Friday Ramble 31/03/2006

Hi kiddies,

On Saturday I went to a ball style thingy which was largely populated by Old Rhodians. It was fun. Anyway, during the course of the evening I had one of those moments with a girl where you look at each other and there is recognition that you just can’t place. A few beers later I ended up talking to her and even managed to remember her name (unusual for me since I’m notoriously good with faces and bad with names). There was a lot of recognition on her part and she acted as though we had been best mates for ages. I kept racking my brains, trying to work out how and why I knew her. I assumed it was some Rhodes connection but I couldn’t place her in a group of friends or sport or cultural group or anything. I moved on to the Colony Arms and she happened to be there too, so ended up chatting to her some more; the whole time trying to place her. Labs came up to chat so I introduced the two of them. The instant I saw her facial response it all came pouring back to me. “Yes, we’ve met”. Labs had no idea, so he proceeded trying mildly get into her pants. I left the two of them to go in search of greener pastures. Half an hour later Labs hunted me down and asked where the hell he’d met her before. You see, while she had been to Rhodes – the first time I’d encountered her was when Labs had moonlit strolls on the beach with her on Matric Rage. Hahahaha. Sorry mate. She was the lady to whom Karel picked up a tot paddle and uttered the infamous words strike“here, shove this up her”. Some things are better left unsaid.

Do you know what I hate? Automated doors. You always end up walking towards them a little faster than they sense you and open; so you are left with two options: do a really stupid looking Campese shuffle with ten bags of groceries or break your bloody nose on the thing. Damn modern technology. That actually reminds me of something that happened a few years ago. I was going into a Truworths or something with my gran and when the automated doors opened for us she turned to a mannequin and said “thank you”. Shoot me before I get old. Hey, hey, hey, not that long before.

A little birdie clad in leather wrist straps and plaid pants told me that Lagwagon is coming to town. Now there is a band from my youth who I’d love to see if ever there was one. Check out “Beer Goggles” for one of my favourite punk songs of all time.

I bought a litre box-wine for cooking that looks remarkably like long-life milk. My maid can’t read so good. Oh how I laughed.

From time to time I get a copy of the questionnaire below in various guises. There were some piss-poor responses from some of the Boyos. Being included in mailing lists where guys are shmarmy to their girlfriends does not amuse me. So I decided to hold up the manly end of stupid time-wasting rubbish. Don’t get me wrong – I like time wasting rubbish. And you’ve read this far, so clearly you do too.

Getting to know Jamo
AKA notashrimp
AKA The King Prawn
AKA “I’m so sorry, I have a boyfriend…”
AKA Mr. Hillary Duff.

Last person who...

1. Slept in your bed?
Me. I sent the bitch home. Sigh. Honalee is a nice place.

2. Saw you cry?
I don’t cry unless I’m cape coloured drunk and then I have no idea who bears witness – self-preservation mechanisms are cool.

3. Made you cry?
Mrs. Smythers with her ‘shrunken puppies in glass jars horror’ email. How I laughed til I cried.

4. You went to the movies with?
Um…it’s been a while…Labs I think?

5. You went to the mall with?
I don’t do malls. They freak me out. All those people…judging me.

6. One thing you could take back?
Being one of the most inattentive, useless boyfriends in history. It’s a good thing I’m so handsome.

7. Said please facef I love you?
Nobody loves me.

8. Missed call You?
TV License Department. They’re going to pursue legal measures with me soon…again.

The last..

1.funny thing you said to someone? ”Ya, I’d fuck Mariah…just to make her bleed.” I thought it was funny.

2.furry thing you touched?
Does it count if it’s furry at the base?

3.What did your last text message on your phone say?
NEW! Erotic Pamela Anderson video sent right to your phone! SMS PA04 to 31455 now!
When I find out who added me to that mailing list I am going to hunt them down and beat them to death with a replica Peter North dildo.

4. song that was stuck in your head:
Kulidz – Kaapse Ding.
“Rol ek op my venster, want hy’s ‘n fockin’ gengster”.

DMX – Nasty Nigga
“I got blood on my hands and there’s no remorse
I got blood on my dick cause I fucked the corpse
I’m a nasty nigga.”

Hee hee hee. He said ‘nigga’.

5. Said "I Love You" and meant it?
Sunday morning. 2:30 am. Car-guard at Colony.

6. Got into a fight with your pet?
Have you seen my dog? Fighting her would be like taking a Checkers packet with a couple of toothbrushes in it and shaking vigorously. Poor thing.

7a. Been to California?
Is that that club in Brokhorstspruit?

7b. Been to China?
No mate.

7c. Been to Canada?
Yes. Met my future wife there. 16 year old national gymnast. Mmm. I was also 16 at the time perverts. I’m glad I can still remember her like that. Mmm.

7d. Been to Europe?
Oui.

8. Danced naked?
Ha. Hahahaha. No brainer. Actually…does waving my man python at girls shouting “WOO…WOO…” count as dancing?

I am destined to be without sex forever.

9. Wish you were the opposite sex?
These questions were without question compiled by a woman. I do not know a single guy who would answer in the positive unless it had something to do with getting into girls changing rooms.

10.Ever "spilled the beans"?
I didn’t so much ‘spill’ the beans as hurl them around a crowded bar. Sorry Smythers and Mrs Smythers. It was about their sex life. It was at the Rhodes reunion. Never tell me anything. Ever.

11.Ever click on "PopUps" or Banners?
Is that trendy slang for squeezing pimples or in-growns?

12. Played strip poker?
No. Strip pool?

13. Gotten beaten up?
Yes. Just call me porcelain jaw. In my defense he was a bouncer and I am a 60 pound weakling.

14. Pulled an all nighter?
No. I’m more of a 30 seconds for foreplay; 60 seconds on the job; 20 seconds of obligatory small-talk kind of guy.

15. Been on radio / TV?
Radio – RMR: The Mini Me show. It was about 2 in the morning and no one was listening but I did get some Iron Maiden played.
TV – Corne and Twakkie: dressed like a mullet. They didn't ask me back. I don’t have that ‘TV look’.

