Friday Ramble 28/10/2005

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired,
But I know I’ve got one thing I got to do…

Once upon a time there were a gravel. When the gravel were young, he was taken from his happy home with his parents, mixed with some bitumen and put to work as a road. As time went by and many, many cars drived over him and he began to come loose in the bitumen, until one day – he comed loose altogether. Then, as more cars over him drove, little bits of oil and bacteria began to collect on him, then one day our little gravel evolved. He learned to walk and talk, but he still did not have that critical organ that would make him human – a brain. So he got a job at Black Top as the King Prawn’s superior.

And now’s the time,
the time is now
To sing my song…

Has anyone noticed the sudden revival of Roxette? I hadn’t heard them with any regularity for the better part of a decade[1], and now it seems like they are everywhere again. Actually, I think their songwriting is pretty good and some modern rock bands would do well to do some Roxette covers minus the synthesizers and crap. Let’s face it; we were born into the worst decade culture has ever seen.

On a happier note – the other revival I have noticed is the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication. That is an awesome album that was brutally beaten to death with a blunt object by the popular media. I’m glad that enough time has passed now for me to enjoy it again. I’m sure that is an album that we will be putting on in thirty years time at the Sunday braai and we will reminisce and our kids will go, “hey, that’s pretty cool[2], who is that?”

Ain’t nothing I can do, no…

On another yet another musical note, please join with me in saying no to Mariah Carey. Go to http://www.idontcareyouscreechysentimentalisticshallowharpie.org to register your vote. Emancipation is a big word – for a whore. And I don’t mean whore as in the affectionate “all women are whores, except our mothers”; I mean whore as in “5 dollar, I love you long time”.

I ain’t tellin’ no lie…

Traffic report as usual: saw a lady in traffic eating with chopsticks; no shit. Also saw a guy who had somehow managed to mis-wire his trailer so that when he indicated right, it indicated left.

Karel, your old man came to watch the Currie Cup final at ours; it was a good case study of the South African male in its natural habitat. Apparently your mom has gone completely mad and is running the New York marathon. The thought of it is giving me a stitch. The Furniture Guy told me you were ‘very disappointed’ in me. The good news is that this weekend I come off the wagon, and I plan to hit the ground running.

Commie Bastard, heard there are plans for you to be in Amanzamtoti with us. What a damn pleasure.

Rumbone, I believe you have been failing in your forwarding duties to Kent. Please organize yourself.

T’was in the darkest depths of mordor
I met a girl so fair,

Kate Beckinsale, will you marry me? Oh. I think you misheard me, I said you look fat in those pants.

But gollum, and the evil one crept up
And slipped away with her…

Has anyone seen the latest You magazine? Just caught the caption for the cover story: “Brian [Habana] and [insert beautiful blonde’s name here]: our pledge, no sex before we are married”. Ha. Hahaha. Hahahahahaha. My girl, he is a Springbok rugby player; he might not have slept with you before your wedding night, but don’t be too surprised when he seems to know the Karma Sutra better than the Bible.

Leaves are falling all around,
It’s time I was on my way.
Thanks to you, I’m much obliged
For such a pleasant stay…

If anyone feels like sending me the story of their lives, please do so. The purpose of the ramble, apart from being witty and thought-provoking in the extreme, is to illicit response from you, the humble reader. Don’t be afraid because I use big words like emancipation. Seriously, say word up sometime. The only people I hear from are those who work the 8 hour days.

The time has come to be gone.
And tho’ our health we drank a thousand times,
It’s time to ramble on…

Happy Halloween, my children of the night. Sounds better in german: frohe Halloween kinder van der nacht. Thanks to that band for their song.

A-keep-a ramblin’ baby...

[1] On the radio at least; my dear sweet sister went through a massive Roxette phase that lasted a lot longer than it should’ve.
[2] Except ‘cool’ will probably be so passé and they will say ‘rad’ or ‘hip’ or ‘coke-a-licious’.

