Thursday, December 17, 2009
Stef’s Law states that the deliciousness of food is directly proportionate to the filthiness of the environment in which it was prepared.
This is not true for all values of X, as vegans are retarded and don’t like food in general.
Examples as to the awesomeness of Stef’s Law are Zanzibar (in Voortrekker Road not Tanzania), Wembley, Miriam’s, Pizza Time and Golden Dish.
So if the place is dirty, the food is good – doesn’t matter what environment it’s prepared in.
But Knead in Wembley Square have taken it too far. This badly taken pic (by me) is next to their pricelist so you’re forced to look at this kak while you’re waiting for your food (which is average):
The red circles are general areas of concern:
1 – The Knead Paed
The paedophile-looking guy in the middle is not only playing with your bread, but his hands are probably dirty from that little boy. And that smile on his face? That’s not a standard smile, like when someone makes a funny. That’s a sadistic smile – like Charles Manson meets Roman Polanski.
2: Bread party on the left
Whoo-hoo! It’s a frikkin bread party. They’re just chilling there laughing about dough and stuff. There’s just so much wrong with the bread party. There’s the guy with my bread sticks in his pockets, next to his Spur wallet. And then there’s the guy who’s got his asscrack on the table where the other guy’s making the bread.
3: Feeling up the bread
Then there’s the hand at the bottom that’s molesting my bread so my sandwich is traumatised.
Dammit people, I don’t mind a greasy preparation surface or dirt on the floor of the kitchen, but I don’t want my bread in someone’s pockets, or someone’s ass on the table, or a creepy smile – never mind the violation of my bread’s rights by molestation.
But Stef’s Theory still stands – prove me wrong.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
So this morning, I had woken up nice and early, spent 30 minutes just looking out the window and counting my blessings. On my way to work, all the robots were green except one, where I had a nice hello-howzit conversation with the guy with the black back at the red light. I was driving at a cruising speed of 70kmph, listening to the sweet sounds of Johnny Cash and savouring the beauty of the day that lay ahead.
And then, like a shit-fart in a clean white pair of underpants, a fucking-retarded-goffel-midget-hippie in a old-school Mini appears out of nowhere, driving like a fuckface and nearly wiping the side of my Toyota Conquest.
If anyone happens to see this fucking-retarded-goffel-midget-hippie, please would you extend your middle finger in her general direction. Maybe call her a fucking-retarded-goffel-midget-hippie or comment as to the state of her mother's genetalia.
How many times have you fell for one of these kak email tricks?
Check out this cracker:
But we all hate crocs so let’s just accept this as a ‘good one’ and move on as if nothing happened.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Since I was old enough to understand them, my grandparents and other people in their stupid years, come up with the most ridiculous shit. Stuff that only happens in Mission Impossible.
“Don’t take sweets from the children at school because they put drugs in them and then it gets you hooked, and then you have to go to rehab and people are going to rape you there.”
“Be careful when you take your change after you pay for your parking. The people put ‘AIDS needles’ in there, then it pricks your finger, then you get AIDS.”
“I think someone’s stealing the airtime on my cellphone.”
Trying to teach my grandmother to use a cellphone was like being continuously slapped on the cheek with a 10-inch dildo while being made to listen to Josh Groban on repeat. Painful and traumatising.
I come across this little gem of an old lady forcing her husband to help her hide her pin number at the ATM.
That’s a beautiful thing.
Let’s try and save them by keeping them away from ‘new’ stuff. Like cellphones and ATMs.
Oh and cars.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
David Beckham’s biggest secret revealed.
Shock/horror! What could it be? Oh my God! I have to click this link to see what it is! This could change my life! It may just be the biggest news this week until we find out that Oprah has changed her mind about stopping her piece-of-rubbish show!
This has happened before with celebs:
Aaaaah!!!!! Caster Semenya is a hermaphrodite!
Aaaaah!!!!! Uri Els tickled Robbie Klay’s Willie!
Aaaaah!!!!! Joost has a sex tape with his other Amore!
Aaaaah!!!!! Percy Montgomery moered his wife! (More here)
Aaaaah!!!!! Cristiano Ronaldo drops his anchor in poo bay! (More here)
Aaaaah!!!!! Hansie fixed cricket matches!
Aaaaah!!!!! Andre Agassi was a tik-monster who wore a wig!
