Any day now nominations for the SA Blog Awards 2010 will be officially opened which means over the next few weeks you can pretty much bet your ass you’ll be bombarded with posts on all your favourite blogs begging you shamelessly to vote for them in this year’s Awards.

Question you gotta ask yourself when you’re voting for all those other pricks though is “If I had to get into a barfight with 10 angry, roid-fuelled Lebanese bouncers, would this blogger have my back?”

 

 

And the answer you’ll find in most cases is no. He won’t have your back, he doesn’t care about you because all you are to him is another hit on his site. You’re just a number to him, he wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.

I’m different from those other internet dorks. I’d piss on you! I’d piss all over you! You guys aren’t just numbers to me, you’re my imaginary internet friends and if that ain’t worth something, then I don’t know what the fuck is.

I’m gonna need a little help on this one though cause I’m going in there guns blazin’:

  • Most Humorous South African Blog
  • Best Post On A South African Blog (KLAPPING GYM BOET!)
  • Best Original Writing On A South African Blog
  • Best New Blog
  • Best Music Blog
  • Best Personal Blog and of course
  • Best South African Blog Of The Year

I’ll be honest, I’d like nothing more than to walk into that awards ceremony and walk out with an armload of awards while the rest of the blogging fraternity of this country is left standing there thinking “Who the fuck is that guy?”

Wouldn’t that be funny? Wouldn’t that be a moment straight out of a movie? Some guy with his scrapyard blogsite that he cobbled together with hardly more than a WordPress theme and a whole lot of heart goes toe to toe with all the big players out there with their sites loaded to the gills with advertisers and sponsors and actually beats them!? Wouldn’t that be fucking cool?

A vote for me is a vote for every crazy bastard out there who’s ever picked a fight with the biggest, meanest guy in the bar and won. It’s a vote for every true artist out there who’s had to shelve their dreams so they could get a crummy day job in a cubicle farm to pay their bills. It’s a vote for the guy who, no matter how many times he gets beaten down, gets back up and carries on fighting because he knows deep down that unless you’re fighting for something, you aren’t living for anything.

 

 

I’ve sweated blood for this blog, no shit. I’ve woken up early, stayed up late, made my girlfriend pretend to be dead to shoot a video about necrophilia, stolen time from work, stolen time from my friends and God knows who else to write the content that I do for this site and yeah, some of it’s crap, but some of it’s good too and correct me if I’m wrong, but we’ve had some good laughs over the last few months right?

I got this one shot to step in there outta nowhere and blow everyone, everyone the fuck away and so I’m asking you, one goddamn crazy jungle cat to the next, will you help me do that?

They haven’t officially opened the voting yet for the nominations phase, but when they do, the URL is: http://website.sablogawards.com/2010/

Let’s show ‘em how it feels to get taken down by the undercat 😉

-ST

19
Jul
10

Monday Morning Kicks

Danny de Vito always kinda creeped me out because what the hell is he? He’s not a dwarf and he’s not a midget, he’s just a really short guy who I can’t look at without picturing the Penguin from Batman.

He’s a great actor though, I decided this on Friday night when J-Rab, Jennyjenjen (previously known as Jenni-fuh) and me invited ourselves around to Barbarian’s place after a few drinks at Trenchtown and spent the whole night watching It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia.

 

 

I don’t know if I’ve been living under a rock the past few years and after posting this a whole bunch of you are going to think I fit into the ‘laggard’ section of the adoption curve (GOD FORBID!) but seriously, I’ve never heard anyone talk about It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia and it’s the funniest fucking TV show I’ve watched since Flight of the Conchords.

The humour’s completely different though – Sunny In Philly is full of loud, shouty Americans doing insanely stupid and fucked up shit to one another that had me crying I was laughing so hard.

Think Three’s Company on crack and without the lame canned laughter. I hate canned laughter. Those are dead people laughing, did you know that? Yeah, canned laughter is recycled over and over so the next time you hear it in a sitcom, just think about that for a second. Dead people.

You know a TV show’s a winner when the episodes have titles like “Mac’s Banging The Waitress”, “Mac and Charlie Die” and “Who Pooped The Bed?”

And to top it all off they got Danny de Vito in there playing Frank Reynolds who frequently exploits and insults anyone he comes into contact with and is generally shady, unethical and pretty siff all in all.

And so I leave you with the following clip to give you a laugh on what is otherwise a mind-numbingly crap Monday.

 

 

Catch you crazy cats tomorrow.

-ST

13
Jul
10

The Tiger’s Top 3 Swearers Of All Time

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

11
Jul
10

Song For Sunday

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

08
Jul
10

Our New Neighbours

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

06
Jul
10

Truth is

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

23
Jun
10

In Whisky There Is Comfort Still

I had this way of picking up things and drinking them when I was a kid, probably like most kids do. When I was 3, the electrician came at night to fix something or other and my mom offered him a beer, which he drank a sip of and left on the living room table.

