It's life boy, but not as we know it...

Change is as good as a stampede of phlegm.

2010-09-03T13:54:00.006+02:00

http://davidw20.blogspot.com

It has been quite a few months since I blogged anything...probably because I kept reminder notes on my phone about what I was going to write about. Well that has all come crashing to an end...I had to DOWNGRADE my phone yesterday and I ended up losing all my notes. However irritating that might be, it has forced me to login and put my thoughts directly into a blog instead of just writing reminders...which after a couple of months don't make any sense anyway!

A lot has changed in my life this year. The best thing to happen was when I was within spitting distance of some of the greatest footballers in the world! The worst thing to happen was my lack of courage to actually spit at them! Capello, you are a donkey!

Wow, what a World Cup! It was such a great vibe in the streets and for once it seemed that the whole South African nation was as one, hoping and praying that Bafana Bafana didn't get their arses kicked to smithereens! And now, we are in the midst of the warned about post World Cup Hangover. We have every charlie and his uncle striking in the streets, hospitals letting dead people roam about the morgues and babies giving their mothers C-sections because they are tired of hanging around doing nothing. I agree that everyone should get paid more...how else am I going to justify my request for a huge salary increase in the new year??

I'm still not smoking. It has become easier and easier though I do think about it on a daily basis. The time I spend dwelling on it does however become less and less. It now gives me more time to think of the important things in life...like golf, the perfect crime and what I am going to have for breakfast the next day. I have put on 10kg. I now weigh twice as much as I did when I was 10 years old.

I'm still going to gym. I am still afraid of some of the women in the weight lifting section. I still haven't plucked up the courage to go down there. Even with these foibles I feel that I am finally getting the hang of this whole gym thing though. At least now when I walk (note: not crawl) out of there I am not coughing up my pancreas or kidney. The staff at the gym are also getting brave enough to say good morning to me...if they tried it in the past they would have been showered with a mixture of phlegm and blood and pieces of my intestinal tract.

I have changed jobs. I am no longer working for the gray suited accountants. I have stepped off the corporate ladder straight into the shark infested world of lawyers. It is rather refreshing working with 300 people who all think they are God. One day I will have to sit them done and explain that I, in fact, am the one and only. In the meantime I will enjoy their frivolous displays of plumage and shiny teeth. The work environment is strangely familiar, yet totally different. I do however think that lawyers are worse actors than accountants. When you piss off an accountant he checks his calculator, works out the cost of losing his mind, rants and raves to someone unrelated to the issue, skinners to 10 people and then kindly asks you to find a solution to his problems. If you piss off a lawyer he will puff out his chest, grit his gnashers and in a bellowing whisper inform you that you have pissed him off. You can then move him to the side and proceed to find a solution to his problems. It's all good.

I need a new phone. I have the iPhone 3G....don't laugh, I know it is an antique. If anyone out there knows of a way of getting an unlocked Apple iPhone 4G quickly, please let me know (no contract wanted or needed).

Oh, bad news... Mr Blain is ahead of me in our annual golf challenge. It will be a uncomfortable hour in hell before I gave up though.

The psychological pain of gym.

2010-03-15T21:57:00.003+02:00

On the 4th of January 2010 I broke a promise to all.

Should you delve into the archives of my earlier posts, http://davidw20.blogspot.com/, you may find where I wrote the words that should I ever start smoking again, I would NEVER quit again. Well, I have. Sorry.

Anyway, thanks to Nicorette Micro-Tabs, a bit of will power and the almighty desire never to have to purchase another packet of cigarettes again, I have lasted just over 2 months.

I have also started going to the local Virgin Active Gym....

This has been the equivalent of substituting one bad habit that can kill you for one that that will keep you alive just so it can inflict an even worse punishment than death. Every morning I sacrifice myself to the Gods of Pain just so that I could regain some of the reported 7 minutes of life I have lost for every cigarette I have ever placed to my lips.

I have replaced smoking with the smell of 37 years of unwashed sweat, the tastes of unwanted salts that have been excreted from my pores, the sounds of the groans of the dying, wounded leper within me as I have my limbs torn from my sockets, the sights of bulging muscles belonging to all but myself and the touch of cold metal as it invariably clangs to the ground in protest to my inept attempt to lift it from its resting place. I repeat this process on a daily basis with my thoughts being converted from "I can do this..." to " Kill me, and please do it now...".

I think the gym is probably one of the most hostile environments put on this earth and I don't believe that anyone has ever left one without being mentally scarred for life. Following is my experience over the last 6 weeks.

Day 1: I arrived with all the trepidation in the world. I was (am) a skinny 70Kg runt that couldn't run around the block without regurgitating my lungs and spleen half way through. Here I was walking into a world belonging to those of the species that could only be labeled "Out of my League". The women probably had bigger testicles than myself while the men probably had smaller ones due to the steroids they had had with their Coco-Pops earlier that morning. This sub-strata of humans could run till they reached earth's end, they could lift mountains, they could push planets and pull universes. All the while, their chiseled looks could chop out a a cheap Durban curio faster than a Zimbabwean can escape from a Home Affairs official.

I was met by a young lady who had the words "Personal Trainer" etched into every muscle on her body. She was going to get me started...

With the deftest of movements she separated the chaff from the wheat. I found myself in the cardiovascular section. I was surrounded by the heaving and wheezing of the fat, the scrawny, the invalid, the obscure, the first-timers. This was obviously where I belonged.

I ran for 5 minutes, I rowed for 5 minutes, I cycled for 5 minutes and I did push-ups and sit-ups for 5 minutes. I spent the equivalent time with my head between my knees dry heaving and wishing that my 20 years of smoking would suddenly reward me with a quick and painless death. Surely, this is not what I signed up for?

I was ready to pack it in and throw away a year’s subscription when suddenly I looked across to the "Adonis Section". This is where only those with the perfect physique gather. In this section, their bodies do not void huge globules of sweat. There is no huffing and puffing. There are no screams from the injured and mortally wounded. There are no pungent smells. These are the chosen ones. These are the inter-breeding brethren of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bo Derek. These are the "weight lifters".

They stand in their cordoned off area daring the weak to enter. They occasionally pick up littered weights and move them around their arena. The men stare at us and flex their chest muscles so as to ensure that we are in no doubt as to who rules this world. The women flex their chest muscles and send the vast majority of the male weaklings into cardio-arrest. They listen to a mix of music composed by Beethoven and Stock Aitken Waterman. We are subjected to the the piped vomit of bands such as Dying Fetus, Napalm Death and Boy George.

I have entered this arena twice. Once with my personal trainer...I left, after 3 minutes, with the contents of my stomach stuck firmly in the back of my throat. The second time was to use that machine that rips your calf muscles from your legs, slaps you in the face and then snaps your spine in 4 places... the standing calf machine. The machine in the losers section was out-of-order. Probably due to the burst thyroid that was found underneath it. I was determined to enter their territory to use their machine. It took all my courage to enter and all my will power not to look at anyone. I was on the machine long enough to snap my Achilles tendons, which happened faster than David Beckham can find a spare bed in a Finnish hospital. I crawled out, once again ensuring that I did not look at anyone. I returned to the mutts corner. I had conquered mans greatest fear.

That was two weeks ago. As yet, I haven't summoned up the courage to go back into their imperishable Ararat. They keep staring. One day, I'll go back there...maybe.

32 Down, 44 Million to go

2009-10-24T12:14:00.006+02:00

I was listening to Radio 702 a couple of days ago and in one of their news reports they stated that 32 innocent people have been shot and killed by the South African Police during the course of this year.

I suppose on the one hand this number seems pretty high but they neglected to state the number of "not-so-innocent" people shot and killed. Should you put these numbers next to each other I am sure we will all sit back and say that the collateral damage was not bad at all.

About a year ago I read "Freakonomics" (ISBN 0-06-089637-X). One of the parts I found fascinating was the that it would seem that the the abortion rates in the USA during the 1960's contributed to the decrease in crime in the States during the 1990's. The theory behind it is that those "down and out" people who would rather pimp their sisters and sell their mothers for science experiments had the opportunity to abort their babies for the first time. In so doing they reduced the amount of children that, in all reality, wouldn't have a chance of making something of themselves when they grew up. What it amounts to is they were killing criminals before they were born. Job well done!

This brings us back to good 'ol sunny South Africa. 32 Innocents dead.

If we take a couple of statistics (http://www.statssa.gov.za/) we can determine that 23.6% of these people were unemployed and basically say that of these 32 then approximately 7.5 of them would have been living on the bread line in South Africa...and ultimately been living on the edge of the national criminal faction.

Taking that the largest age-group in SA is 15-19 and that it is likely that they will have the international average of 2.4 children then we could probably deduce that the South African Police have inadvertently killed 18 potential criminals which would have roamed our neighbourhoods in 20 years time. Potentially they could have also been thick enough to reproduce and then we would have an extra 43.2 in 40 years time and so we would go on. (The maths here probably needs some work but I am sure it is a reasonable estimate).

So... here is an official congratulations to the South African Police to reducing future crime in our country! Well done!

Now, how about actively encouraging abortions within our lower income groups?

http://www.davidw20.blogspot.com/

This and that...