Aaaaah!!!!! Freddie Mercury has AIDS!
Aaaaah!!!!! OJ Simpson killed his wife!
So what could it be? Is he gay? Is does he have a prosthetic ankle? This has the potential to be MASSIVE!
Aaaaah!!!!! David Beckham has Asthma!
Oh my word. I feel so sorry for him. How does he manage to live with that same thing half of the world’s population has. Oh no, poor Posh. And his poor kids. Let’s do a documentary about Becks and his fucking asthma.
Big reveal FAIL!
Monday, November 23, 2009
His handball led to a goal which knocked Ireland out of the World Cup – so they’ll be watching next year’s World Cup on TV in Ireland. So, some clever clogs changed Henry’s Wikipedia page to use the word ‘cunt’. A lot. Bwahaha. Check it out (click on it for a larger image):
Thierry ¨Le CUNT¨ Henry (French pronunciation: [tjɛʁi ɑ̃ˈʁi]; born 17 August 1977) is a French CUNT footballer who plays for Spanish La Liga club Barcelona and the CUNTING French national team, predominantly as a CUNT.
A mum-of-13 who costs taxpayers £50,000 a year has said she won't stop having kids until she gives birth to twins.
Baby machine Sara Foss, 39, is due to give birth to her 14th child in April but will try to get pregnant again as soon as possible to realise her dream.
The brazen mum said today: "All I've ever wanted is twins or triplets. It's my biggest wish, and I'm going to keep trying until I do it. It would be fantastic. In fact, I won't stop trying until I've done it. I love having babies - it's the most wonderful thing in the world."
Sara was 16 when she had her first baby, Patrick, in 1986 - but, traumatised by giving birth, she vowed not to have any more children. It was a decade before she changed her mind and had a second son, Stephen - and she has almost averaged a birth a year ever since.
"I got over my fear of labour and just started having kids. They're all brilliant. They don't give me any bother. They're fantastic."
Her mammoth brood now comprises Patrick, 23, Stephen, 13, Malachai, 12, Peppermint, 11, Echo, 10, Eli, nine, Rogue, eight, Frodo, seven, Morpheus, five, Artemis, four, Blackbird, three, Baudelaire, two, and nine-month-old Voorhees.
All bar Patrick share a three-bedroom council house with their mother and father, Sara's long-term partner Stephen Smith, 40.
So this chick is about to give birth to her 14th child.
14. That’s one for every day of a fortnight. One for every player in a soccer team, including 3 subs. I bet we’re all picturing the same thing at this exact moment. The sleeve of a wizard.
Okay pretty amazing and all that shit. Maybe they don’t have a TV. Maybe they’re old school Catholics. Who cares why? What I care about is the names of the poor little brats.
Patrick - standard name, although a little gay
Stephen – standard – that’s fine
So maybe they are Catholic
Okay maybe they’re Jewish.
What the fuck? I bet they didn’t mind changing his/her nappies.
Echo, echo, echo
Imagine calling that kid in a 3-room council house.
I bet she liked X-Men
I bet this one’s ‘mommy’s precious’
I her birth control pills confused her. She didn’t know whether to take the blue pill or the red pill.
I bet this one is a chick.
That’s a surname. Like the one in Leminy Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events.
O ek wil huistoe gaan, na mama en my 13 broers en susters toe. Die huis is vol and my trane rol. Daai ou wat vanaand by my ma wil le, hy can maar le, sy is a loslappie.
So when she uses her vagina for what’s sure to be the last time before amputation, what are the twins or triplets names going to be?
David and Goliath.?
Jesus, Mary and Joseph?
Neo and Trinity?
Peaches and Cream?
Hewey, Louis and Dewey?
Schmegel and Gandalf ?
Poor, poor, vagina.
Friday, November 20, 2009
And now, finally, after 25 years of violent streams of vomit spewing forth from the mouths of men, Oprah has found a cure. She is stopping the show.
How does 25 years of talking shit and giving away free stuff make someone a million-billion-gazillion-trillion-airre?
I would just like to thank everyone and everything that helped make this shit stop:
Oprah’s famous yo-yo diet, Tom Cruise, God, The Colour Purple, The ABC Network and finally, men.
