Archive for the 'Satire, Irony And Vitriol' Category


Baba Indaba Attempts World Record, The Tiger Throws Up In His Mouth A Little

We don’t have a TV so it’s been awhile since I’ve been exposed to the wonder that is South African television advertising and I’m a little sad about that.

I love SA TV ads because (with one or two exceptions) they are really, really, really terrible and almost always leave me staring in utter disbelief at the screen or canning myself at how goddamn retarded people are.



But on Saturday night I watched an ad so unbelievably unbelievable that the second it was over I jumped off the couch and shouted, “Did you just see that?! Tell me you just saw that!?” at J-Rab who nodded mutely, on the verge of lapsing into full-blown catatonia.

The ad was for the upcoming Baba Indaba where they are going to attempt to break the Guinness World Record for the most number of moms breast-feeding at the same time under one roof.



Call me an insensitive, immature asshole but MY GOD! How DISGUSTING is that?!

Thousands of pregnant women of all ages, sizes, creeds and colours whipping their swollen mammaries out at the same time while their young suckle at them hungrily like the little parasites they are.

Jayzuz, even writing about it is making me feel ill.

Also, how the hell do you POLICE something like that? I mean the previous world record was set in the Philippines where no less than 3 541 woman “breasted” at the same time!



Three and a half thousand! You’d need a team of literally hundreds of officials walking around making sure the moms weren’t faking it to verify that shit.

How humiliating for the moms, it’s like “Sorry ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to lift that blanket.”

“What? What blanket? This blanket?”

“Yes, that blanket.”

“Why, there’s nothing to see under here, just junior having his lunch, that’s all…”

“The rules state I have to actually see the breast in his mouth while he swallows ma’am, otherwise you’re disqualified.”

I’m sorry, I know this is a sensitive topic and everything and sure, it’s all for a good cause, I get that, but still, bleaugh!

And the funniest part of it is they show this visual in the ad that’s basically identical to the one below:



“Yummm”, seriously? Who are they trying to sell this to?!

What mother is so stupid that she doesn’t know babies like breastfeeding?

“The baby’s saying ‘Yummm’! I get it! It’s saying ‘Yummm’ because it likes milk! Wow, I’m going to try that RIGHT AWAY!”

Also, think about this – when women breastfeed, oxytocin and prolactin, hormones that relax them and make them feel more nurturing toward their little grubs, are released.

So, if all goes according to plan, at Baba Indaba there will be over three and a half thousand women having the lactate furiously suckled from them at the same time while an ocean of feel-good hormones go racing through their brains, creating a gigantic rush of pure mammalian euphoria that will ripple through Nasrec like a wave of MDMA through a trance fest dance floor.

Huh. Come to think of it, that sounds pretty awesome. Wonder if they’ll fly me up there and swing me free tickets after this awesome post I’ve given them…



The Ivo Vegter Solution to Our Country’s drug problem

I was fresh out of varsity when I met Ivo Vegter in the infamous courtyard that was at the centre of ITWeb’s old offices in Rivonia and though I was at least 5 or 6 beers in, I remember it well.

Ivo was engaged in a passionate debate with someone (I forget who, but you can bet your ass they were probably losing) about how environmentalists are full of shit and I was listening with rapt attention.

See, Ivo is a fascinating person. He has an intellect that is so staggering that is it a truly epic experience listening to the man argue a point. Plus he has a powerful command of the English language and a vocabulary that is so brobdingnagian he is probably one of the few people who knows what that word even means.



Ivo currently writes for ITWeb, Brainstorm, Car Magazine and one of my favourite sources of news, The Daily Maverick which, in my opinion, is one of the few bastions of legitimate, quality journalism South Africa has left.

Ivo fearlessly bangs out a column for The Daily Maverick every Tuesday that covers such a broad variety of topics it’s hard to believe the pieces that get published all come from the same person.

I take great pleasure in reading Ivo’s work not only because he’s great at taking the most controversial and often least popular standpoints on sensitive subjects, but his writing is so damn well researched, backed up with legitimate facts and figures and unapologetically honest that it often leaves me grinning from ear to ear because holy shit, the man can argue a point.



