What a talented rhymer I am. As previously mentioned, I managed to find a bucketload of some of my old stories the other day and, since I'm not really very inspired at the moment, having lent my creativity to Steve O to use for a couple of weeks, I thought I would just rehash some of these in the interim.

Most of you would be too young to remember many of these adventures anyway, so it's almost as if they're brand new. So sit back, pour yourself a stiff Jameson - yes, even if you're in the office, it's okay - I'm giving you permission, and enjoy. This was sometime in 2003, during my wild student days, back when I was a young Turk still cutting my teeth:


Shaun: A Young Turk Still Cutting His Teeth

Shaun Oakes And The Great Stellenbosch Adventure

So the other day, I embarked on an adventure. Not just any adventure though, it was a great adventure, the Great Stellenbosch Adventure, which I will now chronicle for you in an amazing flashback sequence.............

Cue Amazing Flashback Sequence.......

21:00
I've just pulled up at The Gupsters place, and am now in the process of cleaning the front of my car. A bird (which must have been the size of a small central African country) had unleashed a load of formidable proportions on my bonnet, and I desperately try and and remove the stubborn stains. Seemingly toxic, I somehow manage to get some in my eyes. As I writhe around in agony, blind and quickly losing feeling in my legs, Steve O has to hose me down with the industrial fire... hose which The Gupster uses to keep his dogs in line. The blast of cold water works and I'm able to walk again, although my vision is still blurry. I should be able to drive though.

21:15
We fetch Lyle H, who seems slightly uneasy when I turn the corner and knock over a homeless man, who had been dancing in the street (as homeless people are prone to do) He's drunk though, and so his injuries are minimal. His face lights up when we offer him some of the open whiskey we've got in the car, and bades us a good journey. We are off.

21:35
Are we going the right way? We don't know. It's very dark and it seems like I've been driving for hours. I check the clock. Oh. Alright then.

21:45
Aah, I've been driving without headlights all this time. Things are much brighter now, and the oncoming cars have stopped flashing me. (I thought they were all being pricks.)

21:50
We finally see the Stellenbosch turnoff, and all four of us suddenly break into song. The Gupster whips out his guitar - I don't recall him bringing it with, or how he managed to fit it in the glove compartment - but there he is, strumming along. Steve O has the voice of an angel, and for the next few minutes we're entranced by his melodic harmonies.

21:57
We arrive in Stellenbosch and proceed to the town centre, where the nightclubs are found. The area is teeming with hot females, females you'd want to take home and watch Dawson's Creek with. Lyle H has started drooling and I have to hand him my lucky hanky for him to wipe himself with. It's clean so he doesn't mind using it, but it's my lucky hanky, and now I feel slightly lost without it, and immediately regret giving it to him.

21:07
We've somehow managed to travel back into time. No I'm kidding, it's just a typo.

22:07
We arrive at a place called Cancune Lounge. The place is filled with pretty girls, and my eyes are literally popping out. Lyle H manages to retrieve them and hands them back to me, but there they go again, bouncing up onto the bar. Crazy.

22:39
There must be something in the water. There seems to be a discernable lack of ugly people around here, besides me, which excites me greatly. Another thing the water has affected though, are people's ability to dance to music beats. I'm not kidding, it's quite mediocre. Steve O and Lyle H totally burned two Stellenboschians (San Diegans) who dared challenge them to a dance-off. They literally burst into flames when they saw Steve O move both his legs and arms at the same time, while simultaneously having a drink, sending a text message on his cellphone, and chatting up a young flossie (floozie).

23:48
It's time for us to move on. The streets of Stellenbosch are filled with revellers. There are about 48 different places to go to. So many choices. "Where to go?" I wonder aloud. Suddenly there is a puff of purple smoke, and a strange old man with a long white beard appears out of nowhere. "You should go to All Stars" he says in a deep sagely voice. "You will find an abundance of girls with loose morals there. What you would refer to as flossies".

A puff of smoke appears again and then he is gone. Amazing... No wait, there he is, walking up the road, asking that guy for spare change. We decide to go to All Stars anyway.