I’ve so many stories involving Oprah:
One time, I was within a 15-metre radius of the TV while Oprah was on, and I accidentally butchered someone’s face with a butter knife. I didn’t even know it was happening – it was like my mind was being controlled.
Then there was the time I was on SABC 2 while Oprah was on. I really loved that dog. Rest in peace my sweet.
There are also some other violent crimes I’ve committed thanks to Oprah, but due to my out-of-court settlements and confidentiality agreements I have with the involved parties, I can not discuss them.
I really really hate Oprah but I’ve found it in my heart to thank her for making it all stop.
And for finding the cure for Sponti Kotz-alitis.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Here’s the Mike, the kid and the dead. I mean the dad.
I’ve written a poem in his honour:
The man who said The King of Pop
Touched his boytjie’s lollipop,
Was alive and now he’s dead -
Single gunshot wound to the head.
The man in question, Evan Chandler
Called the King a kiddie-handler.
Robbed The King of all his pride
And then committed suicide.
(By the way, I am actually a published poet – something I dabbled in during my younger years.)
So he killed himself and it’s so sad blah blah wadda wadda. But the funny part of the whole story on Tonight (here) is a comment from Santa Barbara County Sheriff Jim Thomas – the guy who handled the case. He said:
“Everybody in this whole saga was touched tragically.”
Bwahaha, you see what he did there?
Whether he was trying to make a funny, we’ll never know.
Anyway Evan Chandler is dead. Apparently, his last words were, “This is it”.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
It’s says simple. It’s says sweet. It’s says "I truly care".
But there’s a new ribbon in town. State-of-the-art flashing AIDS ribbon.
Not a word of lie. For those "look at me" people who want to appear to care.
It says, no it screams:
“HEY LOOK AT ME! I SUPPORT THE AIDS! I’M GOING TO PUT THIS GREAT BIG FUCKOFF FLASHING AIDS BADGE ON MY GOLD SEQUINED GUCCI JACKET SO PEOPLE CAN KNOW I SUPPORT THE AIDS!
AIDS MEANS AN INTERNAL DISEASE SICKNESS!
I DONATE SMALL CHANGE TO THE AIDS AWARENESS EVERY TWO YEARS AND THEY ARE SO GRATEFUL! BUT I DO IT JUST TO SEE THE LOOK ON THOSE KIDS’ FACES!”
Can we please not get silly about a serious thing? Let’s support AIDS by getting a ribbon in time for World AIDS day on 1 December.
Or if you don’t really care, GET A GREAT BIG FUCKOFF FLASHING ONE.
Japan couldn't score against Bafana so they blamed the noise of the Vuvuzelas in the crowd. I have personally had a Vuvuzela of mine stolen which injured me traumatically (read it here if you like). It was the Japanese Chief of Football who called for them to be banned. And people agreed. South African people. Some of the comments on iol were pretty funny.
Too funny. What a fucking chop.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The beatboxer guy was balls-to-the-wall trippy cool:
15 out of 10 for both of them. But the rest of those chops had as much talent as I have in my infected ingrown toenail with the seeping pus.
There was this little fag who dances like the whore from Little Miss Sunshine.
On a scale of 1 to kak, he’s kak.
There were these bros who put the op in opera - when you listen to them it’s like being in theatre, minus the anaesthetic. And the one brother had that 'sad' story about his girlfriend leaving him and he was tjanking on national television.
Talent rating of 1/10.
Then the winner, a mildly talented dancer who won because he was deaf. Sympathy vote for that and then sympathy vote for his translator, who showed signs of mental handicap and homosexuality. Triple whammy.
Talent rating – 3/10.
But this little bundle of joy brought the house down despite her act being reminiscent of Quasimodo’s bell-ringing in his twilight years. It makes me bring back an old thing me and my friend used to say:
“Jy lielik, gaan koop bunnylicks.”
Talent rating of minus 32.
SA has got talent but it’s like trying to find a piece of hay in a stack full of needles. And judging by those talentless chops in the final, SA hasn’t got talent, SA’s got no airtime to vote.
Monday, November 9, 2009
"Hey did you check the game lastnight?"
"No I was cleaning my shoes."
"No I was spending some quality time with my girlfriend."
"No I watched Strictly Come Dancing."
But never before have I heard someone say they were brushing there teeth when the game was on. Check it out - it loads quickly.
No word of lie. Big coat with sunglasses and brushing his teeth.