16. Been in a mosh-pit?
Metal thrashing mad. Many in my misspent youth. And Smythers – we did not mosh to Tweak. They are gay; it was the Hogs, Fuzi and the Finks.

17. Do you have any gay / lesbian friends?
I am the only gay in the village.

18. Skinny dipped?
Mhmm. With the Editor of Scope’s daughter. Got caught by campus security too. I’ll claim that.

In the last 24 Hours have you...

1. Cried?
Another question that proves this was composed by a woman.
In the last 30 seconds how many moods have you had?

2. Bought something?
A collar for our Kreepy.

3. Gotten sick?
Who the hell asks a question like that? Would you like to check my prostate while you’re at it?

4. Sang?
No. I like the earth without a crack through the centre.

5. Been kissed?
Yes.

6. Felt stupid?
I don’t feel stupid. Just myself.

7. Talked to an ex?
No. Emailed. She’s just got into the whole modern technology thing. You should see her phone: it’s one of the first PDA style ones. When she speaks on it she looks like she’s wearing a laptop on her head.

8. Missed someone?
I didn’t see Mariah today so I had nothing to aim at.

10. Hugged someone?
My pillow. How else was I going to get a kiss?

1. Do you have a crush on someone?
Yes. That is when you camp outside their house just in case you catch a glimpse of the top of their head and tap into their phone-lines and ‘accidentally knock over their rubbish bins and smell their used female products right? Hillary Duff you will be mine, oh yes…

2. What book are you reading now?
The King James Bible – no lies.

3. Worst feeling in the world?
Pregnancy scare.

4. Future KIDS names?
Further proof this was written by a woman. I think I speak for all men when I say see number 3 above.

5. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?
No, I’m currently between girlfriends.

6. What's under your bed?Well starched tissues. See 5.

7.Favorite sport to watch?
That would be rugby ghostrider. Woman’s volleyball isn’t a sport; it’s soft porn.

8. Location?
??? Between my hip and my other self. Tickle it and see.

9. Piercings / Tattoos?
I have a sort of tattoo on my arm where I was impaled by a palisade fence that left some paint.

10. Do you drink?
No. I absorb the liquids necessary for living from the atmosphere. Stupid chick who compiled this – perhaps you should be learning to compile sentences that mean what you intend instead of compiling drivel.

11. What are you most scared of?
I quite liked The Hippie Writer in Fairy Shoes’ answer to this and I’m going to steal it: being forgotten and leaving this world with no legacy.

12.Where do you want to get married?
A cemetery. Think about it. I bury someone that day.

13. Who do you really hate?
Humourless people who take themselves too seriously.

14. Do you have a job?
Hahaha. No. Sob.

15. Do you like being around people?
Yes. They don’t necessarily like being around me.

16. Have you ever liked someone you had no chance with?
No. Hillary you will be mine…oh yes…

17. Have you ever cried?
What’s with all the crying questions? Asked and answered. PMS is no excuse to be retarded.

18.When you look at yourself in the mirror?
Is this part 2 of the last question? Every morning of my life.

19.How much cash do you have on you?
Coins don’t count as cash. R0.00.

20. what is your main ring tone on your phone?
Nokia default I think.

21. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Having a couple of beers with some of the Boyos watching Champion League. Blessed.

22. What's a saying that you say a lot?
”No worries.”
“Sweating like a whore in church.”
“Mariah is a whore.”
Check it out Mrs Smythers, I didn’t say anything about “chunder” or “cunt” or even “chundering on my cunt” and especially not “chundering out of…” Ok that’s enough. I think I’ve made my point.

23. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed?
None. Got the one from grad ball a year ago done last week. I’m efficient like that.

24. What is your current desktop picture?
The ‘Punk Girl’ from The Queers album cover.

So now you know.

Peace out everybody.
Love, kisses and facef
Jamo

Friday Ramble 24/03/2006

Greetings fellow earthly voyager,

The Colab concert. What can I say? I will quietly ignore the obvious gripe about not being able to get a beer, any refreshment or food all day because it sucked, but hey – I dealt with it. I must admit that at one point I was concerned I would see the inside of the medical tent for dehydration but then I drank some water out of a toilet bowl and was ok. I have heard rumblings of people bitching because ‘how can you have a good time without booze’? Assils. You need to get pumped to go to Tiger, not to enjoy two of the greatest bands of our time. There is very little I can say to express what a privilege it was to be there. Rasmus sucked big fat hairy Greek balls. Seether rocked. Collective Soul blew me away. Metallica destroyed the last vestiges of my mind. I had come to think that maybe my days of being a metal-head were over but Metallica really put pay to that. I LOVE to mosh. Maybe it’s because I can’t dance, but whatever. I couldn’t move my neck for days. SEARCHIN’… SEEK AND DESTROY!!! Grrr. Shot to all the bands for making it a fantastically memorable experience I will take to my grave. Fuck you Big Concerts for denying responsibility for the monumental logistical cock-up. Their excuse was that Centurion had assured them that they had food and drinks under control. So it’s common business practice for you guys just to accept tenders on their assurances - without seeing a proposal? Money-grabbing assils. Also an extra special fuck you to the girl who sat down in front of me during Metallica and then got bleak when I stood on her hand. You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the head for good measure. One final fuck you to the guy who we saw leaving the stadium with one of Lars’ drumsticks and wouldn’t let Boarders spin it. Anal-retentive little toss – I bet you got picked on at school and couldn’t for the life of you work out why. One absolutely bloody fucking final fuck you to 5fm for letting Nicole Fox MC. For all the decades of work Uncle Barney has put into hard rock in this country it was his birthright. Miss Fox shrieking in her annoyingly shrill voice ‘are you ready to see miiiteliiiicaaa?’ was unbearable. And she’s getting fat.

On my public holiday I hit the Picasso exhibition and man…what an experience. I did my best to ignore the startling similarities between some of his works and the murals I drew with my crayons when I was 2. My favourite artistic movement is Hot Comic Book Chicks so what the hell do I know anyway? Apart from the raging gap in my artistic appreciation, it really was pretty awe-inspiring. I think I’m probably making one of the biggest understatements in history by saying, ‘pretty talented chap’. Some of his doodles were even on display – well they call them ‘studies’, but that’s basically what they are. There were some toight little bums running around too, so I’ve made a mental note to hit more art exhibitions.



