Nikki Monroe 14/07/1982 - 09/07/2006

Dear Munners

There is an empty seat at my table.

A tragedy has come to pass and it cannot be undone. Today, I refuse to remember with tears and instead will do so with a smile. In the grand ballroom of life you were never to be found in the corners; a small girl who had the ability to completely fill a room with your irrepressible passion for being. Always quick with a smile and slow to hold a grudge, your general delight in people and genuine love for your friends made you one of the most significant people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

You made the happiest chap I have ever known happier than he could ever imagine. I am better for having known you.

Love you Niks.
Happy Birthday lass.
Jamo

Friday Ramble 31/06/2006

Friday Ramble: 31 June 2006

Saturday - right up there with worst days of my life. Let me begin at the beginning:

In the beginning the earth was without form and void. Ok, maybe not quite so far.
Friday evening rolled around is it is want to do. I was very excited. Fridays excite me. Roberto Mac was back in town from being an eternal student at UCT so I hooked up with him and Labs for a beer or two. Obviously this ended with us at Manhattans nightclub. Just inside I met up a few of the other lads and soon had a bottle of tequila somehow procured from behind the bar (still complete with speed-pourer) thrust into my unwilling hand. A little bit of tequila was slammed and then the night progressed as such nights do: busting out my considerable moves on the dance floor; verbally abusing Mark Preston; getting very disapproving looks from the opposite sex; Gump taking his kit off on said dancefloor and yet my being the one kicked out (twice) for taking a couple of strategic naps. At around 4 the ordeal that is Manhattans was over and it was hometime.

9am sharp I starting getting smses and phone calls from Gump: "where are you? I want to start drinking away my losers." (did I mention he took his kit off on the dancefloor at Manhattan's I managed to stall him until 12 but then inevitably bowed to his badgering. So a bottle of wine between us later we hit ye olde Herrington's Wilde Boar Country Pub (in the middle of Sandton). Soon enough the hoards starting arriving for the rugby and I must say it was quite an impressive turnout. At least 30 people there at my behest. Nice one. So we watched a dogshow of a rugby game and sank a few pots in the process as any clean cut South African male (or female) is wont to do. Then tragedy struck: I had to take a certain unnamed Tessa Robinson home and being the slightly inebriated but mostly just idiotic fool I am I reversed into someone. It wasn't my fault. He was parked in an awkward position. Behind me. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There was nothing I could do about it right then so I made mates with the old bugger I had reversed into (he even bought me a draught - I can be so charming when tired from drinking all day) and had a couple more with the boyos and gerls. By now things were starting to get a little messy; put too many Rhodents in a smoky, confined space with a wooden slab covered in shiny things separating them from the alcohol and it often does. This is where things become quite blurry, but between us we have managed to stitch together some sort of memory of the night. One last clear memory I have is of an old bugger who looked like he had swallowed a Weber slumped in a chair at a table by himself. This guy wasn't having a quiet nappiepoo on a table - this dude was K.O. where he sat. The waitress brought him his bill and looked apprehensively at him for a while. Against all odds the bugger eventually managed to extract his wallet and thrust its entire contents into her hand. She very sweetly counted out what was owed, put the rest back and pushed the wallet into his pocket because the guy was by now out cold again from his exertions. A bit later I saw the proprietor and the waitress leading him shakily towards his car. I asked whether we could maybe do something to help. Like call an ambulance. Or a hearse. "No, he'll be fine", she said. According to her he was (is, I guess) a judge and he was always in there and in a bit of a state. "Sometimes he's worse", she said. She seemed to be implying that he had driven in worse states. Ummm... Hell. Lady, I have seen a lot of drunk people in my time and I gotta tell you I'm curious as to what worse than that looks like. As far as I'm concerned, worse than that and you are dead. Wow. The only way I could picture him driving was if someone put a brick on the accelerator and pointed him off into the great blue yonder. [ed note: according to a story I was told on Monday, someone else saw him being put into the back seat of a car by 1 x homicidal looking woman]. Maybe he should have taken his chances driving himself.

