Thursday, August 2, 2012
MY CLONE WOULD DEFINITELY HAVE BOOBS.
Life, as they say, is life. Opus said it. Then Laibach said it. They were both right. Here we sit.
Currently things are not too bad, with the exception of my Municipal woes. I'm watching some cricket. South Africa has just taken its gold medal tally up to 3 at the Olympics, an event - I'm told - which employs particularly dire graphic design. I really hope the public make as much of a fuss over the rowers as they did over Chad. What Chad did was amazing, but the public are a little too fixated on the fact that he beat Michael Phelps I think. That's like losing your shit over Dale Steyn when he scores more runs in an innings than Jacques Kallis, if Kallis was done for a duck. Michael Phelps has been an Olympic champion for 3 Olympics. Logic dictates that his reign would end sooner or later.
Anyway, onto my Municipal woes. These fucking geniuses finally figured out a way onto my property in order to take a meter reading for my water usage. They haven't done so in 13 months. So what do they do? They, like all good first graders take the big number and minus the slightly smaller number from it. With me so far? Then they (higher grader shit this) divide the resulting figure by 1. As in 1 month. Not 13 - in order to find a monthly average. Given that you are charged on an exponential scale, this has resulted in me now being billed thousands instead of hundreds. Also, if you read the fine print, you will find that withholding payment is a no-no even when the bill is in dispute. No wonder people go postal. If you see me being escorted from the City Council building in handcuffs after a hail of gunfire, tell my mother I love her.
Life, as discussed above, may indeed be life, but one cannot take anything for granted. Take Life insurance. Essentially you're betting someone a very large sum of money that you're going to die, and then you're trying your best to lose the bet. Even in the face of the overwhelming evidence that you're inevitably going to croak.
So the weather is nice enough for me to go and have a run. No excuses. Bugger. I actually hate running. Not that I'm able to talk and run at the same time, it's hard enough for me to keep my lungs inside, but it would be nice if I had a running partner who could chat to me. Perhaps an iPod is the answer. Why can't I just maintain my fitness and physique from the comfort of my couch whilst watching test cricket and drinking beer. That's so much more civilised.
And carrying on from yesterday's discussion, I am getting to the point where a clone of myself would come in handy. I've often wondered about the term "come in handy". Think about it.
Anyway, a clone. I could be in 2 places at once, a necessity sometimes. I could bring myself beer whilst lounging in front of the cricket, make salad AND braai at the same time, go pee without missing any of the movie, be my own designated driver, and I would call myself Dolly.
NGDG: Put your hands in the bag: there are insults, mad bastards, car trouble, levy increases. But there's also a 10km run, wine, holiday & a cookie. This bag is today. Your hand is now in the bag. Not in a weird, severed, ice-truck killer way. Just where I can see it.
Spread The Love. Double Dutch Rudder Your Clone.