23:53
The wise old man was right. There are in fact an abundance of girls with loose morals around, what we would refer to as flossies. The Gupster and Lyle H have both eyed a particular girl with loose morals. The two give one another the evil eye, and the battle is on. Lyle H puts his youthfulness to good use, giving an energetic dance performance which makes his prey skip a beat. The Gupster, a battle hardened veteran, cannot compete on that level and so plays his trump card, showing her the huge bulge in his wallet. The contest is over and the two go off.

00:50
I'm so upset. I don't seem to dance that well anymore. I need to brush up on my leg moving. The Gupster and Lyle H have both disappeared, and I'm hanging with Steve O, who seems to be getting more attention than I am. I'm going to have to have him killed.

01:23
I'm on the phone putting out a hit on Steve O, when Lyle H and The Gupster find me. The Gupster is soaking wet and get's jumpy at any sudden movements.

We decide to call it a night.

And so the adventure ends.

You can't end an adventure without a powerful ending score though, and so The Gupster whips out the old guitar and we all break into a little sing-a-long again.

The End (Die Einde)

___________________________________________________________

Another day, another great adventure. Life as Shaun Oakes is never dull, let me tell you. Well, okay sometimes it can be, but by and large it's pretty good. I'm feeling so tired now, I don't have anything clever to end this story. I'm just going to go to bed now.

Good night, I love you.

Yes, all of you.

Really, even you, although you should probably stop rubbing yourself when you see me, it's beginning to freak me out.

[ | ]

First off, let me just say that you are not REALLY reading this on a Tuesday, you DID in fact read this on Friday, making this the 4th installment of the Friday Feel Good Jam. This isn't a massively delayed article at all, if you actually believe that then you are wrong. Drink some warm milk, eat some cookies and have someone put you to bed. Moving on...

The Inner Circle was the name of the gang I headed up during my infamous Catholic Primary School Days, where we would beat up our enemies with sharpened rosary beads and boiled holy water.

Inner Circle also happened to be one of my favourite reggae/ragga/pop groups of the early 90's, with their hit song, A La La La La Long, which was also conveniently just known as the Sweat Song.


One of Shaun's Favourite Reggae/Ragga/Pop Groups Of The Early 90's

It was only later during my more formative years that I realised what a dirty little ditty this actually was. Play it, listen carefully to the lyrics and you will see why.



Crikey, what a sexually charged up little number that was!

Basically in layman's terms, they wanted to make the girl sweat, sweat till she couldn't sweat no more, and - if she cried out - they were going to push it. Push it, push it some more.

The 90's was a strange time where one could easily get away with releasing filthy tracks like this to mainstream radio. Other adult-themed pop songs from that era would of course include Boyz II Men's infamous "River Runs Dry", which highlighted men's infertility, as well as Shaggy's "Oh Carolina", about a drugged up prostitute who sleeps with incredibly old men, and then kills them with a set of rusty pliers.

Boyz II Men got away with their song because they had such lovely melodic voices and looked like black choir singers, whilst Shaggy avoided controversy because, well, no one could really understand what he was saying, it just sounded really nifty, and was fairly easy to dance to.

In fact, were you to....

.... I'm actually going to end this right here, my tummy just started doing flip flops, I have to go now. I'm really sorry.

Tot volgende keer.

[ | ]

The Girlfriend wanted to use my computer this weekend, which of course meant that last night was spent frantically trying to delete / hide all my pornographic materials and semi-salacious pics of Patricia Lewis. Whilst conducting this routine maintenance, I stumbled across the earlier incarnation of my website, something I thought I had lost many many years before, together with my self respect and virginity. Many people may not realise this, but I was probably one of the first bloggers in South Africa, before the term "blogging" was even, well, a term.

This article was originally written in January 2003, and refers to a particularly crazy adventure I had. Enjoy....

The New Years Adventure 2003

I was walking around Canal Walk a few days ago, with an empty wallet and a massive headache.

Why was I at Canal Walk? I wasn’t too sure. After a night of intensive partying, I had woken up in their underground parking lot, reeking of lady’s perfume, cigarettes and, even more disturbing than the lady’s perfume, urine.

I suspected the urine was caused by the old, homeless guy sitting nearby, who smiled at me mischievously and called me “Joanie”.

