Don’t you just love the fact the wheel of life is round? It forms this happy little circle where, eventually, things come back to bite in the fucking ass in a ruh-hehehe-lly bad way! I fucking love it! And think that Karma, although a chief bitch majority of the time, is the freaking shit!
I am glowing with the knowledge that my Achilles Heel is experiencing this, satisfied and basking in the rays of sunshine, happy, that he feels like a complete tit – and it is just be-ute-ai-ful! I kinda feel sorry for him in a teeny fucking oh so minuscule tiny way as no one likes getting what they deserve – especially if they feel they deserve a Ferrari or Island holiday and all they get is egg on their face *content grin*
I guess life really is like a box of chocolates – you just never know which one is gonna give you a really fucking bad case of the shits!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Cock Lock?
So Crazy B has an extremely saw jaw as well as a few swollen glands. After her action packed evening last night I have to ponder if she hasn’t got a bit of cock lock? I mean a lack of this sort of thing can definitely lead to cock lock, otherwise commonly known as lock jaw – very painful, very uncool! Of course this brought much amusement to me for the entire day – who knew getting action could turn out to be a form of exercise…?! Mmmm, maybe I should cancel my gym membership *evil smirk*
After the initial comments about what exactly went down in Audi Boy’s kitchen, we started to ponder if Crazy B hadn’t possibly picked up a dodgy something from the dear darling doct-her? Her symptoms got me a pondering at first - can a dick give you a cold? Mmmm, maybe she was suffering from cock-flu… (Google has never heard of this so there went my little theory…)
The answer in the end turned out to be so fucking entertaining that I now realize why they say it is just so god damn important for men to have this little disease… The direct um contact per say would um most definitely render them a wee bit non-productive!
Her diagnosis?... Mumps!
Aaaaaahhhhhhh yes, the irony of it all…
After the initial comments about what exactly went down in Audi Boy’s kitchen, we started to ponder if Crazy B hadn’t possibly picked up a dodgy something from the dear darling doct-her? Her symptoms got me a pondering at first - can a dick give you a cold? Mmmm, maybe she was suffering from cock-flu… (Google has never heard of this so there went my little theory…)
The answer in the end turned out to be so fucking entertaining that I now realize why they say it is just so god damn important for men to have this little disease… The direct um contact per say would um most definitely render them a wee bit non-productive!
Her diagnosis?... Mumps!
Aaaaaahhhhhhh yes, the irony of it all…
Cock-a-doo-dil-doo!
Oooooooooh what a night! Sooooo this Friday saw one of best mate’s from Cape Town (Crazy B) have her first ever taste of Jozi and man I think it is a taste that she, nor I for that matter, will ever forget!
It was this tart’s great honour to show her all the places where I have on numerous occasions um *cough cough* thrown a bit of name. So I rounded up the gals and off we disappeared into the sunset. First port of call was of course Qba. And as soon as we walked in there (wearing the shit-hot tarts look for the evening) it was unmistakably evident that Karma was on our side! Yeah baby yeah!
We were all up for a major fucking round of tail feather shaking and just general throwing of name and thus a few Tequilas later, we where good to go… Our next point of call? Jozi’s finest meat market! I mean where else are you guaranteed to at least find some Grade A, Top Choice Meat?!
Boy did we find fillet! Amongst all the tail feather shaking (which I managed to do it brand new fucking 6 inch heels – totally disproved the theory that new shoes aren’t comfie, go tart!) Crazy B and I managed spend the majority of the evening eye-fucking the scheit out of some fine specimens.
What really amaze me is that one particular specimen pulled a complete sneaky sneaky and managed to find me… Audi Boy turned out to be a completely brilliant snog with a body that I swear to fucking God if I knew how to iron, I would iron my clothes on. He makes the ironing board a completely obsolete appliance! The man’s body is just an ode to perfection, he has those lines that indicate where his hips are – I am a complete sucker for these lines. I will do anything for a guy with these lines – anything!
Now you might be pondering how on God’s green earth I managed to see Audi Boy’s bod? Mmmm, after shaking my ass until 5am and Manhattan deciding that it was now a respectable time to close – Audi Boy invited us over to his place where we could continue the debaucherious behaviour whilst savoring exceptionally expensive whisky! A man truly after my own heart! Ok wait, hold up – from the sounds of that sentence it looks rather fucking apparent that a threesome was had – oh so not even close you sick sick people! Crazy B had managed to hook one of the fine fellas – he of course turned out to be a foreigner (mmmm, extra points for those) und a doctor (bonus points) as well which meant that they really had to choice but to engage in less talk and more action…
So six of us (Audi Boy, moi, Crazy B, Foreign Doctor plus his 3 mates – one of which was called Boy *shrug of shoulders* foreigners!) headed back to Audi Boy’s place where he racked up a couple more points – the man has great taste (duh)! Anyhoo the whisky flowed and so did a lot of things as well. I did keep it very tidy and didn’t give up the nookie, which took a fuck load of self-control on this tart’s part – extra points for me… KA-CHING!
Eventually our Friday night came to a drunken and very satisfying end *wicked grin* at 8am on Saturday morning! After dropping Crazy B’s Foreign Doctor off at his hospital (he was due on duty in an hour – mmmm really hope he didn’t kill anyone…) we finally crawled into bed looking like slapped up hookers from Oxford Rd with fucking peas for brains!
CHA-EARS TO THAT!
It was this tart’s great honour to show her all the places where I have on numerous occasions um *cough cough* thrown a bit of name. So I rounded up the gals and off we disappeared into the sunset. First port of call was of course Qba. And as soon as we walked in there (wearing the shit-hot tarts look for the evening) it was unmistakably evident that Karma was on our side! Yeah baby yeah!