I picked that bad boy up and drank the whole thing. Then I jumped up and down in my cot, laughing my ass off for about 2 hours and then I passed out stone cold and woke up feeling fine the next day. There’s Irish in me, not a lot (my grandfather was half English, half Irish), but enough 😉

I think about a year later I had my first taste of whisky. My mom has always enjoyed a whisky and soda in the evenings and had poured herself a glass and left it on her bedside table. I thought it was just water and took a sip, but unlike the beer, I didn’t down the whole thing because it tasted like crap.

 

 

I spent the rest of my childhood sober until I was about 12 or 13 and my good buddy Ricky T and myself drank our way through three six packs of his dad’s “Two Dogs Alcoholic Lemonade”. Two Dogs was like an aborted first attempt at an alca-pop and tasted awful, but did the job pretty damn well.

How we thought we’d get away with drinking his dad’s entire stash is something I don’t think we gave much thought, if any, at the time.

From that point, the story gets long and complicated and I won’t get into any of the details except to say that from an early age, I was never shy to drink like a goddamn fish. I’ve never been an alcoholic and have very seldom if ever gotten drunk alone or binged for longer than four days, but I learned to drink hard and I did it well.

At varsity I started drinking whisky because I thought it looked cool and for R6 you could get a double First Watch at one of the bars in Grahamstown and so naturally I drank that foul fucking stuff like mother’s milk. You could clean engine parts with First Watch. It’s Canadian whiskey, which means they use rye instead of barley to make it and because of that it can be quickly mass-produced and sold much cheaper than normal whisky. It’s nasty, but damn! It does the job.

 

 

Back then, a bottle of Jack Daniels was my idea of a fine whisky. Me, Barman and Graumpot had a tradition where we’d buy one another a bottle when our birthdays rolled around and sip it on ice. Bleaugh. What the hell were we thinking?

After varsity I drank Bells with an air of faux sophistication and thought myself an accomplished whisky-drinker. Eventually I tired of the taste though and gave up on whisky in general, that is until about three years ago.

I started working PR for the Whisky Live Festival and as a part of that, went on a number of whisky tastings and started to learn a little about the spirit. Over time, my interest for whiskey began to mature naturally because of the close contact I had with it and the people involved in the big liquor marketing and distribution companies in South Africa and I found the more I learned, the more I wanted to learn.

All of this culminated recently when I attended ‘Whisk(e)y 101’ with the College Of Whisky, the first part of the course they put together to train people to become whisky presenters. Since that course, I’ve been enjoying various whiskies on an almost nightly basis (Talisker, Singleton, Bushmills 16 y/o, a bottle of Dimple 15 y/o) and amazingly, this spirit, the flavour of which was once almost inaccessible to me, is slowly opening up.

 

 

I find myself admiring this amber liquid against the light, watching the legs fall and wondering what journey that dram took to find its way to me.

The thing about fine whisky is that it is made through a process that cannot be speeded up and as such, it is almost immune to the unnatural acceleration that has come to define the way humans do things.

I take comfort in that fact. I take comfort in the thought that somewhere across the world, a master distiller still picks his way through his distillery, nosing and tasting his whisky as it lies in oak casks, his palate able to almost distinguish individual atoms of scent and taste, waiting for the perfect moment to blend or bottle his whisky so that when it reaches us, all the way down here in Africa, the product we are getting is perfect in every way.

The simple pleasure I get out of enjoying a dram of good whisky far outweighs any of the times I drank the stuff to get shit-faced back in varsity which, I guess, is a clear sign that I’m getting old 😉

The end with, here’s one of my favourite whisky quotes, 10 points to the person who guesses who said it:

“The water was not fit to drink. To make it more palatable, we had to add whisky. By diligent effort, I learned to like it.”

-ST

21
Jun
10

The Last Episode Of Lost

Mention to people that you enjoy watching Lost and you get one of two reactions. The first is a totally dismissive “Oh, yeah, I watched a bit of the first season but then sort of went off it…” and the second is an explosive “HOLYSHITIFUCKINGLOVETHATSHOW!”

 

 

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the mark of a cult show. In fact that is the mark of anything that is cult, an audience that is fiercely polarised between people that love whatever it may be to the point of manic obsession and a much larger contingency that are either completely indifferent towards it or think it’s the biggest load of shit they’ve ever seen.

I’ve long since accepted the fact that most of the music, movies and art I enjoy is basically inaccessible to ‘normal’ people. If I had a buck for every conversation I’ve had about a band or a movie I fucking love that has been met with a polite, but completely vacant stare, I’d be kicking back in Honolulu sipping Pina Coladas and being fanned with palm leaves while I lay on my ass and did sweet fuck all for the rest of my life.

So forgive me if I get in a little over my head here as I jump into the reasons why I think Lost is one of the greatest TV shows that has ever been broadcast. The beauty of the internet is you don’t have to smile and nod politely, you can just click close and I’ll be none the wiser, choice is yours 😉

First, a few facts and figures that prove how few people actually gave a damn about this series by the time it ended.

