Wednesday, October 17, 2012
ADDA GIRL KNEE PADS.
Thothe are mouth padth. Thaid Igor.
These are Adda Girl Knee Pads. Or at least it's the link to the funniest shit I've ever heard.
I have just been reminded of the service industry. If it isn't one friend debating the existence of porn in a future devoid of flying cars, then it's another lamenting having to work as a bringer of food. And although this sounds like a less likely winner in the nobility stakes, I defy you to do it. It's hard. It's bloody hard. I once ventured into the world of taking orders. 4 hours into my first training shift at an upmarket establishment it didn't end well. The chef got the Gordon Ramsey experience in reverse... So at all times be kind to your waitress. You don't want questionable additions to your dish.
Also, I have just spent 38 minutes on the telephone with a saint who works for our company's service provider. His patience was limitless and the way he managed to solve my pc crisis, commendable. Not too often you get something like that...
Anyway, here we sit on this glorious day, unfortunately desk bound. What a pity. I think I should take up professional beach bum. The pay isn't that hot though, and the leathery look lost its appeal along with Donatella's self respect. No one should end up looking like a crispy fried Kermit.
I think another run after work is in order - I managed yesterday without dying in an asphyxiated nose dive, clutching at my spasming chest. Instead I actually quite enjoyed it. Summer's here folks. People are wearing less. Also, the Promenade appears to be a spot of choice for sunbathing. Didn't know that. At least I can't get into trouble for ogling, it's hard enough to see where I'm going through the red mist of death that descends upon my vision about 200m in. I actually have to concentrate on breathing lest I sieze up altogether. And even if I could lithely bound up and down without collapsing like a sack of hammers, I'd still have the boiled beetroot mask of terror and the dripping nose and chin to severely hinder my chances of making anything approaching a favourable impression.
Some days I wonder why I inflict upon myself this lunacy. Oh yes - now I remember! The beer gut. I've made numerous failed attempts at getting rid of it. Do you think the (few) cold beers after the run are counterproductive?
Seen on Sea Point main road: Upon completion of construction of one of the new MyCiti Bus stops, it is immediately annexed and occupied by the local fresh produce street vendor. Got to love it!
Looking forward to the music making tonight. Should be an interesting evening. And yes, I intend keeping it a closely guarded secret. That way we can stay truly underground and not expose ourselves to any criticism or ridicule. Just the way I like it. Unless of course you were referring to Axxon, who will once again grace the stage with a manic mechanized assault in a month's time at Frontline. Hopefully this time some people can hold their shit together and stay long enough to actually experience the glory. With us on the night, an insane selection of fellow noise smiths in the form of Wildernessking, Wargrave and Suiderbees, who have a very catchy catchphrase...
NGDG: A dead duck in the ocean is less disturbing than a dead duck in a bathtub.
Spread The Love. And The Pate.