Deadspin.com almost killed me

I have found a new favourite online haunt. It's the #ballsdeep feature on deadspin.com. It is absolutely fucking hilarious! Now the author of #ballsdeep (whose name I just cannot be bothered to look up right now) supply us with some of the funniest shit I've come across in a long time. First he had the "Public Humiliation Diet". He claimed to have undergone this transformation:

Not drastic, but noticable. The "how" however, had me in stitches. Click on the picture and go read it. Then, naturally, I had to read the other articles. Now the diet one doesn't even crack a smile on my face any more.


Here's a post that I found on the "Gay Mexican Edition", where the author plays agony aunt for readers' sexlives, or whatever the sarcastic i-could-hardly-give-a-fuck edition of an agony aunt is.

Women much like Susan Sarandon's Annie Savoy character in "Bull Durham" exist, insofar that they're cougars on the prowl for young baseball players, at least. During a summer league down south a few years back, my buddy was at a bar when he encountered one such woman. She was eying him from the bar and so, upon the encouragement of some of his teammates (who knew what he was in for but felt it wiser that he find out for himself), he played the game of drink buying and small talk until they withdrew back to her place.

Things were pretty standard to start off: they popped open another round of drinks, started making out and then some clothes came off. She told him to sit tight in the living room while she ran into the bedroom to get ready. At this point he was pretty excited to see what came next. After a couple minutes, she opened the door and beckoned him to come join her. Imagine his surprise, then, upon seeing a chair with a tarp spread out underneath on the floor.

Here's where the anal beads come into play. She has him sit down and tells him, while swinging around a string of anal beads, that she's going to very slowly insert the anal beads while she goes down on him. Naturally my buddy is a wee bit nervous at the idea, but he's had enough liquid courage to shrug his shoulders and give the go-ahead. So she starts doing her thing from both ends, making sure to mention just before she begins that he has to tell her when he's about to blow his load.And this is where the tarp comes in. She's blowing and slowly inserting and my buddy, for the most part, is thoroughly enjoying the experience. The beads aren't doing much but she's a consummate professional in the sloppy yawn department. A few minutes in and he's about to go Ol' Faithful. And right as he does, he tells her.

And right as he tells her, she yanks out the beads. And right as she yanks out the beads, he blows two loads: one from the front and one from the back. Hence the tarp.To this day he swears he's never had such a brain-exploding orgasm as that night. But that didn't change the fact that he had just shat all over this woman's bedroom floor, tarp-covered or not. She obviously didn't mind, but he was too embarrassed after that. I still give him shit for it (figuratively) because my argument is if that's how the first performance went, imagine what she'd have in store for an encore.

I mean seriously. Can anyone make this shit up? (pun intended) I would not be able to! But these stories will inspire scenes in my upcoming novels, just because they are so ridiculously funny I have to share.

So now you wonder, how did this poor man almost die (me, not the guy with the mind/ass blowing orgasm)? Well, imagine you are having your afternoon tea, lazily chewing on an eat-sum-more and you read the words: "And right as he tells her, she yanks out the beads. And right as she yanks out the beads, he blows two loads: one from the front and one from the back."

I'm still coughing up crumbs and trying to remove coffee stains from my pc.

Filing

So I finally got round to doing my filing this weekend. It was horrible. Do you have any idea how much filing accumulate in the space of three years? Neither did I.
So my filing looked something like this:

This image I stole from the vastness of the internet, but it gives you the idea of what my system looked like.

This weekend managed to convince me that filing is the eternal spawn of Evil, and that in the right environment, Filing function like bacteria. Keep it the right temperature and it multiplies like there is no tomorrow. Either that, or some malicious fairy multiplied the documents.

But I learnt a lot about myself while doing the filing. I could trace the last three years of my life, what I did, where I did it. I learnt that somehow, as a student, I survived on R2500 a month on what appears to be a steady diet of cigarettes and red wine (I cannot remember this, which probably means that it is true).

I learnt that I could get round for a good week on just one tank of petrol, now I'm lucky if I make it 3 days. I learnt that a packet of smokes was R20, and I could afford to smoke a box+ a day. Now I cannot afford it, and I wake up coughing if I try.

I found till slips indicating that I frequently bought pies and that I apparently enjoyed them. (Must be during the red wine phase, I cannot remember this either) I also realised that wine became expensive when I wasn't looking.