His most recent column really caught my attention though because it deals with the controversial topic of the merits of legalising drugs and not just the softer variety, but EVERYTHING.

It’s an extreme viewpoint and one that, at the time of writing this, has already inspired a number of comments on his piece, many in favour of the legalisation of drugs.

On the surface, Ivo has a solid argument, but it fails to address some very important issues which is why, for once, I’m not sure I entirely agree with him.

Ivo argues that “the criminalisation of drugs is often the cause of drug-related crime, rather than it’s solution” and suggests that instead of threatening people with violence and prison for being involved in any way in the manufacturing, distribution or consumption of “illegal substances”, drugs should be fully legalised and more effort should rather be spent on educating people about the dangers of drugs to discourage first time use.

His argument is also based on the premise that if someone wants to do drugs, they will find a way to fulfil that need no matter how hard law enforcement tries to stop them. Prisons, as one of his commenters points out, are rife with drugs and ironically a lot of prisoners come out of prison more addicted to drugs than they were when they went in.



So fine, in theory his argument is sound – legalise drugs so that they can be better regulated, remove the social stigma associated with taking them and educate people as much as possible so that they know and understand the inherent risks involved in taking drugs.

If people do decide to go off the deep end, invest time and effort in rehabilitating them properly instead of casting them out of society and writing them off as junkies.

There’s one thing his argument fails to address though, and that’s teenage kids.

Presumably if you made drugs legal, you’d have to impose some kind of age restriction on them or you’d run the risk of having curious seven year olds getting loaded on blow. So let’s say, for argument’s sake, that drugs were illegal for kids under the age of 18, like alcohol is.

Ivo’s argument is that you’ll get the kids who are naturally curious or naughty and want to experiment and those who don’t, whether drugs are legal or not, and I agree.



BUT, if drugs are legal, it makes it that much easier for kids to experiment with substances that can instantly fuck them up for life than it would be otherwise.

I was curious as a kid, I wanted to experiment with stuff I wasn’t supposed to be experimenting with, so at 12 years old, me and a friend I got shit-faced on his dad’s supply of Two Dogs Alcoholic Lemonade whilst on holiday one night after the folks had gone to bed.

Had we been educated about the dangers of alcohol? Yes. Did we know what we were doing was dangerous to our health and could lead to addiction? Yes. Did we give a rat’s ass about any of that? Hell no.

Of course the next morning we woke up feeling like ass, our parents shat us out from a dizzy height and, our curiosity satisfied, we carried on with our teenage lives and are now gainfully employed, contributing members of society.

Let’s, for argument’s sake, replace the godawful sludge we drank that night with 2 grams of pure, uncut cocaine and think for a second about how that scenario might have played out.

Our risk of getting instantly hooked would have been a thousand times higher, our little binge would have most likely have cause lasting damage to our brains and I can almost guarantee you that from that moment on, we would have both spent the rest of our lives chasing that first immaculate high no matter what the cost.



Sure, maybe we are an example of those kids, the ones who would have experimented no matter what, but the frightening thing is that nearly everyone I know experimented with alcohol before the age of 16 in some form or other because it is so readily available, who’s to say they wouldn’t do the same with class A drugs?

The sad fact is that everyone I’ve ever met who experimented with class A drugs under the age of 16 end up developing such a hopeless addiction that by their mid-twenties all they live to do is get high and by their thirties, they are completely burned out and unable to function in any way that could vaguely be described as ‘normal’.

All the education in the world can’t stop teenage rebelliousness. As it stands, thanks to the criminalisation of drugs (as backward as it might be) far fewer young teenagers are experimenting with them than there would be if they were made 100% legal.

There’s definitely a middle ground that Ivo touches on in his argument when it comes to the policing and education behind drugs and drug use but to legalise them all outright would be to open up a can of worms that would eat through the fabric of society faster than an addict could vacuum an eight-ball.



