Ahhh you can smell it in the air. Thanks mainly to global warming I think!! The last day of work before the Christmas rush away. Now I know many people haven’t been at work for some time already but they are in the public services so they don’t count.
People in the real world (the workers) are taller today, the coffee tastes better, and reality is crisper.
Freedom!! Oh to be released from this cubicle torment for a week or so makes it all worth while. Those hundreds of hours stuck in traffic, just wishing it was the movies and an apocalyptic plague hit the earth are now distant daymares. With each passing minute you feel the urge to YARP. No more mind numbingly boring meetings with people who give credence to shooting sprees. That is why I always wear my bullet proof vest to team building; there is always that one shifty looking analyst who looks ready to go over the edge.
Time to fly this coup and be free!!
Will I race off to the coast to be with my fellow man in holiday traffic jams, will I fuck! My city now is truly the city of the gods. The streets are relatively quite. The weather is always sunny (not this year fucken global warming), and all the fucken BMW drivers are off somewhere else pissing the locals off.
I will spend this time letting off thunder flashes outside old age homes, super gluing all public toilet stalls and moving all handicap parking bays to the furthermost bays (that’ll fuck em)
So merry Christmas and a Happy New year
As the say in Russia “may the ho you pick up in a blind vodka binge this holiday, not turn out to be your sister”
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The CIA is out to get me!!
Hey just because I am paranoid, doesn’t mean there aren’t evil forces at work out to get me. Yes I am referring to women Carrying Inbuilt Attitude (CIA for short). Now that I am a free man and am venturing out on my own again, I am encountering the all sorts of society once more.
The scariest of these are the CIA women! Let us get one thing straight, I love women and nearly every aspect about them except the dreaded CIA.
In my limited studies I have come across various types namely:
1. The ones who are overly independent and make sure every knows it. “If my vibrator could mow the lawn, men would be redundant!” is their usual opening line to any audience. Well if your vibrator had legs, I know what the funniest sight running away would be! We all like to be our own boss, but do the world a favor and lighten up a bit could lead to more encounters not requiring triple a’s.
2. Treat me like a princess no matter what. Now I have in depth knowledge of this type and they are the scariest. Normally an only child who was spoilt rotten by the folks and now doesn’t realize that bad behavior shouldn’t be rewarded with gifts and compliments. Usually this type drinks shooters from the bottle and is so opinionated you start drinking from the bottle. Unfortunately she takes this as a sign you think she’s cool and steps up a gear. Great for one night stands, just make sure you lock her in her tower afterwards.
3. The make over specialist. If you didn’t like me, my friends, my family and my taste in just about everything why the fuck do you go out with me. These types of CIA’s are the most subversive and are single handedly responsible for metro-sexuals. Eons of thought has gone into the evolution of man and if he was supposed to be such a wet wipe, cave men would have painted in pastels! Pumpkin and peach are things to eat if there is no meat, not colors of my shirts
4. The Femenazis. They are very close to the independents the only difference is that they don’t mind women doing things for them. Help yourselves out of the closet and move to Lesbos. I open a door for a woman as a sign of respect, not because I think she is retarded and can’t operate complex mechanisms.
5. At the opposite end of the scale is the ‘Damsel in constant distress’, hey I like playing the hero but there are levels ‘my little woman capabilities aren’t up to scratch’ that just send up warning flares. With this attitude you might as well spend your time with severe Alzheimer sufferers. You are going to have to wipe someone’s arse in both scenarios.
There are many more, but where would be the fun in pointing them out and not having my fellow man experience them first hand. Now I am fully aware Ladies that there are many men CIA’s and quite possible more the women thanks to pratt mags like ‘Mens Health’ but I like to see myself as more of a KGB agent.
Kinky Godless Bastard.
The scariest of these are the CIA women! Let us get one thing straight, I love women and nearly every aspect about them except the dreaded CIA.
In my limited studies I have come across various types namely:
1. The ones who are overly independent and make sure every knows it. “If my vibrator could mow the lawn, men would be redundant!” is their usual opening line to any audience. Well if your vibrator had legs, I know what the funniest sight running away would be! We all like to be our own boss, but do the world a favor and lighten up a bit could lead to more encounters not requiring triple a’s.