We were all up for a major fucking round of tail feather shaking and just general throwing of name and thus a few Tequilas later, we where good to go… Our next point of call? Jozi’s finest meat market! I mean where else are you guaranteed to at least find some Grade A, Top Choice Meat?!
Boy did we find fillet! Amongst all the tail feather shaking (which I managed to do it brand new fucking 6 inch heels – totally disproved the theory that new shoes aren’t comfie, go tart!) Crazy B and I managed spend the majority of the evening eye-fucking the scheit out of some fine specimens.
What really amaze me is that one particular specimen pulled a complete sneaky sneaky and managed to find me… Audi Boy turned out to be a completely brilliant snog with a body that I swear to fucking God if I knew how to iron, I would iron my clothes on. He makes the ironing board a completely obsolete appliance! The man’s body is just an ode to perfection, he has those lines that indicate where his hips are – I am a complete sucker for these lines. I will do anything for a guy with these lines – anything!
Now you might be pondering how on God’s green earth I managed to see Audi Boy’s bod? Mmmm, after shaking my ass until 5am and Manhattan deciding that it was now a respectable time to close – Audi Boy invited us over to his place where we could continue the debaucherious behaviour whilst savoring exceptionally expensive whisky! A man truly after my own heart! Ok wait, hold up – from the sounds of that sentence it looks rather fucking apparent that a threesome was had – oh so not even close you sick sick people! Crazy B had managed to hook one of the fine fellas – he of course turned out to be a foreigner (mmmm, extra points for those) und a doctor (bonus points) as well which meant that they really had to choice but to engage in less talk and more action…
So six of us (Audi Boy, moi, Crazy B, Foreign Doctor plus his 3 mates – one of which was called Boy *shrug of shoulders* foreigners!) headed back to Audi Boy’s place where he racked up a couple more points – the man has great taste (duh)! Anyhoo the whisky flowed and so did a lot of things as well. I did keep it very tidy and didn’t give up the nookie, which took a fuck load of self-control on this tart’s part – extra points for me… KA-CHING!
Eventually our Friday night came to a drunken and very satisfying end *wicked grin* at 8am on Saturday morning! After dropping Crazy B’s Foreign Doctor off at his hospital (he was due on duty in an hour – mmmm really hope he didn’t kill anyone…) we finally crawled into bed looking like slapped up hookers from Oxford Rd with fucking peas for brains!
CHA-EARS TO THAT!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Humpty Dumpty Had a Great Fall…
I have a confession to make: I am officially the world’s clumsiest tart! This has become pain stakingly obvious in my last few escapades out on the town…
Now I realized at a very young age that I had a unbelievable gift for putting my foot in it, such as the time I was bitching about my lesbo netball coach who hadn’t awarded me my half colours (big, huge, enormous mistake) and was, in graphic detail, describing her love for carpets when I heard the dreaded “ah ah um” as she walked past me – Mmmm, ‘xcuse me while I remove my foot!
What I hadn’t grasped yet, until recently, was that this foot in mouth ability extended to just general fucking abuse of my footsies! My feet have been stepped on, scrapped, driven over and alas fallen pray to being the general victims of my accident proneness…
My gorgeous feet that enhance my beautiful shoes (and they are just so deliciously yummy) are scared, sore and worst of all just don’t do justice to my gorgeous new shoes (which will be worn for tonight’s big piss on the town)! Of course, as is the case when you are shit-hot, people have started calling me all kinds of names you would associate with a complete nit-witt and general doofus (fuck, when was the last time you used THAT word?!)
This label-tart-clumsy-phase has even spread to my familia, with my little bro telling the parental unit known as dad:
“Don’t worry dad, this is what she does – she gets drunk, falls down and then continues to party…”
At first I beamed with self-pride and utter admiration for moi – walked around thunking: Too Fucking Right! Bloody A! Yo-dil-yay-di-hoo! Of course the reality of the branding set in and I am totally worried and completely stressed out about this – I mean if this rep gets around can you imagine how this is going to affect my shag status in this town…!!!
Mmmm, although on the upside of this situation (I was taught to always look at the positive side of life – you know rainbows and butterflies) I had one of my Directors comment on my latest war wound – it has the coveted prize posie on my left foot… His comment you might ask?
“So did you climb some trees this weekend… Maybe even mount a few boys?”
Naturally I was appalled at the comment – total sexual harassment of the tart – but then it hit me… My clumsiness is a gift, a blessing in disguise, my secret weapon… Imagine how many sympathy votes and more importantly drinks I can get looking all fragile and hurt??? Fucking Jackpot Baby!
Now all I need is to find someone very fucking strong and uber sexy too… (after all I do fall down quite a bit and will need a strapper of man to help me!)
Now I realized at a very young age that I had a unbelievable gift for putting my foot in it, such as the time I was bitching about my lesbo netball coach who hadn’t awarded me my half colours (big, huge, enormous mistake) and was, in graphic detail, describing her love for carpets when I heard the dreaded “ah ah um” as she walked past me – Mmmm, ‘xcuse me while I remove my foot!
What I hadn’t grasped yet, until recently, was that this foot in mouth ability extended to just general fucking abuse of my footsies! My feet have been stepped on, scrapped, driven over and alas fallen pray to being the general victims of my accident proneness…
My gorgeous feet that enhance my beautiful shoes (and they are just so deliciously yummy) are scared, sore and worst of all just don’t do justice to my gorgeous new shoes (which will be worn for tonight’s big piss on the town)! Of course, as is the case when you are shit-hot, people have started calling me all kinds of names you would associate with a complete nit-witt and general doofus (fuck, when was the last time you used THAT word?!)