The Tiger’s Top 5 Music Cardinal Sins

Let me kick this one off by admitting that yes, I’m a music snob. I’ve been one since I was about 11 or 12 years old and the older I get the worse it becomes. I am fully aware and comfortable with that fact, it’s never going to change because I’m never going to try and change it and here’s why.

I judge people openly when it comes to music because it’s such a powerful force in my life that it’s like a fucking religion to me. Forget heaven or hell or Jesus or Krishna or Brahman or Satan or God or Santa and the Tooth Fairy. They may or may not exist and I couldn’t really care one way or the other because in music I’ve found a higher power that accepts me for who I am whether I’m wretched and seeped in sin or rolling holy and righteous without a goddamn care in the world.



To say it puzzles me when I meet people that are completely indifferent to music would be a gigantic understatement. I’ll never say it openly because I learned back when I was a kid that no one likes having someone else’s opinion rammed up their butt, but when I meet people that say or do one of the following things my estimation of them immediately plummets to the same level I reserve for people who’s biological parents are blood relatives.


THING NO.1 – We’ve just met, I ask you what music you’re into and you shrug and reply, “Oh, I dunno, anything really…”

It baffles me how many people say this, especially girls. There are a number of reasons people say this about music, namely:

  • They don’t want to say something you might think sounds stupid so they’re going to sit on the fence on this one and hope for the best. Get off the fence. Admit to your love of Norwegian Folk Metal, fly that flag brother! I’d rather hear ANYTHING than the sentence in bold underlining above.
  • They’re drawing a total blank. This happens, just breathe and try to calm down a little, I’m not going to bite your head off if you say you’re into someone I think is shit. You can listen to whatever the hell you want… except Nickleback.
  • They honestly don’t give a rat’s ass what’s playing. They will listen to commercial radio stations like 5FM every day of their lives from the minute they wake up until the minute they arrive back home after work and not even notice when the same song gets repeated 6 times in as many hours. I mean fuck’s sake! I don’t even listen to the songs I like six times a day because by day two I’d be bored to tears of it. These people cannot be saved. Their favourite movie of all time is Mr Bones. Just… give up.


THING NO.2 – People who describe music that is even slightly down-tempo or sad as “slit-your-wrists music”

I can’t tell you how much this infuriates me. People who expect music to have the same effect as Prozac are, nine times out of ten, terminally boring human beings.

A perfect example of this actually happened to me recently when I was copying some music over to a friend’s laptop who is totally clueless about music (some gems while I was copying the stuff over were “Foo Fighters? What do they sing?” and “Oh Green Day, I like them! Can you give me the first album, the one with American Idiot on it…”).

Her friend, the music expert, was sitting with us, advising her what to copy and what not to copy when we came across Ben Harper.

“Ben Harper?” she said, “Who’s he?”

“He’s a bit like Jack Johnson,” I replied, “they actually tour together quite a lot.”

“Yeah, but it’s real ‘slit-your-wrists music’”, the expert chirped in.

“It is, but unfortunately all my ‘High School Musical’ stuff is on my other drive, sorry,” I replied in my head.



Walk away son, walk away.

THING NO.3 – People who pull you aside to play you a song that sounds like utter crap and then ask you what you think about it

Bonus points if they give you their greasy earplugs to put in your ear and double bonus points if they know what you’re into and are deliberately playing you something they know you’ll hate in some misguided effort to try and reprogram your musical taste.

For these people, music is an argument that they must win at all costs. If you do not like the music they do, they will make you like it or they will die trying.

Despite what you might think, while I am a music snob, I am not one of these people. You listen to whatever the hell you want to listen to, I’m totally fine with that. Just don’t make me listen to it, respect the fact that our tastes are different and let’s both just carry on with our lives shall we?

THING NO.4 – People who only buy “Best Of” or compilation albums

Why the fucking fuck would you ever want to buy a compilation album, ever? So you can hear the same old songs that artist has had playing on the radio for the last God-knows-how-many years all over again?

Here’s a crazy question: What if you actually stepped WAY out on a limb and bought the album that one or two of those songs appeared on? And here’s another wild thought: What if you found that your favourite track wasn’t actually one of the ones that gets played on the radio all the time?