2. Treat me like a princess no matter what. Now I have in depth knowledge of this type and they are the scariest. Normally an only child who was spoilt rotten by the folks and now doesn’t realize that bad behavior shouldn’t be rewarded with gifts and compliments. Usually this type drinks shooters from the bottle and is so opinionated you start drinking from the bottle. Unfortunately she takes this as a sign you think she’s cool and steps up a gear. Great for one night stands, just make sure you lock her in her tower afterwards.
3. The make over specialist. If you didn’t like me, my friends, my family and my taste in just about everything why the fuck do you go out with me. These types of CIA’s are the most subversive and are single handedly responsible for metro-sexuals. Eons of thought has gone into the evolution of man and if he was supposed to be such a wet wipe, cave men would have painted in pastels! Pumpkin and peach are things to eat if there is no meat, not colors of my shirts
4. The Femenazis. They are very close to the independents the only difference is that they don’t mind women doing things for them. Help yourselves out of the closet and move to Lesbos. I open a door for a woman as a sign of respect, not because I think she is retarded and can’t operate complex mechanisms.
5. At the opposite end of the scale is the ‘Damsel in constant distress’, hey I like playing the hero but there are levels ‘my little woman capabilities aren’t up to scratch’ that just send up warning flares. With this attitude you might as well spend your time with severe Alzheimer sufferers. You are going to have to wipe someone’s arse in both scenarios.
There are many more, but where would be the fun in pointing them out and not having my fellow man experience them first hand. Now I am fully aware Ladies that there are many men CIA’s and quite possible more the women thanks to pratt mags like ‘Mens Health’ but I like to see myself as more of a KGB agent.
Kinky Godless Bastard.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Don’t hate me because I am Beautiful!
Today I arrived at work happy in my little cocoon of denial that there was one week left until the year end holiday.
Only to have my bubble burst, it is actually two weeks!
The Horror, The Horror!
What in the name of Harold is going to get me through these next two weeks?
I will have to rely on the company of my online friends and of course the occasional offline contacts derived from that.
Now I am feeling slightly better, but still the life force is leaving my body with the acceleration of a weekend coming to a close. “Why????” I cry into the wilderness. Am I condemned to start nearly every Monday chained to chair for 9 hours with and hour and a half traveling through the upper levels of hell to get to and from said throne!
“Why???” It is the opening scene of a B grade horror movie, everyone looks gaunt and grey. The lights seems to make the room darker. Everyone moves with caution, don’t make any sudden movements otherwise you will be spotted and cornered. They will remove your soul using documentation and feast on your individualism in a workshop.
The Horror, The Horror!
Man was not meant to spend time inside, hunched at the alter of Bill Gates watching himself age rapidly in the refection of his state of the art monitor.
I am too pretty for this prison! My veins run rich with eons of genetic modifications crying for release. I am the son of Scottish Kings and Viking Raiders, my soul is shackled by this unnatural condition! I have been fed by the Land of my Birth, I have drank from Her ever warm Sun, My Bones have been strengthened by Her rich soil. But now I am confined to this artificial existence, forced to watch the Mother I love through tinted windows, only allowed contact on special occasions (weekends).
I am reminded of a scene from “Train Spotting”
“What is this Shyte?”
“It’s the great fooking outdoors man!”
“Well, it’s no natural!”
Find me a patch of earth to be at peace, You must not hate me because I am Beautiful.
Only to have my bubble burst, it is actually two weeks!
The Horror, The Horror!
What in the name of Harold is going to get me through these next two weeks?
I will have to rely on the company of my online friends and of course the occasional offline contacts derived from that.
Now I am feeling slightly better, but still the life force is leaving my body with the acceleration of a weekend coming to a close. “Why????” I cry into the wilderness. Am I condemned to start nearly every Monday chained to chair for 9 hours with and hour and a half traveling through the upper levels of hell to get to and from said throne!
“Why???” It is the opening scene of a B grade horror movie, everyone looks gaunt and grey. The lights seems to make the room darker. Everyone moves with caution, don’t make any sudden movements otherwise you will be spotted and cornered. They will remove your soul using documentation and feast on your individualism in a workshop.
The Horror, The Horror!