I pulled out of my little bubble at a robot the other day by a disheveled character asking for a lift down to the end of the road. I was so taken by surprise that I couldn’t really think of an appropriate excuse and found myself letting him into The Tank. Sometimes I hate being programmed into guilt-ridden social decorum. He looked like he had been pulled backwards through a wood-chipper. Complete with patchy beard and mismatched teeth, he was carrying a blanket that looked like it had originally been to the Battle of Roarkes Drift. Like a true kook, his jeans pockets and waistband were stuffed with objects miscellaneous. Once I was over the inevitable Jo’burg fear of not knowing whether this individual was going to end up feeding me to his cat, I suppose their should have been no problem. I should even have felt good for giving a fellow human a hand. He got into the car and the stench that trailed in is difficult to describe. I tried for ages to place it, but the closest I could come is that it smelt like raw venison that had been marinated in thinners. I caught this weird part of me wondering how much I would have to bet Slinky to score him. Probably about R5. I am Jamo’s throbbing bile duct. The place he wanted to be dropped off was a bottle store so he could buy a ‘halfie’. I imagined him adding the wretched smell of stale gin to his concoction of odours and almost puked. As he got out he noticed a bottle of wine I had lying on the floor and begged me to open it and share it with him. Somehow it didn’t seem like a great idea so I politely declined and went on my way without further incident. When I got home I had to shower and change my clothes I felt so siff. I think I might have to firebomb the inside of The Tank to make it pure again.


A rose from our garden for my mum.

I would like to send a big shout out to a certain esteemed member of the South African business community who my sister did some work for recently. He got her to translate an important document into French for a presentation in Senegal (or some other French speaking African country – I can’t recall) which she duly worked her arse off for a week completing. She was promised payment very soon after completion. Now, it’s almost a month and a half later and he has changed his tune; he will only pay once he has received his first payment. I happen to know that the amount of money in question is not an issue at all for this individual. You sir, are an assil. As much as unscrupulous, arrogant fuckwits like George W are the flag-bearers of your corrupt race, there are cunts like you at every level. I remember your son once telling me a story about when you met Liam Gallagher and what a appalling person he was. At least he had the decency to be upfront about it, and not a lying snake in the grass. Cu…n…t.

And that’s that.

Geniet jou naweek julle.
Liefde, soene en jong hondjies se sterte
Jamo

Friday Ramble 17/03/2006

Horns up!!!
I can’t wait. Metal Thrashing Mad!!! Well that was Anthrax, but you know what I mean.

Rise up my fellow maniacs,
Please do come in for tea.
Join in all brother weirdo cracks,
‘Tis time for us to be.

Holy hell what a week.
Since last we met:
Friday –
Baked the meanest Mocca Chocolate Cheesecake in history.
Made the meanest Curried Butternut Soup in history.
Mourned my tragic loss to metrosexual fagism.
Had a nice braai at Knaps’ place.
Went out with Dan the Furniture Guy to Citrus Lounge. Was told by a very pretentious person who thinks that only very trendy alternative people go to clubs that are warehouses in town “Oh…I didn’t know you came to this sort of place?”. I think she was bummed because we arrived later than her and only the cool and trendy arrive at clubs at 2. Yes well…and bar louts too apparently. Deal with it. Spent R50 on a double cane and coke. Was not impressed. Bar louts should not go to cool, trendy places. Realised that all shots were R10. Bought a triple Jack Daniels for good measure. Was more impressed.
Went back to crash at Knaps’ place for some inexplicable reason. Skateboarded into a door to redeem myself from metrosexual fagism. It didn’t work. Now I just have a bruise on my forehead and a limp…ahem, limp.

Saturday –
Played rugby. In Kempton – spent the better part of an hour finding the damn stadium. That place is another universe.
Dislocated my shoulder in the first game of the season just for a change.
Had a few beers and a few Myprodols and a little 20 year old Witblitz while watching rugby.
Little hazy from there. Colony, I think. The ‘Get Jamo Laid’ night didn’t bear fruit.

Sunday –
Consumed aforementioned meanest Cheesecake and Soup in history, as well as my old man’s world famous Lamb on the Weber. Hippie Writer in Fairy Shoes, I think it’s name was Buttons.
Watched the greatest cricket match of all time while consuming a little bit of wine.
Went out and made a tit of myself. Yes, there was a girl involved; who when asked if they are keen to go grab some coffee says “cool, but I was just off to meet some mates at the pub, why don’t you join us?” I do apparently. As Gumpers so accurately pointed out “that’s at least 1 point”.
Slept like the dead.

Monday –
Weekends worth of losers.
Started watching a movie called Waking Life. I think it was created by shooting live action footage and then artists painting heavily over it. I am a huge fan of grahic novel style movies, but this one was about dreams versus reality and so they had stylized it hectically. Everything was in perpetual motion; even the background. After five minutes I had to stop watching and I still felt seasick for the next hour.
Best episode of Malcolm in the Middle ever.

Tuesday –
Gumpers’ big birthday dinner. Ate the all you can eat carvery at Brazilian Eatery which was awesome and heinous at the same time.

Wednesday –
Had a bath. Shaved. Napped. Achieved world peace. Scratched testicles. Napped again. Was threatened with a lawsuit by the makers of a popular TV show for spoiling their plot line with the whole world peace thing. Dissolved world peace. Scratched testicles. Composed my own version of Happy Gimore’s ‘Happy Place’ in my head. Ok, it was very similar. Just more blondes, more beer and less clothing. Naptime.

Thursday –
Shopped for Mr. Min, Jik Toilet and Household cleaner and bread.
Also found a Listerine pocket pack thingy that was pretty much full but all the strips had been fused together in the sun or something. You’ve got to, right? It burned like the fire of a thousand STDs. Holy duck for about an hour I thought I would never feel my mouth again.