Why, that song would become “your” song in a way that the one that everyone knows and loves never could. It would have a special meaning to you and who knows? Maybe one day you’ll meet someone else who also fucking loves that song and you’ll instantly share a connection that is actually meaningful.

You know what my favourite Beatles song is? I’ll give you a clue, it’s not “Hey Jude”, it’s not “Yellow Submarine” and it’s sure as shit not “Yesterday”.

It’s “Rocky Raccoon” because it’s a story about a guy who’s lady runs off with a total jerk so he goes to kill the guy and ends up getting shot by the dude instead. Then this drunk doctor fixes him up and he just kinda carries on with his life.



Poetry I tells ya! Winking smile

THING NO.5 – Playlist Trolls

They lurk in corners at parties and wait until no one’s looking so they can hijack the playlist and make it their bitch.

They won’t relinquish power, take requests or play anything that has any merit whatsoever.

Expect Vanilla Ice. Expect Abba. Expect “Bohemian Rhapsody” at full volume. Expect Mr fucking Jones. Expect Rod Stewart. And just when you think things couldn’t possibly get any worse, expect “Barbie Girl” or fucking Whigfield being blasted at you until your skull implodes.

What’s worse is they’ll play the same kak song three times, occasionally back-to-back just so you can get an intimate insight into what their hellishly mediocre lives must be like.

If you’re a person who is guilty of any of the sins listed above, there is good news. I’m offering free lobotomies all week to help you overcome these terrible afflictions, just hit me on and Uncle Slick will make everything better or your money back! Winking smile



Hipsters – why the fuck?

I’ll tell you straight up that I hate pretentious wankers about as much as I hate taking out the trash only to find out that a warm stream of garbage juice has dribbled down my jeans from a hole in the bottom of the bag.

There are a number of factors that lead to people becoming pretentious wankers, but right at the top of the list is definitely a chronic insecurity in themselves that manifests in them putting everyone else around them down to feel better about their shit lives.

They distance themselves from the mainstream because it makes them feel superior and unique. They disagree with everyone about basically everything because they think it makes them seem intelligent and they regard the rest of humanity with their noses upturned because the idea that we’re all basically the same terrifies them.



Which brings us to hipsters who, if you strip all the bullshit romanticism out of it, are really just a bunch of pretentious wankers and sadly Cape Town is like a petri dish for these ridiculous arseholes.

Here, in no particular order, are the top ten things hipsters love:


  • Silently judging everyone
  • Elaborate scarves
  • Cute little hats
  • Vinyl records
  • Irony (the snooty kind)
  • Wayfarers
  • Skinny jeans
  • Indie bands that are shit
  • Bragging about some rad little bistro they found down some obscure back alley that is actually shit
  • Stealing fashion trends from the opposite sex


Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for being weird and expressing yourself hell, just read this fucking site, but the thing that gets to me about a lot of these jerks is that they have absolutely no sense of humour.

People that don’t laugh about life, the universe and everything (especially themselves) really piss me off because c’mon! Open your fucking eyes! It’s all a joke man!

I say ‘a lot of these jerks’ because there is such a thing as a hipster with a sense of humour and those cats are alright by me.

Here are a couple of pics from to better illustrate what I’m talking about.








Hipsters of the world, lighten up. Drop the pretence and come out of your little shells, life’s too short to spend it sitting by yourself in the corner of some pseudo-European coffee shop drinking espressos, smoking rolleys and reading Kafka.

Wonderboy, life’s just begun. Turn that sorrow into wonder Winking smile



The Ministerial Handbook – Our Government’s “Get Out Of Jail Free” Card

If there’s one book I’d KILL to get my hands on, it would be the Ministerial Handbook, because I can guarantee you, there’d be some pretty goddamn interesting reading in that evil little tome of indulgence sponsored by you and I, the honest tax-paying chumps of this country.

The Ministerial Handbook sets down what remuneration packages and perks ministers are allowed, can you imagine that shit? Chances are it’s only three pages long; page one is all the publishing information, page two is the title and page three just says “Go wild”.