Man was not meant to spend time inside, hunched at the alter of Bill Gates watching himself age rapidly in the refection of his state of the art monitor.
I am too pretty for this prison! My veins run rich with eons of genetic modifications crying for release. I am the son of Scottish Kings and Viking Raiders, my soul is shackled by this unnatural condition! I have been fed by the Land of my Birth, I have drank from Her ever warm Sun, My Bones have been strengthened by Her rich soil. But now I am confined to this artificial existence, forced to watch the Mother I love through tinted windows, only allowed contact on special occasions (weekends).
I am reminded of a scene from “Train Spotting”
“What is this Shyte?”
“It’s the great fooking outdoors man!”
“Well, it’s no natural!”
Find me a patch of earth to be at peace, You must not hate me because I am Beautiful.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Three Colours
I have come to the sad conclusion that our country is inhabited by colour blind effwits, who swerve through our highways and byways with not an intelligent thought to sully their pure little minds.
Now I am fully aware that there are many people out there that have bought their drivers licences and are so clueless with regards to the rules of the road that the annual death toll should be 10 times higher.
BUT FOR EFFS SAKES!!!!!!
All these clowns need to know is three colours, please how hard is that? The world is full of three year olds who can master the difference of more than three colours.
RED MEANS STOP!!!!!
ORANGE MEANS SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!!!!
GREEN MEANS YOU CAN GO!!!!
See, not rocket science. Yet everyday without fail and at every robot there are colour blind synchronised dipshit driving displays.
Now I always said it was the sole fault of taxi drivers, yet it seems to have become a national epidemic!!
So please do your part in putting a stop to this new scourge sweeping our roads, and learn the three colours. Later everyone can move on to the advanced topics of yields and turning lanes. But baby steps at this stage.
Because quite frankly if I was the minister of transport I would position snipers at main intersections to shoot out the tyres of transgressors (call it an accelerated learning program)
Now I am fully aware that there are many people out there that have bought their drivers licences and are so clueless with regards to the rules of the road that the annual death toll should be 10 times higher.
BUT FOR EFFS SAKES!!!!!!
All these clowns need to know is three colours, please how hard is that? The world is full of three year olds who can master the difference of more than three colours.
RED MEANS STOP!!!!!
ORANGE MEANS SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!!!!
GREEN MEANS YOU CAN GO!!!!
See, not rocket science. Yet everyday without fail and at every robot there are colour blind synchronised dipshit driving displays.
Now I always said it was the sole fault of taxi drivers, yet it seems to have become a national epidemic!!
So please do your part in putting a stop to this new scourge sweeping our roads, and learn the three colours. Later everyone can move on to the advanced topics of yields and turning lanes. But baby steps at this stage.
Because quite frankly if I was the minister of transport I would position snipers at main intersections to shoot out the tyres of transgressors (call it an accelerated learning program)
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Birth date Tattoo
Well now that I have ventured back into the realms of dating I have come across this exceptionally scary phenomenon.
Commonly know as the 16 year old going on 23!!!
I will set the scene for you:
You decide to go out for some drinks with the lads at the local trendy hang out; you know the place (R26 for a beer trendy). Unfortunately this is where the belters hang out in packs looking to snag some Porsche driving prize. I display my Toyota keys and they part like the red sea, this is a great ploy to get to the bar.
As the night wears on you notice there is this picture of angelic perfection giving you the eye. My God is she wearing anything? Just the bare minimum, for a moment you thought it was a strip club. You approach and she starts to giggle (warning bell number 1) grown women don’t giggle at the drop of a hat unless they were kicked in the head by a horse as a child.
You exchange pleasantries, the usual banter: weather, this is a cool jol, what’s your cup size etc. She shows interest, Ha the advertisers of Axe deo weren’t lying!!
She seems ok, but there is this niggling doubt in the back of your mind. It is a no under 25’s place so shouldn’t the Nigerian at the door check ID’s (remember these are the same people of the 419 scam fame), so no!!
Short of there being a law passed that had birth date tattooed on everyone foreheads, here is the “Run Forrest” test to make sure that your prospective partner is not part of a tag a release program because of age.
Who is your favourite Barney character?
Mid terms where a bitch, especially maths!