According to Lostpedia, the final episode was viewed by 13.5 million people, which is a pretty dismal figure when you consider that the M*A*S*H  finale was viewed by 105.9 million people, the Cheers finale by 80.4 million and the Friends finale by 52.5 million. Hell, even the season finale to the last American Idol, which was the least popular since the first season still had Lost beat at 24 million viewers.

 

 

On average, the first season of Lost had around 19 million viewers per episode, which proves beyond all reasoning that for the most part, people gave up on Lost.

They did this because what people want from TV shows and movies is closure. They want to be able to experience something that entices and enthrals them at first, then draws them in on a deeper, emotional level, during which time they’ll tolerate a certain level of manipulation as they are lead down the garden path toward the inevitable outcome, and then they want satisfaction in the form of clear cut answers at the conclusion so that they can get on with their lives.

Lost broke that formula by very seldom ever giving people answers and when it did, the answers only lead to more questions. It worked in the beginning, but somewhere during Season 2 / Season 3 people simply got tired of being lost and slunk off to watch Grey’s Anatomy instead.

Even after the series finale, there are hundreds of questions left unanswered, as the following video infuriatingly demonstrates: http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1936291

 

 

Still confused as to why the season finale tanked? The way this video puts it, it’s a miracle people even hung in there to watch it at all.

But they did, all 13.5 million of them, and while a great deal of that 13.5 million hated the season finale and felt it was a total cop out, I didn’t and I’ll tell you why.

For one thing, the last thing I ever expected at the end of Lost was to be given one final, conclusive answer, or even a series of conclusive answers that tied everything together, in fact I really hoped they wouldn’t do that because to do so would be to kill the driving force behind the entire show.

JJ Abrams, the co-creator of Lost gave a somewhat schizophrenic talk at TED (http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/j_j_abrams_mystery_box.html) where he discusses the idea of mystery being more important than knowledge. He uses the analogy of a “mystery box” that his grandfather bought for him when he was a kid that he, to this day, has never opened.

The reason why, he explains, is that to him, the box has come to represent the infinite possibility that is inherent in mystery. It’s something my favourite writer, John Fowles, was also acutely aware of when he wrote about the energy in mystery and how, for as long as you wonder about something, as long as your imagination is actively engaged in trying to figure something out, that thing is ALIVE inside you.

 

 

Answers, Fowles famously said, are a form of death because the minute you are given an answer, the question and the mystery that drives it both cease to live in your mind.

You couldn’t imagine, even if you tried, what the night sky would have looked like thousands of years ago, before man invented telescopes and before the notion of other planets and other suns existed.

Back then, the stars and the consolations were some of the biggest mysteries imaginable. Since the dawn of man, until science stepped in and explained it all, we stared at the stars at night and wondered, “What the fuck are those?!”

The information age has been hugely beneficial to the technological advancement of our species, but at the same time, it is killing all the mystery to life. You want to know the answer to something? Type it into Google and in 0.8 seconds there it is.

I loved Lost, because it defied explanation and forced the people watching it to use their imagination in order to fill in the many blanks and loose ends the show’s creators left entirely up to us to figure out.

And finally, possibly the single thing I loved the most about Lost (*HUGE SPOILER ALERT*) is the way all of the main characters met up in the afterlife in that church one last time before they moved on to wherever it was they were going.

 

 

I took a lot of comfort in that idea because I’ve always had this sneaking suspicion that we’ve all met before and that we’ll meet again, in this life and in the many after it, and I imagine those moments to be a lot like the one in that church at the end of Lost, where everyone – Jack, Sawyer, Kate, Lock, Sayid, Hurley, Claire, Charlie, Jin, Sun, all of them – finally understood how important their connection to one another was, and were finally able to understand that though their time on the island was difficult and though they had to endure endless unnecessary hardship and cruelty, they were also the best times of their lives because the friendships and relationships they formed were all that really mattered in the end.

We’re all lost in one way or another until we find each other and in doing so, ourselves. This is the meaning I took away from Lost and this is the reason why I think it’s one of the greatest shows I’ve ever had the pleasure and privilege of watching.

-ST

14
Jun
10

The SlickTiger Interview On MFM

Stop the motherfucking press motherfuckers! I actually managed to get my dirty paws on the interview that took place last week on Wednesday on MFM (Maties FM, the Stellenbosch University campus station) because literally hundreds of thousands of people emailed, skyped, smsed and shouted at me on busy street corners because they so badly wanted to hear it.

 

So yeah, I did you guys all the favour of painstakingly breaking into the MFM offices in the dead of night and stealing about 3 days worth of back-recordings that I had to listen to, which was like chewing glass, to eventually find this little gem of an interview.

Enjoy guys. Something tells me you’re gonna love the shit outta this 😉

-ST