2009-10-09T14:59:00.002+02:00

Wow, it has been a long time since I have written any garbage in here...for those that care, I'm sorry. Been bogged down banging my head against the grindstone lately.

I went to my 20 year school reunion a couple of weeks ago. What an experience! All the hairy people are now bald, the bald people are now hairy, the fat ones thin and the thin ones fat. Highlight of the evening was being told that I look 3 inches taller than I used to. I still have blisters from those darn platform shoes I was wearing!

It was actually quite nice seeing some of the folk after all these years. To be honest it is not the sort of environment where you can really talk and catch up - it is more like speed dating with people you have already rejected. I suppose the attraction is to see whose @rse you are looking at on the ladder of life and who is the poor sucker that is looking at yours. Sort of gives you a warm fuzzy feeling when you look down and there are quite a few sad folk down there. On the flip side, when you look up you can see that life is not all it's cracked up to be - excuse the pun.

Anyway, I suppose over the next 10 years or so there will be some movement on the ladder and the view might change, for better or worse.

Other than that, my eldest turned 10 a couple of weeks ago. I can't believe he has survived that long! I would have thought that by now he would at least be in some orphanage or something similar. Obviously child services are really useless or maybe - and this is a big maybe - we aren't such bad parents. Happy birthday Matthew ... now get off your backside and go and steal me a beer or two from the local bottle store!

With that I will leave you.

This and that...

2009-06-15T08:51:00.005+02:00

Have you ever woken up, heard a couple of words being uttered from someone and instantly wanted to rip their heads from their shoulders? Have a few innocuous words instantly put you in such a foul mood that you could happily hock your golf clubs and hire an assassin with the proceeds?

It happened to me this morning and the culprit was my 6 year old son. He instantly hit the button this morning. You know the one, it is that little raw nerve that tingles with the thought of having tin foil on your fillings, it is the one that quivers with the anticipation of someone scratching their fingernails down a blackboard, it is the one that gets all juiced up when someone at work acts like a moron and you get the blame, it is the one that gets stimulated just before people go postal and genocide is foremost in their minds...I'm sure you get the point.

His first words this morning...."I wish I could play on your phone".

There was no "Good morning", no "Hello Daddy", no "Hey old fart, what's for breakfast?" .... just a whining "I wish I could play on your phone". He could have said a million other things like "Hey Dad, I just got someone pregnant" or "Oops, I just killed my brother with a knitting needle" or even a "Oh shit, I have just invented a new type of atomic bomb and we only have 1 minute to live". Nope....just a little wish to play on my phone at 7am in the frigging morning! f%$^!!

I know I am the cause of the problem but do I need to be punished every single day of my life?

Let's start at the beginning....

I have a PlayStation 2, a PlayStation 3 and an iPhone. (Gadget freak/idiot). Generally my 9 year old plays upstairs with the PS3 and the 6 year old downstairs on the PS2. This arrangement worked quite well for a week (about 18 months ago). My 6 year old would generally get lonely downstairs so he stopped playing downstairs and has migrated upstairs to either join his brother and play or would get hold of the iPhone and start playing games on that.

I now have 2 boys that are addicted to any device with a screen on it! The whining goes on every weekend....I wanna play this, can I play that, where's your phone, why is he playing longer than I did, I don't like that game, why do you keep beating me up blah blah blah.

They are truly addicted to playing games. I have had it up to my eyeballs in the whining, fighting etc and the last thing I need to hear first thing in the morning is "I wish I could play on your phone"!!

Any ideas out there on how to ween them off games or alternatively does anyone know where I can bury their bodies where the local water tables will not be polluted?

Air-shows and cold weather

2009-05-18T16:00:00.007+02:00

Eish...it has been a while since I wrote anything. Afraid I have been too busy doing NOTHING in particular. You know how it goes, you set aside time, make preparations and then suddenly NOTHING happens. Well NOTHING happened a couple of weeks ago and has continued since then. I think there was a moment a few days ago that SOMETHING was going to happen but before I could actually see it reaching maturity NOTHING happened again. So...this is a just an update on a bit of NOTHINGness.

We went to the Rand Airport Air-Show yesterday. With the promise of seeing some amazing aerobatics and hearing the sound of jet engines roaring overhead.... we were instead inundated with queues. First of all on the N3 at the Rand Airport off-ramp. It looked like a plane crash...bits of metal for miles and the odd body part extruding from the occasional window informing the person behind to "stop blowing your fooking hooter"! Thankfully, with the aid of GB's garmin we managed to find an alternate route and went around the "long" way....probably saved us at least an hour.

When we arrived we stood in a queue for close to an hour - I wish the garmin would find us an alternate entrance but no such luck. The sods ran out of tickets as they weren't expecting so many people. Helllloooooo, this is Jo'burg on a cold Sunday morning....where do you expect everyone to be???

Once in we saw the Boeing 737 doing its things. Amazing! How the bugger did the things he did with the thing I would not know. Afraid I did not get any pics though...

We then decided to get something to eat. This took the best part of anther hour ... I think some twit was busy milking the cow so they can produce the cheese for our hamburgers. All in all a rather disappointing experience. The least they could have done was provide a plane crash to a) heat everyone up and b) keep my boys entertained!

Anyway, if all else fails and we have a really cold winter I shall just bask in the warm glow of the knowledge that Manchester United have once again won the premiership.

Gyrocopter trip.....

2009-04-26T16:45:00.007+02:00

Yesterday I went with a friend on a trip in his gyrocopter. May I recommend this to anyone out there ...

Following are some arb pics of the areas we flew over. These include parts of Olivedale, Radiokop, Florida and Roodepoort Country Club (Ruimsig) . There is also a pic of my old high school, Florida Park High School.

Below is the video of us taking off. The balding head in front of me belongs to MC!

British helmet shock

2009-04-21T08:07:00.005+02:00

I was watching Sky News this morning and was shocked to hear the story of a British Soldier who escaped death when he was shot at close range and the bullet passed through his helmet and missed his head by 2 millimeters. (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/onthefrontline/5185889/British-soldier-escapes-death-when-Taliban-bullet-passes-through-helmet.html

This story has to pose a couple of questions, first of which is what the hell are these helmets made out of? Paper made from the pulp from the pretzel that almost choked that idoit Bush? In the good old days we would send our boys to war wearing a piss-pot and a bible in their tunics. (They probably prayed everyday that no-one would actually take a pee in their helmets). These days we spend billions on Kevlar and such like and then hear about bullets passing through BOTH sides of the helmet.

Second question: How bad is the training given to the Taliban? Apparently the soldier was shot at "from close range". Obviously the Taliban have some secret Kryptonite encasing on their bullets which can penetrate the latest materials used in the manufacturing of helmets so why not aim at the big body instead of the head? You are almost guaranteed to penetrate the outer body armour and there is a better than even chance of penetrating the skin. What happens after it hits the pie, gravy and beer soaked mushy peas is any one's guess.

I would encourage the Taliban to take the above advice to heart but it would seem they have identified the weakest part of the British armour and will continue aiming for the head. All they need to learn now is that the majority of the people fighting this war are already brain dead.

The Death of Johannesburg

2009-04-16T16:10:00.002+02:00

Following are a few pics of downtown Johannesburg that I received earlier today. Seems like our esteemed government is fulfilling everyone's hopes and dreams......

I'm sure that the bonnet above can be used to replace my currently very crumpled one..??

i-Invisible...new Apple product

2009-04-13T22:40:00.003+02:00

Weird thing happened to me yesterday... I disappeared! I understand that half of you would have hoped that I wouldn't re-appear but here I am ....

I was on my way to Builders Warehouse in my loaner vehicle, which hasn't a radio in it. I put on my earphones and started listening to some music on my iPhone. Usually when I arrive anywhere I take off the earphones as I don't particularly feel like looking like a chop with wires hanging from my head. This time however I left them in, cranked the volume to the max walked through the front door and .... disappeared!

It was quite a strange feeling. There I was listening to The Pretenders, looking like your average teenager and no-one seemed able to see me. Everyone had that standard "why the hell should I be doing any DIY stuff on a long weekend" look on their faces. Not one person looked at me. I think they all felt too embarressed for me. There I was on the verge of breaking out into a toneless rendition of Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" and no-one could share the moments of nirvana that I was experiencing. I almost started a game of "Guitar Hero" using a couple of welding rods and various paint cans.

May I recommend it to everyone out there. No need to worry what others think. Just choose some decent music (preferably with words you know - or else you will sound like a tosser when you accidentaly break out in song and you are mumbling more garbage than a stadium full of South African supporters during the national anthem). Play it loud and don't give a shit. Maybe we can have a few more happy shoppers in future.

Happy Easter all.

Rocklands, CCJ. A review of sorts.

2009-04-06T12:35:00.003+02:00

It has been a long time coming but I finally managed to get a game at the "new" Rocklands course at Country Club Johannesburg (may a disease worse than rabies befall anyone who may mistakenly call it Johannesburg Country Club!).

The "old" Woodlands course was always a pleasant "good walk spoilt" but they have now changed a couple of holes and reshaped a number of the greens. Along with this they have also changed the routing of the course, so gone are the days of accidentally walking in front of a tee box and finding a Titleist bearing down on you at 300 kph! Ultimately they have created a better golfing challenge, a longer walk to spoil and a far better experience.