Like I said from here it gets hazy. According to the story I was told by a very sober latecomer, at about 7 they were refused a drink. "Why?" she asked. "Bar is closing". "What?" However, as it turns out, they were closing the bar to get rid of us and as soon as we left, they opened it again. I have to say:--that is frickin awesome. I have been kicked out of pubs because it is closing time before, but for a pub to invent a new closing time just so they can kick you out? Hahahahahahaha. I think they may have had the last laugh.

So we adjourned to 'The Palms' digs just down the road. Chaos ensued. Gumpers passed out at about 8 and he was surrounded by pissed mates so he naturally ended up sleeping under his bed. Literally: floor, then blankets, then Gumpers, then matress, then bed-base. The good sir didn't even flinch.

Other little snippets: some really feisty, hot blonde arrived shadowed by a dodgy little fellow with a bumfluff goatie and thin gold earring claiming to be her boyfriend. Later it turned out that he was quite an annoying little punk. Right, so now he was a dodgy little fellow with a bumfluff goatie and thin gold earring AND and annoying little punk. I had a word or two with the hot blonde thing and it turned out that he was not, in fact, her boyfriend. Hmmm, so now he was a dodgy little fellow with a bumfluff goatie and thin gold earring AND and annoying little punk AND a liar. Then Dan asked him for a light because he couldn't find his lighter, only to be offered a light with his very own lighter. So now, he was a dodgy little fellow with a bumfluff goatie and thin gold earring AND and annoying little punk AND a liar AND a thief. I decided to take matters into hand. Unfortunately, I was about half a tequila away from being the judge at Herrington's so my usual witty scathing self was not in evidence. I just stood there and mumbled aggressively, pretty much outwitted by a a guy who was a wittless dodgy little fellow with a bumfluff goatie and thin gold earring AND and annoying little punk AND a liar AND a thief.

Somewhere along the line I was given an awesome MK89 trucker hat. How wicked is that? (Dan, I know I left it in your car - don't even think about snaking it)

Anyway. Then tragedy struck MacBeth style for a second time: I playfully pushed Reg down onto a couch which slid in a massive window which...broke. Completely. I just stood and watched as it slowly pulled itself apart, piece by piece. Fortunately Reg wasn't hurt, but there was still the little matter of the window.

The night ended at Colony just for a change. It was uneventful enough; mainly because no one can really remember a thing.

Sunday was right up there with the worst days of my life. Losers isn't a big enough word for what I had. All in all I think Saturday cost me at least R 2500. That isn't entirely the problem though. R 2500 I can deal with spending on a great night. There is no way I had enough fun for it to have cost R 2500. R 2500 must include drugs, llamas, motorbike crashes, strippers named Gigi, Star Trek conventions, handcuffs, at least one bar-fight and R500 on orgies with R5 prostitutes.

[ed note: I have left a couple of things out of my hectic Saturday story because the Ramble is not about smut. Not mine anyway. Ah, I can dream.]

In light of the weekends events, the board of directors at Jamo (pty) ltd has decided to do some hiring:

WANTED: 1 x GIRLFRIEND
Skills set: Must have:-
- Dominant, take no prisoners, heed no shit personality. If you are a relative of my grade 1 teacher Mrs Gibbs that would be a plus. She terrified me.
- Good culinary skills.
- Ability to keep me housebound for extended periods of time (ie. an entire weekend)
- Clingy personality and be so ridiculously annoying, my mates can't stand to be around her. And her friends must all be into scrap-booking and knitting.
- Must hate pubs and fun in general.
- Nice legs.
- Own set of handcuffs.
- R 2500.

Sorry if that was all a bit disjointed but it is a story that I've been meaning to tell all week but now it is 4:30 on Friday and I needed to get it done.

IN THE NEWS THIS WEEK:
- Chip walks 10 miles completely naked as part of the gay pride parade in San Fransico. There were no casualties.
- Bongo is working as a construction worker. They were all out of Sailor costumes.
- My Name is Earl. Definately, hands down, without question, absolutely the funniest non-animated show on TV at the moment. Argue with that if you must, you will only enlighten as to your ignorance.

Ok I bid you good day.

Have an awesome weekend my little flock. I am going underground for a while so expect nothing but esoteric nonsense from the Ramble for a while. Ok, bye.

Love, kisses and donations welcome (FNB AccNo: 42022127653)
Jamo