I have to admit to drawing some inspiration from the Cyanide and Happiness comics for that one. Low-tech is cool. For your Friday work avoidance pleasure, I have compiled a little highlights package:

Pregnant
I laughed at that. Ironically enough, it is the generally agreed upon method of contraception in certain circles in which I have been known to travel. I think it was created by the same mastermind of the ‘fill her up and deal with it the morning’ method of contraception. They didn’t teach that in Std 6 biology. We were left to create that all by ourselves. You have a lot of time to create such things when you aren’t in fact getting to practice them.

Bad News

Fat
Remind you of anyone?

Breakup

Help

Marshmallow

Cat

Start Something

Poison
This one made me think of Smythers for some reason.

Dartboard
That one made me think of me.

junk

Last Friday something crazy happened to me. I received an email from the one and only Jimmy 12”. Of icrashedmycaragain1982@hotmail.com fame. That still cracks me up. Anyway, via the grapevine I had heard about some of his exploits, and had indeed published them in the ramble. He just put it so well in the email, I thought it was worth repeating. Some people never change. For those of you who don’t know him: if at Rhodes I fell down, it was Jimmy’s hands that did the pushing. That’s a metaphor Hobbo. A metaphor Hobbo is the application of a phrase or term as a descriptive term, but that is not literal. Anyway, enough teaching the farmer.

Jimmy Paddy Frankie say:

I arrived here on the twelth of December not
knowing what to expect and man was I unprepared. The first couple of weeks were
shite, I cleaned chalets all day everyday as they hadn't been cleaned properly
all summer. Once I got my first boarding session in however my view quickly
changed. Snowboarding is hard to describe it is harder to get right than
say having it off with a Rhodes girl, it is also far more rewarding. It is quite
simply the greatest way to pass the time besides perhaps a bit of intercourse,
but this is up for debate.

Anyway christmas was pretty full on my first one in
snow, I was still getting into the swing of things and the cleaning was killing
me. I arrived late for breakfast on christmas morning but it was all good how
can anyone get mad on christmas. Then new years came round the corner and it was
insane. I went down to the town square with a bunch of people I work with and a
few of their mates as well as this stunning au-pair who was staying in my
chalet. I proceeded to get decidedly drunk, hook up with this fit serbian
au-pair and carry on till the sun came up. That was not the end of it as I
managed to get new years day off I spent the first day of the year cutting fresh
lines in powder all over the mountain after having shagged a beautiful girl, it
was about as close to a perfect day as you could come. Unfortunately Jelena (the
serb) had to leave a few days after that but I got a few sessions in so its all
good, I mean who can say they have shagged a fit serbian.

The rest of January was pretty chilled with work
got lots of boarding in and quite a few boozy nights. This place has
actually done me alot of good, I've lost weight hardly smoking ciggs or spliff,
no drugs and less drinking, I'm feeling goooood.

February was a nightmare, really busy and I got
fuckall snowboarding in but what can you do. I did however manage to hook up
with an Alaskan bird who turned out to be more attracted to the fairer sex
however she succumed to my charms what can I say. I've been with her for a few
week s now and I must say she is showing me a thing or two in the bedroom its
great I'm getting more action here than ever, whoopi!!

I can quite honestly say the man hasn’t changed one bit. Irish luck or something, I guess. He did also say “shame, why are you so mean to Knappy” which would suggest that he has changed, but I reckon it had to be sarcasm.

I would like to bid Knappy’s little sister a warm welcome to Johannesburg. Anytime you want, just take my hand and I will show you the sights and sounds and king-sized beds. A man must sometimes live vicariously through his mind.

Ciao.
Love, kisses and Thrashes of Metal.
Jamo.

Monday Losers 13/03/2006

It turns out that if you spend the afternoon nervously drinking wine while watching South Africa pull off the most remarkable sporting comeback since last year’s Champions League final you will probably not be as sober as you might imagine. When the first of the Sunday lunch guests leaves to go to church you should probably treat it as a sign. But I didn’t. I was too excited. I went to the Irish pub around the corner – my church. I think my bloody body has got the better of me a little bit. I think it learned to deal with day long drinking binges very well at Rhodes. It completely shuts my mind down and goes into autopilot before I can do too much damage to itself; leaving me to believe I’m relatively sober but actually just end up talking an inordinate amount of tripe. Only this morning, when I woke up did I realise that – wow. I am such a bonehead.

My gloom is only made better by the fact that we stuck it to the Aussie assils and the Gunners beat the Pool for good measure. Going to find some Aussies on IRC and cause some kak. That will make me feel better. Yes…

And shout out to Gumpers for his big day tomorrow. Obviously it can’t be as big as Knaps’ big day because any more celestial bodies that size and the universe would implode, but hopefully it will be pretty big.

Ok bye bye.

Ps. I am a winner. On Friday night I did in fact skateboard into a door.

Friday Ramble 10/03/2006

Good day to you, people of Ramble Land. I hope your journey from one ramble to another has treated you well.

GUUUUUNNERS
SCOOOOTLAND
cats

Check out this wicked cool pic:



It’s not been graphically altered or anything; it is a genuine photograph. It’s based on an idea Adelbert Ames Jr. created in 1946. The girls are normally sized, but the room isn’t. The room is an abnormal six sided figure, but our memory is pre-conditioned to believe that a room is rectangular, so that’s what we see. He even proved that you can do it in open spaces. Cool hmmm?

Escher is cool. He was Dutch. Weed is legal there. Do you think they have perhaps realised that there is a money making spin-off to drugs? I like to think so. Makes me think of Rum for some reason. Maybe because he had a massive Escher poster in his room. Oh, and I also still have one of his doodles from when he was gaffed out of his tree.



Apologies for any copyrights I have infringed. But seeing as how the only person who ever reads this crap is my sister, I reckon I’m safe. Sweet. Plus I’ll get Zulu as my lawyer and the legal system cowers before him.