This label-tart-clumsy-phase has even spread to my familia, with my little bro telling the parental unit known as dad:
“Don’t worry dad, this is what she does – she gets drunk, falls down and then continues to party…”
At first I beamed with self-pride and utter admiration for moi – walked around thunking: Too Fucking Right! Bloody A! Yo-dil-yay-di-hoo! Of course the reality of the branding set in and I am totally worried and completely stressed out about this – I mean if this rep gets around can you imagine how this is going to affect my shag status in this town…!!!
Mmmm, although on the upside of this situation (I was taught to always look at the positive side of life – you know rainbows and butterflies) I had one of my Directors comment on my latest war wound – it has the coveted prize posie on my left foot… His comment you might ask?
“So did you climb some trees this weekend… Maybe even mount a few boys?”
Naturally I was appalled at the comment – total sexual harassment of the tart – but then it hit me… My clumsiness is a gift, a blessing in disguise, my secret weapon… Imagine how many sympathy votes and more importantly drinks I can get looking all fragile and hurt??? Fucking Jackpot Baby!
Now all I need is to find someone very fucking strong and uber sexy too… (after all I do fall down quite a bit and will need a strapper of man to help me!)
Insanity
“The definition of insanity - doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result”
- Albert Einstein -
This little theory of old Bert’s here sums up my drinking behaviour in one sentence! I mean it thoroughly explains why everyone calls me insane – drinking ssssssooooo much Tequila and expecting not to fall down drunk and completely disorderly *bashful smile* is um insane!
Genius, pure genius!
- Albert Einstein -
This little theory of old Bert’s here sums up my drinking behaviour in one sentence! I mean it thoroughly explains why everyone calls me insane – drinking ssssssooooo much Tequila and expecting not to fall down drunk and completely disorderly *bashful smile* is um insane!
Genius, pure genius!
Monday, November 20, 2006
Uranus!
I have never been the type of tart to suffer fools gladly and hence the reason why all my men are über intelligent (shut up Crombie)… I have, however, had the nightmare-ish experience as of this morning of having to deal with a new breed of fool. A breed I never though could possibly exist.
This breed has no logic, no thought process; actually they have no fucking thoughts. They are incapable of thinking and probably spend the majority of their day concentrating on breathing in and out! This breed of fool is the ultimate human waste of space and a true testament to why incest is illegal!
I mean processes are designed and specific implementation tools are developed to aid all of us in our daily shlep through this thing called Tart-Ville aka Life so why in the fucking hell are the almighty thick and fucking useless in fucking capable of using them? Hey? Mmmm?
Where oh where you may ask fearfully may you encounter this new type of baboon? Planet Fucking-Futile is where! These people have got to be the most incompetent bags of shit on the planet …
Their staff clearly hasn’t a fucking clue what joining through Momentum means! The ignoramuses phoned me today to tell me the joyful news that my gym membership was expiring tomorrow! EXCUSE FUCKING ME?! I DON’T THINK SO GEORGIE BOY! For fucks sake people a once-off membership fee is just that you stupid bastards! There is about as much intelligence in their staff as a stack of jelly gums on the floor!
I mean do they have a certain level of stupid that there moronic fucking imbecilic people have to pass in order to work for Planet Fuckwitts? I can just see the ad now:
Will give you job. Call 0800 I AM MORON (0800 2666766)
It clearly must be that fucking simple… The triple 6’s only go to illustrate my theory that these people are fucking evil bastards out to ensure that my blood pressure goes through the god damn roof and I kill at least 5 children on my home tonight! *hee hee hoeeeeee…hee hee hoeeeeeeee* Fucking fuckers the lot of ‘em!
The aggravation and pure hatred that I feel towards this fucking gym fileld with a useless bunch of scheit for employees is gi-fucking-fungus right now. If there was a bloody Virgin near me (hee hee) I would move my fucking membership faster than you could say Durex!
I have never in my entire tarty life had to deal with such a bunch of monkeys! Not even the Tweedle Twins and Butthead are this fucking fucking fucking – ARG! Jeeeeeeeeee-sus H Christ!!!!
To all Planet Fitness’ employees:
1. STOP CALLING ME YOU HARASSING BASTARDS
2. I AM A PAYING (that’s p-a-y-i-n-g!) CUSTOMER
3. GO SHOVE YOURSELVES UP A PARTICULAR PLANET’S SOLAR SYSTEM YOU USELESS SODS!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Kelloggs
It's Kelloggs' birthday today - so happy birthday chicken! May the mental behaviour flow like the Cosmos tonight *wicked grin*
I luff Kelloggs like a fat kid loves cake. This noodle totally kicks ass in a subtle way that I am but a fledgling and she is my master *ahhhhhh so*
Chu-ear-z!
I luff Kelloggs like a fat kid loves cake. This noodle totally kicks ass in a subtle way that I am but a fledgling and she is my master *ahhhhhh so*
Chu-ear-z!
Rah rah...
So yesterday my company had our team building / strategy session thang (off site - how lucky am I?!) which Super H and I completely agreed on the fact that it was a right royal fucking waste of our dear and duhling time... The things a tart has to do to get ahead in this world just breaks my spirit sometimes.
There Super H und I sat, trying to alternate the numbness that was starting to settle in from one beatiful butt cheek to the next, whilst one director after the bloody other droned one about scheit that quite fucking frankly: has fuck all to do with our team. Now if the Tweedle Twins and god forbid Butthead could actually catch a fucking clue and do their god damn jobs, life in general would be rather pleasant. Yes that's right we could skip-to-my-Lu in Pleasant-Ville... If only the big cheeses could smell the fucking roses!
I'm not quite sure exactly what they expected, none of us are going to join hands and sing songs whilst yelling: rah rah like the uber pathetic Rhodean girls in this town! For fuck's sake people get a life and for that matter stop holding up mine..