I was quite perturbed by this, as it clearly wasn't my name, and so I went inside the mall, hoping to uncover some answers. I had just come out of the johns, still feeling the effects of the breeyahni I had the night before, when I was nearly delimbed by a strange, furry creature with red hair. Thankfully the sharp pain in my right leg and testicle area subsided and my vision slowly returned (because you know, that’s what happens when you get hit in the testicles – you go blind).

I was greeted with the bizarre site of a sniveling little child who appeared to be moving across the floor without moving his legs(!)

"What trickery of Satan is this?" I wondered, trying to remember what exactly I had drunk the night before. Convinced it was that strange, green liquid The Gupster had given me, I closed my eyes, trying to shake out the cobwebs while plotting my revenge. I opened my eyes, my vision clearer now, and noticed my attacker seemed to have wheels on his shoes. He was an ugly little child, with a runny nose, dirty ginger hair and a seemingly shitty attitude.

“Hey, you little shit,” I shouted angrily (He was a little shit, not older than five or six) “watch where you’re going!”

He levitated over to me, looking at me disdainfully, “Shut up, you reek of urine and you look like a drunkard”

Taken aback by how eloquently this little bastard spoke, I recovered quickly and chopped him in the throat, causing him to show his age and cry like a little girl. It was a lightning-quick move I had developed over the years, using it regularly on my little brother when he pissed me off, so I was pretty sure no one saw me. A soft blow to the back of head told me otherwise though.

“What have you done to my son?!?” I was greeted by a middle aged woman who looked as if she’d had a really tough life, and I quickly realized where her son got his unique looks from.

She took another swing with her weapon, a cheap, embroided bag which she probably made herself, but I was prepared this time and nimbly sidestepped her attack with all the grace of a gazelle, displaying remarkable balance considering my condition.

I responded with a firm stamp on her right foot, as I’d never actually hit a woman, and I was fairly confident she was of the female species. As I did this I felt a firm set of hands on my shoulders and I was put in a devilish arm lock, whisked away by the Canal Walk security….

Anyway, so here I am, sitting in a holding cell in Wynberg Magistrates Court. Apparently, what I did was known as “assault” and I could face some jail time. It’s quite scary here, the other inmates keep smiling at me the way that homeless guy did.

Sylvester, who sleeps on the bunk above me, says he’ll protect me if I “toss his salad”. This confuses me though, as the food here is incredibly bad and I’ve yet to see any lettuce, pineapples or even tomatoes being served here. We’ll have to see how it all pans out.

The End

___________________________________________________________

Wow, what an exciting and eventful life I lead. For the record, I managed to make it out alive, Sylvester was all talk, and turned out to be quite an interesting chap, who taught me how to knit and do professional embroidery, unlike the poor quality bag that was used to beat me with.

Thanks again Sylvester, hope your bail application is approved this time, I'll be holding thumbs.

[ | ]

I was driving my car down the mean streets of Gardens yesterday, bobbing my head to the cool sounds of DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince, whilst picking my nose and flicking it out the window in one graceful movement. The dry air ensured I was kept fairly busy, and I had made steady and satisfactory progress by the time I reached the traffic lights.

There you staggered over, draped in a giant poster with John Smit's face on it. You never said a word to me, you just came to my window, looked down at the poster and stared back at me, shaking your Spur styrofoam cup in the process.

Is that it?

Was that your pitch?

I'm supposed to give you money because of your vague reference to the Rugby World Cup win?

Come now buddy, the feel good factor is already starting to wear out. I'm not going to dive around looking for loose change for you, just because you have a rugby poster attached to your body. Especially seeing as I saw you just the other day, drunk on metholated spirits, lying on the pavement where you literally pissed yourself.


Homeless Guy - Letting Down The Team

That's right, don't you feel sheepish now? I saw you on Saturday at the Stop Street, I was just about to give you my leftover Barcelo's chicken special burger with Very Peri sauce. Then you fell over, and I saw the wee literally running down your leg. I was so appalled I gave the food to your mate with the titanium leg instead.

I was VERY disappointed when I saw you like that. I thought you were a respectable bergie (vagrant). You had that lovely grey beard which gave you a statesman-like air about you. Now the only air you have is the pungent smell of urine. I am NOT going to give you money, I am just going to pick my nose and flick it at you.

Take that you disgusting little man.