Take our good buddy the Minister of Co-operative Governance and Traditional Affairs, Sicelo Shiceka, who looks alarmingly like Mike Tyson minus the scary face-tattoos. It has recently come to light that this crooked basterd has run up a laundry list of expenses which, according to the Sunday Times article that ran in yesterday’s paper, include:


  • R335 000 flying first class with his personal assistant and staying in a five-star hotel to visit his girlfriend in prison in Switzerland;
  • Another R32 000 to hire a chauffeur-driven limo for the prison visit;
  • R640000 in one year for Shiceka and a handful of staff to stay at the One & Only – of which, he admits, R280 000 was spent on him alone;
  • R55 793 for a one-night stay at the One & Only during President Jacob Zuma’s first State of the Nation address, justifying taking a sangoma with him by saying the man was his "father figure"; and
  • More than R160 000 in eight months flying 10 family members – including his estranged wife and current girlfriend – around the country at taxpayers’ expense


So here’s a guy who has a girlfriend in prison in Switzerland (she was taken down for a drug charge), digs flying his family around with OUR money and missions around with a sangoma who he claims is his “father figure”.

Is this guy fucking pimping or what?!

Oh, and it turns out the sangoma isn’t really a sangoma (Shiceka admitted he had no idea whether the guy is a sangoma or not) but stuck by his claim that the guy is his “father figure”. Yeah, whatever buddy we know the guy’s your personal dealer, don’t be clever.



But it’s all good in the hood yo, because apparently the Ministerial Handbook says it’s totally fine to fly your dealer around and put him up in 5 star luxury accommodation and apparently the handbook also says it’s fine to fly your extended family, including your girlfriend and estranged wife around the country at our expense too.

What a fucking sweet book! No matter how much of the honest tax payer’s money you splurge, the Ministerial Handbook has your ass covered homes, just don’t even worry about that shit, you’re a MINISTER – go wild!

And here I am scraping change out of the couch to try and cover petrol money for a road trip over Easter and this Gigantic Douche is taking my fucking tax money and blowing it on 183 flights in one year! That means every second fucking day he was flying somewhere!



I feel cheated. I want that tax money back goddamnit! Add up all his fucking expenses and reimburse us, we never signed up for this shit! I’m not working my ass off 7-5 every goddamn day to pay for a buncha freeloaders to swan around the country in 5 star luxury.

Of course, this kind of thing happens all the time here in good ol’ Saffrica , but I dunno, aren’t you guys getting fucking sick and tired of reading shit like this?

Throw the prick in jail, that’s what I say, and in the meantime anyone know where I can get my hands on a copy of the Ministerial Handbook? Something tells me it’ll be an entertaining read, right up there with the Satanic Bible and The Anarchist’s Cookbook.



ET Doesn’t Die!

J-Rab and I got to talking about ET last night which I watched once and only once back when I was about seven.

Back then I was easily frightened by anything vaguely weird or scary and so it was with great trepidation that I even watched ET in the first place because let’s face it, ET is fucking weird and ugly. He looks like a cross between a turtle without a shell and a turd that’s been left in the sun too long.



I didn’t trust that little asshole one bit. The minute he appeared on screen I was like, “What the hell IS that thing?! I don’t like it. It makes funny sounds and it looks like it’s up to something. Also, it’s ugly and it’s creeping me out.”

Of course, I changed my mind somewhat as the movie played out. Drew Barrymore seemed to like the little freakshow so he couldn’t have been all bad, except for the bit when they dress him up in drag, that didn’t sit well with me either. He looked like that cranky old granny from The Golden Girls with too much self tan and a cheap blonde wig.



Still though, I grudgingly began to like the precocious little scamp once I’d figured out that he was actually pretty harmless and despite his freakish appearance, didn’t want to kill / eat the children.

Then it got to the end of the movie and everything started going to hell. The little fucker got all sick and started turning an off-grey colour, EXACTLY like a turd left in the sun too long and right then and there I wanted nothing more to do with him.

