So the day has
finally arrived. After years of slight innuendo,
then gentle persuasion and finally downright hostile threats, my
parents have managed to convince me to leave the nest and go out
into the big bad world in the City, and away from the quiet tranquility
of the suburbs.
Despite their best efforts, I had stubbornly refused to see the
signs - I probably should have caught on when the locks were mysteriously
changed again, and I was forced to share my room with Thinus, the
hairy former pig farmer from Mpumalanga.
So I'll be offline for a few days, packing my clothes, furniture
and collection of priceless artifacts and knick
knacks picked up during the many years I spent as a fearless and
wily adventurer. Short and sweet. Chat later then.
As many of you know, I have a huge and diverse range of hobbies.
These range from hiking on the mountainside, to creating near flawless
forgeries of the paintings of Leonardo Da Vinci.
(Using my mouth, as I find hand painting rather unfulfilling these
days) My favourite hobby though, is undoubtedly
sleeping. It's a past time I try and do every day and, after 23
years, it's something I'm rather good at. I decided to give sleep
a miss this last Saturday morning, opting instead to be up at the
ungodly hour of 6:30am, in order to watch my beloved Stormers
play rugby. "Who plays rugby at 6:30 in the morning?"
I hear some of you asking. Apparently this is common practice in
New Zealand, a small Scottish town near Australia,
which was made famous by the 90's pop super group Crowded
House.
The Stormers were playing the Highlanders, a group
of immortals who can only be vanquished through decapitation
(you chop off their heads). This well-known fact seemed to be lost
on our Cape Town locals though who, seemingly unfamiliar with Duncan
McLeod and his ilk, were given an almighty spanking by the Scotsmen.
Once the first hiding was administered (by Highlander Jimmy Cowan,
who put De Wet Barry over his knee) the Stormers began to panic,
throwing the ball around with the finesse of a Fiddler sea
crab.
Stormers: As Skillful As A Fiddler Sea Crab
People say coach Kobus van der Merwe is spreading
himself too thin, citing the fact that he also hosts the game show
Deal Or No Deal on Mnet, but that isn't the problem.
It's obvious that the Stormers need to harden up.
Australia had a similar problem many many years ago, consistently
losing at rugby, cricket, football and any competitive sport you
could think of before turning things around thanks to a secret
motivational tape which was passed down from generation
to generation. Today Aussie sportsmen are famous the world over
for their grizzled hardness, their iron-clad toughness... and their
inability to hold their liquor.
As everyone knows, Tuesday is Movie Night, but
we're currently broke at the moment and so the other night The Girlfriend
and I stayed in to watch Nip/Tuck instead. An avid
fan, the antics of Dr Christian Troy reminds me of myself back in
those heady days at catholic primary school, where I was the undoubted
casanova of the playground.
Casanova: Shaun Was A Playground Playa
Anyhoo, I was busy sucking on the The Girlfriend's toes when she
suddenly shrieked in delight, the way she usually does when I shake
my bon bon ala Ricky Martin. I turned to look at the TV screen,
and quickly had to readjust my shell-rimmed spectacles as they suddenly
began to mist up. Christian was chatting to a guy in the gym shower
who was ripped like a perfectly chiselled Roman God.
Seeing the look of lust on her face, and feeling my manhood
threatened, I quickly pounced on The Girlfriend and tried
to have my way with her, but she showed remarkable strength for
a woman as she monkey tossed me with one arm, flinging me over to
the other side of the bed and onto the hard unforgiving floor below.
Once I regained consciousness, I caught another glimpse of the muscled
wonder, who really was incredibly ripped. (I would put some pics
of the scene up, but after looking at it they seemed a little gay
and made me feel funny so I've decided against it) As everyone knows,
I'm quite the Hunky Adonis, but even I didn't quite
measure up to him, and so there and then stood up and in a loud,
resonating voice made a vow to transform my body in 6 weeks. Failure
to do so will result in me performing Hara Kiri
...or publicly admit to failure.
Perfect Abs: Shaun In Six Weeks?
And so, the great Nip/Tuck Hunky Adonis challenge
begins. I'm off to do some crunches now.
On
Sunday The Gupster turned 24, and so in response everyone gathered
at Tiger Tiger in Claremont on the Saturday night
to get him blindingly drunk - in an attempt to
make him puke and wet himself - as this is what good friends do
to one another. The Gupster is made of sterner stuff though and
manfully fought off all attempts to humiliate him, despite our best
efforts.
Well done The Gupster, if anyone deserves to turn 24, it's you.