[ | ]

Yes, I've taken a while to write this, bear with me. I've only just woken up after a formidable celebration lasting several days. A celebration which today found me sweeping up hundreds of empty cans of Hansa Marzen Gold, dozens of bottles of Jameson whiskey, some Fish Eagle brandy, a couple of passed out flossies (floozies), Kurt Darren, as well as two homeless guys, who kindly offered to fry me some bacon and eggs on the stove, if I agreed not to sweep them out with my overly large broom.

Which is what I did, and which is why I'm now eating a bacon and egg sarmie.

Thanks homeless guys, I can't remember your names but you gentlemen certainly fried a mean egg. It was so good I'm willing to overlook the fact that you fellows stole my favourite slippers, or "stokies" as I call them.

Don't bullsh*t me, I know it was you.

It doesn't matter though, I'm in a good mood today, because the Springboks are now the Rugby World Cup champions.


Habana and Smit offer Jake Two Tickets To The Gun Show

Wow, the final was certainly a pretty k*k game, but in the end it didn't matter. The Springboks can now add another chapter to South Africa's long list of great sporting moments, greater than the time I outran Breyton Paulse to the boerewors stand at Springbok Pub, greater than the occasion I beat Joost van der Westhuizen in a hip hop dance off at Billy the Bums and even greater then the night I outdrank Hugh Bladen at Tiger Tiger six months ago.

Also, how cool was it seeing our country's president, Uncle Thabo, chilling with the boys backstage and having a few beers? Truly a great South African moment, and something you KNOW is going to be mentioned on his Facebook page.

Speaking of which, if I were Thabo Mbeki I would be sending computer viruses and pics of Manto in her swimming cozzie to Johnny Wilkinson and those other rude Englishmen right about now. They of course didn't acknowledge him on the podium and shook hands with everyone else.

Which didn't really faze our president though, who was later overheard saying, "I always thought that Wilkinson boy was a pr**k. I didn't want to shake his hand anyway."

Everyone seems to be really happy at the moment - it's like we all drank copious amounts of beer before going to work, but then ate mints to mask the smell, because it's not socially acceptable to rock up to work smelling of alcohol.

This was taken outside The Girlfriend's office today:


A Happy Camper With His Pet Springbok


Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole...Ole...


Busted By The Cops- "What Are You Doing With That Springbok, Coloured?"


It Came From The Sky

Tot volgender keer - tot siens.

[ | ]

Ah, 1993 - the year I got my first tattoo, had my first cigarette, and signed my first multi-million rand empowerment deal.

1993 was also the year Chaka Demus and Pliers released their smash single "Tease Me", which sold 14 billion records, a record which was later eclipsed by the enigmatic Kurt Darren. Chaka Demus was the "rapper guy", who sang in that funny way that made it difficult to understand what he was saying (like Shaggy or Shabba Ranks). Pliers was the singer guy.


Chaka Demus (What Is He Saying?) And Pliers (Singer Guy)

Let's have a look at this cool and slightly late Friday Feel Good Jam. In fact, let's all jam together right now. Like the Jamaicans do it.



Wow, what a cool song that was. I'm almost tempted to whip out my mustard pants and bright green dinner jacket and shake what my mother gave me.

I think it's fair to say that Chaka Demus and Pliers are pretty f**king cool. Besides that single, they also released a biggie called "Murder, She Wrote", which of course was the inspiration to the cult television show starring Angela Lansbury, as the super sleuth Jessica Fletcher. Personally I never get the whole Jessica Fletcher vibe. I mean, everywhere she went, people just seemed to die.


Jessica Fletcher - Everywhere She Went, People DIED.

No wonder she didn't have a man, or close friends. Every time she spoke to someone, they usually ended up either getting stabbed with an ice pick, shoved down an unused elevator shaft, or shot with a small silver gun.

I was always baffled by how no one ever seemed to question the fact that she was in the vicinity of + - 150 deaths? Didn't anyone think that was a little STRANGE? I'm not sure, but I think the last episode may have revealed something along the lines of Jessica actually being a serial killer all along. At least, I hope that's what happened. I never actually watched the show because the thought of an elderly woman solving violent crime seemed pretty far fetched to me.

