Fit for a King

What a weekend!
Crombie is in looooooooove… She has this major thing for Joe Niemand and so me being the completely supportive tart that I am, gladly obliged with eagerness when we went off to Back 2 Basix to scream like a bunch of fucking horny love-struck teenagers. Naturally, Crombie managed to rope a few more peeps into the equation and so our table, which was THE best mother fucking table in that place, everyone else just sat there with the odd toned down “woo hoo” being said in a raised voice – these people are all kind of freaks! This of course ensured that the big man noticed us and saw Crombie getting up on that big wide wooden stage and singing her little heart out with Niemand – all for the sake of Live concert tickets (which of course she got cause she totally kicks ass and of course by the time we managed to get to the Dome the concert was finito, no more, hasta la vista – I mean what the fuck kinda bullshit concert was it anyway…) Oh well, the 45 minute trip was entertaining:
1. we got picked up by some very cute boys in a black Peugeot – extra points because their car was black
2. we started figuring out names for peoples cars using their number plates e.g PMD = Pick My Dick, FVB = Fucks Very Badly, PDN = Poes + Dick = Nookie, SSD = She Sucks Dick, Mine stands for She Has Balls / Super Hot Blonde (we couldn’t decide) whilst Crombie’s is She Takes Yours…(once again we kept saying how fucking lucky she is that she didn’t get stuck with STD, never a good thing when you are a shit-hot chicken!)

Ah yes Saturday… Heh heh heh. Well this day saw Crombie and I being raised at the fucking crack of dawn and heading down to The Vaal. I think The Vaal now stands for fucking debaucherious behaviour and way too much drinking – who knew?! Basically Crombie and I spent the whole day at The Riviera, being scoped out oh by pretty much everybody and in particular a very large bunch of Jozi boys who then tried to show off – much like kids in a paddling pool who keep yelling for their Parentals to keep watching them; very cute but it gets fucking tiring / annoying very fucking quickly! Eventually we decided that we had been complete lazy tarts for long enough and headed back to her mom’s place (Crombie has such a cool family, little strange like mine, but very cool) where we managed to transform ourselves into shnazzy Jozi tarts but in a casual kinda way – as after all this was The Vaal!

Anyhoodle… We went back to The Riviera and drank some more, had fucking interesting convo’s about who the fuck knows what, although I do remember that we decided on giving Crombie’s Nice Guy (who she is kinda seeing but in a very non-official kinda way, personally I like to think of it as her keeping her options open, when in doubt: deny, deny, deny!) a wardrobe makeover. I mean the man wears fucking chino’s at the age of 27! And you know that nobody looks fuckable in a pair of chinos – they just look like a fucking idiot number one and number two, if you have a continental dad, they remind you of him – not exactly the look you wanna go for when you have the desire to give him a rogering…

After getting bored at The Riviera we hub-nubbed it to a Café Paparazzi (love the name) were we slummed it for the rest of evening. Basically we landed up paruzzing places such as The Dros (said in heavy Afrikaans accent as I discovered), then off to some skanky little “club” called Café Attica (at least I think that’s what it was called, too pissed at this stage to even remember my own name) where the DJ was clearly just über fucking excited about having a smoke machine and hence at one stage I was tempted to scream: FIRE! Needless to say when the opportunity presents itself in terms of throwing name, you fucking do and in the process you get mother fuckingly shit-faced.

Eventually this little jol had Crombie and I arrive at the conclusion that it was time to move on. This was mainly due to the following:
1. I had some old dude, almost farting dust age, tell me I had nice ankles – I mean excuse me while I just vomit in my mouth!
2. Crombie and I had an argument with some dick-watt who drives a GTI Golf 5 (I mean nice car and all but it hardly made him an expert on the subject) surrounding the fact that having a good romp in an Aston Martin is far more pleasurable that in a Ferrari – merely from a space point of view of course. This poes, however, didn’t agree – I mean after all he knows cars *scoff* Like I said, complete fugly fuckwitt!

So we landed up heading off to a small place called Denim & Jeans (I mean I can like to go out in my short jean pant and denim belt – oi man ek lyk so pritty!) We walked in and….. we fucking ran out! All I remember is hearing Bokjol FyF pumping op die stereo and I knew it was time to vacate the are-ee-a! I mean I just stood there and was like: Nay, nay, nay, 1000 times nay!!!! Naturally being at a pissed level of oh 1 000 000, Crombie and my more artistic side came to the surface: her poor car! It drove around for the rest of the evening with “Crombie and BoozyT kick ass!” “We’re shit hot” “We’re hot – ssszzzzz” Such modesty!

Now a normal fucked-up-drunk would have gone home at this stage but oh no not the Crombster and I, we were on a Fanta mission – if there was fun to be had, we were going to find it! And so off we drove to this place like half way to Timbuktu called Stonehavon – apparently it is some or other pub but alas we did not find out as the rather useless fucking thing had closed already. I mean what a joke?! How can things close at 1am in the god damn morning – in Jozi this would never happen… This is what Crombie and I preceded to biatch about the whole trip home – and boy was it one mother fucking long trip! In our alcohol induced state we kinda got lost. Technically this is Crombie’s fault as she should know the area but I wasn’t exactly a very good wing man at all – passed out halfway to somewhere. This tart did apologise big time and one time to Crombie, who in turn confessed she had fallen asleep as well… Now I can see the little wheels in your mind asking well then who the fuck was driving? *bashful grin* Crombie was, although technically she wasn’t so we came to the brilliant conclusion that her little Fiat Go comes with auto-pilot! Who knew of such wonders - VIVA LA FIAT!

Eventually the evening came to a rather drunk end which translates into us finally getting back to The Vaal and then of course being hungry enough to eat a hamburger and 4 children! So the Excel garage become our new best friend until of course they pissed this tart off by not having Chutney Simba chips – totally criminal. In the end we settled for a Peri-Peri pie (which was fucking hot and tasted like a fucked-off chicken pie to me…) a bag of Doritos and Big Corn Bites – and I ain’t talking the small packets here people. Oh no, the big guns were brought out! After consuming our body weight in food, it was time to pass out – somehow I managed to actually put my jammies on first – yay, go me, so talented!

Sunday – Sunday was spent doing as little as possible and eating… Eating whatever we could think of to fill the gapping whole that was our stomachs. Gone was my head and instead a thump mobile – oh the pain! We did manage to put in quite an appearance at Crombie’s brother’s braai. Heh heh, he thought I was someone famous aka a SA celeb so technically like a C-Grade hoo ha but still fucking hilarious! Her poor bro had nightmares of “me the celeb” coming to their braai *bu ha ha* Nice to see I haven’t lost my touch! Of course Crombie’s bro’s little nunu who isn’t quite a snot-bag yet took an instant liking to me – who knew that my mojo had personified to such an extent that even 6½ month old boys want me *lol*!

Tanking you kindly Crombie for a weekend that was fit for not just one king, but for many!
We ser-i-us-ly kick some major ass!