Earlier this year at the Confed Cup, there was this little kid, who didn't know that the ice-cream was meant to go in his mouth:
Bwahaha. On youtube, people left some nasty, but bwahaha-inducing comments:
I hope you can read that, cos I'm not repeating it - then it would be almost like I'm saying that.
Shame, probably United fans.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
The girls can dress slutty and paint their faces.
The guys can wear a standard black suit with a tie to match their partner’s dress.
They get to arrive in the most outrageous car they can find.
This is probably the most important thing, because there’s normally that rent-a-crowd outside the venue ready to scream like you’re the walking corpse of Michael Jackson. In my year, I went in a limo. 3 girls who were best friends came in matching minis. And I think someone came in a taxi (minibus).
But this one takes the cake. Takes the cake and smothers it all over its mouth while singing I excerpts from ‘I want to live in America’.
Not a word of lie, this chick came in a coffin. Pall bearers and all.
This is the part where the ridiculous one-liners spew forth from my mouth:
She looks drop-dead gorgeous.
She entered the room with such Amazing Grace.
I don’t think she re-hearsed her entrance.
Sorry, I’m just trying to help us all deal with this situation.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
A ‘This store will open at 20h00’ sign will be so much more effective than a ‘Back in 5 minutes’ sign, then we’d all know exactly what time to come back.
Last night, due to factors outside my control, I had to go to Canal Walk, but thanks to a shop assistant with a single-digit IQ, my visit was worthwhile.
Now everything was set up for them to make the perfect out-of-shop sign. For you and for me and the entire human race. It was so very nearly understandable. Do you think they managed to use it properly? Fuck-to-the-nizzay.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sir Turd Ferguson has blamed the referee after his ‘team’ lost 2 - 0 to Liverpool yesterday. Sorry, I mean his ‘team’ were beaten by Liverpool yesterday.
2 - 0. A fair win and a great win. But not according to the biggest whinger the game has ever seen.
Hardly surprising this:
“The ref was too young and inexperienced to handle a game of such stature,” he vomited in the press today.
How about “Liverpool played the better game”, or “Liverpool were deserving winners”.
A compliment like that will never spew forth from the mouth of that Turd.
Anyway, besides the much-needed win and impressive display from Liverpool, the fans were given the chance to verbally abuse once-great midget Michael Owen, who committed the most unheard-of act of treachery when he moved to the dirty Mancs.
A beautiful moment captured on camera:
Beautiful day it was though. 2 - 0.
“But it was the referee’s fault.”
Friday, October 23, 2009
My sister’s in Matric, mkay. So the day before valedictory, they have a little thing called the Mickey Mouse Awards. They give out a whole bunch of phoney awards to the useless people of the class who don’t win anything else:
Person with the stupidest nickname, fattest kankles, most likely to contract a venereal disease, most likely to be a failure in life, become leader of the ANC Youth League etc.
But there was some severe retardation to come at these awards. Here’s what happened:
Now, the award for couple who should be together. It’s Guy X and Girl Y.
But Girl X, the girlfriend of the Guy X was not very happy about this and stormed out. The mascara was running down her cheek and the urine was running down everyone else’s legs. Then:
Time for the next award. Couple most likely to get married. It’s Guy X and Girl X. Girl X is still outside crying. So her lying, cheating, no-good, son-of-a-bitch boyfriend (for effect), goes to fetch her.
So this chop runs gets his desperate housewife and carries her back inside like she’s going into the ER with a severed leg. He takes her onto the stage then proposes to her. As in marriage. As in “Please will you do my dishes for the rest of my life?”
Guess what she said.
Seriously people, can we get a level of sanity going here. Two 18 year olds are getting married because they watched High School Musical too many times. For crying out loud outside.
I normally reserve blasphemy for when my girlfriend talks while the soccer’s on, but good lord people.
Like sands through the hourglass.
They’re going to have 9 toasters at the age of 19.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Now I’m just spitballing here, but I think these people all look like paedophiles. Martin Scorsese, Woody Allen, David Lynch and Pablo Something-or-other. No wonder they support the touching of 13 year olds. Crazy grey hair, big black glasses and emergency packets of sweets in their back pockets. And there are more over here.
We all know Woody Allen married his step-adopted-daughter-in-law or something, so my accusations have a bit more credit than you thought.