Anyhoo, I'm scraping the barrel here today, I'm not really in the mood to write anything. It's just I started a bit of a thing with this Friday Feel Good Jam and I can't just stop now.

It's Friday and I'm off to drink away my problems for a bit - one more sleep for the Rugby World Cup final!

I think I speak on behalf of everyone when I say, "Springboks, don't f**k up now."

Till next week.

[ | ]

It was a warm and blustery Wednesday night in Cape Town, the type of night that makes you go, "Hey, let's go down to FTV Cafe, because it's Wednesday and I've already watched the entire season of Heroes", and so it came to pass that I decided to head off down to FTV Cafe, where I planned on drinking copious amounts of Fish Eagle brandy, whilst dancing badly to commercial R&B.

FTV has an interesting vibe. Upon arrival one enters through the upstairs section, which is the bar / schmoozing area. I duly strolled in at about 10pm, where I was greeted by Barry (the Token Back Guy), The Brand Ambassador, as well as Sergio.

"Hello Shaun Oakes", greeted Barry (the Token Back Guy), The Brand Ambassador, as well as Sergio.

"Hello Barry (the Token Back Guy), hello The Brand Ambassador, hello Sergio. " I quipped in reply.

After exchanging pleasantries, we mingled for a bit, making light surface talk - discussing current affairs, catching up on new business ventures, and debating on whether the bar girl with the tiny denim shorts was wearing any underwear.


Barry (the Token Black Guy) And Some Other Guy, discussing current affairs.

Sergio is sporting a massively blinged up chain, the size of a small child, and the type of thing that those rapper chaps are fond of wearing around their necks. It says "BAPE" which is apparently some sort of fashion label by the hip hop artist Pharrel Williams.

The font makes the first letter look like an "R" though, which earns him numerous dirty looks from the female clientele. It also earns him a variety of fashionable women's shoes which are randomly flung his way.

"Mmm, maybe it's time to head off to the dance floor," I say, as a silver stiletto narrowly misses my head, severely injuring an unlucky patron two feet away from me.

Stepping over the crippled clubber, we head off to the dance floor, as it's now 11pm and it has officially opened. This area is downstairs, and we head off in unison, careful not to get too close to Sergio, who appears to have a large target sign on his back. There we find The Gupster (officially Cape Town's fifth most eligible bachelor), together with a lovely spread of snacks, Fish Eagle brandy and other drinking paraphernalia and quickly make ourselves comfortable.

Although Jameson is my drink of choice, Fish Eagle is my preferred pot stilled brandy, and soon it is coming out of my pores, which proves to be slightly unsettling to the group of young flossies (floozies) standing nearby, as it looks as if I'm an excessive sweater.

"Come back flossies, I wasn't finished with my joke yet!" I holler.

"It's not perspiration, it's brandy!", I mention as an afterthought, but they have already pranced over to The Gupster, not caring to hear the punchline to my sexist (but funny) joke about women and their driving habits.

To my left I see Breyton Paulse, sporting a luminous pink shirt with white Cuban pants, and I make my way over - ready to mock him about his dance moves and wardrobe, as well as his inability to make it to France.

Although small in stature, Breyton seems to have bulked up a bit since we had that infamous fist fight outside Springbok Pub, and after a few choice words, I decide to apologise, eventually persuading him to release me from the headlock I found myself in.

To my right I see one of the Chong brothers, not the Hyundai Getz one, the other one, and I decide to bite my tongue around him, as he has long hair and that scares me a little.

I mention these two as that's pretty much the regular vibe at FTV on a Wednesday. There are numerous well known celebs, lesser known public figures as well as the likes of Danny K who are regularly seen around the venue.

The girls are quite easy on the eye and very friendly, as The Gupster will no doubt attest to, having been with a large majority of them. The music is, as previously mentioned, very commercial - the type of sounds you will hear on the radio whilst racing down the M3 trying to get to work on time. Wednesday's are basically FTV nights, let's face it - there's nothing else going on is there?

What?

You watch Heroes on a Wednesday?

Didn't you get the memo?

The cheerleader dies in the end.

Now give it up and come down to FTV. You can buy me a drink when you get me there.