People crying, people dying, people getting nosebleeds. People taking long walks with people that love them unconditionally. People hanging washing, people watching an old movie for the first time. People swinging on branches, people riding bikes, people celebrating in their favourite pub. People making money, people being shouted at, people buying a pair of socks. People finding a new favourite song. People running into people they haven’t seen or thought about in many years and suddenly realising that the person is someone that they can truly call a friend. People being snapped out of the weariness of a frustrating day by their dog. People having a last one before they go to bed, people having a strong brew to wake. People authorising constitutions. People fighting wars. People breaking other people’s hearts. People altering the course of other people’s lives by uttering something profound. People killing people, People rescuing a spider from the pool. People watching people. People reading magazines, people reading newspapers, people reading the works of Dickens, Tolstoy and Chaucer. People reading Nabokov, people flicking through the publications of Mr. Flynt. People reading the Bible, people hearing the call to evening prayer from their gold-adorned mosque. People going through the agony of having to watch their child fall down before they can learn to ride. People writing to amuse people on a Friday, people amused on a Friday, People who have already stopped reading this on a Friday. People cursing at themselves for having driven into an unseen flowerpot. People mowing the lawn, people landing 400 people safely at an international airport. People in churches getting married, people signing pre-nuptials. People on deathbeds, people at christenings. People and people. People and life.

M’kay people?

Knappy didn’t come play touch rugby on Sunday. Forthwith all his jelly privileges are revoked.



Ok, so I was doing a little research on Jump the Shark. For those who don’t know what it is, it’s a website basically polls when TV shows reach their peak (‘Jumping the Shark’). Why jumping the shark? I tell you only because I am a geek who loves trivia: apparently Fonzi on Happy Days jumped a shark on water skis and that episode is universally regarded as unbeatable in the show’s history A show before my time, so I don’t really know or care. But I digress.

There are some shows that bear the honour of having never jumped the shark. This is quite an honour seeing as how a certain number of people have to vote and the overwhelming majority have to vote in favour. And there are plenty of geeky people out there voting apparently. Which shows are honoured? The Simpsons obviously, because it is, and due to the machinations of TV land, will forever be the greatest TV show. Period. Hands down. Case closed &c. The one that struck me though was Magnum, P.I. Ha. Awesome. You see? Chest hair and ‘taches are very, incredibly, irrevocably, incontestably Fookin’ Cool. With a capital ‘F’ and a capital ‘U’. Tom Selleck, you are a colossus amongst men. You are even forgiven for that gay role in Friends; I understand, a man’s gotta pay the dealer. Fortunately I have a white spot in my mind around 3 Men and a Baby. You get three erect digits from the ramble, my guy.

I have to tell you, I think I would happily cede two losses to the Aussie wankers for a Scottish victory against Ireland this weekend.

The best-laid schemes o mice and men
Gang aft a-gley

On Saturday night I was heavily berated for not relating a story from the previous Saturday in the last ramble. For the satisfaction of certain parties, here it is:

I guess it all started right at the very beginning of the evening when I ran into a girl who I went out with when I was a little whipper-snapper at school. She’s still cool though. And she went to Rhodes. Anyway, she introduced me to a mate of hers who also went to Rhodes (I don’t know why but for some reason I feel the need to insert that as a qualifying statement). We started talking crap, as you do. I had a tartan scarf on in celebration of the Scots mighty victory. She asked why I was wearing a scarf and what I meant to say was “in celebration of the Scots’ mighty victory against the Poms”, but what came out was “because I’m comfortable with people knowing I’m gay”. One of those things that made sense at the time. At this point I have to come clean with you: I was NOT AT ALL HAPPY with how little she protested this. I would even have been happy with “impossible, you’re too badly dressed”, but no, she swallowed it. She asked me what the gay scene at Rhodes had been like, and that was just too much of an invitation…I was into full shite talking mode.

And then suddenly…

She was talking to me about anal sex and all sorts of, ahem, shit. As much as she was trying to glean from me, I was gleaning more from her. The case may be that she was winding me up the same as I was with her, but I am choosing to ignore that possibility. By now I’d had a few and was trying to get her to spread the good gospel of anal sex to all the girls around.

And then suddenly…

She did. It was awesome.

Quite late on in the evening some of the boyos rolled in. I happened to be jamming with these two girls at the time.

And then suddenly…

The two girls were scoring. I’m not sure how, but I seem to have gained credit for orchestrating the phenomenon.

Monday morning, 8:14, I got an email from Chip:

Jamo... u beauty! I have never seen more aggressive lesbos kissing than at
Colony on Saturday....

And he went to Rondebosch Boys…

I am here but to serve Chippie my son.

Who berated me for not relating the story? The lesbian ex-girlfriend in question. No pleasing some. Happy now GRS?

[Ed note: Commers, sorry bud, but your girlfriend is lesbian. Ed out.]

While scrounging through my CD collection looking for my old Metallica stuff in preparation for the impending concert of a lifetime, I came across some old school Deftones. Knife Party. One of the kieffest drum beats ever. Knaps, Smythers, Will and Filth (wherever you may be), I know you feel me.

Do you know what the Vietnamese currency is? The Dong. No lies.

Pg 1
The story thus far…
You are in Vietnam, somewhere near the Ho Chi Minh trail. You spot an old codger working his rice paddy and approach. As you get closer you spot a gorgeous nubile creature behind him. Your appetite yearns to taste a little of the local cuisine. You consult your phrase book.
-- If you find the phrase successfully and correctly ask “how many Dong for some food?” go to Pg 2.
-- If you seem to have purchased the Vietnamese-Nauruan Phrase Book and end up asking “how many Dongs for you daughter?” go to Pg 3.

Pg 2
He says “2 Dong” which seems reasonable so you go in and eat. It’s nice. You are making headway with the daughter. Then Knaps tries to eat their rice stash for the monsoon season. Go to Pg 3.

Pg 3
You are suddenly presented with an ex-Viet Cong wildly wielding a machete. He has the crazed look in his eye, just like Stone Cold when you tune his mom.
-- If you choose to use Knaps as a ‘human’ shield go to Pg 4.
-- If you choose to fight the old codger go to Pg 5.
-- If you choose to try reason with the crazed old man go to Pg 6.

Pg 4
Your ploy works successfully. After half an hour of hacking, the old codger manages to fell the beast. He is delighted, saying “this feed our village for many weeks!” He adds “we sell some – many Dong from such a beast. The redness is very rare.” He is so pleased, that he offers his daughter to you. Go to Pg 16.