Friday Ramble 21/10/2005

The alphabet according to my stream of consciousness:

A: is for the Alpine. I think they won some Anastasia reality competition, but they are still cool.
B: is for Mrs. Bredin who told me he wants to drink so hard that he vomits until his lungs bleed. One ticket to that show please.
C: is for cunt. Best word in the English language. Say it with me: cuuuu…
D: is for Durex. Wrap it up chaps; wrap it up. I don’t want anyone calling me ‘Uncle King Prawn’ for a few years yet. Mr. Aniston-King Prawn: yes; Uncle King Prawn: no.
E: is for Pert Spice whose birthday I forgot for about the 5th year running. Sorry.
F: is for Fuzigish. Best live band SA has seen since Boo! Also for Fokofpolisiekar; I wonder how many fans they have garnered simply on their name.
G: is for Gordon Bennett
H: is for haver. I’ll give you a clue: it’s a Scottish term; used in the Proclaimers’ song I’m Gonna Be (500 miles) and quite appropriate in the context of this extraordinary piece of prose.
I: is for Idi Amin. You have to admit – the man would have made a great headmaster.
J: is for John Thomas.
K: is for Sheep who turns four and twenty today. Happy Birthday, mfana. Rum – please forward my sentiments to the man in question and tell him to leave hotmail because it’s crap.
L: is for lammies. Here follows the definitive rules for lammies. Sorry for all the Zimbos; I didn’t translate it for two reasons: firstly, my Afrikaans is only marginally better than my Czechoslovakian; secondly, it just sounds better in Afrikaans (for example: ‘omdat die ou ‘n poes is’ can be translated to ‘because the guy is a pussy’, but for my money it doesn’t quite have the same ring). Courtesy http://www.watkykjy.co.za/ Shot to Umthondo for inadvertently leading me there.

Lammies is vir skouers bedoel. Nie toggos, bobene, niere en tiete nie. As iemand jou uitvang met 'n wettige lammie, vat jy dit alleenlik op jou skouer. However, as iemand jou uitvang met 'n wettige lammie en jou op jou bo-arm, toggos, niere of voorkop slaan, skuld jy hom VYF lammies:

