Spring Has Sprung

So it's basically summer time again. Winter has passed and the sun in all her glory and wisdom, has decided to rear her beautiful warm face over us once more. Jeepers I love global warming. This time of the year seems like the perfect time to reflect on the season passed, and look forward to the heat wave ahead.

So here we go. Winter was bang average and wet. Good, that takes care of reflection. Now for the uncontrollable excitement of summer time.

I'm struggling to type right now, and my heart is literally thumping through my chest. I love summer. There is nothing better than sitting on Cliffies 1 - also know as 'Cougar Island' - on a steamy hot day, feeling the crunching sand between your toes. I mean, walk along the beach, or stretch to make that vital save in a game of 'bat and ball'. Just live it I say. Once you've built up a solid sweat, hit the waves. Feel the cold water pound against your head. There is nothing more refreshing. After cooling down rock a few killer body surfs. I'm not the surfing type, so body surfing is as far as I go.

Hiking up Lion's Head is another favourite pass time of mine. It only works in summer though. Hiking in the winter cold is ridiculous. Why would I want to get layered up like an onion, and then go sweat on a mountain in crispy cold air? I need to wear a wife beater and shorts when I work out, that's the only way. The water at the top tastes just that much sweeter in summer too.

Cricket also gets played during summer. Thinking about sitting on the grass banks at Newlands, draught in hand, and cooking under the sweltering sun, makes me very happy. Watch the game, or don’t, I doesn’t really matter, just enjoy the electric vibe. Being a stone’s throw away from Claremont is another tick in this box. I think everybody should enjoy a day at Newlands, it is impossible to be disappointed afterwards.

So there we have it. Probably the three greatest things to do in summer. Hit the beach, climb a mountain and watch a cricket game. By accomplishing those three feats you will have inadvertently have enjoyed a summer of peace and love. And at the end of the day, nothing else matters.

Welcome To Crazy Town

Here's to the crazy people out there. Without the nutjobs, kooks and other uncerimoniously named 'crazy people', the world would be dreary. I have always agreed with the theory that it is better to have an awkward morning than a night of loneliness. I need excitement in my life, and I find it extremely difficult to interact with a dull 'dialtone' of a human. People who refuse to broaden their horizons and stick to daily reutines have a special place on earth, just not alongside me.

That said, I'm not a crazy person by any stretch of the imagination. And by that I mean you aren't going to find me ashing cigars in friends eyes, or watching five minutes of a Lions Currie Cup match. It does interest me though, as to how far some willing and able kooks will go to stand out. It entertains me to read the news and discover someone has been jailed for faking a seisure after devouring an expensive meal to escape the bill. Just how many attention seeking individuals are there are amogst us?

Take Paris Hilton. She, for all accounts is an attractive woman. So it would'nt be unusual to see her parading through the streets of Hollywood with the worlds most influential men. Again, it's not strange to see snap shots of Paris tanning her nibbly bits on a yacht, is it? What if the owner of said yacht resembles the retard child of an Asian and an overweight pig? Oh yes, it's a steamy visual. He does, however, have more moolah than Botswana's GDP. Surely that should justify her new tanning salon? I think not. It is helluva funny though.

Speaking of attention junkies, just when you thought Donald Trump had run out of things to lend his name to, something new rose to the surface. Trump Tea. Yes, Trump has launched an exciting new chapter in his illustrius career, in the form of four leaf tea blends - que thumbs down. My word, Trump Tea, I mean, is he joking? Aside from the catchy name, everything else about it screams boredom. Coffee would've been awesome. Or some kind of protein shake. But this is getting off topic because everyone knows Donald Trump isn't crazy, he's just a balding American, sporting a ginger hairpiece. Priceless.

Now for the main course.

A fair maiden from a small part of London Town has to unfortunately be crowned queen bonkers. Her tale is not a pretty or herioc one, but she did out-do herself to grab the headlines.
A regular British family was returning home, after enjoying a peaceful weekend away. Unbeknown to them, their domestic worker had relished her time alone in the house. Lets just say she had a fun time. Fun has never killed anyone, has it? Turns out fun turned a corner and landed squarely on our fair maidens shouders. Upon entering the master bedroom, this small town family witnessed something only fit for a series called CSI-Emmanuel. Picture this; domestic worker lying spread eagle on your master bed, skirt down to her ankles, laptop open on porn, dildo in hand, and the cat on her chest. Take a second for it to sink in. Wow.

What a way to go. Creative, raunchy and pleasurable. That scene was fit for a mental asylum, but it was indeed a thouroughly enjoyable story. That is why the world needs crazy, dillusional people. Without them, we would have nothing to laugh at on Monday mornings.

Blown out the water.

'Blow' made me finally realise that drugs really are bad for you. I mean really bad. I’m not saying that the human race should never have invented narcotics, or that no one should strive to be a rock superstar, but the fact that the irrepressible lure of temptation is too much for us. We think that we can deal with anything that's throw in our direction, but, in truth we can't. Ozzy Osborne take a slow, steady bow.

