It was Monday night, The Girlfriend had a headache and flat out refused to touch my feet, and so the evening was thus spent looking for pics of South African singer / poet Candice Hillebrand in skimpy underwear, as I've always had a thing for her since her KTV days.


The Girlfriend - Refusing To Touch Shaun's Feet

This little activity didn't last very long, as nothing is as good as getting a foot massage from The Girlfriend, so I slumped on the couch and went through the television channels, in the vain hope of finding a film containing softcore pornography.

Naturally I found myself on SABC 3, where I was startled to find an advert boasting that "English Premier League football was now on SABC".

Intrigued by this, I stuck around and decided to watch their little show, which comprised a studio with a presenter and two analysts.

"What game are they showing," I wondered aloud. As far as I could tell, there were no scheduled Premier League games for that night. Then they excitedly announced the game - Chelsea vs Derby, causing me to drop my whiskey tumbler and choke on my rather stiff Jameson.

SABC Sport were showing a game on Monday night, which actually occurred the previous Saturday.

They were PRETENDING that the game hadn't kicked off yet, and were actually making predictions about what COULD HAPPEN later on in the game.


SABC Sport - Taking It's Viewers For A P**s

Very clever guys, that's like me predicting on the Tuesday after the World Cup Rugby final, that I THINK the Springboks will win 15 - 6. Or like a New Yorker having lunch on the 13th September 2001 and thinking, "You know, I just have a bad feeling about something".

So just to clarify, you're going to show a football game TWO DAYS late and pretend that it's LIVE?

And you actually paid R93 million rand a year for this?

Baie slim, mense.

[ | ]

Dear Pick 'n Pay Gardens,

First off - you will have noticed that I've included the apostrophe in your name as, well, it's the correct thing to do. But I'm not really going to go into that again, as it's already been covered.

When I'm shopping and purchasing items, I generally like to know where I'm going.

Peanut butter? That would be aisle seven.

Extra large condoms? Ah, aisle ten.

When I DON'T know where an item may be, I don't believe in walking around aimlessly in the hope of stumbling across it. Some people may enjoy this, like nomads and people who enjoy travelling, but I don't. Time is money, and I have better things to do than spend my Sundays exploring the vast outer reaches of your store.

Thus, I would ask one of your staff members, with the reasonable expectation that they could tell me where to find the item in question, as they DO in fact work there after all.

To then be told by a staff member that the yellow gloves I want is "over there", as she points vaguely to her left, does not really help me.

Yes, thank you for telling me that the gloves are in the East somewhere - that's really answered my question, seriously, thank you.

You know what else lies East?

Port Elizabeth, and the Addo Elephant Park. Now I'm not really in the mood to travel to Port Elizabeth, and I'm not really a big fan of elephants either, so could you just tell me EXACTLY where I may find my f**king yellow gloves?

Thanks, hope it's not too much trouble?

On a related matter, there is of course nothing I like more than standing at the Mediterranean counter for five minutes without anyone coming to assist me.

It's basically what I live for on a Sunday.

When I do eventually manage to grab the attention of a staff member behind the counter (who looks annoyed that I have rudely interrupted her conversation) I am then told dismissively that I have to dish the basil pesto myself.

All well and good my dear, but I seemed to have left my dishing spoon in my OTHER handbag. It would be great if you could actually then provide me with a spoon to dish up or should I just use my hand?

No?

Maybe my shoe then? Would you seriously like me to dish up basil pesto with my shoe?

Alright, so how about that spoon then my dear. Thanks, you're too kind.

[ | ]

It's Friday, which can only mean one thing. It's Saturday tomorrow. On a side note, it's also time for this week's Friday Feel Good Jam, which features none other than 90's girl group Jade, with their smash single "Don't Walk Away (Boy)", a bit of a club-anthem back in the Summer of 93.