1. Nommer een omdat die ou 'n poes is.
2. Nommer twee omdat hy weereens 'n cheap scaly ek-is-'n-poes shot geland het.
3. Nommer drie omdat hy obviously nie weet watter deel van 'n persoon sy lyf sy skouer is nie. Net 'n vinnige note hieso: as jyself nie weet watter deel van 'n persoon se lyf sy skouer is nie, is jy fokken onnosel. Jy het wel basiese leesvaardighede, want jy kon sover darem bietjie lees wat hier geskryf is. Sterkte met die breinoorplanting.
4. Nommer vier: Hy het hoogs waarskynlik jou drankie uitgepoes met sy aapstreke.
5. Nommer vyf: Jy skuld hom obviously 'n lammie, nie waar nie?
But wait, there's more! Wanneer iemand jou traai vang met 'n wettige lammie is dit maklik om dit af te weer. Sodra hy vir jou 'n lammie wys, maak 'n kringetjie met jou vingers - jou duim plus enige ander vinger/vingers en kyk deur die kringetjie vir die lammie. Hoekom sê ek jou duim en enige ander vinger/vingers? Want dit gaan pretty fokken onmoontlik wees om bv 'n kringetjie te maak met jou pinkie en wysvinger en nog deur die pateties kringetjie te kyk in 'n kwessie van 'n splitsekonde. Dis baie belangrik om die bra se lammie te vang terwyl sy hand en vingers nog in die lammie posisie is. Dit help nie jy vang 'n oop palm nie. Dan vang jy fokkol. Maybe 'n verkoue at best twee dae later as dit toevallig fokken koud is en jou immunesisteem in sy fuck you in is. Sou jy die lammie suskesvol met jou kringetjie eye, skuld jy die booswig EEN lammie. Sou dit byvoorbeeld 'n poging tot 'n lammie aanval bo jou skouer wees en jy eye dit met die kringetjie, revert jy na basic wiskunde: een omdat dit bo die skouer is en nog een omdat jy die lammie aanval immobilise het. Die groot vyf Vyf lammies word wel toegedien in sommige gevalle. Wanneer iemand jou wettiglik met 'n lammie traai vang (hersiening: onder die skouer vir jou wys en jy kyk daarvoor), kan jy fisies die lammie vang. Gryp sy vingers terwyl dit nog in die lammie posisie is asof jy 'n kakiebos sou gryp of vashou. Indien suksesvol, skuld jy die aanvaller 'n hele groot gruwelike vyf lammies. Hoekom vyf lammies? Dit gaan oor die moeilikheidsgraad. Dis moeiliker om iets te gryp as wat dit is om net daarna te kyk. As dit so maklik was het almal rondgeloop met Kerry McGreggors en dan het FHM fokkol prentjies gehad vir hulle skommie magazine. Is daar 'n rewards program vir lammies? Ja, actually in fact is daar 'n lammie rewards program. Jy kan jou lammies bank en jy hoef dit nie dadelik uit te deel nie. Solank albei partye konsensus het wat die saak betref en julle kan count hou van wie skuld vir vir wie wat en hoeveel. Ek het persoonlik 'n kollosale 85 lammies opgebou en dit net deur lammies fisies te vang. Skipper Glen sou afgekak het by die watkykjy paartie, maar ek het diep ondersoek in my swart hart gaan doen en het besluit om die 85 lammies te skraap. 'n Goeie drie jaar van lammies vang down the drain I tells ya! Wat van rekenaar en e-mail lammies? Sure. Hou net by dit reëls. Jy kan byvoorbeeld jou hand in lammie posisie afneem en veertig copies daarvan in 'n Excel spreadsheet sit en vir jou baas mail as "Tuesday's Statistics". Maak net seker jy is teenwoordig wanneer hy dit oopmaak, sodat jy die veertig lammies kan toedien. As hy dit met 'n kringetjie eye, however, gaan jy een fokken seer skouer hê en dan gaan daai girlie wat jy so graag op die copier wil zaber terwyl jy afdrukke van haar ass maak nie meer van jou hou nie. Enige ander diskresie verbonde aan die ekstreme sport van lammies? Solank jy by die basiese official lammie reëls hou soos hierbo uiteengesit, behoort alles cool te wees. Jy is vry om enige iemand lammies toe te dien: jou ouma, meisies, mense in rolstoele, blinde mense, kinders ensovoorts ensovoorts. Dit hang maar van jouself af of jy 'n totale poes wil wees.