Pg 5
The old man turns out to be a wiry old devil.
-- If you possess the Broken Bottle of Gauol go to Pg 7.
-- If you possess the 10-in-1 Penknife of Armee du Suisse go to Pg 8.
-- If you do not possess any weapons go to Pg 13.
-- If you are a girl go to Pg 15.

Pg 6
You try placating the old man by gesticulating for him to calm down. He stops advancing towards you, but his menacing look tells that the respite is unlikely to last long. You decide to try your hand at bartering.
-- If you possess the Potion of Shroom Magic go to Pg 9.
-- If you possess the Pleasure Herb go to Pg 10.
-- If you possess one of Knaps’ old, crusty ‘gym’ socks go to Pg 11.

Pg 7
Having been in many a drunken bar brawl you understand the necessity of always carrying your trusty companion the Broken Bottle of Gauol. You are just like a Boy Scout. Except you shave and know how to stab a guy in the face with a broken bottle and not much about sewing. Unable to sweet-talk the old man with the finer points of needlework, you stab him in the face. The daughter throws her arms around you.

Pg 8
It turns out that a penknife really isn’t a very effective weapon at all, even if it is of the Armee du Suisse variety. That, combined with the wiry-ness of the old bugger and his experience in the Viet Cong make for one very brief, but bloody battle. You manage to get in a few good stabs but unfortunately most of them are into your own thigh. You lie on the ground with more holes in you than Sheik’s defense.
-- If you possess the Band-Aid Amulet go to Pg 12.
-- If you do not possess the Band-Aid Amulet go to Pg 13.
-- If you possess the Chest Hair of Tom Selleck go to Pg 14.

Pg 9
You’d been saving the Potion of Shroom Magic for a special occasion. Trying to avoid being maimed by a machete wielding Vietnamese probably classes as a special occasion. You whip it out. A smile bursts across the old man’s face and the machete drops to the floor. Grinning like a man whose just come home to find Kate Beckinsale in his bed, he grabs the bag and motions you into his hut. The two of you bond over the Potion. It’s good. Every one of the old man’s wrinkles seems to become a individual smile. They all laugh with you. Hahahaha. Ha. Before you know it, the two of you have finished the Pleasure Herb too. You pass out under the stars. In the morning the old man’s daughter cooks you breakfast and he offers you her hand. Go to Pg 16.

Pg 10
You’d been saving the Pleasure Herb for a special occasion. Trying to avoid being maimed by a machete wielding Vietnamese probably classes as a special occasion. You whip it out. A smile bursts across the old man’s face and the machete drops to the floor. Grinning like a man whose just come home to find Kate Beckinsale in his bed, he grabs the bag and motions you into his hut. The two of you bond over the Pleasure Herb. It’s good. Every one of the old man’s wrinkles seems to become a individual smile. They all laugh with you. Hahahaha. Ha. Before you know it, the two of you have finished the Potion of Shroom Magic too. You pass out under the stars. In the morning the old man’s daughter cooks you breakfast and he offers you her hand. Go to Pg 16.

Pg 11
You sheepishly produce Knaps’ sock. Knaps’ eyes grow wide and he exclaims, “hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He grabs it out of your hand and dashes into the bushes. What happens next would will definitely be left out of the Disney version of the story. The old man butchers you severely for a while before finally slitting your throat. Go to Pg 13.

Pg 12
The Band-Aid Amulet works it’s magic. You look like a giant advert for Disney Characters, but you escape with your life and a great story.

Pg 13
Like so many before you, you bleed to death on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Knaps, unable to fend for himself is at a loss. Once your corpse has been devoured (in one sitting), his body starts to use up his fat reserves. Two years later, just before he dies, it turns out that he is actually quite a handsome devil under all that mass. Too bad no is there to see it.

Pg 14
The Chest Hair of Tom Selleck with it’s teflon-like strength acts like chain mail, protecting all your major organs. You are so hard. Have a little look in the mirror. Now lick your finger and touch your…sorry where was I? Oh ya, go to Pg 16

Pg 15
You show him your boobs. He dies a sudden but happy death like Blue in Old School. You live the rest of your days a sensational lesbian experience with his daughter, becoming happy millionaires with your ultra successful pay-per-view webcam uplink.

Pg 16
You and the daughter live happily ever after. She was trained by her communist government from age 2 as a gymnast. There are many, many R18 (NV) bits. She cooks and cleans too. And has a trust fund.

I had so many ideas for that story its’ ridiculous. In the end I had to limit myself cause it’s a bit exponential in nature and would have taken me years. Maybe one day. ‘Naive Knappy Versus the Prostitutes of the World: Choose Your Own Adventure’. That has a nice ring to it.

On Saturday night gavin@stragenos reminded me that it was that Lent time of year again. The foolish man is giving up drinking. Seriously, why not give up something easier, like breathing or sleeping. Anyway, that got me thinking about the nature of lent. Why is it that people choose this time of year to give up their vices – I mean apart from the whole Jesus did it thing. But I reckon, it’s the one time of year that your chances are actually far better than usual. Normally the only person you are disappointing is a friend or lover or family member or even yourself. They are human and therefore fallible. You can reason with them, even if it’s only in your mind. But God...you fail the all powerful and that’s a different story. There is no arguing or reasoning your way out of it. You made a promise and broke it. Simple as that. With the burden of eternal guilt, it’s really not in your best interests to default on the whole lent thing then. Just a thought.

Let me take this opportunity to apologise to those of you who have emailed and I haven’t responded. Laingers and Mullins, you dudes are the ones that spring to mind. No excuses really, I’m just a bit pathetic.

This Saturday I make my debut for the same rugby side, in the same position my old man played 38 years ago. How wicked is that? It has such a nice wheel hath come full circle vibe to it.

And I’m spent. Was it as good for you as me?
Didn’t think so.

Enjoy the weekend,
Keep a cool tool fool.

Love, kisses and piety.
Jamo.

Friday Ramble 03/03/2006

Yes, well I can see it’s stuck Knaps, but the question remains:- what were you doing putting a turnip there in the first place? Oh…hello there. Please do come in.