[ | ]

It's the Rugby World Cup final, it's South Africa against England, and it's 13 things we would like to see happen this Saturday:

1) Eddie Jones to completely piss off the Australian nation with a passionate and full blooded rendition of Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrica / Die Stem during the national anthems.

2) The Springbok team, lead by Johny Clegg and a couple of Inkatha Freedom Party members, face up to the English and perform that Zulu Dance we all heard about.

3) Hugh Bladen to only finish one bottle of whiskey before the match begins. His co-commentator Garth Wright's balls to finally drop and his voice to eventually break, giving him a deep and pleasant baritone just in time for kickoff.

4) Hugh Bladen to go through the entire match without making a single reference to any high school or agricultural college a player may have attended.

5) Johnny Wilkinson to actually break into a smile during the game. Johnny Wilkinson to also acknowledge that when he's not playing rugby, he goes by the name of Heath Ledger.

6) Schalk Burger to actually throw a pass during the game.

7) Madiba to rock up on the field and knock over a 60 metre drop kick. Just for shit.

8) The Springboks to win the World Cup, thanks to Madiba's drop kick.

9) Madiba to then admit that he doesn't really care much for rugby, preferring women's beach volleyball instead.

10) Bakkies Botha is named Man Of The Match and thanks "The Great Beholder Jesus Christ", who then surprisingly pitches up to tell him that he's welcome, and offers to buy him a beer.

11) Os Du Randt to sheepishly announce that he is actually turning 50 this year.

12) Francois Steyn to sheepishly announce that he is actually turning 18 this year.

13) Jake White to finally confirm the rumours that Wynand Olivier is actually his son.

[ | ]

It was a warm Saturday afternoon and I had been knocking back a few stiff Jamesons since 11am, which is entirely acceptable, as 11am is the new 12pm. I read it in this month's Men's Health so it's officially a rule now.

Anyhoo, an alcohol-induced appetite became apparent, and a luncheon at Willoughby's restaurant at the V&A Waterfront was quickly arranged for a party of 6. Two of the party arrived earlier and enjoyed refreshing beers, whilst the other four of us arrived soon after.

When we got there we were greeted by our waiter, who clearly thought he was too cool for school. I did a search on Google Images to find someone who looked like him.


Our Waiter At Willoughby's. Too Cool For School.

"How nice of you to finally arrive, " he said sarcastically, with a look which suggested we had shat in his lounge, and then eaten his last Rolo.

Our friend clearly wasn't in the mood to work on this particular day, and condescendingly kept correcting us when we placed orders. Example:

"Hi, I'd like the Rainbow Roll"

"Oh, I think you mean the Rainbow NATION Roll"

Come now buddy, we both know what the order was. Stop trying to be clever and bring me my f**king sushi.

Our friend was also too busy being a Smarty McSmartass that he failed to notice that Kim didn't have a drink, deciding to disappear for about 10 minutes, which eventually left Kim having to get up to tell the manager what a shit waiter we had.

To Willoughby and Co's credit, an older guy, possibly the owner, told us that the problem was addressed and that if we have any more issues we should just beckon the manager over.

Our buddy, having now been shat on by his supervisor, appeared without saying a word and sulkily gave us our cutlery. Clearly miffed at Kim, he gave her a soya sauce bowl which looked as if Paris Hilton has bathed in it. It was dirty. She pointed this out to him, and so naturally he gave her another dirty bowl instead.

More gnashing of teeth and complaints followed, and finally the manager arrived with a clean bowl and more apologies.

The rest of the meal played out like this, with Mr Sunny Disposition bringing our drinks and meal in stony silence, with an uncomfortable atmosphere hanging over our table whenever he approached, which kind of spoilt the lunch for us.

Willoughby's, your food wasn't bad, but the waiter who served us was an absolute wanker, who should have rather stayed at home and tended to his kittens.

Not very impressive.

What: Willoughby & Co.
Where: Lower Level, Victoria Wharf, V&A Waterfront
How Much: + - R100 per person. (Excluding drinks, and possible wanker serving you)

[ | ]

Australians are bad losers, and when they don't get their way, they get helluva annoyed. Their soccer players - or "footballers", if you're pedantic - are no exception.



Yes, it's the classic backhand-flick-in-the-balls, a manouvers I often used during my gangster days in the late 80's, back when most of my adversaries were much bigger than me because, let's face it, I was only six years old.