M: is for manky. My favourite word for just about everything I own. My car is leaking at the moment and it smells very, bloody, exceptionally, supremely, comprehensively, extraordinarily manky. It’s derived from the French word ‘Manqué’, the past participle of ‘Manquer’ (to fail) if you were interested. Also mampoer
N: is for Nolene on 3Talk. Definitely the most articulate bag of cow pat I’ve ever seen.
O: is for Oranje Vrystaat. You have to support the underdogs; and anyone who thumped Province.
P: is for pillock second best word in the English language. Just say it out loud.
Q: is for queer. Apparently at the Rhodes reunion I was seen shouting ‘best queer in this place’ and pointing to a gay chap I had just met. What? He is a pretty cool chap; I just thought everyone should know. Man I wish I had been there to see that - public humiliation is funny.
R: is for Roger Smyth. Dig that old guy. Say it with a pompous nasal twang.
S: is for stereotype. I love stereotypes. Ya, ya, they probably breed intolerance across arbitrary demographics and all that BA stuff, but so often they are true. I have some up with some stereotypes for the Jo’burg highway. Taxis fall into all these categories, but I find that taxis are not as dangerous as everyone makes them out to be; you see them, know that they are going to do something stupid and dangerous so you give them wide berth. It’s the other cars on the road that are actually unpredictable. This might help you. (also: I know this isn’t very PC, but in honour of the Sheep’s birthday today is controversial day).
Someone pulls out into the fast lane in front of you doing 50 km/h – young girl in an old golf with EC or NW plates. All you will be able to see of her is the top of her head over the steering wheel and her whitened knuckles.
Someone is driving up your arse menacingly – middle-aged white guy in a 4 x 4 that has never been out of Sandton. He will have a blue tooth headset in his ear whether he is on the phone or not.
Someone is weaving in and out of traffic, basically driving straight down the dotted line – young ‘trendy urbanite’ guy driving a Golf 5 or Honda V-Tec. You will struggle to see him past all the ‘bling’.
Someone is struggling to pick a lane and generally looking well out of their depth - Middle-aged black woman driving a brand new Audi or Beamer. She will bear the same look of confusion on her face that she would if she got the Tupperware party venue mixed up and ended up at the Broederbond AGM.
Someone drives past you looking like Tom Cruise in Top Gun – that will be me in the gold pimp-mobile. Awesome.
T: is for Trendy Urbanite. For those of you who don’t know him, The Furniture Guy writes for the furniture section of the Sunday Times. Every week in his articles he sneaks in one of his friends as a casual observer who he ‘interviewed’. A month or so ago Chip made an appearance as a ‘young trendy urbanite’ who was quoted as saying “this furniture is fabulous”. You have to love euphemisms. Watch out for the furniture section of the Sunday Times, it will probably mock someone you know. Speaking of Chip – he told me last night that he spent R1500 on his credit card for tickets to live sports events this weekend. That’s impressive my guy; especially considering PROVINCE GOT THUMPED IN THE SEMIS. It feels good to say that.
U: is for unbelievably random thought: do you remember the Sunscreen Song? The one where the guy sort of talks and gives advice on all sorts of things? One of the lyrics goes something like “Live in New York City once – but leave before it makes you hard. Live in California once – but leave before it makes you soft.” I reckon that was a metaphor and what he really meant was Boksburg and Sandton. Boksburg: 50 000 residents; 12 last names.
V: is for vagitarianism. Look it up.
W: is for wotcher: expl. A form of greeting, rather more familiar to Victorian schoolboys than anyone more contemporary. Harks back to a time when "cock" meant something like "mate", but nowadays marching into a bar and greeting someone with "wotcher, cock!" is unlikely to make you more popular. I think it’s time for a bit of a renaissance of ‘wotcher, cock!’
X: is for Monica Sweetheart.
Y: is for Yankee Hicks: http://www.moreorless.au.com/killers/us-presidents.html. It’s quite an interesting site if you are into that sort of thing.
Z: is for zort.

Friday Ramble 14/10/2005

Last Friday I was cruising home and feeling pretty stoked with myself for surviving another week. Getting off the freeway, I thought I would just nip into the emergency lane to avoid the queue turning the other way. As I did it I saw her – a big fat pig. Of course she pulled me over and started giving me a bit of a lecture about what if an emergency vehicle was coming and it collided with me and there was broken glass and people were crying and then the smoke obscured the sun and then the earth became a hollow wasteland and that sort of thing; I couldn’t help myself - I argued that what I did actually lessened the traffic that was backed-up into the emergency lane and so benefited said emergency vehicles[1].
It was just as I was delivering my condescending smile that she explained to me how it was a R500 fine to drive in the emergency lane – oh bollocks. I would like to say that I took it like a man, but I panicked and started groveling like Knappy the time campus security found him wandering around with a stop sign over his shoulder. Long story short, my good looks and charm saved the day and all I got was a stern lecture. Good looks and charm people; remember that.