The there are the gaps in my filing. Somewhere along the way, I lost 6 months. No statements, slips, payslips or any other correspondence. If someone finds my lost months, send them back to me!

That would teach me to keep my filing up to date! But then again, WHY?!

My fingers are starting to annoy me...

So I seem to have some bad habits, habits that turn out to be hard to break. Sure there are the regular ones that people often gripe about: smoking, being overly fond of red wine, insisting that I do not need a filing system etc etc.

My newest bad habit pisses me off though. Somehow the middle finger on my left hand has become overzealous. No, it's not that, I generally flip people off with my right hand. And no, it's not that either! Get your minds out of the gutter for once.

No, I use my overzealous middle finger to type the letter "e" on the keyboard. Now what could be wrong wit that, you ask. Well, stupid finger insists on being quicker than the others and this results in words being spelled with the "e" (and sometimes other letters) in completely the wrong order, making me look like an illiterate buffoon in the process.

And that's not the worst of it. This nasty habit has been rubbing off on other fingers, and now they think it's fine to go goofing off whenever they want. Left ring finger, for instance, insists on double typing letters for the fun of it. So not only do you get random e's, you also have double a's, q's, s's and more floating around in a sentence. As a copywriter/aspiring writer this poses a bit of a problem (I just had to correct poses, for instance - imagine where that went!). I have to triple proof read my stuff before I can actually start proofreading my stuff. Soul deadening I tell you!

I was tempted to type this whole blogpost without fixing the mistakes just to make a point, but you see, I could not get it over my heart.

Now that all the world has been notified of this random piece of useless information about my life, feel free to continue with yours.

Dear Universe...

So I had the most eventful morning. I woke up, hung over with stomach cramps (which I'm 90% sure is unrelated to the alcohol consumption) and decided to spend the day in bed. Then at 4:29 my phone rings, it's a colleagues wife. He needs a lift because, I kid you not, a drunk guy drove into their gate and then passed out, blocking their exit.

So I drag myself out of bed and was ready to leave by 4:45. Then I get the sms that says "don't worry, got out, take a benelyn day". But I'm already on my way to the car. So I go to work.

Halfway through Pretoria, said colleague calls again. He had a flat on the highway. I think "WTF?" this was 5 to 5. Because I live aan the gatkant of everything, I got to work after him (at 5:30), and decided to do what every miserable sad irish-person-who-was-diddled-by-daddy does, and write about it.

Thank you universe for my inspiration. I could not make this shit up if I was hopped up on smack.

I could most probably make other shit up if I was hopped up on smack, but it would be more gruesome and less funny. Speaking of being hopped up on smack, have you seen the new Olympic mascots for the 2012 Olympic Games in London. I'm sure there were a lot of illegal substances involved in this, or a Japanese guy or 2. Take a look: (Image taken from the Telegraph website...)

Apparently they had 40 focus groups involved in this project. I'm pretty sure they found the people for these focus groups at local Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Seriously WTF?

Pissed off

It is time to talk about one of my biggest pet peeves of all time. Conversations in public toilets. Where in this great big universe does it state that you have to talk to me while I’m pissing? Seriously. There are public toilets all over the place for one reason, and one reason only: To urinate and defecate in peace.

If I want to have a conversation with you, I’ll phone you, or go to your office. I’ll invite you over for coffee. I’m not going to invite you for a piss. In a public toilet I do not care how you are doing? I don’t care “what’s up?” I definitely do not want to discuss the latest office gossip, or even work.

As if it is not uncomfortable enough that you have to watch me while I’m trying to piss, do not dare speak at me. Now, I am painfully aware that this process happens differently for the fairer sex. Apparently, you are able to gossip and piss at the same time. Well in my case, the age old adage is true: God gave men a brain and a penis and only enough blood to run one at a time.

I used to have a deep seated fear of public toilets. They absolutely freaked me out. Till about 5 years ago, I refused to use them. I still avoid the dodgy ones as much as possible. Funnily enough, I had absolutely no qualms about using them for other activities, especially during my high school years, when the toilets were the place where I got my hourly nicotine fix. But then again, in high school no one uses the toilets for their intended purpose.