Justin Timberlake is cool for an older guy?
Where are you going for matric holidays?
I like blue smarties, what’s your favourite?
Now if in the course of the conversation you drop in a couple of these questions and she answers the correctly for a 16 year old, RUN LIKE THE WIND!!!!
If you still have doubts and want to stick about just ask your self this question, Will I enjoy being Babba’s prison bitch?
Commonly know as the 16 year old going on 23!!!
I will set the scene for you:
You decide to go out for some drinks with the lads at the local trendy hang out; you know the place (R26 for a beer trendy). Unfortunately this is where the belters hang out in packs looking to snag some Porsche driving prize. I display my Toyota keys and they part like the red sea, this is a great ploy to get to the bar.
As the night wears on you notice there is this picture of angelic perfection giving you the eye. My God is she wearing anything? Just the bare minimum, for a moment you thought it was a strip club. You approach and she starts to giggle (warning bell number 1) grown women don’t giggle at the drop of a hat unless they were kicked in the head by a horse as a child.
You exchange pleasantries, the usual banter: weather, this is a cool jol, what’s your cup size etc. She shows interest, Ha the advertisers of Axe deo weren’t lying!!
She seems ok, but there is this niggling doubt in the back of your mind. It is a no under 25’s place so shouldn’t the Nigerian at the door check ID’s (remember these are the same people of the 419 scam fame), so no!!
Short of there being a law passed that had birth date tattooed on everyone foreheads, here is the “Run Forrest” test to make sure that your prospective partner is not part of a tag a release program because of age.
Who is your favourite Barney character?
Mid terms where a bitch, especially maths!
Justin Timberlake is cool for an older guy?
Where are you going for matric holidays?
I like blue smarties, what’s your favourite?
Now if in the course of the conversation you drop in a couple of these questions and she answers the correctly for a 16 year old, RUN LIKE THE WIND!!!!
If you still have doubts and want to stick about just ask your self this question, Will I enjoy being Babba’s prison bitch?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Dark side of the Moon
Ever Notice how a distance will some how grow between the hours of 24h00 to 5h00.
Let me elaborate I got a sms (well mms) at 11pm last night which was cunningly pictured in such a manner as to lead me to the promised land, if I undertook the short journey from Johannesburg through to Pretoria East (a mere 65kms). Well let me tell you at 12 at night 65kms is a walk in the park. Packed my passport and some droewors to bribe the clutchie border guards and before you could say “little head thinking for big” I was there. However some time between the hours of 24h00 and 05h00 some farker decided to play a trick on the universe and mess with the time space continuum and moved Pretoria East out by another 200kms.
What the Fuck!!!
I mean getting up at five in the morning is one thing, leaving for work at five thirty is another, but the fact that the road seemed to stretch out into the murky morning for what looked like an extra 200 kms was downright fucking absurd!!!
And while I am on this point: It seemed that there had also been a meeting of Pretoria East residents at one this morning and it was agreed that they to would leave home for Johannesburg at five thirty just to keep me company. Rush hours traffic starting at five, do me a favor somebody had pulled off the most diabolically orchestrated practical joke in the known universe.
I now fully believe the human race is doomed to end their existence on this rocky outcrop not by nuclear annihilation, but by one massive gridlock that is so encompassing that it will cause the planets’ rotation to actually come to a grinding halt and we fall out of the Milky Way.
Extinction by rush hour, who would have believed!!!!
Ps. Too the pratt who has been expanding distances in the wee hours of the morning, please stop it you are pissing the planet off!
Q: What is the best thing about dating a homeless Chick?
A: After your date, you can drop her off anywhere.
Let me elaborate I got a sms (well mms) at 11pm last night which was cunningly pictured in such a manner as to lead me to the promised land, if I undertook the short journey from Johannesburg through to Pretoria East (a mere 65kms). Well let me tell you at 12 at night 65kms is a walk in the park. Packed my passport and some droewors to bribe the clutchie border guards and before you could say “little head thinking for big” I was there. However some time between the hours of 24h00 and 05h00 some farker decided to play a trick on the universe and mess with the time space continuum and moved Pretoria East out by another 200kms.
What the Fuck!!!