Estate agents are a weird breed. At the annual cocktail party for the Association for Unscrupulous Bastard Professions[2], more often than not, the Estate Agent is the guest of honour. They are severely handicapped when it comes to honesty and integrity - give them a hand and they’ll put something really expensive that leaks in it. They are shrewd, conniving and hell-bent on keeping the truth as far away from everyone else as possible; and will generally do anything to con people into conducting their real estate transactions with them. Yet, they all seem to put a photo of themselves on their adverts; inevitably, estate agents are mutant looking people with Bob Geldhof haircuts[3] and foreheads like a Klingon[4]. Why go to all the trouble of being a conniving, tricky, dirty little sleazebag and then put up pictures all over the place, showing what a conniving, tricky, dirty little sleazebag you are?

I would also like to add 2 people to my ‘people I would like to have a beer with’ list (because Kettle accused me of being racist, so I included two PC nominations):
- Felicia Mubuza-Sluttle (it’s sort of a ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ thing. If only they could perform cosmetic surgery on brains.)
- Steven Hawkins (you could beer in his lap and he couldn’t do a thing – that kind of fun never gets old)

Chip wanted me to make a special mention of how I lost the second bet of the season to him because Province won again. Chippy, all I can say is that at least neither of the Russouw brothers ever played for us.

Chopper finally got round to publishing the next episode in the life and times of Frederick von Swinehund. People with too much time on their hands can check out at http://philosophersoftheflux.blogspot.com/ (scroll down to the bottom for the beginning of the story). Don’t expect much, it only really makes sense if you know Fred.

Smythers, a samurai will tear a ninja into little cat-in-bottle sized chunks any day.


I think this is the first ramble for some of you. Enjoy the festivities. Should you wish to be removed from this mailing list; stand in a busy street on one leg, hold your right hand over your left eye, put your left hand in your right ear and say “hopefully some day I will grow wise enough to understand a minute portion of the inner monologue of one of the true geniuses of our time”. Who knows, maybe you’ll eventually even learn to deal with mine; sorry, that was a really obvious joke.

“Are you talking to me, or chewing on a brick? Cause either way, you are going to lose some teeth.”
- Bad Brad.
“Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.”
“An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.”
“Cowardice, as distinguished from panic, is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend the imagination.”
“Decadence is a difficult word to use since it has become little more than a term of abuse applied by critics to anything they do not yet understand or which seems to differ from their moral concepts.”
- Ernest Hemingway


And I’m spent.
Enjoy the weekend paisans.
[1] While it was pretty stupid to argue, in my defense, my logic was completely sound.
[2] Other founding members: lawyers, car mechanics and evangelist ministers.
[3] If they have enough hair; otherwise it’s a good old comb-over.
[4] And they all have names like ‘Herbie’ and ‘Beryl’ for some reason.

Friday Ramble 07/10/2005

I think my brain leeks out of my ear at night, so I’m a little low on ramble today; sorry.

Was driving to work the other day , when I saw a guy driving a beetle done up like Herbie. You know the car in that new Lindsay Lowhore movie? Right down to the ‘53’ painted on the side. It was a little sad. Scratch that, it was appallingly sad. It did get me thinking though (for a moment): how cool would it be to do up the old Merc like Kit? - Not very. But, it begs the question: what is it about our childhood heroes from TV and cartoons that still captures our imagination. Freud apparently missed a stage in human development. Right after the anal retentive stage comes the hang on to your childhood heroes stage. You will get there eventually Knaps.

For the record, my Saturday night last week turned out exactly as I predicted it would on last week’s ramble. Fortunately, my body has developed a self-defense mechanism; I black out when I’m embarrassing like that, I’ve executed the cunning ploy of avoiding those who could enlighten me. Take that social decorum.