Someone who doesn’t feature on this list though, is Whoopi Goldberg.
She famously said “Roman Polanski didn’t commit rape-rape”. She said it was more the colour light lavender than the colour purple.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
So on IOL this morning, I see that one of the men - who was desperately poor and was forced to sell his kidney – made a funny. Check it out:
Nice dude. In spite of all his hardships, he hasn’t forgotten his sense of humour. That’s a beautiful thing. He’s technically a dirty-whore-prostitute-slut though, selling his body and all.
I once tried to sell my liver and lungs to an old war veteran on his deathbed. He said, “Over my dead body”.
I thought that was ironic too.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
They’ve fired Joel Santana with just 233 days to go to the 2010 World Cup. That’s not much time for the new coach to get the team ready for ze virld kup. They should’ve fired him months ago, nay, they shouldn’t have hired him in the first place – we’ve got manienie-plenty able coaches to do the job.
SAFA probably don’t know that it’s socially unacceptable to fire a leper. Poor Joel’s gonna struggle to find a job now. You don’t do that. It’s like when the mentally handicapped person asks you to dance, you say yes.
Raymond hack and this new guy with a girl’s name said they want a Brazilian, so they went to a ladies’ spa and got a wax.
4th fuckup to come:
They’re gonna hire some has-been foreigner to be the new coach. Apparently, they wanted to get Sir Alf Ramsey, who managed England to World Cup Victory in 1966, but they didn’t know he was dead. So now it’s going to be Carlos Alberto Parreira. Not Gavin Hunt, not Clive Barker, not Jomo Sono, but a Brazilian chop with a world cup medal.
Joel Santana was very upset. In his farewell statement, he blamed the language barrier for his kak results as coach. He said:
“Espero que todos bloqueia em seus galos você monte inútil de linhagens.”
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I’ve always heard about this happening. After a near-death experience, people change their lives for the better. My life has just flashed before my eyes. I remembered all the bad things I’ve done and the people I’ve hurt. I’ve made a list of resolutions so that I can be a better person. (My Name is Earl):
Tell my loved ones more often that I love them
Make every effort to watch Liverpool at Anfield
Watch Ben Hur
Stop saying the P word to taxi drivers
Give paper money to the guy with the black bag at the robots
Give my change to the little cripple statue at Pick ‘n’ Pay
Cut off Michael Owen’s leg and beat him to death with his own limb
Go to church more than twice a year
Because I care about you and I’d like YOU to also change your life for the better, I’m going to share my near-death experience with you.
With special thanks to Serena Williams and ESPN. Here it is:
God bless you.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Percy Montgomery, possibly South Africa’s most famous Springbok, allegedly drop-kicked the shit out of his ‘beloved wife’ after getting drunk at some restaurant/hotel opening. But it gets worse. Not only did he moerrr his wife, but he moerrred her family to.
“It is alleged that he used physical force to injure his wife and some of his in-laws, which included his father-in-law.”
Sugar-coat it as much as you like – that means he moerrred them. Allegedly.
Will Ferrel/Jackie Moon once famously said, “I’ll murder your family.”
Percy Montgomery has gone for the slightly lesser evil. “I’ll moerrr your family.”
I’m just spit-balling here, but I’m pretty sure that if these allegations are true, Percy’s pretty-boy vibe and long blonde hair will go down very well in jail.
I think someone’s going to drop their anchor in Percy’s Poo Bay. Bad boy Percy.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
“Gerald I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s OK with you?”
“How are you?”
“I’m fine thank you Gerald. Please tell me what you plan to about the illegal gambling happening on campus.”
“How are you doing? OK?”
“Thank you Gerald. Now I know this is a delicate subject, but what is your stance on student/lecturer relationships?”
“Are you well?”
“Thank you Gerald. Now some people have been talking around campus and it’s rumoured that you want to make the canteen more expensive to pay for a WW 1 memorial garden. Is there any truth to this?”
“How’s it going?”
“Gerald, I think you’re a chop.”
“How are things on your side?”
If anyone actually knows if Gerald Neves was elected to the SRC, please let me know. Before we go, this is the absolute genius he was up against. Sorry for the bad pictures but I think it's quite fitting given the thought put into these campaign slogans:
Wanted poster - "Students' empowerment by all means"