Of course you need to pay for the privilege of having your day ruined. As an affiliated visitor this privilege cost me R320 (excluding competition fees as well as the obligatory meal voucher for my caddie, Clifford). Generally I don't complain about the high cost of green fees but to put it in perspective I have decided to do some simple maths. The end result is this: I shot 88. Total cost each time I hit the ball = R3.64. Obviously if I had not played so badly it would have cost me a whole lot more per shot. Interesting as it may be, my playing partner, Graham, who is a member at CCJ shot a 96 and it cost him in the region of R1.35 per shot. All I can say is I am glad I didn't have to pay these prices per shot at Club Championships...I would be rather more broke than what I am at the moment!

Talking about golf expenses, Graham bought himself a new set of Mizuno MP-52 irons. This is the equivalent of putting an AK-47 into the arms of a heroin addicted 13 year old Rwandan! You just know something is going to happen and chances are it ain't going to be pretty. I think that golf club manufacturers should insist on a licence of competency before allowing someone to purchase their goods...? Jokes aside, his first iron shot was terrific and set him up for a birdie. I am jealous (about the clubs...and the birdie!).

Current standing in the David vs Goliath struggle 4:3. The press has been made. Game on.

Christine....

2009-04-01T22:01:00.004+02:00

It is with great sadness that I attended the funeral of a colleague, and good friend, Christine. The church service was held at the NG Kerk in Brackenhurst. This poses two instant questions...

Q: Where is Brackenhurst?
A: When you reach the end of the world turn left and you are almost there.

Q: What was I doing in a NG Kerk?
A: Besides the obvious of paying my respects to Christine I wasn't doing much....except for listening to some tosser of a priest who politely took it upon himself to destroy all my ideas of what is good about this world.

This is my second post regarding funerals. The previous one that I attended was a funeral held in Greek. The one today was held in Afrikaans. It sounded Greek to me. I really couldn't understand half of the rhetoric that spewed forth from the priest. I did however understand a few juicy parts such as when all the ideals of mortal man were lambasted. In fact it was quite scary. This little priest stood up at his highly raised pulpit (possibly compensation for a small willy) and continued to tell us how wrong the world and most other things are. The little prat! If priests used funerals and these sort of sermons to create new religious zealots in the church's ranks then woe be the quality of humankind going forward.

Anyway, the physical church is hideous. It looks like a fire station with a tall tower that the firemen practise their ab sailing from. Frankly, I wouldn't give a jot if the place burnt down. To tell you the truth Christine would probably agree with me. I don't think she would have enjoyed her funeral (depending on the level of the sound proofing of her coffin I would have to say she did have the best seat in the house though). Having the service in the NG Kerk was just the wrong choice. Christine didn't like being known as a Afrikaner (or Dutchman - her words, not mine). I really think she would have preferred us having a picnic in a park somewhere. Sorry Christine, it didn't happen.

Oh well, I am going to miss the old fart. She was one of the few people at my work with a sense of humour I could relate to, she called a spade a spade and an idiot was a plain old "fooken doos" (excuse spelling). She was always willing to help others and wasn't ever shy to pull a zap sign or two behind the backs of those that thoroughly deserved it. She was a mother-hen and she was a friend. And she wasn't shy in feeling my bum while walking down the corridor...!

Christine, I will miss you.

R.I.P you silly wench.

Accidents and rather shoddy golf...

2009-03-31T07:30:00.006+02:00

Well, for my 2 loyal followers it has been a long wait for this post. I am currently suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. The last couple of weeks have been the heavenly equivalent of Lucifer winning the war between good and evil and having to watch him as he rapes every virgin and plunges a wooden stake into the heart of every good human being on this planet. (Oh well, at least the tree-huggers will not feel too bad as only a couple of trees would be needed to complete this task.)

Let's start with probably the most depressing event of the last millennium.... Manchester United 1 - Liverpool 4. The fact that the greatest team to ever be assembled was beaten by a bunch of tossers can be accepted. The fact that these particular tossers play for Liverpool can not be accepted. It has been over two weeks already and I am still in mourning. Damn it!

On the same weekend we had the Sharks lose their rugby match to some bunch of criminals (it was either a team from Aus or NZ and frankly whoever it was was not worth remembering). Wow, this was starting to look like a wonderful weekend. It got worse.

That same Saturday was the start of our club championship golf tournament at Parkview Golf Club. I had taken the previous two days off work to hone my skills and I was ready to kick some butt. I arrived fresh as a daisy and warmed up. This in itself should have started ringing disaster bells! I played.......crap! It was like watching a blind mute cross a busy highway. Without knowing whether to laugh or cry you just knew things were going to get worse. I ended up shooting 98. WTF?

Round 2: Sunday: There I was on the first tee, club in hand. My thoughts rotated either around the murder of a few million Liverpool supporters or the golfing suicide I had committed the previous day. Things had to get better. And then it hit me. It must have been big and had many wheels. It was painful. I managed to keep my 20 year record of not shooting 2 consecutive rounds in the 90's. I shot 101. Lord, please kill me.

Two glorious days that I was so looking forward to...gone in a cloud of pure misery!

That evening we went to some friends of ours. The daughter watched as I pulled into her driveway. Just at the right moment she closed the electric gate just ensuring that it hit my car. My bad mood could not have been made any worse until the little brat blamed me for "driving into her gate". Fffff!

Two days later my prayers were almost answered. God tried to kill me.

Driving to work, rush hour traffic, he made his move. I have been driving on the same stretch of road every morning for the last six years. I know there are cars all over the place. I have seen them every single morning. I have sat behind them, pulled in front of them, dodged them, sworn at them, smiled at a few and probably flipped the bird at a couple over the years. But NOT this particular morning... oh no! God made me forget about them all and I proceeded to drive straight up the exhaust pipe of a Honda F-Rv. Frigging piece of Japanese garbage totally wrote-off my piece of Japanese garbage! [Update: Car is not a write-off. I couldn't even get that right!]

Oh well, I am currently car less and waiting for my insurance broker to pull finger and do something. I am busy using my Liverpool supporting wife's car where need be and dreading spending 5 hours on the golf course with Graham on the weekend.

Life is Good.

Fu*k!

Smoking and golf.

2009-03-10T14:38:00.004+02:00

It has been 23 days now since I quit smoking. First off, let me tell you that the men with the thick glasses and white coats have got it all wrong....

They say that it takes 21 days to break a habit. I know I am being a little bit harsh in saying this but...what a load of bollocks! I still feel the need to smoke. At least 3 or 4 times a day I actually stand up from my desk and take the first step towards going outside to have a cigarette. I am constantly reminding myself that I no longer smoke. It is soooo irritating!

I can just imagine the warm smoke flooding into my mouth, being slowly sucked into my lungs, enveloping them in a dark protective shroud of nicotine and tar. I can feel my heart rate quicken as I imagine exhaling the scorched air from my chest, blowing the vaporised charcoal into the swirling wind. Disgusting habit - gotta love it!

I think the most taxiing time for me these last few weeks was on the golf course on Sunday. Graham and I were playing our bi-weekly, I am better than you, die you little scum-bag, hope you trip and impale yourself on an out-of-bounds marker, friendly game of golf. I was pathetic. I felt like John Daly's ex-wife ... abused. Graham played superb golf and ended up shooting his lowest score in God only knows how many years. This was like having my wounds shot at with a 12 gauge shotgun carrying a load of rock salt.

While this carnage was going on I just wanted to light up a smoke. I wanted to relax and to pretend I wasn't there. Failing that I think I would have derived a bit of satisfaction by putting a cigarette out in Graham's caddie's eye-ball! Can you believe the guy applauded Graham on his first iron shot to the green. Admittedly it was on the green but crikey it wasn't that good, was it?

Maybe next time we play I will carry a big fat Cuban cigar in my bag. If worse comes to worst I can get arrested for inflicting 3rd degree burns on some poor sod who thought that his tip for the day will be in proportion to the amount of times he applauded his boss for the day.

3 -3.

The coffee, halfway, was good.

Child abuse...a neccessity?

2009-03-06T09:26:00.003+02:00

I was chatting to the wife this morning when I suddenly realised .... I was chatting to the wife. I must really start to make some changes in my life. Can't let this situation get out of hand now, can I?

Our conversation centred on our little rug-rat. 11 months of pure joy with a sprinkling of total misery and a dash of evil twisted with an ounce of hatred. He is currently going through that stage in life where he is learning that getting up at 3am in the morning is the fun thing to do. He gets his kicks from seeing his parents barging their way into his room, stepping on those extremely sharp, made in China, death contraption toys. If the toys don't get you his piercing scream will turn your brain into lime jelly.

It is all a game. Child vs Parent. Following are a few concepts and rules:

Child Rules.
1. Turn your parents against each other.
Achieve the sensation of having your parents swear under their breaths at each other. Start screaming and you will have each parent start praying that the other one will attend to you. Each parent will lie there in bed, holding their breath, willing the other to get up to shut you up. They will be silently cursing each other, remembering every little indiscretion that the other has ever made. They will hate each other until one is compelled to either take a breath or alternatively wipe some lime jelly from his/her nostril. This one will be declared the loser and once they have gotten out of bed, they will, with all the dignity of roadkill, say "don't worry honey, I will get him". The other will suddenly be wracked with guilt and daintily reply "oh you are such a sweet-heart, thank you". Game on.

