Beatings make Little Darling

As I drove home from work today I drifted back to my childhood. It was a time when I was always right and quick to shoot down others’ opinions on things. Not much has changed since then. However, in those days there was a price to pay for being a potty mouth. That price wasn’t grounding or time out, as they do today, but rather the good old fashioned trouncing.

My mother has always been a firm believer in that portentous line from The Scripture, ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’. For those who are not au fait with the phrase, it basically means that when your child has done wrong, make him repent with a series of high pitched yells. And boy, did she take that line to heart. For mom, that was her cue to re-enact some of Tyson’s finest moments.

Initially I would get minor treatment for having constant opinions but I soon learned the tricks of the trade. When I fell to the floor pretending to be paralysed, she’d normally stop. Moments later, my room would be filled with roars of laughter coming from yours truly. What I didn’t see approaching was that the older I go, the more valid her licence became to thrash my hind quarters. That would normally end with me talking in tongues, vowing never to do whatever it was that I’d done. Needless to say the next week I’d do it all over again.

When I reached high school, I realised I had legs that sprinter faster than hers, so I used that to my advantage. If I saw a hammering coming, I’d bolt for the door and take off in the direction that had the longest straights. It was no secret that I could run faster, but mom smartened up and found ways to get around her son who had suddenly discovered that he had a fondness for athletics.

One particular day I’d let my delinquent ways get the better of me. According to memory, it had something to do with escaping the school premises without consent. Nowadays they call this bunking. Anyway, mom heard of my Houdini tendencies and planned an ambush on me – an assault of such relentlessness that it left me breathless.........

If only Sipho could lend a hand, or a textbook

It was a proud moment for South Africa when we learned that legendary singer Sipho Hotstix Mabuse finally acquired his grade 12 equivalent, at the age of 61 years. This monumental moment even warranted a special mention from the president.

Let me say, President Jacob Zuma is a good old guy. I would have been a tad bitter congratulating someone who kicked my rump academically, especially considering that he sings whilst I run the country. This, however, is no reason to judge the president. He’s clearly a big man in more ways than one.

 I think it would be splendid if JZ could take a leaf out of Sipho’s book and allow the songster to home school him. That way we all be proud and show reverence to our nations’ daddy. Imagine the joy our beloved president would feel, knowing the whole nation looks up to him instead of only miscellaneous women.

Seeing as promoting education is high on the agenda, it seems only logical to me that our front man lead by example. Providing Sipho agrees to help our alpha male in acquiring his qualifications, I already have an idea as to where they can start.

Given our president’s weakness for the female anatomy, I feel it is in his best interest to learn about sex education first. Even the true pro’s like Hugh Hefner still haven’t learned all the things they can, so no offence, Mr President. Sipho will teach him all about Biology and how to keep the human body clean and pure, showers aside. A cursory lesson on the virus, and how it spreads, wouldn’t do any harm either.

Dealing with large numbers is no easy feat. I remember struggling with mathematics and only when I found things to liken the numbers to, did it become easier. While learning his multiplication tables, he could use his wives in lue of numbers. If you took one Nkosazana Zuma and multiplied her by three, how many more Zuma’s would there be? Mr Pres, it may sound difficult, but you’ll get the hang of it, eventually. 

Zuma – The Spear of the Nation

By now you might have heard about the furore over a picture, which depicts the President standing in a suit, with an outstretched hand while his stumpy bits dangle from his zipper region.

Hardly worth calling his fleshy bits stumpy to be honest. In fact, more the kind of weapon God bestows upon a man who he holds solely responsible for continuing the human race. And given the amount of children our Casanova has fathered, I’d say he’s doing a sterling job so far.

With the above mentioned in mind, I’m finding it rather difficult to understand why the ANC feels the image is defamatory and violates Zuma’s rights. A news soundbite even said something to the effect that the image undermines African culture and men in particular. Perhaps it was spurred on by ANC spokesman and self-elected art connoisseur Jackson Mthembu, who called the image “so-called-art.” 

During Zuma’s last cultural wedding – the one where he flailed his legs in the air and toppled over – I could have sworn that I saw something similar to a Puff Adder, only darker, hiding behind his loin cloth. If my memory serves me right, prior to the arrival of Europeans on African soil, black folk were running around bare-arsed and not in Hugo Boss suits, as the ANC would have us believe.