It was one of the best sporting weekends in history. Ya, so the Cats and Arsenal lost. But Scotland the Brave beat the Pommie wankers. I almost shed a tear of joy. Ok, so I did. Oh ya, and we beat the Aussies. Twice.



Scots Wha Hae
Robert Bruce’s address to his army, before the battle of Bannockburn.

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.

Now’s the day, and now’s the hour ;
See the front o’ battle lour !
See approach proud Edward’s power –
Chains and slaverie !

Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?
Let him turn and flee !

Wha for Scotland’s King and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’ ?
Let him follow me !

By oppression’s woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free !

Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants fall in every foe !
Liberty’s in every blow !
Let us do or die !

Our reverent sage Robbie Burns, Esq.

Tell me that doesn’t make you want to go out and kill some English.

No one holds a grudge quite like the Celts. When I came across that poem a couple of years ago, I showed it to my Old Man and asked if he had ever heard it. “Of course”, he said – he had to recite it at every assembly. Now what you have to realise, is that my old man was born in the midst of the Second World War. Now for those of you who missed that history lesson, that’s the one where the Scots fought shoulder to shoulder with the Poms on various battlefields scattered across Europe against that great threat to world peace – Germany. The battle of Bannockburn? Somewhere in the 18th Century.

And still the Scottish anthem:

And stood against him,
Proud Edward’s army.
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

That’s somewhat equivalent to our national anthem being.

Oh, we koi-san
Seen Johan’s flotilla.
Beware my man.
Or we’re gonna kill ya.

(roughly translated from the original:)
Cho xi xo,
Khi ki xkle.
Kho ki ko,
Tsu tu cxle.

That’s some good indoctrination though. Here I am, a half-breed Scot, born and bred in the R of SA and I loathe the English. But I guess, truth be told, the other side of my family is half Afrikaaner and half Irish if you work it back, so that’s some pretty good English-hating pedigree there.

Ramble Recipes for Bachelors
Une Tartine au Beurre de Cacahuete et au Miel

1 Oz Skippy Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter
1 Oz Creamed Raw Honey
1 Oz Butter
2 Slices Bread

Place 2 slices of bread in ‘toaster’ [1]. Press ‘on’ [2]. While waiting for bread to ‘toast’ [3], place the honey in the ‘microwave’ [4]. Be sure to take off the metal lid to avoid a nuclear holocaust. Nuke honey for +/- 10 seconds until runny. Spread butter evenly over toast, making sure to go right to the corners. Spread peanut butter uniformly over toast, as with the butter. Pour over honey to taste. Sweet [5].

Serves 1

[Ed Notes:]
[1] Usually a box-wine sized silver thingy in the corner of the kitchen somewhere.
[2] Often a confusingly non-labeled lever on the side of the toaster.
[3] Bread that has been mildly burned is often referred to as ‘toast’. Fully burned it is often referred to as ‘the toast is burning you tit!’
[4] This time, a television-sized metal thingy in the corner of the kitchen somewhere. Distinguishable from an actual TV by a door and a lack of AV plugs. Ask mom or a girl or that effeminate chap next door.
[5] A nice variation is to add 1 x marijuana cigarette to taste.

The Doors Nightclub. What a place. I have an admission to make. While in my youth a self-styled follower of the metal underworld though I was, I have never been to The Doors. No ways, my lily white northern suburbs arse would have been fodder for a steel-capped boot. Friday afternoon saw the monumental decision made to venture into the dark netherworld of The Vale.

Black T-shirt? Check.
Shaved head? Check.
Two day’s stubble? Check.
Steel-capped kickers? Check.
Menacing scowl? Check.
Tighty whiteys? Check.
All systems are a go.

We were chaperoned by a local – Daniel “If someone’s on the ground kick ‘em or go balls deep, but either way, make sure they’re proper fucked” Garrun – so the three northern suburbs pansies couldn’t do ourselves a mischief.

Enter our heroes, stage left
Proceed to thee Bar.
Beers all round please.
Happy hour? Two-for-one? Sweet.
It’s happy hour. Tequila’s all round. Dan with throw up tequila? Ok then, suitcases? Suitcases.
Suitcases all round please.
Happy hour doesn’t include spirits? You poured us Jack Daniels? R72?!!
Fuck.
Oh fuck it, whatever, they are playing SOAD.

Apart from being money-grabbing assils, The Doors is one great place. I felt right at home. It’s been too long since I felt the stabbing pain of someone moshing hair into my eye. I feel they will be seeing a lot more of me. There were also a surprising number of great looking girls. Yes, yes, I know BEER HAZE + DINGY CLUB = GREAT LOOKING GIRLS but I think that there were some genuinely good looking ones. Of course the next morning when they offer you liver on toast, you have to make sure it’s not your own Hey it’s worth the risk, right? I’m not using mine much anyway.

The subliminal power of the media fascinates me. On the MWeb website this week, they had a whole links feature schpiel about the local elections. The image alongside had just Patricia de Lille and Tony Leon. Something like that has to have some sort of effect somewhere along the line. I mean it’s a reputable source of information for hundreds of thousands of South Africans. Do you think the editor might be a little partisan to the opposition? Just a thought.

Tuesday night. Wow. What a spectacular spectacle. I was privileged enough to be invited for 9 holes of pub golf courtesy the tenants of the Playboy Mansion. It was seriously well organised, let me not lie. 3 or 4 combis full of people, scorecards and everything. Everyone was kitted out in varying shades of Payne Stewart. I was thrown together with four other dudes who I had never met before to be my teammates. Truth be told, even their names are a bit hazy. Who knows, maybe they only ever existed in my mind. You never know.



My team (The Bogeys - because the girls called themselves The Birdies. I thought it was funny at the time):
Mr. Eager (team captain) - Big bastard. Turns out he played waterpolo overseas and knows Ryan Bell really well and has been in the odd altercation alongside him. Like Ryan, a good dude but completely insane.
Dale – Super chilled out chap. Seems to not quite know what to think but just kind of rolls with it.
The Aviator – Any man who dons aviators instantly has my respect. And they are Ray-Bans. He gets a little bit bleak with me when he points to a blonde and says that it’s his wife and I treat it as a figure of speech. I’m still not used to being of the age where people are genuinely married. I think the phase might wear off in 10 years or so.
The Ballie – He seems to be a couple of years older. He is definitely not stoked with the rest of the team’s gung-ho attitude.
Me – Handsome. Intelligent. Articulate. Legendary Lover. Endowed like a Stallion. Full to the gills of shite.