2. Deflect the loathing.
Just as your parent starts contemplating new uses for the gears and chains usually found on a bicycle, smile. This gets the parent to suddenly drop their guard and makes them instantly forget about the disgusting nappy that they have just changed and also about the fact that it is now 3:15am. Be happy for at least 3 minutes. This allows the adrenalin to ebb from the parents body. When their pulse has returned to normal, you as a baby have the right to go blooming ballistic once again. Once again, just before the parent is about to use your body as the thick end of a baseball bat and use your cat as a ball....smile. Repeat as necessary.

3. Avoid routine.
If your parents seem to be getting used to the way you are...change. It drives them fooking crazy. When they think they know when you are going to eat, sleep, cry etc do the unexpected. A baby's job is to ensure the complete and utter misery of its parents.

Parents rules.
1. No swearing.
Do not swear at your baby. You may think silently to yourself of the numerous ways in which you can decapitate the little shit but do not swear at him. He might learn your bad language and use it against you one day.

2. No hitting.
Do not hit your baby. It is against the law and may leave marks. Should you wish to inflict bodily harm I suggest the accidental dropping of a chainsaw or other working power tool onto the head of the baby. Drowning the brat may be an option. If you choose this route do not use the swimming pool. You do not want to feel any slight pangs of guilt the next time you are sun-tanning and enjoying a beer by the pool.

3. Act happy.
When that hottie with the big boobs from your office asks how the little one is doing...lie. Deep down you want someone else to feel your pain. Convince her that having a baby is the right thing to do. Offer to help her achieve this if need be. Spread the pain if you can. Remember to always act happy while doing so. Those in the know will appreciate the effort and if you do this correctly you are guaranteed to feel the warm pleasure of victory when your off-spring have left the house and there is a new generation of idiots trying to bring up their own babies.

So, Ryan, you little spawn of Satan. I know the rules and I know you know them. I will see you at 3am tomorrow morning and I will be prepared. May the man with the biggest stick win.

Smoking, Brits, Aussies and a bandsaw....

2009-03-03T10:11:00.002+02:00

Day 16 without a cigarette. Sense of smell is returning. Someone should really tell some of our staff to shower more often than once a month.

I was listening to the radio yesterday and some a-hole Brit phoned in complaining about the lack of health and safety regulations in the butchers department of his local P'nP. Apparently he was watching some bloke cutting meat using a band saw (one of those way-cool devices that go through bone like a hot nipple being pressed into a block of butter). Anyway, his gripe was that this man wasn't wearing gloves, eye protection, condom or any other safety equipment.

What a chop! No wonder the UK is a police state where you need to complete forms in triplicate before you are allowed to remove your mitten so that you can pick your nose. It is idiots like this that go on strike every time one of their mates decides that the tea being served is too cold, too hot or because it doesn't taste like the frigging Earl Grey that his mother used to make.

If the population of the UK took a step back and reviewed all their health and safety clap-trap they would realise why the have one of the most expensive work forces in the world and why their products are so blooming expensive.

Let's take the poor sod on the band saw. For argument sake lets assume he is earning R2166 per month (I believe the P'nP staff went on strike recently for better wages). That is a cost to the company of R25992 per year including all leave etc.

Now give him an extra week off so he can go on health and safety training.
Company Cost - R 500 in lost productivity (salary bill for replacement worker for the week).
+- R5000 for the trainer. Kit him out with the funky glasses, mesh gloves, steel toed anti-skid galoshes - R2000

That is a total extra (totally fictional) extra cost of R7500 or 28% of his salary. Which means for the company to recoup their cost they need to up their prices by 28%. Get my point?

Anyway, some Aussie prat phoned in later and agreed with the Brit and started saying how bad our health and safety is in this country. If you don't like it - piss off back to where you came from. Or....go see what it is like in China and similar places.

The moral of the story...no health and safety equals lower wages, lower prices, better economy and more people digging in your dustbin recycling dirty nappies.

Do NOT quit smoking!!

2009-02-24T11:45:00.005+02:00

Warning!! Warning!! Warning!!

Under no circumstances must anyone quit smoking!

It has been a total of 8 days 14 hours and 27 minutes since I took my last puff and this is how it has panned out:

Day 1:
04:45: Wake up and lie in bed for an extra 10 minutes thinking about the cigarette I could be smoking at that time.
06:25: Get in the car and take the rug-rat to his day-mother. Swear at the b*tch in the black BMW at the traffic lights. Why? Because I can!
08:00 - 17:00: Plot the downfall of the nation and decide where to hide the bodies of my work colleagues. Ultimately decide to rip their stinking heads off and place them on a pike by the front door.
18:00: Arrive home. Silently open the "nothing" box and crawl into it and stay there the rest of the evening. Wife asks "What did you do today?" Reply "Nothing". Wife "What do you want for dinner?" Reply "Nothing".

Day 2:
04:45: Smack the alarm clock and lie in bed wondering why I didn't turn the damn thing off 3 hours earlier when I first woke up. Consider suicide.
06:25: Who is that tosser driving in front of me? Wish I had taken the optional extra of 20mm machine guns on my car.
08:00 - 17:00: Consider whether it is actually worth urinating in the coffee pot or not. Paranoia starts setting in. Has someone else urinated in the coffee pot already? Wonder what my walls would be like with a new colour - blood red!
18:00: Arrive home. Go in search of the nothing box again. Wondering how many years you get for throwing a baby into the pool....tied to the mutilated body of its mother?

Day 3:
04:45: Hit that snooze button...and again. Think of all those wasted hours standing outside smoking when I could have been snuggling up to my beautiful wife. Gone are the nasty thoughts of the previous day. She said "good morning". She didn't have to, really. She could have gone about her business all nice and quite but Noooo she had to go and say something.
06:25: Drop off the rug-rat. Notice he has taken one almighty dump. Hand him over to the day-mother. Enjoy your day b*tch!
08:00 - 17:00: Wish I could rip the arm off my bosses torso and smack him through the face with the soggy end. Try and avoid everyone and everything. Feel the world closing in on me. Actually feel physically sick.
18:00: Arrive home. Hoping my wife had read my mind the previous day and has decided to poison me. C'mon kill me, I dare you.....please.

Day 4:
04:45: Hit the off button on the alarm. Covered in sweat, been arm-wrestling Death all night. Little sh*t would have won if I hadn't cheated. Lost some of my voice and most of my will to breath. Decide to work from home.
08:30: Start a whole bunch of conference calls. Hoping God will strike me down before I start swearing at some of the infidels on the other end of the line. Please let this day end...please.
18:00: Wife and sprog arrive home. Aahh, nice to have them there.

Day 5:
04:45: What the hell is wrong with me? I can't move. Feels like I have picked up every dread disease in the world. Staying at home today.
10:15: Crawl out of bed and make some coffee. Stare outside for a while. Hmmm, wouldn't mind a cigarette round about now. Go back to bed. Wait for the family to arrive home.

Day 6:
08:25: Saturday. Get up. Need to find something to help me keep my hands busy. Decide to fix the cupboard door that the boys ripped off.
18:00: Going to friends for a braai. Don't particularly enjoy the company of some people there. Decide to get drunk and act like a complete idiot....I blame the lack of smoking for my bad behaviour. I recall proposing to a 70 year old and telling a 15 year old that she should stop mxit'ing with a bunch of horny school boys that just want to jump her bones.

Day 7:
06:44: Meet GB for a game of golf. Bit subdued and scared at the same time. I have loved smoking while playing golf! Think it was something similar to taking Viagra and Prozac...besides the obvious of not giving a f*** when not getting a f***....I am sure that it must be a good combo. Thankfully GB quit smoking a couple of years ago so he was reasonably supportive and only kicked my @rse by 2 shots. Well done GB ... 3-2. Game on.

Day 8:
Slowly coming right. Picked up 3 Kg's in the last week. Just managed to avoid murder charges on a few occasions. Thankfully no-one has noticed the rotting heads in our reception. Probably more to do with the fact that our Office Manager has a more eclectic sense of style and fashion than that of either Elton John or Marylin Manson.

I repeat DO NOT QUIT SMOKING. It is not worth the pain and heart-ache. The visions of having your loved ones mangled cut and bruised are not worth it. Even the thought of helping my [EDITED: for want of keeping my employment] . Being rude to those less fortunate than yourself is not worth it...they really can't help being the lowest denominator.

To all my friends and family...I am sorry for the rudeness, the death wishes and the general bad behaviour. I now solemnly promise you that should I start smoking again I will NEVER quit again!

Coming off the weed...

2009-02-16T11:21:00.006+02:00

I have officially been smoking for the last 20 years and as soon as I beat the living crap out of some of the frigging idiots I work with I will inform you that I have, once again, decided to call it quits.