Personally, I feel President Zuma should be flattered at the almost life-size picture. The nation can be forgiven for thinking that women queue outside his garden gate like paedophiles at a pre-school open day. And now that the image is in the public domain I suspect that number will grow, this time including some pale-faced women.

It’s not every guy who gets portrayed as a human mule, what with that spear of an appendage dangling from him. Judging by the looks on the faces of other men who were at the opening on the same night, I could tell that they, too, wanted to be portrayed as our three-legged president.

If anything, it does wonders to improve his street cred. What better way to get the nation to take you seriously than to show off a little?...........

To read more on this piece you can go to any Exclusive Books or CNA stores nationwide. 

Funerals are the new hook up joints

The general idea is that if you are single and ready to meet someone new, a wedding is probably the best place to start looking. Presumably this is because every bride has a host of friends who haven’t yet found love. The fact that alcohol is present doesn't seem to hinder the process either. The problem arises the next morning.

Due to the fact that the booze was flowing down your gullet the previous night, you’re bound to find that Sheila, the girl sleeping next to you, resembles Camilla Parker Bowles with a face like a Braille chart. That’s never an easy situation to get out of, especially when you have to slink out of the hotel room, without your judgemental friends seeing.

Assuming the girl actually was a looker, the odds are against you that she’ll still have the same appreciation for you wit and charm the next morning. Booze has that effect on women too. There’s also the possibility that, because of her ostensible promiscuity, she has clapped eyes on more impressive lower regions than yours and isn’t shy to verbalise your inadequacy.

After I considered this, I came to the conclusion that instead of bagging the bride’s nastiest hopefuls and having your tender bits poked fun at, there is another less-travelled road to success, which may prove equally rewarding. For unfathomable reasons, the greatest numbers of attractive looking women seem to gather at funerals.

This was my observation while attending a funeral not too long ago. When I saw the gorgeous goddesses present at the funeral, it was like I was the one who had died and gone to heaven. To see a collection of women of this calibre usually involves an exorbitant entrance fee and multiple episodes of handing over wads of cash......

Get the complete book in stores to read further..

Hello and Welcome

Suppose some of you may be wondering what a wooden spoon has to do with anything. Well, cast your mind back to the time when you still used to wet your bed and not because of consuming alcohol. It was a time when the good old wooden spoon had two functions.

The first was for your gran to stir her ingredients while cooking. The second function was to cause a spontaneous leakage of the bladder, in the form of tyson-style ass-whuppings. That was the case with me, anyway.

So, a new blog deviod of any rational explanation.

As you may or may not know I have written a book, which is called 'Don't Judge this Book by the Cover', and not 'don't judge a book by the cover' as so many people seem to think. So much for people thinking for themselves instead of going with the old adage. Perhaps that's a reflection on the education system. Be it as it may...

In radio interviews so many people have asked me why I wrote a book mocking South Africa and all of our idiosyncrasies. And the answer has remained unvarying thus far. You see, South Africa has developed this little obsession with political correctness. Basically what that means is that if you don't like it, then I shouldn't say it. Also the fact that Freedom of Speech has become such a taboo topic contributes greatly to why I put together this collection of politically incorrect columns.

As someone with a voracious appetite for reading, it has become one of my pet peeves to read material edited over and over again, just for the sake of ironing out any kind of offensive material. Plainly said, this book is a humourous collection of all things you'v always thought but never had the balls to say. And as I said just recently on Metro fm, there has to be someone to tell it as it is. So once again, a big welcome to all who enjoy irreverent material.

The second reason for this blog is so that I have a platform to use when I want to make a comment about something. For example, I used to look at people and judge them by the cars they drive or the homes they live in. Now when I visit someone I fly straight into their bathroom and inspect their toilet paper. I have my theories on people and the amount of ply paper they use. But we'll save that for another time.

A last word for today, if you would like to read the book that everyone in South Africa is going on about, head off to your nearest Exclusive Books or CNA and grab a copy of 'Don't Judge this Book by the Cover'. Oh, and remember to pay before running off to read!

G