'Blow' is based on the life of George Jung (Johnny Depp), who goes from rags to riches, and back to rags, in one lifetime. The film depicts the dramatic way in which George begins a topsy turvy relationship with the infamous drug lord Pablo Escobar. George’s fortunes exceed even his own expectations as he becomes the premier cocaine dealer on earth. Impressive. The only problem is, George cannot resist the temptation of the 'white powder', and instead of only dealing cocaine, he starts using, himself.

As humans, our drive and ambition is so evident in our everyday lives. Nobody - I don't care what they say - likes to lose. Everybody wants to be successful. Even tree-hugging hippies want to be good at not doing anything. The problem arises when our ambition exceeds our ability. This is evident in 'Blow', as George’s ambition is far greater than his ability to convert his vision into reality. In the end, George ultimately loses everything - including his mind. I guess the ideal plan for life would be to find your limitations, and do your best to stretch them.

Blow did get me thinking how easy it is to make a living for yourself, using narcotics. I'm not condoning the sale of narcotics, but the idea behind it. People want to be different. Nobody is the same. People have problems, issues and conditions that they need to escape from. Enter narcotics. Cocaine makes you feel like superman. Why wouldn't you want that feeling all the time? Addiction is quick and easy, and once you've hit the tip of the iceberg, there's a lot more waiting for you underneath.

So the idea of dealing does become appealing, in some weird way. The only problem is that feeling doesn't last, and is completely fabricated. Therefore business is likely to go pear-shaped sometime in the future. I guess that's the thrill of it.

As far as the dealing goes, I think I’ll save it for another lifetime.

HOST A FIFA WORLD CUP - Check.

The world has come and gone like the wind. It ripped through our country with ease, as if it were the South Easter, tearing through Cape Town on a regular occurrence. Make no mistake, the world left its mark on our nation. It came, it saw, it concurred. Simple as that. The world left us with an experience that no South African, who was lucky enough to be involved, will ever forget.

Thank you world, I salute you.


During the recent Fifa World Cup many questions were answered regarding our nations capability to host an event of such enormity. Many of our answers were positive, and only a miniscule, negative. Yes, we were ready, and we hosted an incredible showpiece. Maybe even the best yet. The world could only sit back and marvel at our achievement. Our stadiums were immaculate, some even the best the world has to offer. They lit up our cities day and night for a month, not once failing to impress. The Moses Mabhida Stadium in Durban, and Cape Town’s brand-spanking new Green Point Stadium were the most popular, but who could forget 94 000 screaming voices from inside Soccer City. All foreigners were welcomed with open arms, and made to feel at home in whichever city they found themselves in. Countless stories were shared over many liters of beer. Friendships were created that will last a lifetime.

The only disappointment was Bafana Bafana fading to an early exit in the first round. But even then, they did not disgrace us and as a country we did not disgrace ourselves. Beating France, a country that is ranked a million miles ahead of Bafana Bafana was a success alone. Scoring the first goal of the tournament was another. The only image I can muster up from that moment was one of pure elation. Beer rained down like water, everybody was embraced in joy and emotion. What a feeling.
I managed to watch all of Bafana Bafana’s fixtures at the Hyundai Fan Park, located just outside the V&A Waterfront. Celebrating with over 1000 other South Africans was something to behold, and made my heart pound with pride.

No Fifa World Cup concludes without any controversy, and South Africa 2010 was no different. The constant criticism of the buzzing vuvuzela, as well as the Jabulani Ball had the media’s tongues wagging throughout the competition. And what would a major global event be without an appearance from the self proclaimed ‘Hotel Heiress’ herself, Paris Hilton? And she did not disappoint, grabbing the headlines away from the football for a very comical morning, as she and her chum thought it would be a good idea to toke up a joint outside the Nelson Mandela Stadium. Apparently even celebrities can’t escape the long arm of the law.

The quality of football was, at some stages breathtaking, with the top teams such as Spain, Holland and Germany showcasing how the beautiful game should be played at the finest level. Spain deserved to lift the trophy as they played the most complete football throughout the tournament, leaving Germany and Holland close behind in their wake.

To be part of South Africa during the 2010 World Cup was a privilege that people who were involved shouldn’t take for granted. It was special, in so many ways. Now, we as South Africans lie in wait for the next opportunity to confirm our status as world beaters. The world cup hangover will pass, and then it’s time to build for our encore. One thing is for sure, we believe in ourselves, and the rest of the world knows it.

Official World Cup Song

Hells Yeah!

SUPER TIGER

He might be better than superman to be frank. I don’t think superman could play golf half as well as Tiger, or sleep with as many women. Mega Tiger, then?



It has recently come to my undivided attention that Mr. Woods has slept with over 120 women (during a five year period). Whether you love or loathe the man, that’s some impressive affair. You’d think the average cheating Joe Soap would be happy with sleeping with one or two women, walk away and be happy with their conquest. Even the serial sex addict would probably delve into the teens and call it a day. But no, not Tiger. He’s super. He does everything with the intention of achieving the best of his supernatural ability. No half mast. So kudos to you dear Tiger, you’ve played out of your socks once again. Literally.