Although suitably pissed, The Gupster was thankfully not inebriated
enough to fall for The Horrible Beer Goggle Girl,
who spent most of the night harassing drunk white boys. By my count,
she ended up hooking up with four in total, which coincidently also
happens to be the number of wrinkles under each one of her eyes.
She was old. Really old. She had a walking stick with a hook at
the end, which she used to pull people toward her.
After kissing her, one gentleman realised what he had done and
started sobbing uncontrollably on the dance floor, before attempting
to hurl himself over the outside railing into the street below.
The railing is abnormally high though, so he didn't quite make it,
his knee catching cold steel causing him to sob uncontrollably again.
Wednesday was Valentine's day, and so The Girlfriend
and I went to Belthazar Wine Bar in the Waterfront,
partly because neither of us can cook, but mainly because eating
is a big hobby of mine (I do it on most days)
Essentially a steakhouse, the place is also a wine
bar (as the name clearly suggests) and so we were greeted by a wine
guy called Darius who took us through a variety of semi-sweets,
chardonnays and merlots. Naturally I leaned toward the cheapest
wine available, which is normally stored in room temperature cardboard
box, but Darius was quite a forceful character and after putting
me in a unrelenting choke-hold, I eventually conceded
and went for one of his recommendations, a dry red which now may
have left my teeth permanently stained.
Their steaks as you would expect, was of an exceptionally high
quality, and once I found mine, which had been hiding under
the lettuce leaves - I wolfed it down like a hungry...
wolf. The bill was also reasonable, which The Girlfriend settled
after I had absent mindedly left my wallet in my other handbag.
So... ja (yeah), that's my story. I guess this was one of those
"had-to-be-there" kind of stories. Gosh, I thought I had
more to say actually, this is a little embarrassing. I must be really
tired.
As everyone knows, I have many interesting habits and idiosyncrasies.
These include my favourite past time of chewing on my toenails and
flicking them at my enemies. Another favourite habit or addiction
I have is drinking copious amounts of Kuaui smoothies.
The other day myself, The Girlfriend and The Sister-In-Law went
to get smoothies at Kuaui in Cavendish Square,
Claremont, Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa, because
A) they make the best smoothies in the world (fact)
and
B) they are ice cold, and I enjoy getting brain freeze
Anyhoo, as we entered the first level of the parking lot, a huge,
hairy, brown object came towards the car at breakneck speed,
which obviously drew my attention as initially I thought it might
be Mulling With The Gupster coming
over to say hi. I hit the brakes like the true driving professional
I am and watched in amazement as a giant brown rat
came hurtling across our path. Honestly, it must have been the size
of a small dog. Or a very hairy small child if it happened to walk
on all fours.
We watched in amazement as it ran towards an old white woman
who was attempting to break into a car, as old white women are prone
to do. In one smooth movement the rat leapt up, bit the old bird's
head off, and then proceeded to break into the car himself. (We
knew he was a guy rodent because we could see his balls, which were
HUGE and made me feel very envious) Then, pulling away like a seasoned
drag racer, it drove off, taking the Vineyard Road exit.
Shaun: Lucky To Be Alive
Seriously though, does Cavendish have a rodent problem?
We were more than a little freaked out, and I had to carry The Girlfriends
and The Sister-In-Law on each one of my massive shoulders because
they are really afraid of rats, but obviously I'm not because I'm
fearless and I eat rats for breakfast.
On the plus side, the smoothies kicked ass, as
they always do.
Following last week's
religious experience, it was the turn of DC to be touched by
His Grace, as a giant hand appeared out of nowhere on Sunday and
began smacking him upside the head, apparently due to DC's recent
romantic shenanigans (Ooh, was that a personal
in-joke? Indeed I think it was)
Nadine on the other hand, who was also in attendance, received a
gentle and reassuring pat on the head, although
she did claim the Giant Hand brushed her boob just before
it disappeared.
Nadine: A Gentle Pat On The Head, Followed
By The Old Boob Brush Routine
As everyone knows, Tuesday is Movie Night, and
the other night The Girlfriend and I went to catch Little
Miss Sunshine. This film has been receiving rave reviews
from critics everywhere and so understandably I was a little hesitant
to go and see it, as my movie tastes tend to go against popular
critical convention. (To this day I am still pissed that Van
Wilder never received the Oscar nomination I felt the movie
rightly deserved)
Although my favoured brand of comedy tends to fall under the lowbrow
toilet humour variety, I found this film incredibly funny. The jokes
are not thrown in your face, and a lot of it derives from the awkward
human interaction between an excellent cast. This includes
Greg Kinnear, as an unintentionally cruel yet loving father determined
not be tainted with the unwanted brush of "loser". Steve
Carell also gives a stellar performance as an incredibly sarcastic
gay uncle, who can't be left alone because of a recently developed
habit of trying to kill himself.