Hole 1: George Lea Sports Club. My team unanimously decide that this one has to be a hole-in-one. Great. Easy game. Mr. Eager wants to go get a round of Jager-Bombs. Having partaken in the odd ale myself, I’m thinking “easy there Spuddy, we’ll see how eager you are on the 6th”. The rest of the team manages to restrain him. It turns out that due to the handicapping system, we need to have another beer. Mr. Eager is grinning broadly; he can down a drink faster than anyone else I’ve ever seen. And I went to Rhodes.

Hole 2: Herringtons. Par 5. Pints. “2, 3, Ra, Ra, Ra”. Gone.

Hole 3: Combi won’t start. Call the owner of the Combi’s old man. Back inside Herrington’s. One of my team-mates misunderstands what is happening and buys our team a round of pints as ‘insurance’. This hole is also a handicapped one, so two more beers are laid before us all. The eager teammate has us putting everything away in one. I’m starting to admire his stamina. Combi sorted.

Hole 4: Colony Arms. John Deer’s – what else? Easiest downing of the evening. Mr. Eager tells us on the trip to the next hole that at the next place he is going to smash a full can of beer on his forehead for team moral. Er…ok, man.

Hole 5: Jolly Roger and have reached the halfway house. There are people I know there – who also just happen to be serious haters of the jock vibe; and I must be honest, there was a serious jock vibe going on amongst the pub golfers. We are the only team to buy the dummy on the scorecard and get a stout. It’s like downing a loaf of bread. Much chanting and chugging and ra-ra-ing. My friends have disowned me. Ah fuck it, everyone knows a jock is all I’ve ever wanted to be. Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A pirates life for me.

Hole 6: Pirates Club. Have lost The Ballie somewhere along the way but gained one of Mr. Eager’s mates. Mr. Eager apologises for forgetting to smash a full can of beer on his forehead for team moral at the Jolly. Mr. Eager smashes a full can of beer on his forehead for team moral. His mate smashes a full can of beer on his forehead for good measure. I am too pretty to smash a full can of beer on my forehead. Turns out we are gate crashing some poor dude’s 35th. We are asked to finish our drinks and are hurriedly ushered out. +/- 35 hammered people being told to do anything in a hurry? Ya, so that takes about an hour. I have by now exhausted my memory of old war cries and chants and stuff. I start up a rendition of Flower of Scotland but no one knows the words so it degenerates into a tuneless bout of screaming. I enjoy that. Mr. Eager starts singing Backstreet Boys. I know the words. I join in. I’m not even ashamed. Blame it on the booze.

Hole 7: Zoo Lake Bowling Club. We are turned away because it is so packed.

Hole 8: I am now ravaged like that girl in Once Were Warriors. We are sort of following the scorecard but I’m the one in charge of our team because it has been decided that I’m most in control. Oh, how appearances can be deceiving. I think there may at this point have been a cane depth charge. That’ll show them for leaving me in control. I’m genuinely impressed that Mr. Eager is still on his feet. His prolific downing ability has become a bit of a novelty and everyone is queuing up to race him. I am a-mazed. Hats off squire. Peer pressure is amazing. Our entire team has done everything in one. I think everyone is a little afraid Mr. Eager is going to smash a beer can on their forehead for team moral.

Hole 9: Laughed off due to it already being past closing time and everyone has had a skin-full. Holeeee duck I feel like I’ve just been roundhouse kicked by Steve Hofmeyer.

Clubhouse: Back to the Playboy Mansion for draught on tap. Gumpers and I wisely (very unlike me in this state) decide to walk home while we can still stumble.

I got wind of a little story that Chip found me loitering around their kitchen dustbin with intent sometime in the odd hours of the morning. He shrugged and lifted the lid to see what would happen and so I drained the main vein. It’s all lies and allegations, but a funny little story nonetheless. I R Jock. HOO WA!

My darling little sister. When I dropped her off at her new res, I noticed that her neighbour was quite a feisty little thing. When I was speaking to her yesterday, she told me that I would be pleased to know that she was friendly with said girl.
“Cool,” replied I, very coolly.
“No offense,” replied my darling little sister, “but she’s a little out of your league”.
Made to bleed so cruelly by my blood! Et tu Katru?

I have a strong suspicion that she is in fact a little bit mad too. She is studying physio and I started teasing her about how she would have to be carving up bodies soon, thinking that she would be squeamish.
“No,” she answered in a blasé, deadpan voice, “we start with limbs. Then later in the year I think we might get half a body. Y’know, split down the middle.”
Um. Have I mentioned how I’m really, really sorry about how I used to put beetles and frogs and stuff in your bed? If I wake up minus an arm sometime, I know who to blame.

An sms that amused me from Dan the Furniture Guy.

Hey bud one in the morn just lit up a braai got some chops and wors hows that
for fuck fontana?

Miracle of miracles I received into my very own inbox an email from the venerable Kent Matthew Sheep himself. What a pleasure. The man is still alive and behaving in a Kent-like manner. I.e. behaving like a drunken cad and then hating himself for behaving like a drunken cad so going out and behaving like a drunken cad to forget that he is bummed with himself for behaving like a drunken cad (?!! Say that three times fast).

In competition, during gunfire or while bombs are falling, players may take
cover without penalty for ceasing play. A player whose stroke is affected by the
simultaneous explosion of a bomb may play another ball from the same place.
Penalty, one stroke.

Richmond Golf Club, temporary rules, 1940

Just caught the South Park movie and saw something that had previously escaped my attention. When ‘Big Gay Al’ sings his big number to the US troops the make of his piano is ‘Felcher and Sons’. That’s poofie.

And I’m done.
May your shuffle towards the weekend be as smooth as possible and your sprint towards Monday be covered in chocolate sprinkles.

Love, kisses and vivid mental images of Jan bareback riding Knaps
Jamo.