They put the little bastard in that giant plastic tent thing and hooked him up to all those machines and he started acting all weird and freaking out so I switched off the TV, completely traumatised, and went off to play Lego and try to put the whole tortured experience behind me.



“You never watched the end of ET?!” J-Rab said as I got to this point of the story.

“Nope. It was traumatising enough watching that shifty-eyed little turd-alien go all grey and sick, actually watching him die would have pushed me straight off the edge.”

“ET doesn’t die!”


“ET doesn’t die, the kid comes back and rescues him and then they ride off on the kid’s bike and ET makes it fly and they go over the moon.”

“Really? Holy shit.”

“And then it ends when the spaceship lands and other little ET-guys come and fetch him and take him back home. ET go home!”

“Huh. And all this time I thought he just up and died and that was that.”

“No! Why would they make him the main character in a kid’s movie and then just kill him off?”

“I dunno! They killed Bambi didn’t they?”

“They killed Bambi’s mother!



“Oh yeah… so ET doesn’t die?”

“No, ET doesn’t die.”

ET doesn’t die guys. All these years I’ve been living under the false pretence that ET snuffed it, 20 years I’ve been living a lie.

And no, this doesn’t mean I’m going to watch it again. 

I still think ET’s an ugly little cross dressing creep Winking smile



Is This Year Kicking Your Ass Too?

I don’t know what the hell is going on, maybe some kind of cosmic realignment of the planets or a massive, fundamental shift in the universal ebb and flow, but a lot of people I’ve spoken to recently are all saying the same thing:

This year is kicking our asses.



Deadlines, last-minute projects, clients freaking out, agencies freaking out, pressure building to the boiling point, stress levels maxing out, traffic fucking with our shit and people just wandering how? How the fuck did it get like this?

We’re only one month into 2011 and already Christmas and New Year feel as though they happened in a different lifetime, it’s insane!

Of course, the only people I really interact with are my colleagues and the other people in my industry, which is fairly pressurised even on a good day, so I could be way off here.

Maybe you’re having a nice gentle start to your year. Maybe you wake up slow and easy, make a delicious, piping hot breakfast, catch some morning news while you’re getting ready, drive at a normal pace to work, greet everyone with a big smile in the office and knuckle down for a few hours before taking an hour’s lunchbreak to eat your sarmies outside with the pigeons.



For a lot of people I’ve spoken to it’s a vastly different situation as we sprint, as fast as humanly possible, through a minefield of one catastrophic fuck-up after the next, praying for the weekends to deliver us from email, but when they come we’re never free to truly enjoy them because work is always, always, always there, SOMEWHERE, burning like a lit cigarette inside your brain.

Do you feel it to? How’s your year working out so far?

I’m interested to know because holy shitballs, at this rate I’m dabbling with the idea of running away to an exotic island somewhere to mix cocktails on the beach far, far away, where my only concern everyday will be where my next bong hit’s coming from.



You Gotta Love Models

So Klap Gym Boet! went into the latest FHM which now means there’s an FHM lying around our flat which I can honestly say is the first one that’s done that in about 5 years.

Naturally I find myself gravitating towards it from time to time, mostly when I’m supposed to be doing things that actually require brainpower such as writing a blog post or boiling the kettle.

Instead I veg out on the couch and flip through the pages, marvelling at how large woman’s breasts seem to have become and thanking my lucky stars that I’m a guy and don’t have to compete with those ridiculously over-airbrushed, over-sexed and under-dressed brainless sirens.



I love the ‘what qualities do you look for in a man?’ question because they always say the same fucking thing.

“Confidence and a great sense of humour are sexy. He must also not be afraid to show his sensitive side. And he must be honest. And he must have a nice six-pack. Hahahaha!”

It’s all the same shit over and over and over again!

South African models are the worst. For the most part they are so fucking boring I’d rather push a fork through my eyeball than read an interview with them.