Let's have a closer look at our girls:


Jade - Giving Us A Closer Look

Well, what a lovely pair of ladies. With the voices of angels, as the below video will clearly show. Pay close attention to their harmonizing at the beginning. Incidentally, my voicemail message uses something similar, making use of the melodic and talented voices of The Gupster (Officially Cape Town's fifth most eligible bachelor) as well as Steve O.

Anyhoo, let's get down and groove to this Friday's Feel Good Jam:



Wow, very cool. I especially liked the end bit when they make loving sounds. It made my little guy "feel funny", I don't know why, it just did.

Jade of course never really reached the heights of this single again. They faded into obscurity much like local disc jockey Barney Simon, and within three years of this track they completely vanished.

Gone.

What happened to them?

No one will ever know.

[ | ]

After my new Pick 'n Pay logo observation a few days ago, it seems the head honchos at Shoprite Checkers have taken note:


Shoprite Checkers. Very Aware.

Quite jacked up guys, I am very impressed. If I were wearing a hat right now I would probably tip it toward you, the way the men would do in those old British films set in a sleepy Irish village, where the protagonist Nial would secretly lust over Sarah Clohessy, who works at the local bakery, and is unhappy with her alcoholic husband Brian, an ex-footballer with a penchant for buggery.

But I'm not wearing a hat.

So I won't.

[ | ]

McCLaren - Arrested For Being A Shit Coach.

I don't usually talk about sport too much but I would just like to point out that it's England 2 - Croatia 3, and that means England have not qualified for Euro 2008.

A tournament involving football.

The game they invented.

You can read about the backlash here.

You can also see a quite hilarious clip from earlier in the qualifying campaign, when they decided to put one into their own net. Watch as the goalkeeper (Robinson) then desperately tries to blame the grass - kicking and swearing at it, whilst saying all sorts of nasty things about it's mother.



Nice one, guy. Nice one.

[ | ]

I was strolling around Pick 'n Pay in Gardens Centre, looking for strawberries who wouldn't leave me in the lurch, when I felt a tugging at my sleeve, and looked down to find a staff member who I had accidentally trampled on. This happens regularly, as people are always trying to kiss my feet or attempt to inhale the vapour trail of pure greatness I exude.

It was then that I also noticed that the store had gone and changed their logo.

If you haven't seen it yet, this is what it now looks like:


Inspired By Who? Inspired By YOU!

"How cute," I thought.

"Raymond Ackerman has gone and roped in one of his grandchildren to design him a little logo using Photoshop"

Slightly nepotistic, but when you run a multimillion rand business, you are of course allowed to pull shit like that.

It was only yesterday when I was busy sniffing old newspapers at The HQ - yes, it's a strange habit but I love the musty scent - that I read up on what really transpired. I then did a check today using this "Google" thing and discovered that some lucky firm coined R110 million for this.

Jesus Hernandez, R110 million for that? If you're not busy choosing sponsors for the PSL, this is probably the easiest way to make money.

I'm not an advertising guy but it looks like it took about a day to conceptualize?

I mean, they were OBVIOUSLY rushing, they even forgot about the apostrophe. Seriously, what the f**k does that lonely letter n actually mean now?

Telling someone I'm going off to "Pick Nnnn Pay" makes me sound like a retard. Is that what you guys want? To make us sound like we have speech impediments? Or do you want us to just accept and look over your bad grammar.

Because that's what it is. Bad Grammar.

Anyhoo, seeing the dollar signs, I've gone and created my own logo for Shoprite, as can be see below:


Here To Feed Them? No Silly, YOU!

Let's see:

1) Ultra trendy minimalist design? Check
2) Soft alteration of their current corporate colours? Check.
3) Silly little payoff line which actually means nothing to consumers? Check.

I've sent this off to Shoprite head office, and eagerly await my cheque.

[ | ]

I was walking through the mall the other day, looking for hair removal cream for my disturbingly furry knuckles, when I heard what was probably the very first Christmas carol of the season.