The decision to quit has not been taken lightly. In fact I can't think of a harder decision to make in my life - that is of course if you discount the decision as to whether to take a driver or a 3-wood off the 2nd tee at Parkview Golf Club. Oooh, how I would love to have a driver in my hands right now! In my minds eye I can clearly see the rounded shape of the bum that would be the target of a good shafting. Blooming accountant types!

Anyway, now that I have revealed to the world my desire to give up on those ghastly little white sticks of dea....... my o' my, I already miss them. That smooth warm feeling as the noxious smoke fills the lungs, the venomous taste in your mouth as you slowly blow out the smoke into the atmosphere. Oh I miss the little sense of satisfaction knowing that some little b*stard with a bad ticker will eventually keel over and breath his rotten last breath because of my secondary smoke.

Gone are the hours of pleasure of trying to blow that perfect smoke ring for my children....

"Please lord, please make sure my kids and wife are good looking. When the grey haze finally dissipates and I see them for the first time, please let them be all I hoped them to be".

The yellow stain on my fingers will be the next to leave me. The next time I am forced to flip someone the bird it isn't going to look like a Yellow Canary but will probably look like a de-oxygenated anorexic squid.

"Please lord, please make sure I do not see my wife and kids for the rest of the day. I have an urge to choke people to death with the buttons slowly being ripped from my phone".

The social conversations while taking a drag of the ciggy are all but at an end as of today. All I have to say to those 10 o' clock people now is "Hope you die before me!".

"Please lord, please make sure my teeth can handle the incessant chewing of bubble-gum, super c's, peppermints and the unnecessary spitting of all my spare saliva at passers-by".

Whoo hoo it is 14:15! I haven't had a cigarette since 21:15 last night. I have also dealt with egotistical maggots from work, psychopathic friends, insane family members and the odd idiot here and there....and yip, you guessed it... all of this done while wishing for a cigarette. I can sense it all now... rip off the cellophane from the box, cleave the silver wrapping from the butts, pull one out and place it gently between my lips. Slowly take out the lighter, flick it on. Touch the flame to the end of the cigarette, wait for it to glow bright red......and then take the f*cking thing and shove it into the eye-ball of the closest human being!!!

Caravaning.....Trailer Trash??

2009-02-04T11:50:00.005+02:00

I have just sent out a newsletter to all our staff giving them an update on what is happening regarding IT in the company. Lo and behold, I received a job offer from one of our staff members! And let me tell you this is no normal job offer. This is the job offer to end all job offers....

They want me to write ....wait for it.... the monthly newsletter for their caravan club! I instantly responded in the affirmative stating that I would gladly do it...for a price. The response I received was something to the effect that they would happily pay me but I would need to start caravaning and camping out. This threw me and instantly made me reconsider. My caravaning days ended in 1984...

I was in Std 5 (Grade something or other) and I was doing a bit of experimenting with the opposite sex. By experimenting I mean I would occasionally try and talk to a girl once in a while. Anyway, there was this beautiful young girl in my school who I had my eye on. For clarity sake her name was (is??) Angela Hodge. I do not remember the exact circumstances but she invited me to join her and the rest of her family on a caravaning weekend at some resort. Wow, I recall my first thought as being something along the lines of "So this it what it feels like to be invited back to a girls place for a night-cap!". It was an offer that I couldn't refuse.

I remember her folks and brother being there and the very awkward feeling of trying to hold her hand when no one else was watching...afraid I wasn't that lucky though. Anyway, we all slept in this huge caravan. I must have been about 4ft tall at that stage and I think I am still suffering from back spasms to this day. It was awful! How does anyone really expect to be comfortable in a shoe box? Are you really expected to wake up with a smile on your face when you know you have slept 1 inch away from the toilet, the kitchen and the brothers stinky feet? They should cut a hole in the one end of each caravan and put a sign over it with embossed letters stating the name of the animal that lives there... "Fido", "Fifi", "Brutus". No human being (except Britney Spears) should have to suffer through a single night of being stuffed into a caravan. It is inhumane. Destroy the blooming things.

I must however admit that another incident happened on that fateful weekend which has reinforced my dislike for caravans and such like. Angela and I were eating a bar of chocolate. This in itself should have no bearing on life in general but in this case it has had a profound effect on my thinking of caravaners and the trailer trash I perceive them to be....

I had recently (about two weeks prior to this camping junket) been diagnosed with hypoglycemia and chocolate was one of the substances that was a strict no-no. Eating sugar at the time had a profound way of making me fall asleep. When getting back from school each afternoon I would crawl into bed and ....sleep. As far as I was concerned it wasn't due to my daily intake of sugar. I was, and probably still am, convinced that I slept because I was either tired or completely bored with the world around me. Anyway, Angela's mother knew that I shouldn't be eating chocolate.

When her mom saw that I had polished off half a bar of the milky stuff she immediately called her GP to find out what to do. In hind-sight I suppose it was rather funny watching a grown woman go into a flat panic as the thought that she was about to kill a 12 year old with a bar of Cadburys. The GP told her to give me lots of water to wash the sugar through my system. So....she gave me LOTS of water.

My God, if she could find a fire-hose in the vicinity I am sure she would have rammed it down my throat. I am positive I must have swallowed about 12 litres of water that afternoon. Picture it - Cramped Caravan, Panicking Mother and 12 Year Old with Bladder the size of a Football. I think I pee'd for a week.

Advice for caravaners:

do not invite little boys to stay over
keep your daughters locked away
buy a house.

Angela, if you ever read this, please tell your mom that I survived. I am afraid I still eat chocolate occasionally - but I DON'T drink water!

Competition Commission Screw-ups....

2009-01-23T10:56:00.005+02:00

I was driving my not so competitively priced car to work this morning, consuming my not so competitively priced petrol when it struck me....the SA Competition Commission (or whatever they are called) have really screwed me over!

In the news over the last year or so we have seen articles etc regarding Tiger Brands, Sasol, Foodcorp and so forth and the huge amounts of money that these companies have been fined for price fixing. I have no idea how they determined the amount of these fines but I will presume that it would be close to the apparent extra profits derived from the price fixing act?

If this is the case then it would be safe to say that Tiger Brands earned approximately R99m in extra profits over the time that they were doing their dastardly deed. Fine, fair enough. My complaint is: where the blooming hell has that money gone? Into the state coffers I would suppose? But why there? Why not give the money back to the poor bloke on the street who had to fork out extra cash for his loaf of bread on a daily basis?

I would suppose an easy excuse would be "refunding the man in the street would be an impossible task so we will continue to screw him over...". Well I have an idea that just might work a bit better than that and it can be applied across the board for all these companies that are being caught red-handed.

1. Determine the actual cost price to produce a loaf of bread (or whatever product it may be).
2. Force the companies involved to sell that same product for less than cost.

To make sense of the above lets take the loaf of bread and a couple of fictional numbers.
Cost of manufacturing 1 x loaf of bread - R4-00
Total fine value (Tiger Brands) - R99m
New selling price of bread - R3-00
Fine paid back to man in street - R1-00 for every loaf

Therefore Tiger Brands could have sold the next 99 million loaves of bread at a reduced price and paid back their fine to the people that normally buy their product instead of some Obese Sloppy Joe in government.

Idiots...shoot them all!!

How to become a dictator...

2009-01-14T10:20:00.006+02:00

My new years resolution consists of one thing and one thing only...to become the worlds most successful dictator. I would like to follow in the footsteps of some of our more illustrious dictators of the last 100 years or so. My inspiration comes from the likes of Adolf Hitler, Mussolini, Idi Amin, Robert Mugabe and Bill Gates.

It is these great men that have changed the world for the better and they will be my driving force over this year to accomplish all that could be good in this world. Below is a list of criteria which I deem to be necessary to be a great dictator. This list is by no means exhaustive.

Money:

Any dictator needs lots and lots of money. There are various ways and means of getting your hands on this money, some of which are listed below.

Assume ownership over a few banks
Assume ownership over a few mines
Kill any bastard that doesn't hand over whatever cash they have
Print more money
Sell crappy software until your are a billionaire
Sell crappy art to idiots until you are a billionaire

Once you have all this hard earned cash you need to hide it from your right-hand man. The last thing you want is for him to defect and take all your cash with him. The most common way to do this is to open up a Swiss bank account. I am not sure how effective these are in this day and age but you are welcome to give it a go. I think I will stick to my little old account at Standard Bank. This account is so secure even I can't get anything out of it!

Religion:
Due to some creepy human need to believe in a power greater than mankind we need a religion that everyone can get down on their knees to. May I recommend a new religion that is sure to keep everyone happy...The Church of Bob. This organisation is currently being created by Graham (of the "I can't hit a golf ball" fame). It is truly revolutionary and is guaranteed to enrich the lives of those at the top. The religious fervour created will be the driving force behind the dictatorship. Suicide bombers will look like wimps compared to these guys!

Genocide:
Every great dictator needs to destroy an element of the population. I feel this should be done on a level that will not infringe any ones basic human rights. I therefore propose that the following people are beheaded in public and their remains are thrown into the Limpopo River (this in an effort to get rid of the cholera that seems to be making its rounds there):

The unemployed - including but not limited to hawkers
The infirm and disabled - wheelchairs can rather be used as spare parts for military vehicles
The ugly - who needs them anyway?
All "Mr Delivery" delivery people
All other owners of Apple IPhones - I can't believe I went to so much trouble to get the thing just for the status and now all of a sudden every sod in town has one.
All people that drive cars that seem to have been moulded around a loaf of bread (Fiat Palio, Hyundai Getz etc etc)
George W Bush - His grandmother should have used a Jiffy Bag!