What is quite interesting about this clip is the fact that the linesman - or "assistant referee" - doesn't really react to being struck in the gonads.

Like this sort of shit happens to him all the time. Or he doesn't have testicles. I regularly get hit in the testicles.

Because they're so huge.

You can't miss them.

No really.

[ | ]

I don't usually like to gloat when I'm right, but after this Saturday's events, I've been donning my Gloating Tracksuit, a burgundy crushed velvet number that I like to wear for occasions such as this.

You will of course remember my critically acclaimed Rugby World Cup Guide (A-Z) which I wrote a few weeks back. Basically when it came to the All Blacks I said something along these lines:

A is for All Blacks - A rugby team from New Zealand, consisting of mostly white chaps, which I think is what's known as irony. They do come equipped with tattoos though, which makes a big difference to their street cred. A Google search suggests that they have a habit of "choking". Which suggests that they don't chew their food properly. One should always chew your food properly, or you may choke and die. The All Blacks won the Rugby World Cup in 1987, but back then there were only about 4 countries playing the game, so it wasn't that important. People were more interested in football in those days, not rugby. The All Blacks are the favourites for the 2007 competition, as they are really good at rugby. This is because the sport is pretty massive in the country, being the second most famous thing New Zealand are known for.

Yes, well fans of the second most famous thing in New Zealand (after Russell Crowe) are no doubt still recovering from the mother of all hangovers, after the French put them over their knee, reached for the wooden stirring spoon normally used for soups, and gave them a bloody good hiding, not witnessed since my days at Catholic Primary School, where we were regularly beaten with raw strips of meat if we couldn't recite the Angelus in Latin.

After seeing off those dirty Fijians, the Springboks now face the sneaky... Argentinans.... Argentines....San Diegans, whatever, in the semi finals and then probably the French in the final itself.

If we pull this off, it may well go down as one of the greatest moments in South Africa's history. Yes, even greater than Kurt Darren releasing his epic album, Lekker Lekker.

But only just.

[ | ]

It's Friday, and what better way to celebrate Summer than with DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince's anthem, "Summertime"?

Well, can you think of a better way?

Exactly, you can't. That was a rhetorical question. I KNOW there is no better way to celebrate Summer on a Friday, I was just messing with you. DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince are probably the greatest rapping duo of all time. Jeff provided the instrumentals, whilst Fresh Prince was the vocalist.

Or "emcee" (M.C) as the youngsters call them these days.

Many people may not realise this, but DJ Jazzy Jeff was actually christened "DJ Jazzy Jeff". He was literally BORN to be a disc jockey! How awesome is that?

The Fresh Prince, on the other hand, was not christened "The Fresh Prince". That would just be ridiculous. No one knows his real name but he was quite famous for bearing a striking resemblance to movie star Will Smith, of Independence Day and I, Robot fame.

They could practically be twins.


The Man Christened DJ Jazzy Jeff, And The Will Smith Lookalike.

Let's have a look at this cool Friday Feel Good Jam, feel free to sing along. You know you want to.



One simply has to marvel at the special effects, which makes it appear as if Jeff and Fresh Prince's legs have been cut off, and that they have a mind of their own.

Also notice the trendy hairdo's of the time, very big in the late 80's / early 90's. I myself was a proud owner of "the box cut" for many years as well, until a girl I wanted to sleep with told me it was crap. So I cut it. But she still didn't sleep with me.

Which just goes to show, you should never change for anyone. Just be yourself, like DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince.

So whatever happened to these guys, I hear you ask?

Well, Jazzy Jeff is currently a music producer for a variety of B-grade R&B singers like Jill Scott. Who is Jill Scott? Exactly.

The Fresh Prince has simply just vanished off the face of the earth, unlike his doppelganger Will Smith who has become a mainstream movie star and will soon be seen in the new Vampire / Zombie flick, I Am Legend, which also just happens to be the name of my as-yet-unpublished autobiography.

Which I think is what we call irony?

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Carlyle's is a vibey little restaurant in Vredehoek, full of vibey little people, eating vibey little food. So this was where we found ourselves the other day, because we consider ourselves pretty vibey, and we were really hungry.