We were in the first week of November, the sun was blazing, but I guess now is the time when store managers start sliding in their favourite Boney M treffers onto the shop DJ's playlist.

Christmas is just around the corner and, getting in the spirit of things, I decided to spoil you with my own little pre-Christmas E-card.

I was planning on getting in a couple of my famous model friends to strike a pose for me, but bizarrely all their phones were in for repairs this week and so I was unable to reach them. Some Other Guy was hanging around The HQ though, so I decided to use him instead.

Some Other Guy of course used this occasion to again show off his famous "dong thumb", which resembles the tip of a circumcised penis, and always raises a chuckle at dinner parties.



Almost Xmas - No Shitty Gifts This Year Please, Or Ill Never Speak To You Again.

This is ideal to send out to everyone you know, warning them that Christmas is approaching, and shitty and thoughtless gifts will be deemed unacceptable.

Simply right click on the image, select "Save As" and hey presto, store it on your desktop somewhere to easily send as an attachment.

Forward this to ALL your friends, family, people you don't really like, people you kind of like, and even a general nemesis or two.

What's the plural for "nemesis" anyway? I wanted to use the plural but I didn't know the word so I structured the sentence in a way that I wouldn't have to. Clever, hey?

[ | ]

Or is it the fat ugly dude who sings opera like a pro? I'm never sure which order these things go in. Nevertheless, today's Feel Good Jam is none other then Nessun Dora, that operatic treffer first made famous by Luciano Pavarotti, who of course recently died after a long battle with arsehole cancer. Paul Potts doesn't have arsehole cancer, but he certainly shares Pavo's booming voice.


Paul Potts - A Face Only A Mother Could Love. Or Someone He Met On The Internet.

Paul was the winner of Simon Cowell's latest reality show, Britain Has Talent, which is basically like Pop Idol, except they allow ugly people to enter too. When Paul walked on stage he was just a chubby guy with bad teeth, who managed a Cellphone Warehouse branch, which is like a McDonalds, but with phones. When he left the stage he was still a chubby guy with bad teeth, but he was ALSO a bonafide legend. Check this video out.



How awesome was that? He actually made the hot female judge weep, and if he wanted to, he could have probably made out with her backstage.

To cut a long story short, he won the whole competition and then used some of the money to spoil himself. So now he is a chubby guy with a good set of pearly whites. And that, dear friends, is why people enter singing contests. To fix their teeth.

[ | ]

Whilst scratching around Woolworths in Canal Walk, looking to haggle some red wine and paint thinners, I spotted this lovely little sign above the chocolate liquors, which incidentally tastes like crap.

The chocolate liquors.

Not the lovely little sign.

Why would I know what the lovely little sign tastes like? What the f**k is wrong with you?

Seriously. You're playing the fool today, I don't know what's gotten into you. One day of rain and now you're acting like a I took a dump on your chest. It's not cute, get over it already.

Anyhoo, I digress, let's have another look at that lovely sign.


Wine Traiding Hours

Now this being Woolies and all, I'm not going to immediately jump to conclusions. I mean, I COULD say that this sums up their overall lack of quality control lately, judging by the horrible strawberries I keep purchasing, which goes off after 36 hours. (Last week they literally jumped out the box and told me they were heading off to Asoka for some mojitos.) Yes, I COULD say I'm better off buying from that dodgy gangster-looking guy on the corner of Orange Street.

But no, I'm not going to do that. He looks scary, and I'm not willing to wet myself again.

I can thus only assume that "Traiding" is a verb meaning "acceptable drinking" times, as that WOULD make sense then.

As far as I'm aware, you ARE allowed to drink wine during the week from 9 in the morning till 8pm, after which you are legally obliged to switch to Hansa Gold for the duration of the evening.

I do recall reading this somewhere, it could have been the Argus, it was most likely the Mail and Guardian though.

This law is of course similar to the recent proclamation handed down by Judge President John Hlophe, which forbids the song "Hey Shorty" by Danny K, to be played before 9am.