The most impressive part about little Tiger’s charade, is the fact that he was able to conceal his shady behavior for five years. During this period we have got to know Tiger as the gentleman of the game. The peoples champion. A true legend of golf. He was always friendly to the media, and the only ‘pics’ the celebrity-starved paparazzi were able to snap of him, were the wrinkled expressions induced by happiness, after winning tournament after tournament at will, or the agonising look of disappointment when he lost. No one doubted him. He was a family man through and through, had two kids, and lived his life out of the public eye. So what sparked Tiger’s healthy appetite for unavailable women? Beats me. I mean, let’s be real here, he married a Swedish supermodel. That probably would’ve been good enough for superman to settle down, and keep his hands well and truly out the cookie jar. But then again so would being the World’s number one golfer for a million years in a row.

Tiger would still have been plugging away behind his unsuspecting gorgeous wife’s back, had he not gone and crashed his car in a frantic dash to escape his ballistic significant others rage. Idiot. To this day that is definitely Tigers biggest regret. That god dam tree, why’d it have to be there? If Tiger hadn’t crashed, he could’ve settled things with the wife - probably whilst inducing many body and head shots with his prized driver golf club - got divorced, moved on and had a normal life. Right? Think again, he’s Super Tiger remember. Nothing is normal in the wild and wacky world of Tiger Woods.

Amidst all his debauchery I still find myself reveling in his conquests. I feel slightly like a male chauvinistic pig, as I’m not a big fan of Tiger in general; it just astounds me as to how a man of his stature was able to parade around bonking everything in sight. Does he only see walking vaginas? Possibly? He has admitted to being a sex addict. Which are lies of course, he’s a supersex addict. Imagine the dangers of a supersex addict like Tiger roaming the streets? It’s no wonder he’s lapped up everything from his next door neighbour – which was the one girl that cost him his marriage - to the ladies plying their trade in the porn industry.

Apparently Tiger wasn’t certain of the kind of reception he would receive on his return to professional golf last month. He competed in the Masters and apparently didn’t know what to expect from the eagerly anticipating audience. What he didn’t realise though, was how he had immortalized himself over the past five years. By snooping and sneaking, pretty much banging everything in his path and retaining the title of the World’s No.1 Golfer, he became super. Everyone loves superman, right? Well guess what, Tiger's better than him, you do the math.
With that in hindsight, it should’ve come as no surprise when he received a warm, fuzzy-feeling-in-your-stomach kind of applause during the entire Masters.

So, after a stint in sex addiction jail (wonder how that worked out?), a lengthy yet monotonous apology to the world, a looming divorce, and a return to the golfing world, where does this leave Tiger Woods?

Here’s a thought. Mothers lock up your daughters, daughters lock up your mothers. Super Tiger is on the prowl. He’s single, and not losing Wood (s) any time soon.

Adult Lego?

Hell yes, this is exactly the kind of ad I’ve been scouring the depths of the world for. It’s so awesome; it should probably be traded for oil by some wealthy Middle Eastern Sheik, or some such drastic action. It’s every teenager’s naughty little secret. ‘Let’s buy some Adult Lego this weekend and recreate that Emmanuel episode we saw last night.’ I mean, going over to a mate’s house would never be the same again. One small problem though, it’s not real.

That’s right friends; it’s a fake, a hoax, a sham, a meaningless charade. To express my disappointment would be like Usain Bolt having a serious car crash, and instead of coming out the alive with cuts on his feet, emerging a short, slow white guy. Lego have basically ripped my recreated teenage years away from me and buried them deep, deep under ground – bastards.

Okay, let’s pretend Lego did not mind–fuck us into believing that we could create our very own naked lady mantle piece, and that Adult Lego really existed for every mans (and women’s) pleasure and enjoyment. This would be great. Think about it, you could come home after work, put down your coat and briefcase, and grab a snack and a coolie, before high fiving Lego Angelina Jolie on your way to the couch. You could ask her opinion on issues that need resolving, like poverty and world peace. Children wouldn’t be a concern, and you could take her silence on every topic as an instant acknowledgement that you are correct.
Coming home to the ‘wife’ would never be the same again. Really? Not so sure about that. Maybe to a monk, or Tom Cruise.

You see, although receiving a fully stripped woman, lying in bed prepped and ready in the doggy–style position, is something that makes me want to jump on couches, she’s not real. For the ready and able sexual being it poses more of a problem than a solution. This idea belongs in Adult World along with the product. Probably at the back somewhere. Customers should have to sign a written document declaring insanity, or to having no friends. Shame.

On the upside by running this fake campaign Lego have indeed generated some chit – chat. The self – loathing and desperation must have been deep though, because this crass attempt to get adult tongues wagging is nothing short of a loony trip. A campaign gone wrong.

Don’t touch me on my Lego.