So you might wonder where this random rant came from, and fear not, I will tell you. So I was in the loo at work when Colleague walked in. Now Colleague works on the other side of the building, a place that I rarely go to, except when I go steal sweets from a friends office (more on that later). Of the three urinals, the two on the left were open. So, because Murphy is duly aware of my intense hatred for discussions around the pisser, Colleague would choose the one next to me and proceed to ask me how my day was. Being the poster child for friendliness, I answered him curtly in an attempt to get him placated and have him shut up. But, alas! No such luck. He proceeded to start talking about work, and every so often looking at me, dangerously ruining his posture and with that, his aim.

So I finish up, and turn to the washing basins, and would mister go and turn around as well, completely forgetting what he was busy with. Luckily for me, I was out of the splash zone, but still. It was close! None of this would have happened if Mister Colleague just kept his trap shut and pissed like a normal person.

So this post was born out of almost being pissed on. Universe, take note: The next person to speak to me while I attempt to alleviate the pressure in my bladder, will be pissing through a tube the next time he has to. Be warned.

Why are we allowed to say what we want?

Right, now I'll start treading on toes. Freedom of speech is a ridiculous concept. The whole idea that anyone should be allowed to say whatever they want is absolutely ridiculous. Take that idiot stepfather of Cezanne "Barbie" Visser. He compared adv Barbie to Nelson Mandela. Someone should slap prof Johan Lemmer. 


Yup. you read it correctly. He compared a sex offender to one of the greatest men to ever walk the face of this planet. Now let's give a couple of truths. Mandela was a terrorist. He was arrested for it and spent 27 years in jail. But Mandela is also a freedom fighter. A man that furiously campaigns for equality, freedom and respect. He was labelled a terrorist because his views did not coincide with that of the ruling class. The system did not fail him. To be precise, the system worked perfectly in that time. Now you can argue that the system did fail him after he became president. Even though he tried his best there was just no way that the utopian SA that he visualised was going to happen in just a couple of years.


Adv Barbie on the other hand, diddled a few kiddies, got involved with a despicable specimen of the human race, she was caught and she stood trial, she was found guilty and now she's going to prison. The system did not fail her either. If you argue that she was in an abusive relationship and the system did not help her, well pooy for her. How was the system to know she had problems? Did she go out looking for help? Did she go the police?


So, Johan Lemmer, I don't know where you bought your title, but seriously. Give it back. This brings me back to the topic of freedom of speech. Should we be allowed to say whatever we want, as long as it does not incite hatred or violence towards others? Shouldn't we implement a "License to Speak"? Have it function like a drivers license, if you fuck up, you pay a fine. If you fuck up too often, your license gets revoked and you can suffer in silence. 


This will save us from idiots like professor Johan Lemmer and Julius Malema. We will also get rid of a couple of TV presenters who were inappropriately touched on their studios, as well as the people who touched them. So I say. Let us go out there into the wide world spreading the message of licensed speech. We'll be agents. Bloody agents of change and reason.


We should start a petition. Or march. Or picket outside parliament.

Absent without leave

Aaaand I'm back. Now I know I've taken a bit of a break from this blog thing for a while, but be not afraid, I spent my time well.

The last couple of months have been absolutely hectic.I helped launch that website, you know the one that kept me busy for so long, I started studying again, I finished the studies and then went on a soul searching mission for a month. Now I'm back, and ready to roll. With a very loose grip on who I am in one hand and a firm vision for my future in the other, I'm ready to get back to real life.

I'm hard at work on the manuscript for my first novel, Divine Children - a post apocalyptic fantasy novel, and I'm pretty sure it's going to rock. But then again, all parents think their children are just absolutely amazing and they are usually wrong.

Given the fact that I was out of it for a while, reading also took a bit of a backseat. I did discover a few new authors I think the world should be taking notice of (If you haven't already!)

First off, J. Robert King. READ HIS BOOKS! I started reading The Angel of Death and I was hooked immediately.The story follows the Angel of Death in Chicago who is on the trail of a serial killer. After he falls in love with the investigating cop, he has to make a choice between divinity and humanity - and suffer the consequences. The book is beautifully written drawing you as reader deeper into the story. WARNING: Do not start reading this if you have deadlines - the book is a deadline killer!

Another author everyone should take note of is Paige Nick, funnywoman extraordinaire and author of A Million Miles from Normal. Now I do not regularly venture into the chicklit genre, but I found this book to be funny and engaging. It won't be everyone's cup of tea (five roses or otherwise), but it is a fun read and well worth the Sunday afternoon I spent reading it.

Well, I'm off again. But in the immortal words of a younger and fitter Arnold Schwarzenegger: "I'll be back!"