As well as AFTER 9am.

Seriously though, what's going on Woolies? Do I need to buy my chicken kebabs and pork giblets somewhere else? Because I will you know. Pick 'n Pay can dish out some mean pork giblets. And their strawberries don't run off to Asoka either.

You've been warned.

[ | ]

Two Rats Say "Cheese" For The Camera.

After a long hibernating Winter, it's movie season again, and so The Girlfriend and I found ourselves at the cinema watching Ratatouille, a film about rats and their fondness for cooking fine French cuisine.

This is ironic as I remember meeting a rat once many years ago during my high school days, where I attempted to befriend it as I was quite lonely and would often get picked on by the girls because I would get my mom to cut the crusts off my sarmies, and this was apparently frowned upon in modern society.

"Hello there, my rodent friend," I said to my rodent friend, who was lounging near the Recycling Area, having a Rothman's Mild cigarette.

"Howzit," he greeted nonchalantly, ashing his entjie with his thumb, the way the cool kids do it.

"Say," I ventured cautiously, "I know you're a rat and all, but how would you like to hang out with me? Also, can I have a drag of that cigarette?"

Well, he gave me a drag of his cigarette, but he didn't become my friend.

In fact, he actually went on to bite me because, well, he WAS a rat after all, and I guess he felt cornered, which is something you should NEVER make a rat feel like.

The rat in this movie never bit the guy who befriended him though. In fact, he went on to cook for him, saving his bacon at the restaurant he worked at and indirectly getting him some of that cute ass who worked with him and drove that little white scooter. So I guess I just drew the short end of the stick.

It's an entertaining little flick, in a similar vein to The Incredibles and Finding Nemo. I say this because it's the same people who made those films (Pixar). I don't really think it's in a similar vein though, but I made a concious decision to use that phrase when I started writing this, so there it is. I always do as I say. I have a good follow through, as my cricket coach used to tell me.

Anyhoo, it's not hilariously funny or anything, but there probably isn't a better way of spending two hours on a Thursday evening.

Actually I probably CAN think of a better way of spending two hours on a Thursday evening, but this would involve a few stiff Jamesons beforehand, lots of slow foreplay, as well as spelling out the alphabet backward a few times.

But that's just me.

[ | ]

When I'm not searching for free pornographic movies (Ha Ha, I'm kidding The Girlfriend) or downloading the latest Kurt Darren treffer, I can often be found Googling myself on the net, which of course is what I was doing tonight.

Imagine my surprise then to find this little gem on a dating site in Australia, which is an island off the coast of New Zealand.


Another Shaun Oakes. But How? And Why?

I must say that I'm a little disappointed by this whole episode. My mom always assured me that I was the only Shaun Napoleon Oakes in the whole wide world.

Apparently this guy has been cashing on on my good name and reputation, managing to sleep with dozens of supermodels and celebrities in the process.

Touché Shaun Oakes number 2.

Touché

[ | ]

Yes, every single one of you.

What?

There are only two of you?

Well... hope the both of you have enjoyable ones... tell all your friends and family about me.


A Celebration Awaits

Till next week then.

[ | ]

As a precocious 7 year old, I often had crazy and slightly eccentric dreams and ambitions. Whilst my peers were content to pick their nose and play hopscotch, I was preparing to launch my music career as a pretend emcee who rapped in a quasi-Jamaican accent in such a way that made it difficult to understand what I was actually saying.

Of course, my dreams of global stardom died the day Snow emerged with his one and only hit single, Informer.


Snow - Killing Shaun's Dream.

This music video is noted for the dodgy early 90's fashion, which consisted of overly large shirts and tortoise shelled spectacles, which were all the rage at the time. Also notice the obligatory cool black friends for street cred purposes, although they seem to be drinking champagne in what looks to be a tiny broom closet, so the budget for this music video must have been fairly smallish. No Malibu mansion this time around Snow, maybe for your next hit single. Oh, wait.