The movie revolves around a dysfunctional family, of which Kinnear
is the patriarch, who must travel 600 miles to a child beauty
pageant for the sake of the little girl in the family,
a chubby little 8 year old whose name escapes me now. (and I don't
feel like looking it up on IMDB.com)
It's essentially a road trip movie, where the family - who initially
hate one another - bands and bonds together during the long and
arduous trip, resulting in a hilarious and entertaining final segment
which literally had me choking on my popcorn. All in all, a very
entertaining little film. Go in without any preconceived ideas and
you will leave the cinema with a smile on your face, unless you
actually intended on watching Rocky Balboa, and
ended up in the wrong theatre, then you wouldn't be too happy I
guess.
Had a sleepless night the other day (night) as I thought of my
impending challenge with The Gupster.
I forgot to mention this last time, but we've bet a cool
hand (grand) on the race, which works out to about 10 cases
of beer, so I've got a vested interest in this now, as everyone
knows I have a huge crush on beer, but I'm too shy to do anything
about it.
As can be seen from the photo above, I'm in my prime right now and
should be able to walk it. My adversary though, is like a well-oiled
machine.
The Gupster: A Well-Oiled Machine
Under that tailor-made suit, lies a ripped torso
and well-chiseled muscles, making up what could
best be described as a God-like physique. (From Greek mythology.
Not Buddhist mythology)
Received this the other day from "Dangerous" Dale Fourie who, when
not raping the opposition on the motor race track (and getting stomped
on by His Holiness), can often be found indulging in his favourite
past time - despatching Long Island Ice Teas. ("Teas?".
Is that the correct plural for tea?)
During a recent journey to Johannesburg, he took a wrong turn and
obviously then ended up in Rondebosch, where he stumbled across
a Starlight Diner, much like the one you find in
Durbanville, except you don't need your passport to get there, and
you don't need to possess a "snor" (moustache) to be served
at the bar.
Apparently they also serve the best and biggest
Long Island's in all the land.(see photo) "Dangerous"
Dale was so taken with his that he proposed and got engaged to it,
and they're now thinking of starting a family together.
Being fairly hip, trendy and "with it" - myself and
my fellow cronies are avid Poker players. I'm not
entirely sure of the rules, but I hide it well, no one else seems
to notice and I tend to win anyway, because I have the rare genetic
code polyacrylamide 24Z, a gene inherrent in born
winners like Lance Armstrong, Richard Branson and Ricky Martin.
A few weeks back we had our annual tournament at The Players
Lounge, co-owned by The Gupster, and true to form - Shaun
reigned supreme. I was so brilliant I took photographs, filled in
my tax returns and worked on my novel while playing, thus further
proving my superiority. I won't show you the tax returns or my progress
on the novel, but some of the photographs can be seen below.
Barry (the Token Black Guy) looking pensive.
Look at all his chips. They would soon be mine.
The Gupster looking disheartened. Look at
all his chips. They would soon be mine.
Some Other Guy looking annoyed. Look at
all his chips. They would soon be mine.
Some Other Guy looks on as Barry (the Token
Black Guy) and The Gupster get all touchy feely.
Undisputed Champion: Can Anyone Beat Shaun?
And so it ended, and I won*, taking my unbeaten streak to about
48 matches now. Better luck next time guys. I may sit out the next
few matches to let you build your confidence up again.
* Okay, maybe I didn't win. But it's my website
and I can distort the truth to suit me.
"Dangerous" Dale Fourie will think
twice before using the Lord's name in vain.
This being
a Sunday, I thought I'd put up a religiously themed post. Or article.
Whatever you want to call this. The other day "Dangerous"
Dale Fourie used the Lord's name in vain.
Almost immediately, the heavens opened, angels could be heard singing,
and a massive Adidas-clad foot came down from above, ripping a huge
hole through the ceiling and giving "Dangerous" Dale an
almighty stomping. Then almost as quickly as a
Barry (the Token Black Guy) sighting, it was gone. Amazing.
Ready: Shaun Prepares For His Greatest Challenge
Yet.
Showing a severe lack of judgement, and an embarrasingly low tolerance
to beer, I've somehow been talked into running the Two Oceans
marathon this year. I'll be competing against The Gupster,
a certified human battery, who regularly jogs up to Johannesburg
when he's feeling bored.
Irresponsibly, I don't plan on training at all, and will rely on
my long dormant fitness genes and my ability to cheat undetected.
I'm probably going to Tiger Tiger the night before, and may end
up running the marathon in my Saturday's finest. If all these old
wrinklies can run it surely I can too, right? Right?
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