Economy:
A change in the economy is a requirement and frankly, a duty of any incoming dictator. One of our choices is going the Capitalistic route. Now lets think about this......hmmm....Wall Street...hmmm....Lehman Brothers...hmmm...Northern Rock....hmmm....Morgan Stanley....HMMMM! The capitalist way of things just doesn't seem to have worked.

It is probably at this time that we tilt our hats at Stalin and co and humbly acknowledge that the communists were probably right.

So, communists we shall be! All equal but some more equal than others.

Fear Factor:
No great dictatorship is run without an element of fear. In this regard we will threaten all 4x4 owners with a bucket of mud being thrown on their pristine cars; all teen ages will be threatened with having their cell phones and Ipods taken away; all old timers will be threatened with having to babysit someone else's grandchildren and finally to create fear in all the overweight people we will remove McDonald's from the face of the planet. This will strike the fear of Bob the God into the majority of the population.

I think that the above is a good ground work to start off with. Over time we can look at invading our neighbours and making a few land grabs. No need for Mr Mugabe to worry .... he has already f*cked up Zimbabwe good and proper. All wannabe dictators bow down to our hero!

Victory to the mighty Thor....

2009-01-07T17:18:00.006+02:00

The year has passed and this is a blog written with one purpose in mind....to gloat!

Like a cannonball rolling through a quagmire of molasses I have emerged victorious in my endeavor to beat my good friend Graham in our year long epic struggle on the golf course!

For the record, the final tally was: 18-10.

As a man of honour, Graham paid his dues. As per the following extract of my bank statement, one can see that this payment was done with joy in his heart and the profound feeling of admiration for the winner:

It was a tough competition and as you may tell from a couple of previous posts there were times that I thought I was throwing it away but in the end it was just a simple case of class vs frigging hard work and many a long hour spent on the driving range! Class won the day!

A special thanks must go to all our friends and families for having to endure the pain of having their loved ones going to battle every 2 weeks and an even bigger appreciation will be shown for them enduring conversations that centered around nothing but golf (and a bit of fantasy football - which I am also currently leading!).

May the following year be filled with lots of birdies, bogeys, rings, smile wipers and the occasional albatross.

Graham, your arse is grass and I AM the lawnmower man!

Another year another dollar....(R9.34)

2009-01-06T08:16:00.002+02:00

To all of my two followers may I wish you a happy new year....!

This is my second day of work this year and frankly, as far as I am concerned, it might as well be my last. Who was the sod that invented the "work" concept? I am sure that I would have have been quite content if I had lived 200 000 years ago! Hmmmm, the good old days.........

Sunrise:
Wake up.
Shag the neighbours wife.
Clobber your wife over the head with a club.
Exit cave.
Have a slash against the nearest boulder.
Keep a dreary eye out for dinosaurs, spiders and Parktown Prawns.
Play some poker with your neighbour. Bet your wife.

Lunch Time:
Play with bow and arrow.
Eat what ever you hit.
Play some backgammon with your neighbour. Bet your kids.
Shag that furry creature that keeps coming into your cave for a dump.
Afternoon nap.

Dinner Time:
Wait for the sky to fall from the heavens and watch the buggers on lower ground drown.
Re-invent the wheel.
Watch the village idiot scribbling pictures on the rocks.
Send the kids out to play "Stalk the T-Rex".
Shag the wife.
Clobber your wife over the head with a club before the talking starts.
Turn off the village idiot.

Aaah, life could not be better....!

Oh well, only another 50 weeks to go before the next holidays. Whooo Hoooo!

Queenie sucks spittle...

2008-12-18T14:27:00.005+02:00

I have recently had the misfortune over the last few weeks of having to visit the dentist a couple of times. I think I would rather have taken my teeth to a car mechanic...at least then I would have expected continual problems afterwards! Anyway, these visits have left me with a couple of niggling questions about Dentistry Etiquette and a the surroundings...

1. While lying on that chair, where are you supposed to be looking?

Picture the scene: you are lying down between a dentist and his assistant and they are staring down your throat. The dentist is a middle aged bloke that could have starred in "Revenge of the Nerds" and the assistant probably could have had a bit role in a porn movie (20 years ago).

You are lying there with a mouth full of injections, fingers, mirrors, drill bits, cotton swabs and that suction thing being held by the porn queen.

I repeat my question...what are you supposed to be looking at?
Nostrils, boobs, bald spot or little Daffy Duck on the ceiling?
That darn light. You know the one. That swivelling 6 billion candle power thingy that they test by shining directly into your eyes before they aim it down your trachea. That is what you stare at! When you walk out of the dentist you will be too blind to care about the pain careering through your mouth.

2. The light. Where do all those scratches come from?

Have you managed to stare at a dentists light for long enough to notice all the scratches on the light. Try it! It is like staring into the sun. Eventually you get a bright blob in the middle and the surroundings become crystal clear. (This is highly recommended by the average optometrist).

Scratches on the light?? WTF? How did those get there? It looks like it was used as a prop in Braveheart. There are gashes in the glass which Dracula would be proud of. Little blood spots embedded into the glass...how the **** did those get there? Who is this dentist? Dr Kevorkian? I don't want to die just yet!

3. Does the porn queen with the suction thingy get paid for this?

What is with those suction pipes? I think they are sooooo cool. I can imagine sitting there and toying with someones epiglottis. Anyone out there that has had their tonsils ripped out by a suction pipe? Way cool.

4. The anesthetic. Where can I buy some?

"You will only feel a small prick". Yeah right, you blooming paedophile!
Wow, now that stuff works. When you start licking your lips and it feels like you have had Angelina Jolie's transplanted onto your face. Fantastic! The only problem is when you go to work an hour later and you try and have a conversation with someone and it suddenly feels like you have also had Brad Pitt's @ss cheeks transplanted as well.

5. That pink stuff to swirl and spit...what is the point?

After enduring the wrath of my nerdy dentist I get the opportunity of being handed, by the porn queen, a cup of this pink stuff to wash out any spare parts and debris that the dentist has left behind. I stand up, strutting my stuff, take the paper cup from Queenie, say "Fank yu", and proceed to dribble the shit down the front of my favorite satin shirt (there is a Pink Floyd song in there somewhere)! What is the point???

I have had the bottom left and top right "fixed". Can you believe I am sitting here with a tooth-ache from hell on the bottom right now?

I have a sneaking suspicion that Queenie liked what she saw and is hoping I will come back so she can once again suck all the saliva and day old popcorn out of my mouth!

(I got the bill...Queenie does get paid for playing with suction pipes. And very well too!)

Pavlov's Dogs chewing the cud....

2008-12-13T07:55:00.009+02:00

We have just returned from a holiday at a farm in the Kwazulu Natal Drakensburg. I have to admit I wasn't sure what to expect but I now know why the majority of farmers are on the heavy side of "not so slim". The 5 days that were spent in this wonderland of farm animals, forest walks and nappy changes actually revolved around food.

At 06:30 every morning there was a shy knock on our door and an angel sent from above (the kitchen was on higher ground that what our "hut" was on) arrived with morning coffee. I really enjoy my first cuppa in the the mornings but .....06:30???!! Are you out of your cooking mind?? I'm on holiday, not a concentration camp....LET ME SLEEP!

At 07:30 it was time to go milk the cows. One can really get used to the taste of really fresh milk in the mornings but at this time of the day the only udders I want to pull probably belong to someone resembling Pamela Anderson.

Once this chore is complete I would of thought we would collect eggs and go slaughter some crispy bacon but no such luck. Apparently egg collecting is not a great science and the amount of eggs available are not proportional to the amount of visitors on the farm. Maybe a bit of training for the chickens is in order...I'm sure if they are hen-pecked for long enough they will fall in line....

As for the bacon...there were a few real hogs on vacation at the time we were there! Afraid the edible ones were out of bounds though. In the end all our bacon seemed to come from a packet...oh well!

At 08:00 all hell breaks loose. A bell is heard coming from the main farmhouse. We are led to the dining hall. The boys are there in a flash while I suddenly feel like a prisoner being summoned by my nemisis .... The BELL! Each time I hear that bell I either feel like a schoolboy that is approaching another 6 hours of boring hell, with the occassional glimpse of a teachers cleavage, or alternatively I feel like someone by the name of Goldshmidt running around a camp in war torn Germany trying to avoid those showers that no-one seems to return from. It is breakfast time! Oh well, off we go to have a lazy nibble at Foghorn's embryos and Porky's rump.

At 13:00 that damn bell sounds again! WTF? We have just finished breakfast! We haven't had time to do anything because we have been too scared to be out of ear-shot of that summoning clanging! Off we go again. This time we are actually eating Foghorn and his mates. Hmmm finger licking good!

At 18:30 there it goes again. I let out a big burp to get rid of the remanants of the fantastic lunch we have had and make my way back to the dining hall. This time we are having a bit of Daisy. It's amazing how good a grass eating bovine actually tastes!