Of course Super H and I decided that the only way to remedy a day like that was to get drunk and party like it was 1999! Unfortunately Karma had other plans for us and so I am left with a severly bruised foot and a feeling of bitter disappointment at what could have been a wild and debaucherious evening.
Super H and I figure that Karma owes us big time and we shall be collecting on this little debt next week Friday when the party shoes will be polished, skirts will be worn and debauchery will be in the air!
There Super H und I sat, trying to alternate the numbness that was starting to settle in from one beatiful butt cheek to the next, whilst one director after the bloody other droned one about scheit that quite fucking frankly: has fuck all to do with our team. Now if the Tweedle Twins and god forbid Butthead could actually catch a fucking clue and do their god damn jobs, life in general would be rather pleasant. Yes that's right we could skip-to-my-Lu in Pleasant-Ville... If only the big cheeses could smell the fucking roses!
I'm not quite sure exactly what they expected, none of us are going to join hands and sing songs whilst yelling: rah rah like the uber pathetic Rhodean girls in this town! For fuck's sake people get a life and for that matter stop holding up mine..
Of course Super H and I decided that the only way to remedy a day like that was to get drunk and party like it was 1999! Unfortunately Karma had other plans for us and so I am left with a severly bruised foot and a feeling of bitter disappointment at what could have been a wild and debaucherious evening.
Super H and I figure that Karma owes us big time and we shall be collecting on this little debt next week Friday when the party shoes will be polished, skirts will be worn and debauchery will be in the air!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Buy your license then Sunny?
Some fucking people!
*scream*
*sob out loud in a fucking bucket*
I swear to God there are a bunch of fucking ignoramus buffoons arses’ driving around on our roads! One of these dim-witted fuckers managed to somehow scrape my back bumper… POES!
My bee-ute-i-ful car that I luff oh so dearly has been scared, marked with a severe imperfection. And I am not talking just a small service scratch here people. Oh no, the mother fucker that did this really did a good job! I mean why, why, why???!!! I’m a nice tart, well nice enough anyway *wicked grin*
I digress… Bunch of retarded shits! Kelis’ song pops into my head right about now – you hear me: I hate you so much right now – aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
Clearly this imbecile drives around, sees a car and says to his pea-for-a-fucking-brain:
Oh golly gosh, looks em there – a parking *bam* oh a ggggg-yuk I scrapped the car next to me… Naughty Sunny… Oh well better trying luck next time, guess bumper cars isn’t very epu…edag…edu…teachable!
FUCKING IDIOT!!!!
I hope that someone pisses on your car; actually better yet I hope they piss on you. Yeah that’s right, you fucking toilet!
*scream*
*sob out loud in a fucking bucket*
I swear to God there are a bunch of fucking ignoramus buffoons arses’ driving around on our roads! One of these dim-witted fuckers managed to somehow scrape my back bumper… POES!
My bee-ute-i-ful car that I luff oh so dearly has been scared, marked with a severe imperfection. And I am not talking just a small service scratch here people. Oh no, the mother fucker that did this really did a good job! I mean why, why, why???!!! I’m a nice tart, well nice enough anyway *wicked grin*
I digress… Bunch of retarded shits! Kelis’ song pops into my head right about now – you hear me: I hate you so much right now – aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
Clearly this imbecile drives around, sees a car and says to his pea-for-a-fucking-brain:
Oh golly gosh, looks em there – a parking *bam* oh a ggggg-yuk I scrapped the car next to me… Naughty Sunny… Oh well better trying luck next time, guess bumper cars isn’t very epu…edag…edu…teachable!
FUCKING IDIOT!!!!
I hope that someone pisses on your car; actually better yet I hope they piss on you. Yeah that’s right, you fucking toilet!
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The losers that had us…
I saw Crombie’s ex for the first time since I have known her today… Weird, I would never in like a million fucking gazillion years have pegged the two of them together. Firstly Crombie is a completely shit-hot tart and this guy is just no where near gorgeous enough to be seen on her arm. Secondly, he looks kinda Asian (in a good way) but yeah well enuff said there really. And then lastly he looks like he has had one of his fancy designed spoons shoved up his ass sideways – not a good look really…
Anyhoo my point is this – isn’t it extremely fucking mental how when you look back at some of the guys you went out with, you stand there, mouth only inches from hitting the floor, and think: WHAT IN THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?! Where you would have gone oh hell yes, all you doing now is thinking oh fuck me George, hell no!
One does have to ponder where the fuck your tarts were to wake you up to this cold hard reality that as much as you think he looks like Brad and Ryk, ain’t no fucking way in hell he does! In fact, what in the bloody hell happened to common sense for that matter???
Of course the advantage of looking at an ex with nothing but utter disgust for your apparent lack of taste in men is the new varieties that life has to offer….
Three cheers for the lucky bastards that will meet us!
Anyhoo my point is this – isn’t it extremely fucking mental how when you look back at some of the guys you went out with, you stand there, mouth only inches from hitting the floor, and think: WHAT IN THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?! Where you would have gone oh hell yes, all you doing now is thinking oh fuck me George, hell no!
One does have to ponder where the fuck your tarts were to wake you up to this cold hard reality that as much as you think he looks like Brad and Ryk, ain’t no fucking way in hell he does! In fact, what in the bloody hell happened to common sense for that matter???
Of course the advantage of looking at an ex with nothing but utter disgust for your apparent lack of taste in men is the new varieties that life has to offer….
Three cheers for the lucky bastards that will meet us!