To this day no one really knows what the f**k Snow is actually saying.

Judging by the video, I believe it has something to do with jail time and sleeping with lycra-wearing large black women.

But I could be wrong.

Strangely enough, Snow never quite reached the heights of his first single, and went on to make mediocre pop music in the Canadian market, where he can still be found to this day.

[ | ]

Wednesday nights are usually FTV nights, but we were feelish peckish and so dedided to check out Porcini Restaurant, where the famous club Pu Na Na used to be.


Shaun - Feeling Peckish

It was cold, it was wet, my hair had minced and I was helluva hungry so was looking forward to eating something in a reasonably warm environment.

Did Porcini's offer a reasonably warm environment?

No, they certainly did not.

They had a fire going, but it was still f**kin cold inside the restaurant, as the massive doors invited a biting wind which caused my testicles, Ryan Dobcrest and Professer James Merryweather, to shrivel up and force themselves into my tummy, giving me indigestion.

Thus we left our table, telling the waitor that it was too cold and we would need to leave.

"Oh, okay" he said, not offering any solution.

And so we left.

Cough.

What: Porcini.
Where: Heritage Square, where Pu Na Na used to be.
How Much: No clue - didn't get that far because it was too cold.

[ | ]

I was adding birthday dates to my Cosmo Man calendar yesterday and - wait, wait. Hold on, let me just clear something up.

Yes, I know it's a little gay having a Cosmo Man calendar, but it was given to me as a gift, I didn't have a calendar so I use it, because I'm a confident and together male, and so the sight of Gareth Cliff in leopard skin shorts doesn't really phase me, although it does seem to leave me with a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.

Anyhoo, I was trying to remember The Gupster's birth date - enabling me to go on holiday during that period and thus avoid getting him a gift - when I realised that we recently celebrated Guy Fawkes day this year. I did recall hearing loud pops earlier on Monday afternoon, but I just wrote it off as criminals robbing a Coin Security van again.

Apparently these were firecrackers that I heard, as is the custom with many people who celebrate Guy Fawkes day.

I never celebrated the 5th of November, as I was not really familiar with Guy Fawkes. I WAS familiar with Guy Foxe though, who was a bit of an arsehole and thus spoilt the day for me, solely through name association.



Guy Foxe. A Bit Of An Arsehole.

Perhaps I am being presumptuous, but I think Guy Fawkes Day is dying out as a South African spectacle. I have noticed Halloween becoming more mainstream these days, especially amongst white people, who are always looking to expand on their culture.

In fact, just the other day some primary school kids in fancy dress, managed to break through the intricate security system at The HQ and rang my door bell, looking for sweets and other goodies. ("Trick" or "Treats" as they call them)

I opened the door and looked at them disdainfully.

"F**k off", I said politely, and then closed the door.

Die Einde

[ | ]

Monday evenings at The HQ usually means three things - baking bread, eating bread and then downloading video clips of attractive yet muscular female wrestlers. I know that may sound slightly out of character for me, but I've always had a passion for baking bread, thanks to the magical baking tin passed down from generation to generation in my family. As for eating, this is a hobby I've had for many many years, something I do practically every day.

Anyhoo, back to the subject at hand - it was whilst surfing through YouTube's massive archive of professional wrestling videos, that I stumbled across the trailer for Rambo 4.

Yes, John Rambo is back to unleash hell on the dirty communists and evil terrorists who insist on pissing him off. People seem to forget the fact that John Rambo is actually the toughest man on earth, which is quite understandable seeing as Rambo has never been much of a showboater.

As everyone knows, he normally needs to be coaxed and cajoled into slaughtering bad guys, usually requiring that a loved one gets killed or maimed first before jumping into action.

And boy does he jump into action.


Smoking Leads To Death. Death By Rambo.

John Rambo is so tough, he makes Jack Bauer look like an effeminate Pilates instructor. He makes John McClane look like a member of The Pet Shop Boys.