Take this month’s cover girl Genevieve Morton for example, who answered the following questions in the following ways:


  • What do you find attractive in a man? Confidence and a sense of humour
  • What do you do on your days off in New York? Browse the fresh food market with hot, non-alcoholic apple cider
  • You must have had some cool jobs since we last worked together? I spend a lot of time in Dallas working for a department store
  • Do you enjoy jogging in Central Park wearing insanely tight spandex? I got totally lost one day, so haven’t spent too much time there
  • It’s a tough country to stay in shape in, how do you resist Dunkin’ Doughnuts? Actually, when I travel I never eat the nice, tasty foods… because I am scared that I will like it too much and then not to be able to stop myself
  • What exciting career projects are you looking forward to? Finishing my degree


And so on and so on and so on and so on.

I’m probably not the best person to gauge these things by, but seriously, what a boring interview!



The American girls interviewed at least had some pizazz, but I’m sorry, our local girls are a buncha limp noodles. They wouldn’t know a party if it crawled up their leg and blew a bong hit their doe-eyed little faces.

That Powerbalance launch I went to when I met Roxy Louw is a great example. We went to the bar after the interview and I ordered her a tequila. No, tequila was too hectic, she’d had a bad experience (hahaha! Like anyone drinks tequila and has a good experience). So I ordered her a Jagy, no she didn’t want a Jagy either. An Apple Sour? No, not that either.

She ended up doing a shot of red wine. Then her boyfriend arrived, gave her a disapproving look and marched her off to sit in a corner with him for the rest of the night.

You gotta love models because magazines and TVs and a bazillion other forms of mass media bludgeon us with their half naked bodies and perfectly sculpted faces all the time and we sit there like cartoon wolves, tongues lolling from our heads and hearts beating through our chests and then you actually get to meet them and you know what?

The baglady down the street is more interesting.



The SlickTiger Guide To Raising Baby Humans

Recently I’ve noticed that a lot of people around me, friends, family work colleagues, etc. are breeding at an alarming rate. I attribute this to the general decline in quality TV programming and the decision-impairing properties of hard liquor.

Add to that potent mix the proliferation of lewd sexual material in the mainstream media and the decline in morality suffered as a result of that, and conditions for breeding baby humans start to look very favourable indeed.



And so I decided to write a step-by-step guide on raising, feeding and caring for baby humans. In this way I hope to help people who are either currently raising baby humans, or still growing them inside their wombs, waiting for the miracle that occurs as the foetus descends into the pelvic cavity and its head and shoulders pass through the bony ring of the pelvis, much like a bowling ball through a balloon knot.


Step one: Environment

The first thing you’re going to want to secure before you bring your baby human home is a suitable environment.

As a rule of thumb, a 48 to 53cm baby human should be kept in a 55 gallon tank. This will allow the baby human enough room to run around and exercise and yet not have to run too far to catch its dinner.

As the baby human grows, so should its enclosure. I would recommend no smaller than a 70 gallon tank once the baby human has grown to 70-80cms and a 180 gallon tank once it has grown to 100-150cms.



Most baby human shops should stock a varied selection of bedding for your baby human, but I would strongly recommend taking my advice when it comes to the following items:


  • Baby human bark / bedding: This is definitely not a good idea. Crickets and other smaller insects that are high in nutrition for your baby human can hide under the bark, resulting in your baby human not getting its full meal. Another major reason is that the baby human could ingest a piece of the bark, which could result in uncomfortable stool.
  • Sandpit sand: I have found this to be both an affordable and practical form of bedding for baby humans. Simply ‘scoop’ the baby human’s fecal matter off the sand and replace as necessary.
  • Newspaper / Paper: This is a great idea if you are concerned about ease of cleaning and cost. It’s not the ‘prettiest’ set up for your baby human’s enclosure, but it works well.
  • Straw: Another great material to line your baby human’s tank with. The straw retains heat well and can easily be arranged into a comfortable ‘nest’ for your baby human.


Step two: Diet

Feeding your baby human will require you to handle all manner of food stuffs including raw vegetation, insects, and small mice.

Baby humans are omnivores, meaning they will eat veggies and small animals. Insects, however, should definitely be a daily staple of your baby human’s diet should you want it to grow up strong and healthy, with a robust exoskeleton.