Monday, November 13, 2006
Wish upon a Star
Ever receive one of those emails from a fellow tart that asks you for all kindsa arb info like if you ever smoked a ciggie, passed out from being a completely drunk bastard, tried to steal your parental units’ car etcetera etcetera etcetera...? The first time you get one of these you think cool, shrug your shoulders and say why not but I must admit that after like the 50th one, the request for which fucking soap you use gets a little um tedious to say the least…
My first reaction is what the fuck your friends need this information for – I mean are they planning to use your love for Protex or Dove or Lux to help you seduce the gorgeous man at the bar? Mmmm, I think not. And if this information is not going to be used to help further your cause to becoming an all growed up tart then pray do tell, what the fucking point is! I mean we are all expected to kinda know scheit about our friends but I am not sure that this information needs to extend itself beyond their favourite colour and favourite drink… One should know if your tarts had passed out and displayed completely debaucherious behaviour as surely, surely you would have been there – well at least physically anyway?
For me the most amusing question ever asked in one of these “get to know this tart better” thingie ma-bobs is if you wish on stars… Amazing how so many people answer this with a yes but no for any question possibly hinting at being a completely ill-behaved tart – me thinks there is something sear-i-us-ly wrong with our society!
My first reaction is what the fuck your friends need this information for – I mean are they planning to use your love for Protex or Dove or Lux to help you seduce the gorgeous man at the bar? Mmmm, I think not. And if this information is not going to be used to help further your cause to becoming an all growed up tart then pray do tell, what the fucking point is! I mean we are all expected to kinda know scheit about our friends but I am not sure that this information needs to extend itself beyond their favourite colour and favourite drink… One should know if your tarts had passed out and displayed completely debaucherious behaviour as surely, surely you would have been there – well at least physically anyway?
For me the most amusing question ever asked in one of these “get to know this tart better” thingie ma-bobs is if you wish on stars… Amazing how so many people answer this with a yes but no for any question possibly hinting at being a completely ill-behaved tart – me thinks there is something sear-i-us-ly wrong with our society!
Bon Compliano!
This is just to wish the ultimate Tart an über happy birthday for yesterday! Hope you enjoyed my singing noodle – only took 20 odd years of friendship to perfect!
My Own Two Feet
“My hands are small I know,
But their not yours, they are my own…
…I am never broken.”
- Jewel
Interesting how majority of us posses the desire to be independent – live our own lives and stand on our own two feet per say… Guess it is a natural course of life like us having to get jobs and carve our own little niche in this big big world (in an effort to avoid this thing called “work” this tart has tried on numerous occasions to win the lotto – don’t work so don’t bother).
What I can’t understand is some parentals inability to let this happen. Sure they have your best interests at heart and are only trying to prevent you from making the same mistakes they did but to me it just defies pure logic…
Even worse than that is some offspring actually listen to this and hence crave a nice safe life with a Mr, three dogs, a white picket fence (ok so in Jozi this would probably have to be like a 3m high wall but it could still be white…) a Volvo and 2.5 kids. I mean if that blows your hair back then great, listen to your parentals and live your nice boring life with your probably-more-than-likely ugly children…
But how are you suppose to know what you are capable of, how far you will go to get what you really want and what you can achieve if all you do is play it safe? Risk is a part of everyday life –judging by the way some of the fucking wankers in this town drive; you put your life at risk everyday when you go to work (another reason to call in sick actually) and that isn’t given a second thought. So why second guess yourself when it comes to wanting to live by your own standards and overcome your own challenges?
Your parentals will love you whether you listen or not or at least they should… Sometimes the risk is greater than the reward but that is all just part of the journey / mystery. It’s the fundamental ingredient for standing up and being counted! We all need to follow our own paths – sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t but the main thing is that we have tried…
So I guess this tarty piece of insight is for both parties sitting on the fence – to the parentals: cut the cord and wish us well – not forgetting of course that we may need you along the way to help us pick up some of the pieces…
To the offspring: repeat after me: Let me fall for I will always get up!
(For Crombie… The possibilities are endless chicken!)
But their not yours, they are my own…
…I am never broken.”
- Jewel
Interesting how majority of us posses the desire to be independent – live our own lives and stand on our own two feet per say… Guess it is a natural course of life like us having to get jobs and carve our own little niche in this big big world (in an effort to avoid this thing called “work” this tart has tried on numerous occasions to win the lotto – don’t work so don’t bother).
What I can’t understand is some parentals inability to let this happen. Sure they have your best interests at heart and are only trying to prevent you from making the same mistakes they did but to me it just defies pure logic…
Even worse than that is some offspring actually listen to this and hence crave a nice safe life with a Mr, three dogs, a white picket fence (ok so in Jozi this would probably have to be like a 3m high wall but it could still be white…) a Volvo and 2.5 kids. I mean if that blows your hair back then great, listen to your parentals and live your nice boring life with your probably-more-than-likely ugly children…
But how are you suppose to know what you are capable of, how far you will go to get what you really want and what you can achieve if all you do is play it safe? Risk is a part of everyday life –judging by the way some of the fucking wankers in this town drive; you put your life at risk everyday when you go to work (another reason to call in sick actually) and that isn’t given a second thought. So why second guess yourself when it comes to wanting to live by your own standards and overcome your own challenges?
Your parentals will love you whether you listen or not or at least they should… Sometimes the risk is greater than the reward but that is all just part of the journey / mystery. It’s the fundamental ingredient for standing up and being counted! We all need to follow our own paths – sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t but the main thing is that we have tried…
So I guess this tarty piece of insight is for both parties sitting on the fence – to the parentals: cut the cord and wish us well – not forgetting of course that we may need you along the way to help us pick up some of the pieces…
To the offspring: repeat after me: Let me fall for I will always get up!
(For Crombie… The possibilities are endless chicken!)