So, if anyone is interested in experiencing a bit of farm life, picking up 10Kgs and breathing in the freshest air this side of an aerosol can, I will leave the details at the bottom of this post. By the way they have a nice bar (though they are unliscensed, so bring your own), a great forest (fantastic place to bury a body or three), tennis courts, horse rides (not sure what they taste like), a swimming pool and generally a lot of nothing....ideal way to spend the time while on vacation waiting for that darn bell to start ringing!

Russell & Carol Hill

P.O.Box 19

Bulwer

3244

TEL No. 039 8320053 / 91

FAX No. as above

CELL PHONE. 0829239649

email carolhill@futurenet.co.za

Ps. I really recommend their Bread and Butter pudding!

My big fat Greek funeral...

2008-12-04T14:31:00.005+02:00

On the odd occasion I play golf with a very nice Greek chap. He is dead now.

(Let that be a warning to anyone out there that tries to take my cash on the golf course!)

I went to his funeral this morning at the "local" Greek Orthodox Church. I was not quite sure what I was expecting but it sure was interesting .... if for no reason other than having a dead man in a box 20 feet away from me. Other than the stiff commanding most of the attention the Church and its trappings piqued my curiosity in the most fasinating ways. Not being very religious and mixing this attribute to the fact that, in life and death, I am rather cynical, I began to wonder if Greek Orthodox priests (if that is what they are called) actually know what they are doing?

Every word was sung or hummed. It was like being in a Kate Bush / Sarah Brightman / Eninem "Pop Idols" knockout competition. There was humming, groaning (that may have been the guy next to me who had spotted the young woman wearing a skimpy top), sighing, droning and buzzing. I was left dumb struck as to how I didn't fall asleep. I suppose it might have made more sense to me if all of this noise wasn't in Greek. My God, have you ever heard anyone hum in Greek? It sounds like Freddy Kruger's finger-nails being dragged across a blackboard. It is horrible! I would rather perform root canal treatment on myself while only using a chainsaw and a shotgun.

I spent my time blocking out the noise by looking at all the paintings around the place. Why does every Greek picture have a "halo" around everyone's head? I see Jesus has some strange Greek symbols in his "halo". All the pictures gave the impression that these biblical characters depicted have big glass bubbles around their heads. They all look like frigging spacemen!

Maybe the Greeks have got it right...??! I can imagine 2000 odd years ago these spacemen came down from the skies and pronounced "Take me to your leader!". This obviously didn't have much of an affect on the Greeks as they were too busy running the marathon or alternatively scratching each others balls in their skin tight wrestling outfits. With no obvious leader to be taken to, these spacemen probably got back into their spaceships and decided to get the hell away form this mad world.

They did seem to make one fatal flaw in their getaway! The blooming technician left a copy of his "The Bentrunoleum's Universal Guide to Fixing the Ituneyoushit Exhaust Valves". This little piece of literature has now become known as "The Bible". It may actually become of better use when the aliens decide to land again!

Anyway, back to the funeral. Is anyone else out there (besides Woody) aroused by the site of a crying widow draped over the smooth varnished surface of a coffin? Wonder how much her insurance pay out is going to be? Hmmmmm....? Νταρντάνα ! Tha sou pio to ema !

Social experiments and big boobs....

2008-12-01T17:20:00.004+02:00

First of all let me apologise for a couple of things:

1. For not adding to my blog for a long time and depriving my one loyal follower of his favourite column.
2. For having "big boobs" in the title. If you have arrived at this site while trying to complete a search for those terms then you can leave an expletive or two in the comments and then continue on your way. (If you manage to find any decent sites please be kind enough to return and give me the url.)

I have been conducting a social experiment or two over the last few weeks which has taken up all my spare time (that is my excuse for not adding to this blog and I am sticking to it!). The first one revolves around the addage that "clothes maketh the man". Until recently I used to wear chinos and golf shirts to my current work place. This was comfortable and afforded me an extra few minutes whenever I decided that the calling of the nearest golf course was too much to handle. This situation has lasted for the last 5 or so years with no problem....so why change?

Every now and again I would arrive at work in a suit and tie (usually on my way to a wedding, funeral or corporate function). People, being who they are, seemed to assume that it was always a job interview that I was dressing up for. This posed some interesting questions...would you want someone working for you that seemed to go for about 10 interviews a year and would you want someone working for you that failed to get another job after 10 attempts a year? I wouldn't, so I decided to pretend that I am going for 260 odd interviews per year...!

All of a sudden the upper echelons of the business seem to take me more seriously. I am now able to hold a conversation with the hob-knobs for at least 20 seconds before either party realises that the other is punching above their weight. I can also converse better with the "plebs". I get the feeling that they feel more important talking to a "suit". They also listen to me now! I came within a whisker of getting a fireman's pole installed into the building because some fatty keeps breaking our lift!

Once everyone is used to me in a suit I will change back to the golf shirt ... that will blow their minds.

Talking about golf....
Since the last time I mentioned it GB (fellow golf addict) and I have played about 3 rounds. He is 2-1 up and really starting to pee me off! I have even taken the drastic step of frequenting the driving range on occasion. Everytime I leave the driving range I feel like a guy who has just left a brothel....all worn out with a bit of dust on his shoes. (As you may tell I don't frequent many brothels!). Anyway the current score is 13-9 to me. Game on buddy....bring it on!

Idiot, where is you are at?

2008-11-03T14:22:00.005+02:00

While spending 1 and half hours driving myself to work this morning (I love traffic...NOT) I was listening to a news bulletin on which they had a South African reporter asking Americans who they thought would win the US elections. Both people briefly interviewed stated that they would like Obama to win. When asked what they would do if Obama, for whatever reason, didn't become President the couple of replies given consisted of "I'll move to Canada" and "I'll move to where you are at".

This begs a couple of questions. Firstly, does the average American know anything about Canada? From the stereotypical view I have of the "average" American, I am really surprised that they would even consider crossing a border...especially such a large one. I would have thought that crossing a nice short border such as the Mexican one would be deemed to be the American way. (For any Americans reading this, I am joking about the size of the borders). Anyway let's face it, who would rather go and freeze their gonads off with a bunch of French speaking American wannabees as opposed to sunshine and Tequila and bunch of Spanish speaking American wannabees?

My next question...what does "I'll move to where you are at" actually mean? It would imply that this young female respondent feels that the journalist is in a place that is better than an America with McCain running the show. Right? If that is the case then make a mental picture of the following: a journalist standing on an Ohio street corner, microphone in hand asking an "average" American woman her feelings on the upcoming Presidential elections. Now, slowly change the American's position to be exactly where the journalist was standing. With the image still in mind can you see the surroundings have suddenly changed? Life on that Ohio street corner has suddenly become a lot better....McCain is President but the young woman is no longer "where she was at" but is now "where the journalist are at".

Maybe she just meant that she would rather be in sunny South Africa instead of in the USA should McCain win. Bad news for you young lady...we already have our full quota of idiots. Should you want to contact any of them please go to http://www.thepresidency.gov.za/.

Anyway, I wish both Obama and McCain luck over the next couple of days. I personally hope that Obama gets the job... at least that way the USA will keep more of it's idiots within its borders. There will also be an added bonus to him winning...I wouldn't have to think of Sarah Palin wearing mukluks and eating the blubber from Beluga Whales all the while playing with her Bulbous Bouffant (http://www.thevestibules.com/).

Bus.....

SA Politics

2008-10-31T13:44:00.004+02:00

I was contemplating the plight of the modern voter in South Africa and was trying to put the current government and official opposition into some sort of order and or perspective. The best I could come up with was comparing the South African political scene to a game of chess.

On the one side we have the ruling party. For clarity sake we shall make them the black pieces. On the other side we have the official opposition - the white pieces. With me so far? Things suddenly get a bit murky from here on in. I will carry on in bullet form so things don't get too complicated:

The ruling party

The King of the party is actually a Pawn (Kgalema Motlanthe).
The Queen of the party is Baleka Mbete - Who???
One of the Bishops of the party occasionally skips over to the opposition (Desmond Tutu - He is not part of the party but I see him as one of the main characters.).
One of the Knights of the party thinks he is King and eggs on his fellow Pawns to kill the opposition (Julius Malema).
The ruling party's Castles are the SACP (South African Communist Party) and COSATU (Congress of South African Trade Unions).
The Pawns are generally the man in the street trying to earn a livable wage.

The opposition

The King of the opposition is actually a woman (Helen Zille - Democratic Alliance).
The Queen of the opposition is actually a man (Evita Bezuidenhout aka Pieter-Dirk Uys - Evita's Peoples Party).
The Bishop is taken from the rank and files of the ruling party and is used for sound bytes when needed.
The opposition now has two dark Knights. One is a Terror(ist) and the other is a Sam (Terror Lekota and Sam Shilowa).
The Castles of the opposition will probably always be the actual Castle in Cape Town and the other will be a sand-castle built in The Last Outpost.
The Pawns will be the majority of South Africa's tax-payers.

This leaves one question.... Where is Jacob Zuma? My guess is that the future King is actually nothing but a Court Jester ..... at the moment.