The trailer for his new movie will literally blow you away. You want to know why I haven't updated my blog for a while? This is why.

Steve O and I watched it together and were actually blown all the way to Worcester, where we had to hitch hike our way back to Cape Town, which proved to be cumbersome as we were both wearing our ninja outfits at the time, and no one is ever keen to pick up hitch hiking ninjas, for fear of DEATH.

Best be safe - strap yourself to your chair and watch the trailer below.



Jesus Hernandez, how bloody awesome was that?

He... he ... he ripped that guys head off... with his BARE HANDS! He shot that other guy to PIECES! He still speaks INCOHERENTLY!

Apparently the plot involves Rambo going to Burma (Myanmar) and declaring war on the entire country, after the bad guys kidnap the chick he was thinking of boning. Which is quite possibly the worse thing someone can EVER do:

1) NEVER burn the wors.

2) NEVER EVER kidnap or harm a chick that John Rambo is thinking of boning.

All of this points to the most exciting movie of 2008. Yes, it's due to arrive early next year sometime and will undoubtedly be one of the most anticipated flicks of the Summer.

Screw Indiana Jones, Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk, this is the film I will definitely be watching. Twice.


[ | ]

Like most South Africans, there is nothing I enjoy a more than going down to Arniston for a weekend, and so that's exactly what I did this past weekend, as I'm a man and I can do whatever I want. The weekend was a good one, so good that I'm ready to share it with you, so sit back and enjoy my incredible photographic skills, second only to my footballing skills, and my ability to pee whilst sitting on the toilet seat.


The Famous Rock Of Arniston. This is the famous Rock Of Arniston. The old local man made me pay him R50 in order for me see it. I totally scored on that one though because apparently he normally charges R100 a view, but he said he liked the way I was put together, and so offered me a 50% discount. He wasn't on the beach on the Saturday and Sunday though, so on those days I got to see it for free (gratis). Well played Shaun. I just gave myself a pat on the back.


There's A Bad Moon On The Rise. An orange moon appeared on the Friday night, making us VERY nervous. As everyone knows, an orange moon means that local singer Danny K is nearby, looking to sing his favourite party single "Hey Shorty" to all and sundry. We were in the mood to party, but we were certainly not in the mood for "Hey Shorty". Or Danny K.

And so we kept our pepper sprays and crucifixes close by that evening, although thankfully we never crossed paths with South Africa's 7th most popular pop icon.


Time For Some Toe Jams. Two feet got very comfortable after a few drinks and started fooling around. As feet tend to do after a few drinks.


Don't Burn The Wors! Some Other Guy then rocked up unannounced and proceeded to burn the wors. The photograph was taken just as he realised that we were about to attack him and throw him on the grill. Just look at the fear in his eyes. He had no leg to stand on though, as when you are braaing, you should NEVER burn the wors, it's quite possibly the WORSE thing you could ever do.

I hope those burns heal up nicely Some Other Guy, but more importantly, I hope you learnt a valuable lesson from this braai debacle.


Rocks And Caves And Shit. Whilst exploring the beach, we discovered a tiny cave hidden amongst the rocks, as tiny caves tend to be. In it we discovered a wise old man who shared with us the meaning of life and all it's secrets. I was thinking of sharing it with you today... but then I changed my mind. You will have to go down to Arniston and see him for yourself.

And that, dear friends, is what is known as a cop out.


Getting In The Oil. For whatever reason, the beachfront seemed to have an oil problem, as this pic of my beautiful foot clearly shows. You may not be aware of this, but oil is incredibly difficult to remove - I eventually had to rub it off on some penguins I found waddling around. To the right of this pic (or left, if you're dyslexic) you will see a book by Carl Gustav Jung, one of my favourite authors. I am an avid reader of Jung's work, as I'm quite an intellectual, and regularly have in depth discussions with other pasty intellectuals who wear berets and tortoise shelled spectacles and sip on camomile tea.

[ | ]

The Archives

- Back to Archives