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Patience is a virtue?
For those of you that have a sister you will understand the pure fucking frustration they can instill in you! I do love my sister but Jesus H Christ does she drive me up the wall! I am convinced now more than ever that the universe has put my sister on this planet to try and teach me patience - a thing this tart just does not possess... What I have tried to tell the universe numerous amounts of time is that I am Italian and therefore have no need for this trait to be further developed so as to reach a stage of sainthood... Technically I am already going to hell anyway (as who the fuck wants to party in heaven right? Ok well fine...) and so therefore sainthood doesn't interest me in the slightest...
I mean if you think about it does patience really make a massive difference in one's life? Sure we will all be patient when the little old woman takes 15 minutes to go through the whole ATM process only to discover she has done it with the wrong card and so the process must be repeated (often at this point I have JD visions of running her over with her walker but then that patience thing kicks in...) but beyond this I just don't see the point...
Frankly the use of patience is completely wasted when you have to deal with stupid people and I think that Barry Hilton was so on the right track when he insisted that stupid people wear T-shirts. That way they would be saving you time, saving you money and most definitely putting you first! (Thanks Nashua).
The sister, however, instills the exact opposite of this virtuous trait in me. Case in point, this morning! Our completely spastic alarm went off for no reason. Of course she assumed the position of I so now how to fix this which of course was total bullshit and I kept insisting that the bloody thing would eventually quieten down (this alarm thing is a regular occurrence in our household, guess the I-tie-ness of the family has rubbed off on it) but oooooohhhhhhhh no, she just had to meddle. So meddle she did and so now we are left with a rather fucking irritating buzzing noise in the background!
What a way to start the bloody weekend!
I mean if you think about it does patience really make a massive difference in one's life? Sure we will all be patient when the little old woman takes 15 minutes to go through the whole ATM process only to discover she has done it with the wrong card and so the process must be repeated (often at this point I have JD visions of running her over with her walker but then that patience thing kicks in...) but beyond this I just don't see the point...
Frankly the use of patience is completely wasted when you have to deal with stupid people and I think that Barry Hilton was so on the right track when he insisted that stupid people wear T-shirts. That way they would be saving you time, saving you money and most definitely putting you first! (Thanks Nashua).
The sister, however, instills the exact opposite of this virtuous trait in me. Case in point, this morning! Our completely spastic alarm went off for no reason. Of course she assumed the position of I so now how to fix this which of course was total bullshit and I kept insisting that the bloody thing would eventually quieten down (this alarm thing is a regular occurrence in our household, guess the I-tie-ness of the family has rubbed off on it) but oooooohhhhhhhh no, she just had to meddle. So meddle she did and so now we are left with a rather fucking irritating buzzing noise in the background!
What a way to start the bloody weekend!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Tweedle and Butthead
You know peoples ability to be completely fucking retarded just blows my mind! How is it possible that these pathetic excuses for human beings are even able to function on a daily basis using a brain the size of half a pie?! For crying out loud in a fucking bucket!
One of the Tweedle Twins has been up to her usual antics which basically translates into: I.R.BABOON! She is just so fucking incompetent that how she even got a job is a mystery. Maybe even the ninth world wonder?
She is getting married next year and so and on she fucking drones about her bullshit wedding to her oh-so-tastic fiancé every single fucking day – WE KNOW, shut the fuck up and try and actually do something constructive! How she even managed to get some poor sod to marry her is another story – although I suppose that whole thing of women using 30 000 words a day vs. a man only using 15 000 doesn’t really apply here cause if she knows about a tenth of that I would be amazed. Must make for very peaceful living – am sure it must be like having a comatose vegetable lying in bed with you…
To make matters worse there is a slight baby-boom thing happening in Our Company and so now stupid is even talking about procreating – bbbbbrrrrrrr, what a thought! We would have a whole new breed of imbeciles on the planet – special ed would seriously mean something completely different by the time her kids reached the school going age! People like her should be sterilised for fucks sake!
And of course, rivaling Tweedle Twin numero one for the top spot of general fucking chump, is Butthead… Fuck me George she has got to be THE most fucking irritating person in our company, besides Company Poes (who is leaving – YAY!). Her powers are so great that I can envision myself stabbing her to death with my car keys or a pen even – anything to get her to just shut the fuck up… No one cares, and yes everyone is busy and no we can’t help you so please get out of my desk space cause you’re fucking fired! ARG!
People – some you like, some you wanna drive over repeatedly…
One of the Tweedle Twins has been up to her usual antics which basically translates into: I.R.BABOON! She is just so fucking incompetent that how she even got a job is a mystery. Maybe even the ninth world wonder?
She is getting married next year and so and on she fucking drones about her bullshit wedding to her oh-so-tastic fiancé every single fucking day – WE KNOW, shut the fuck up and try and actually do something constructive! How she even managed to get some poor sod to marry her is another story – although I suppose that whole thing of women using 30 000 words a day vs. a man only using 15 000 doesn’t really apply here cause if she knows about a tenth of that I would be amazed. Must make for very peaceful living – am sure it must be like having a comatose vegetable lying in bed with you…
To make matters worse there is a slight baby-boom thing happening in Our Company and so now stupid is even talking about procreating – bbbbbrrrrrrr, what a thought! We would have a whole new breed of imbeciles on the planet – special ed would seriously mean something completely different by the time her kids reached the school going age! People like her should be sterilised for fucks sake!
And of course, rivaling Tweedle Twin numero one for the top spot of general fucking chump, is Butthead… Fuck me George she has got to be THE most fucking irritating person in our company, besides Company Poes (who is leaving – YAY!). Her powers are so great that I can envision myself stabbing her to death with my car keys or a pen even – anything to get her to just shut the fuck up… No one cares, and yes everyone is busy and no we can’t help you so please get out of my desk space cause you’re fucking fired! ARG!