Golf & Politics

2008-10-29T08:54:00.007+02:00

I currently have a "little" side bet on the golf course with a good friend of mine. The deal is that at the end of the year one of us is going to walk off a bit poorer and the other is going to saunter off with a grin the size of Barack Obama's election campaign war-chest. Come the end of December there will be one winner and one who tried his best, who gave it his full go, who put up a good fight....LOSER!.

We have been campaigning since the 1st of January and each game has been similar to the currently televised US presidential debates. On each occasion we would arrive with a glint in our eyes and, more often than not, a new unknown glitch in our swing. We have both known that these glitches would be exposed over the course of the round but we try to keep it hidden for as long as possible. It is generally up to our audience, 18 beautiful holes of golf, to cajole and tease us into exposing our weaknesses. The loser on the day would usually have to endure a period of time having these slight faults, in either character or swing dynamics, repeated back to him or alternatively played over and over to an even larger less discerning audience of friends and family - and anyone else within earshot.

I started the year off very well and maneuvered my way into a six point lead. I was ready to rule the world. I had it all under control....briefly. My intelligence operatives soon deduced that my opponent was dabbling in WMD's (Weapons of Mass Destruction) produced by TaylorMade. After a bit of thought regarding this new development I decided that having these weapons is one thing, being able to effectively use them is another. I was to be proven wrong.

I have further learned that my opponent has joined some right-(s)wing religious movements and is getting practice in the effective use of these weapons. (I am led to believe that some Odyssey scientologists may also be involved.) My opponent has given up his Saturday mornings and is frequently spotted smashing some poor christian balls all over the place. He seems to have given up family time and a fair amount of his income to this movement. This seems to be an all time low for a great man with a bad swing.

I do however have an even larger problem (and you thought that Barack has problems because he is not sure where he was born), I don't know how to putt! I just can't finish! I can't stick that knife in his back deep enough! I just keep pulling the darn thing to the left! This affliction combined with the practice that my opponent is getting seems to have temporarily derailed my efforts at becoming the leader of the free world. I am currently experiencing a new low, I am losing points faster than McCain and my shares with my own family are dropping quicker than those on the world stock exchanges.

I will win the fight! I will not let either some over-weight fat slob (who makes great oven-bake chips and sweet juicy veggies) or some smooth talking bloke who doesn't know where he was born beat me. Neither will I let my golf opponent beat me...I will fight on the greens, I will fight on the fairways (if he ever finds one), I will even do a Hitler and take two in a bunker if need be.

I will not be defeated (and if I am I will start a cold war and buy up all the worlds ammo and I will ban the playing of golf everywhere.)

Clutter! Which came first, the desk or the mind?

2008-10-27T15:10:00.006+02:00

I have just tried to have a brief look at my desk and realised that it isn't where I left it! In it's place are mounds and mounds of paper; couple of files; three (yes, 3) of those fancy folder thingies which have a desk pad, space for business cards and pens etc (for the life of me I can't think what they are called); keys; 2 diaries; bunch of pens; a letter opener - which might come in handy the next time some idiot come careening through my door; empty coffee mug and a WHOLE lot of other garbage.

Apparently, a disorganised desk is a sign of a disorganised mind. If this is the case, if I were to tidy my desk would my mind suddenly be tidy and organised? Or does it only work the other way around? Afraid I have a bit of the "chicken and egg syndrome" going on here.

Frankly, I wouldn't know how to go about organising my mind but I am willing to tidy my desk each day for the next week to see if it has any effect on my thought processes. This does however lend itself to another question...Who wants a "tidy" mind?

Picture the scene: You have put everything into it's right folder and stored it away for safe keeping. Suddenly, you get that dreaded phone call from someone requesting the 1768 fiscal budget deficit figures for Peru.

TIDY MIND - You go to the South American folder, flip through to Peru and then find the year and then the right document. This process should take the average tidy mind about 13 seconds and will result in you blurting out either something extremely incomprehensible or alternatively you will start to tell sweet lies to the person on the other end of the line.

NOT SO TIDY MIND - You shove your hand into the ether of of your brain and grab onto the first semblance of a thought. It is almost guaranteed that within about 3 seconds flat you will be able to respond with a loud and enthusiastic "You want what?". This will usualy be followed by a few murmured swear words and a loud crash as the phone gets thrown across the room.

So...a clean desk it will be - for a week. I will be interested if my thoughts on this blog tend to get a bit neater!

Worst thing to happen to children.....Adults!

2008-10-24T08:18:00.006+02:00

I was listening to Talk 702 (local radio station) last night and they were discussing "Personal and family disaster prevention". (My first thought was that if everyone abstained from sex then most family disasters wouldn't occur...)

They were discussing things like having your children run around with name and address tags, computer chipping your child as well as things like never letting your 10 year old walk home alone from school.

I have 3 boys (which I would fear rates at about a 8.3 on most disaster scales - I am however of the opinion that having a single girl would rate at about 9.7!). My boys range in age from goo-goo-dirty-nappy to slight blush should I mention the fantastic curves of a beautiful woman. They have all been reasonably protected throughout their short lives and thankfully nothing has ever happened to them to cause any real physical harm. The psychological harm caused by having parents like myself are still to be determined! Anyway, while listening to this talk show it got me thinking about my life when I was their age...one word comes to mind "FREEDOM"! I recall walking to school (in the snow, uphill, both ways blah blah blah), walking home and then dissapearing into the neighbourhood with friends for the rest of the day.

Children do not do that that these days. Children get dropped off at school, either get picked up afterwards or stay in after-care for the rest of the day. Children get left with day-mothers, maids, teachers, parents etc and then they spend their evenings with their parents then they wake up and then they are back at school and so it goes on.

Has anyone really noticed how our youth have changed over the years? Personally I feel that we are breeding an ignorant bunch of people that have a sense of entitlement second to none. As I happen to work with about 200 20-24 year olds I get to see it everyday. These youngsters need to be spoon fed everything as they seem to have a disability in exploring their own avenues. They could probably tell me about every make of coffee in the world but they can't tell me what it smells like. (For the record I am not in the coffee business though it has been known for me to go sneaking through rough neighbourhoods searching for a decent brew.)

Youngsters spend their childhoods around adults the whole time. They grow up believing that they are the same as adults and have all the expectations from life that an adult has. There seems to be no "innocence of youth" anymore. Everyone is running around trying to get-ahead and parents are becoming more and more paranoid as life goes on. Is there a reason for this paranoai?

I think that advances in communication are the main cause of parental paranoai. 25 years ago there were kidnappings, rape, abuse, theft and general thuggery happening. The crimes haven't changed but the reporting of them has. Populations have grown and therefore we have more rapists, paedophiles, thugs etc around but surely the percentage chance of one of our children being affected by one of these things has not significantly increased? So why should we worry any more than what our parents did? Is it because we just didn't hear of all the atrocities of the past? The press tells us to be paranoid and as we live our lives trying to keep up with the Jones' we try and ensure that we are a tiny bit more paranoid than what our neighbour is. (This also happens to give us the occasional opportunity to say "I told you so!" - something that us humanoids love to do.)

In our quest to become good parents we are slowly systematically destroying the lives of those that we love the most.

Everything starts somewhere...

2008-10-23T14:55:00.009+02:00

This is my second attempt at getting a blog going. You could therefore assume that the start of this blog actually started elsewhere at a different time. You would however, be wrong.

I was contemplating the actual chances of this blog being read and commented on by someone (without informing anyone that it actually existed) and decided to use Google to try and find the stats on how long it would take for a brand new blog to be read by some unsuspecting fellow inhabitant of this wired (weird) world.

Search criteria "chances of having your blog read".
Number 1 Google search result "How to Increase Your Chances of Having Twins".

What the...?
Do I need to have twins before this blog is read?
Is there more chance of me having twins than having this blog read?
Would a twin be the first to read this blog?
Do I need to be a twin for this blog to be read?
Should I try and duplicate this blog? (Twin sites may have twice the chance of being read??)

I was so taken aback by the first search result I decided not to search any further...the last thing I want to find out is that only twins, with orange hair, buck teeth, sloping foreheads and barbed wire for make-up actually either read or write blogs!

So...if you happen to be that poor sod that happens to be the one (thou shall be called Neo from this day forward) please be kind enough to leave a comment so I can ascertain how long it took between creation and acknowledgement. I'm not sure acknowledgement is the right word ... for a second there I was feeling a bit like God...!

..."On the first day, he blogged!"
..."On the sixth day his creatures acknowledged him and said "Brilliant blog!""
..."On the seventh day, he played golf!"

Anyway, Neo, my friend. I give you 6 six days to show me that you actually exist. If you fail to to do so I will be forced to sue blogger.com for wasting my employers precious resources by having me write this during work hours. Oh, please be so kind to state if you are a twin or not. Thanks!

I will ensure all those that read this that future addidtions will not contain any cheap shots at trying to get this blog read. The future will be full of wonderful flowery prose comprised of neatly tied thoughts that will resound throughout your body and which will leave you writhing on the floor in such wonder as to my pure genius. Failing that, it will be just another blog written by just another guy who thinks he can make other people think about what every other person is already thinking. Oh hum... so be it. Onward Julius...and get that knife out your back!