Friday, May 8, 2015


Apparently it's the 70th anniversary of the end of WWII. These unlucky motherfuckers are pictured here getting what is likely to be their last smooch ever. Judas's real name was actually Judith.

Anyway, pardon my absence. I've been on holiday. And as with leave from work, the inevitable deluge of excrement that accompanies ones return, rendering ones time away and the relaxation it offers, ultimately pointless.

At least it allowed me some much needed relief from the scourge of social media. It was bliss. But like smoking, we're drawn back out of necessity and an overwhelming urge to be in with the cool kids. So I continue. Batten down the proverbial hatches for I have much to tell in the line of "what I did on my vacation".

I spent a lot of time on the West Coast. Now remember, much of my previous contact with people from the fabled West Coast was brought about by people in my past who I am gladly no longer obligated to call bosom buddy. I had some dreadful experiences with the worst of the worst. Being exposed to the type of person who obstinately embraces being backward left an indelible mark on my conscience. Between that, the lack of shoes, crocheted condoms, the dialect and my well documented penchant for judging the fuck out of people, it is always with much trepidation that I venture beyond Melkbos. I mean, Tableau Voi is bad enough, with the boy racers washing their sooped up Corsa Lites on Saturday mornings. Etceteraaaah.

Anyway, I had a very pleasant day in Paternoster, where I also happened to bump into the only dog on Earth who doesn't like me. Small world. Apparently there are roadblocks leaving the fishing village to check your vehicle for contraband crayfish. Oh, what passes for entertainment out there...

Langebaan was an entirely more exciting proposition. Mainly because we brought big city sophistication (well, sarcasm) with us for the trip. The recently betrothed AzPack and DrHellCuz dragged The Hot Girlfriend and I along for a long weekend of sitting in traffic on Langebaan's main stretch. Apparently there was some form of festival in town. We did what any normal person would do and braaied, drank and laughed a lot. I even shed my shoes on one occasion in an ill advised attempt to assimilate myself with the wildlife.

Oh yes, rewinding the clock even further, we had an awesome time with our respective sets of visiting Expats from the UK. Dinners, wine tasting, braais, more wine tasting, Crimson House, some wine tasting, breakfasts, The Flaming DeVilles, obnoxious bar bills at Mercury, biltong making, some of the worst hang overs in recent memory...

...oh and some wine tasting.

My cup truly runneth over.

Not so much when I think of all the car trouble I had. Perhaps it's time to trade in the Frog Prince. I should have sold it to that oke who left not one, but TWO post-its on my car asking if I was interested in selling.

Here's your disconcerting thought for the day:

The term M.I.L.F, as popularised in American Pie, might also stand for Mother In Law Fucker.

Sweet Dreams, children.

Spread The Love. No More War.

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