People – some you like, some you wanna drive over repeatedly…
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
100% Original Packaging!
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Yes it has been one of those days where I would far rather stick my head up a hippo’s ass that have to face another deadline or listen to someone’s bullshit story about how some dipshit ran over their toe! And just when I thought that it couldn’t get worse, old Murph paid me a visit and dumped a huge not-gonna-feel-so-shit-hot-are-you-now-tart piece of news on my lap – thanks Murph, ‘preciate it you complete fuckwitt! I really hate Murph and his stoopid law!
The bee-ute-a-ful news I got: my Achilles Heel has a new chick… Now this piece of information bothers me for the following reasons:
1. The fucker has managed to beat me to it, AGAIN! Oh the shame…
2. This completely ruins my bored every now and again daydreams of him pining for me as these are now completely fucking so not happening anymore! *loud wail*(gawd listen to me, I sound like a sappy writer for Mills & Boon – arg, somebody get me a drink!)
3. I feel like a complete bloody fool as a part of me still cares for him – I am planning on banishing this part of me to the land of the will-not-feel-anything-for-Achilles-Heel land. I hear it’s really nice there this time of year… And I especially feel like a fool since I know he has been going through a really rough patch (may this continue in a totally non-revengeful-kinda-way, of course) and I actually felt sorry for him. What a fucking sap! *dough*
But after pausing whilst writing this and realizing I am starting to sound oh as pathetic as I feel, maybe a bit psychotic too, I am beginning to realize that I give him far too much power und this must stop, with vone click naturlich! So after a quick power-Rama-talk with myself I have decided on the following:
Am I annoyed by his current state of affairs? You bet your sweet tart ass I am…
Am I completely irreplaceable? DUH… I am of course 100% original, that’s right no fake ass made in China bullshit here cause there ain’t no other aboozed tart like me out there!
His complete loss? Damn fucking straight!
Yes it has been one of those days where I would far rather stick my head up a hippo’s ass that have to face another deadline or listen to someone’s bullshit story about how some dipshit ran over their toe! And just when I thought that it couldn’t get worse, old Murph paid me a visit and dumped a huge not-gonna-feel-so-shit-hot-are-you-now-tart piece of news on my lap – thanks Murph, ‘preciate it you complete fuckwitt! I really hate Murph and his stoopid law!
The bee-ute-a-ful news I got: my Achilles Heel has a new chick… Now this piece of information bothers me for the following reasons:
1. The fucker has managed to beat me to it, AGAIN! Oh the shame…
2. This completely ruins my bored every now and again daydreams of him pining for me as these are now completely fucking so not happening anymore! *loud wail*(gawd listen to me, I sound like a sappy writer for Mills & Boon – arg, somebody get me a drink!)
3. I feel like a complete bloody fool as a part of me still cares for him – I am planning on banishing this part of me to the land of the will-not-feel-anything-for-Achilles-Heel land. I hear it’s really nice there this time of year… And I especially feel like a fool since I know he has been going through a really rough patch (may this continue in a totally non-revengeful-kinda-way, of course) and I actually felt sorry for him. What a fucking sap! *dough*
But after pausing whilst writing this and realizing I am starting to sound oh as pathetic as I feel, maybe a bit psychotic too, I am beginning to realize that I give him far too much power und this must stop, with vone click naturlich! So after a quick power-Rama-talk with myself I have decided on the following:
Am I annoyed by his current state of affairs? You bet your sweet tart ass I am…
Am I completely irreplaceable? DUH… I am of course 100% original, that’s right no fake ass made in China bullshit here cause there ain’t no other aboozed tart like me out there!
His complete loss? Damn fucking straight!
The Bean Stalkers
People are strange conniving beings… Crombie has recently picked up a stalker, which I find rather amusing as this is technically my fault. But what makes this stalker particularly precious is that he is a she, heh heh… I’ll just let that sink in for a few secs!
This stalker gets extra bonus points as she is a kinda mate of moi’s. Kinda Mate just took the liberty of emailing the Crombster recently and it just seems the poor little thing can’t get enough, much to my enjoyment and Crombie’s irritation.
Having a stalker is like having bubblegum stuck in your fucking hair – no matter where you turn and what you do, the fucker follows! What starts out as something completely innocent (how many times have you had to use THIS line to explain something to the parentals?!) and you being a completely honourable and über amazing tart gets turned into a cloak and dagger, literally, expedition of hide and body seek (and no that isn’t a typo).
I have often pondered, after my seriously mental encounters with a few types of these peoples, whether stalkers just don’t possess the part of the brain that tells them they are being completely fucking neurotic and borderline psychotic.
Freaky ass people need to learn some self-control!
This stalker gets extra bonus points as she is a kinda mate of moi’s. Kinda Mate just took the liberty of emailing the Crombster recently and it just seems the poor little thing can’t get enough, much to my enjoyment and Crombie’s irritation.
Having a stalker is like having bubblegum stuck in your fucking hair – no matter where you turn and what you do, the fucker follows! What starts out as something completely innocent (how many times have you had to use THIS line to explain something to the parentals?!) and you being a completely honourable and über amazing tart gets turned into a cloak and dagger, literally, expedition of hide and body seek (and no that isn’t a typo).
I have often pondered, after my seriously mental encounters with a few types of these peoples, whether stalkers just don’t possess the part of the brain that tells them they are being completely fucking neurotic and borderline psychotic.
Freaky ass people need to learn some self-control!