I mean getting up at five in the morning is one thing, leaving for work at five thirty is another, but the fact that the road seemed to stretch out into the murky morning for what looked like an extra 200 kms was downright fucking absurd!!!
And while I am on this point: It seemed that there had also been a meeting of Pretoria East residents at one this morning and it was agreed that they to would leave home for Johannesburg at five thirty just to keep me company. Rush hours traffic starting at five, do me a favor somebody had pulled off the most diabolically orchestrated practical joke in the known universe.
I now fully believe the human race is doomed to end their existence on this rocky outcrop not by nuclear annihilation, but by one massive gridlock that is so encompassing that it will cause the planets’ rotation to actually come to a grinding halt and we fall out of the Milky Way.
Extinction by rush hour, who would have believed!!!!
Ps. Too the pratt who has been expanding distances in the wee hours of the morning, please stop it you are pissing the planet off!
Q: What is the best thing about dating a homeless Chick?
A: After your date, you can drop her off anywhere.
New Hunting Grounds
Online dating has always been viewed as the resting place of the unwanted masses.
So it was with a bit of trepidation that I decided to join one of these sites;
10 years of hard labour had ended and I was ready to spread the gospel of me.
But what losers apart myself would inhabit these dark recesses of cyberspace, lying in wait for unsuspecting individuals who ventured to close to their lairs.
Step one: Setup a profile with a few witty comments about yourself and a list of requirements your perfect other should posses.
No tick box for “can suck a golf ball through 20 meters of hosepipe” though.
Step two: Find a picture of yourself that doesn’t scare children and definitely doesn’t have you holding your ex.
Step three: sit back and wait.
Well it was a matter of days and my inbox was full, so much so that I had to go back and make sure I hadn’t posted a pic of Brad Pitt by mistake. Nope there was my average Joe mugg leering back at me “eish looks a bit creepy, I need new pics”.
Was it only bar slags and recovering welconol addicts responding to my invitation too enjoy the company of a run of the mill guy with one or two issues. Well yes mostly, but in amongst the unwashed masses that reeked of desperation and missed opportunities there was a surprisingly large amount of respectable, intelligent women. There was also a smattering of “men”, I use this term loosely and have made a mental note to never post a picture wearing a pink shirt again!!
Back to the beautiful women, there are tonnes of them out there in cyberspace. Yet when I venture out into the real world they disappear into thin air (Except after 2am at a bar, they seem to return).
It has been three months since I first registered on a dating site and I have become a convert. This has got mainly due to the fact I have got lucky on quite a number of occasions and this with the respectable portion of my fan base. Slaggs and addicts are discarded.
Who knows I might even meet my next ex wife online
So it was with a bit of trepidation that I decided to join one of these sites;
10 years of hard labour had ended and I was ready to spread the gospel of me.
But what losers apart myself would inhabit these dark recesses of cyberspace, lying in wait for unsuspecting individuals who ventured to close to their lairs.
Step one: Setup a profile with a few witty comments about yourself and a list of requirements your perfect other should posses.
No tick box for “can suck a golf ball through 20 meters of hosepipe” though.
Step two: Find a picture of yourself that doesn’t scare children and definitely doesn’t have you holding your ex.
Step three: sit back and wait.
Well it was a matter of days and my inbox was full, so much so that I had to go back and make sure I hadn’t posted a pic of Brad Pitt by mistake. Nope there was my average Joe mugg leering back at me “eish looks a bit creepy, I need new pics”.
Was it only bar slags and recovering welconol addicts responding to my invitation too enjoy the company of a run of the mill guy with one or two issues. Well yes mostly, but in amongst the unwashed masses that reeked of desperation and missed opportunities there was a surprisingly large amount of respectable, intelligent women. There was also a smattering of “men”, I use this term loosely and have made a mental note to never post a picture wearing a pink shirt again!!
Back to the beautiful women, there are tonnes of them out there in cyberspace. Yet when I venture out into the real world they disappear into thin air (Except after 2am at a bar, they seem to return).
It has been three months since I first registered on a dating site and I have become a convert. This has got mainly due to the fact I have got lucky on quite a number of occasions and this with the respectable portion of my fan base. Slaggs and addicts are discarded.
Who knows I might even meet my next ex wife online
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