The place is not overly large, roughly the size of the lounge at The HQ, so it's a fairly intimate setting. There were 8 of us who arrived to celebrate an engagement, which proved to be a problem because, as previously mentioned, the place is the size of The HQ's lounge. Stay with me here.

Anyhoo, after much compromise and gnashing of teeth, we managed to squeeze everyone in, although I was forced to sit inside The Girlfriend's handbag, which was slightly uncomfortable, but I wasn't in the mood for complaining.

The place DOES have a nice little vibe, very chilled, without a hint of pretension, and the food was pretty good as well.

They make pizzas, steak, pasta as well as seafood. The entire menu is up on one of the walls, although the waitrons are also able to comfortable rattle off everything, which can take up to 5 mins but is pretty fascinating nonetheless.

We made our waitron repeat herself three times and she didn't forget a single item. I know this because I am a bit of a Rain Man myself. If you don't know who Rain Man is, I suggest you go and hire the DVD. Basically it's a great little 80's flick starring Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman.

Back to the subject at hand, the bill came and we were pleasantly surprised to see that they had charged us an extra fee for what they called "cakeage". Like "corkage" except with cake.

Yes, we had brought in a cake as part of the celebrations. All we wanted to do was have our cake and eat it.


The Cake

So yes, whilst Carlyle's may offer a good night out, beware of their extra costs.



The Cakeage Fee

They charge a corkage fee, as well as a cakeage fee. In addition, they allegedly also charge extra fees for any dinner party bringing in fat people, men who wear two toned shirts as well as women who have overly large heads. So be warned.

What: Carlyle's
Where: 17 Derry Street, Vredehoek
How Much: + - R120 per person. (That includes a stiff Jameson or three)

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Another year, another Rocking The Daisies festival in Darling. Since it's inaugural event all those years... er... wait.... since it's inaugural event last year, the rock festival has quickly become a compulsory event, one of those things you just have to be a part of, like joining Facebook or signing up for the official Kurt Darren fan club.

I myself was not there, having already made plans to save the world on this particular weekend, but I proceeded to send through a reconnaissance team to provide all of us with feedback on the event. Here with some pics and random commentary.


The Cosmopolitan Town Of Darling

Darling would play host to the event for the second year running. "Why Darling?" you may ask?

I think this has something to do with the name, Rocking the Daisies, as Darling are well known for their daisies. They are also well known for their dassies, which are irritable rodent-like creatures.

Rocking the Dassies doesn't quite have the same ring to it though.


Hier Kom A Ding.

Thousands of people attended this year's weekend of rock music, stand up comedy and excessive drinking. Mainstream media made mention (note the alliteration) of the eco-friendly nature of the event.

This could be seen by the lack of paper used for tickets - sms technology was used to scan reference numbers. People were also encouraged to bury their poo in the soil, as this would further enrich it and result in more daisies blooming.

A win win situation for all.


Maar Is Dit Kuns?

A wide variety of bands were on show during the weekend, including the likes of the Dirty Skirts as well as Taxi Violence. Taxi Violence are well known for their radio hit "Round and round and round it goes", which 5fm played every 32 minutes at one stage a few months back.

The Dirty Skirts are famous for their smash single "Feeling the Pressure (What will I do?)" which touched on feeling pressured and not knowing what to do.

As the above pic shows, people were encouraged to bring their own haystacks from home and find a space to watch the proceedings.


Dit Smaak Soos Kuns

This pic is identical to the one above. Or is it?

Send me an email showing me 10 differences and you may win yourself a mystery prize.


The Fine Dining On Offer

Besides the sensational cheese Nik Naks on offer, there were also food stalls by the likes of Rafiki's, Noodle Bar as well as Gourmet Burger.

All in all, the event was described by numerous sources as "awesome", "a blast", "very cool" and "kiff".

The person who said it was "kiff" was then publicly flogged, for using such a shocking and outdated term of description.

I've rearranged my calendar and will definitely be there next year, and I'd suggest you do the same too.

Till next time then. Take care of yourself....aaaand each other.

Yes, you too.

Oh by the way, I was joking about getting a prize for spotting the differences with pics 3 and 4. Please don't be an arsehole and send me anything, I was clearly taking shit.


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