I would highly recommend feeding your baby human a combination of the following:


  • Bugs: The size of the insects you feed your baby human is extremely important. All food that is offered should be smaller in width than your baby human’s beak. Larger food items could get easily lodged in the baby human’s digestive tract, causing uncomfortable stool.
  • Veggies: There is a huge selection of ‘leafy’ greens which are high in calcium to feed your baby human, such as kale, argula, collard & mustard greens, parsley, dandelion greens and flowers. If you take your baby human outside or allow it to run around the house (though I wouldn’t recommend it) do be sure to check that no leafy vegetation in or around the house is poisonous. Baby humans have a voracious appetite and will eat anything mildly enticing, this also applies to any drapery you might own, wooden furniture or shoes.
  • Live baby mice: Live baby mice are an excellent source of protein for growing baby humans, but please note the mice must be fed live. Dead baby mice will not move around enough to attract the baby human’s attention as its eyes are only capable of detecting movement and they only see in the colours purple, green, red and black.
  • Water: Baby humans should be sprayed twice daily on their heads, which stimulates the natural way they would drink water in the wild, namely by lapping up the drops of dew they would find on plants in the morning.


Step 3: Alarming behaviour to watch for

First time human baby owners often overlook subtle behavioural disorders that occur due to their ignorance on the subject.



When raising a baby human, be sure to be vigilant of the following behavioural disorders:


  • Hood’ display: When determining hierarchy in the home, the baby human will often ‘blow out’ its hood by extending a bone-like structure covering the surrounding flap of skin. This can also be used as a defensive gesture when the baby human is startled. Calm the baby human down with a few small mice and a selection of ‘gutloaded’ crickets. Be sure that the crickets are not fed poisonous greens though, as this may result in uncomfortable stool
  • Head Bobbing: This is a dominance display. The baby human seems to be saying, ‘You wanna piece of me? Eh? Puto?’ Do not be alarmed by this behaviour, but do arm yourself with a sharp stick just in case.
  • Arm Waving: This is a submissive gesture in recognition to the dominant male, which should always be the father until the baby human has reached full maturity and shed its carapace for the last time.


By following these three simple steps you should experience many years of enjoyment with your baby human after which time it is highly advised to rerelease them into the wild where they can follow successful careers as lawyers, accountants, life insurance salesmen or PR consultants.



Friends Wanted: Cape Town

A month ago, my chick and me moved to Cape Town coz of a job she got offered, even though a lot of my mates back in Joeys warned us not to.

‘All they ever do down there,’ my mates warned, ‘is smoke dagga and not much else. Also, the people are clicky and won’t be your friend unless you’re rich.’

Of course, I thought my mates were just pulling my leg and having a good lag at their chommie making the big move down to the Cape, but as it turns out, they were right about one thing.

Flip, okes down here smoke a lot of dagga.



And also, I dunno if it’s coz they get parries or something, but my mates were also right about another thing, it’s flippin’ clicky down here and nobody wants to talk to you.

I’ve introduced myself with a big friendly smile and a firm handshake to every oke I’ve met down here, and not one of them has wanted to be my friend.

Now, because we have no one to chill with, my girlfriend and I drink TWICE as much brandy and coke as we used to and often she carries on about how we have no friends now and I have to klap her to get her to just bladdy shuddup.

And so, I’d like to use this website as a way of making some new mates down here in The Cape, some real okes who I can be chommies with and who have girlfriends that can help mine in the kitchen when we braai.

To attract the right kind of mates, I’ve made a list of me and my girlfriend’s hobbies, which includes:

  • Braais
  • Fighting
  • Gym
  • Watching the game at the pub
  • Drinking
  • Fighting
  • H2O (the doof doof party, not the stuff in bottles)
  • Jetskis
  • Fighting

So if there are any okes and chicks in The Cape who enjoy similar hobbies and wanna be mates with me and my girlfriend, please leave your details in the comments section below.

Also, if you could please be rich and good-looking, that will help us a lot, cause we’re rich and good-looking too. Here’s a picture of us as proof:



I look forward to hearing back from you ous soon!



A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

July 2020