Monday, November 06, 2006
Mental Jelly Tots
Saw My Super Ex Girlfriend (the movie people not a person…) on Sat and I must say that although the movie lacks something, namely a story line, it got me a thinking… There are some crazy biatches out there! I mean some tarts are just incapable of keeping their scheit together and are in desperate and rather serious need of some professional help!
It’s common practice in the world we live in to break up (I mean your only other option is to stay together forever which is seriously gag reflex material and a rather fucking daunting idea to apply to some of the men I have seen around this town but each to their own I guess – if you have shit taste then you have shit taste but I digress…). I’m sure in the middle ages break-ups happened all the time too – although you were probably playing with your life as they had real-life gi-fung-us hand-crafted swords then (über sexy, like Brad in Troy - mmmm)… I just can’t for the life of me understand these psycho tots, they call it a break-up for a reason ladies i.e. the relationship is over. As my one bro said: It ain’t a secret code for please try harder you dumb fuck! So wise at such a young age!
Now this über freaky stalker behaviour can go both ways. I’ve had countless stalkers, very disturbing and rather unsettling but after watching that movie I kinda understand things from a guys’ point of view now. I mean chicks can be totally fucking off the wall sometimes! I do, however, agree that when the guy deserves it e.g. he slept with your best friend / sister (in which case both these pond scums should be lynched for their crimes against sisterhood…) then by all means key his car, advertise that he has a small dick in The Star and any other generally despicable behaviour you can think of. As someone once said, revenge is a dish best served cold!
However, where the fuck possible, just accept the god damn fact that the man ain’t interested in your tarty ass no more. Deal and move on. Break-ups are just an opportunity to go and sample the other varieties life has to offer tarts... Embrace it (I totally recommend the French).
At the end of the day, all is fair in love and war… And for the ladies that can’t handle that truth then here’s a lifeline that I severely hope you use…
0800 GET A FUCKING CLUE!
It’s common practice in the world we live in to break up (I mean your only other option is to stay together forever which is seriously gag reflex material and a rather fucking daunting idea to apply to some of the men I have seen around this town but each to their own I guess – if you have shit taste then you have shit taste but I digress…). I’m sure in the middle ages break-ups happened all the time too – although you were probably playing with your life as they had real-life gi-fung-us hand-crafted swords then (über sexy, like Brad in Troy - mmmm)… I just can’t for the life of me understand these psycho tots, they call it a break-up for a reason ladies i.e. the relationship is over. As my one bro said: It ain’t a secret code for please try harder you dumb fuck! So wise at such a young age!
Now this über freaky stalker behaviour can go both ways. I’ve had countless stalkers, very disturbing and rather unsettling but after watching that movie I kinda understand things from a guys’ point of view now. I mean chicks can be totally fucking off the wall sometimes! I do, however, agree that when the guy deserves it e.g. he slept with your best friend / sister (in which case both these pond scums should be lynched for their crimes against sisterhood…) then by all means key his car, advertise that he has a small dick in The Star and any other generally despicable behaviour you can think of. As someone once said, revenge is a dish best served cold!
However, where the fuck possible, just accept the god damn fact that the man ain’t interested in your tarty ass no more. Deal and move on. Break-ups are just an opportunity to go and sample the other varieties life has to offer tarts... Embrace it (I totally recommend the French).
At the end of the day, all is fair in love and war… And for the ladies that can’t handle that truth then here’s a lifeline that I severely hope you use…
0800 GET A FUCKING CLUE!
Friday, November 03, 2006
A true love-hate relationship!
The universe is against me and I have no fucking idea why! I am a good, kind tart who is willing to share my shoes with almost everybody, ok well not almost everybody but definitely more than my own feet…
Fate is a complete bastard! There I was all ready and psyched up to speak my mind. I had come to terms with the nauseas feeling swirling round my stomach. I had mastered my chicken-ness and was no longer waving a yellow flag (even though this is my favourite colour – co-inki-dink, I think not!) and then *poof* the god damn mother fucking universe just had to interfere! Why, why, why, oh dear Gawd, 1000 times why!!!!
Now some people would try and take the high round here, you know be the better person and try and see the positive side to this – to all these people, shut the fuck up cause I ain’t interested in hearing it! Right now, at this point in time I want to be bloody miserable and tell fate that I think she is a complete bitch!
I mean sure, she has her good points like when…
1. Ryk Neethling will reverse into your car and the rest they say is history - all of course pre-ordained by the universe (although fate has not led me down this “accident” road yet *depressed sigh* selfish cow!) and
2. You bump into your Achilles Heel looking shit hot etc…
These are fate’s brilliant sides, the sides that made her famous – I mean people have written books about her tastic qualities.
This is when I could literally lick the shoes that fate walks in but today, today is another god damn story!
Fate is a complete bastard! There I was all ready and psyched up to speak my mind. I had come to terms with the nauseas feeling swirling round my stomach. I had mastered my chicken-ness and was no longer waving a yellow flag (even though this is my favourite colour – co-inki-dink, I think not!) and then *poof* the god damn mother fucking universe just had to interfere! Why, why, why, oh dear Gawd, 1000 times why!!!!
Now some people would try and take the high round here, you know be the better person and try and see the positive side to this – to all these people, shut the fuck up cause I ain’t interested in hearing it! Right now, at this point in time I want to be bloody miserable and tell fate that I think she is a complete bitch!
I mean sure, she has her good points like when…
1. Ryk Neethling will reverse into your car and the rest they say is history - all of course pre-ordained by the universe (although fate has not led me down this “accident” road yet *depressed sigh* selfish cow!) and
2. You bump into your Achilles Heel looking shit hot etc…
These are fate’s brilliant sides, the sides that made her famous – I mean people have written books about her tastic qualities.
This is when I could literally lick the shoes that fate walks in but today, today is another god damn story!
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