Just found the most awesome album: Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. It sounds a bit like The Beatles had an orgy with the Dandy Warhols and Pink Floyd and their love-child remarkably didn’t suffer from too many debilitating acid flashbacks. Sheep, Rum and Chopper; I think you will dig this stuff. Knaps, sorry my guy, but they don’t sacrifice anything on stage, so not sure it’s your thing. Check out the songs ‘Jesus, etc’ and ‘Heavy Metal Drummer’.

“If God made man in His own image, man has certainly paid Him back again.”
– Voltaire

You know those cheesy ‘Get to Know Your Friends Better’ things? They are rubbish. I reckon there are only six questions important questions:

1. Top 5 bands to see live:
- Pearl Jam (“I’m not sure there’s wrong or right, but I’m sure there’s good and bad”. My favourite lyric.)
- Green Day (didn’t they have a song on the radio once?)
- Radiohead or Tool (just to see how crazy their frontmen are. Their music isn’t bad either)
- Korn (before you say anything, have you seen the footage of Woodstock ’99?)
- Linkin Park (I don’t really go for loud music, but all the cool kids are doing it)


2. Top 3 concerts you wish would happen:
- Britney and Christina do the Macarena
- Cannibal Corpse Christmas Special
- Steve Hofmeyer plays Monterey


3. Top 10 people with which to have a beer:
- Billy Connolly (Mad)
- Terry Pratchett (Obvious)
- Mat Dunning (it would be like having your very own verbal punching bag at the bar with you)
- Knappy’s Old Man (that guy is a king)
- Mike Skinner (the yob from the Streets)
- Robbie Burns (Scottish poet; severe boozer and womanizer)
- Ernest Hemingway (American poet; ditto)
- George W. (I don’t believe anyone can be that stupid)
- Paris Hilton (ditto)
- Casanova (to compare notes, you know?)

4. Top 5 books (anyone who hasn’t read 5 books is no longer my friend; sorry Karel):
- Pat Conroy – Lords of Discipline or Prince of Tides (I didn’t quite realize how incredibly beautifully this man writes until I read it aloud)
- Neal Stevenson - The Baroque Cycle Trilogy (this man knows how to craft a seriously intricate story)
- Anything to which Mr. Pratchett has laid his pen
- Irvine Welsh – Trainspotting (his writing is raw in a way Bret Easton Ellis (the author of American Psycho) can only dream of being; and yes, yes I know Easton Ellis wasn’t trying to be raw in this way)
- Russell Hoban – Kleinzeit (it’s just so bizarre and refreshing)


5. Top 5 books you are waiting to read:
- Hansard’s “Guide to Refreshing Sleep”, vol. 1 – 18
- Huxem’s “General Notes on Income Tax”
- Noddy and Big Ears Come Out
- Noddy Lynches a Golliwog
- Noddy Posts Bail on the Murder Charge but is Held on Suspicion of Disobeying God because He is Gay

6. On a scale from Alotta Fagina to Jenna Jameson, how much does Province suck hairy balls?

The best put-down ever (from Full Metal Jacket): “Looks like the best part of you ran down the crack of your mama’s ass and ended up as a brown stain on the mattress.”

Did I mention, I think my brain leeks at night?

Little Sister, Happy Birthday. Everyone send my sister birthday wishes because she got the good looks and ability to hold her liquor in the family.

Pert Spice, have an awesome 21st. Sorry I’m too much of a pauper to make it down to spoil the whole thing.

And yes, we did just get stuffed by the Aussies by 55 runs again.

I was so close to going a whole Friday Ramble without ripping off Knaps, however… He just called me ‘buster’ on messenger; as in “wow, you are becoming such a big boy, hey buster?!” I think it must be to computer nerds what ‘bugger’ is to jocks. Why do you make it so easy Knaps? In the words of Radiohead, “Oh…you do it to yourself”.

This is one last order of business: Girls pretend that the parts of a guys body they like best are the hands or those funny hollows [some] guys have either side of their stomachs at their waistline; but I know better: it’s the vein they get in their necks when they are dry-retching in the morning:--


Happy Birthday for last week Boarders.