Posts Tagged ‘fascism


The Three Evilest Shots You’ll Ever Drink

If you’re the type of person who enjoys this blog, then I’m just gonna jump right in there, take a shot in the dark and guess that you probably don’t mind a drink from time to time.

You don’t mind a drink from time to time, you don’t mind going out with your friends and maybe doing a sneaky tequila or two, you have nothing against that. You don’t mind opening a fine bottle of wine and drinking the whole thing by yourself, that’s fine by you, and you don’t mind taking a hip flask of whisky to work everyday and taking large gulps under your desk when no one’s looking, you know, just to steady your hands a little.



We don’t judge here at Them’s Fightin’ Words, well unless you’re MTN, The Parlotones, 30 Seconds To Mars, a fascist pig, or any number of other things that irritate the shit out of me. I like drunks though, so you guys are safe.

In fact, a lot of my good friends are well accomplished drunks, and I’ve followed their drinking careers in some cases right from the first drink I forced them to down. You know where you stand with a drunk because the second they’ve had a few, THE TRUTH starts flowing like a fountain of milk and honey from their wet, booze soaked lips, usually with hilarious consequences.

Also, I love watching the body language of truly wasted people, especially when they’re trying to get some ass. Take this one friend of mine for example, we’ll just call him X, to avoid an awkward conversation later today. When he’s nice and lubed up he’ll approach his target, leaning backward at an angle of 45 degrees from the floor. Then once he’s made his approach, he’ll straighten up to a respectable 90 degree angle, occasionally wavering forward to 100 and backward to 80.

God help his target if she shows any kind of interest because then it’s balls to the wall, 135 degree forward leaning, right up there in her personal space. Now it’s her turn to lean backward at 45 degrees. It’s like some bizarre mating ritual perpetuated by two similarly charged magnets.



So anyway, I decided for today’s post I’d share a few priceless nuggets of information I gathered whilst living in Grahamstown and studying at Rhodes University, Where Leaders Learn… To Drink.

And no, I don’t know your friend’s sister Kirsty who went there to study a BSC, or your mate Rhino who was part of the surf club so let’s not even go there ok? I went to Rhodes I remember NO ONE! I leave all that remembering bullshit up to other people cause yesterday’s got nothin’ for me, pictures that I’ll always see, time just fades the pages in my book of memories.

Here are the three EVILEST shots ever invented. I sincerely hope you never have to drink any of these. Rhodes students invented these. Yeah, that bad.





Not a very original name for a shot, I’ll be the first to admit that, but when you’re caught in the hazy deluge of a three-day drinking binge, these things seldom matter.

For this particularly potent assault on sobriety, you’ll need the following:

  • 1 x double shot glass
  • 1 x shot of absinthe
  • 1 x shot of stroh rum
  • 1 x draught glass
  • 1 x lighter
  • 1 x bent straw

Ok? Are you picking up what I’m laying down here? It goes like this: You pour the absinthe and stroh into the shot glass and light it. You hold the draught glass upside down over the flaming mess, catching as many fumes as possible before putting the draught glass down over the shot glass, thus neatly extinguishing said flaming mess. Carefully sneak the shot glass out from the draught glass, being careful not to let the fumes escape and SMASH the shot in your face.

Then, quick as possible, put the short end of the bent straw under the draught glass and suck the fumes in like a bong hit. I watched someone pass out instantly when doing this once, so maybe tie yourself to something first.





Specially designed for the shoe-string budget drinker, this is by far the MOST FUCKED you’ll ever get on one shot. I’ve been there. I have the scars to prove it.

For this suicidally retarded foray into drunken oblivion, you’ll need the following:

  • 1 x shot of stroh rum
  • 1 x shot glass FULL of sugar
  • 1 x round slice of lemon, with rind

Can you see where this is going? I think you can see where this is going. This is going straight to shit, do not pass go, do not collect 200.

First empty the entire shot glass of sugar into your mouth. You’ll be surprised how much sugar a shot glass can hold. Swill it around a little to get it moist and then pop the entire lemon slice, rind and all into your mouth and chew it up but good.

By this stage your mouth will be so full your cheeks will be in real danger of rupturing. Now somehow get that shot of stroh in there and swallow the lot. Sit down for 15 minutes and for god’s sake, no matter how ‘fine’ you feel, DON’T drink anything else. Now stand up, walk around a little and marvel at how completely wasted you’ve just become.

Make an educated decision at this point, ask yourself ‘Can I handle any more booze?’ O’course y’can! Ffffaahk!

This will be the last thing you remember.





This shot should not be drunk by ANYONE. It was invented by barmen at Champs Action Bar shortly before the place was closed down. Champs was frequented mainly by truck drivers, correctional services officers, criminals and students who were into metal and didn’t mind spending their evenings watching people fight one another with broken bottles and screwdrivers (true story).

So anyway, there is nothing cute or clever about this shot. To make it you need:

  • 1 x double shot glass
  • Bit of tequila
  • Throw in some stroh rum
  • Fuck it, why not some whisky
  • Vodka’s definitely a winner
  • Some amarula cream so it can curdle instantly
  • And why not finish that bad boy off with a healthy dollop of Tobasco sauce?

Does that sound like fun to you? I had no idea what it was when I bought it because I was already pretty hammered. The sign behind the bar said ‘Don’t be a pussy! Try The Sacred Shit Of Satan.’

‘I’m no goddam pussy!’ I slurred, ‘gimme Satan’s shit!’

Yeah. Boy did I regret that decision.

So there you have it guys, three fun ways to spend a night slurring incoherently, hitting on ugly strangers and starting fights that trust me, you’ll lose.

Hahaha! Good times I tell ya, good times 🙂



The Body Corporate Where I Live Are A Bunch Of Fascist Pigs

Fascism, my friends, did not come to an end with the defeat of the Axis Powers at the end of World War II, no. Like a cockroach after nuclear Armageddon, it has come crawling out of the gutters of history and  is alive and well and fucking thriving in the complex where I live.

I don’t remember when it all started because there’s a better than average chance that I was drunk at the time, but not long after moving into our complex in Craighall Park, we became aware of a menacing presence residing in the flat behind us in the form of the Chairlady of our Body Corporate, whose name shall remain anonymous (because fuck man, she scares me).

We’ll just call her Beelzebub, that means Satan.



In the two and a half years we’ve lived in our flat we’ve had various altercations with Beelzebub because like many people aged between 20 and 30, we like to party. We like to have friends over, we like listening to music, we like the occasional drinky-poo, is that a crime?

Apparently yes.

The best way I can explain everything that’s happened over the last two years in our flat would be by copy/pasting, this awesome summary of offences that Beelzebub sent our landlords near the end of last year:


Hi (name withheld),

I’m writing to you to request that you address the issue of noise disturbances with your current tenants.       I can’t recall exactly when you moved away from Braemore but at that time you let your unit to three, young men.      Shortly after they took occupation, I called on them & provided them with Braemore’s Conduct Rules which they acknowledged by signing my copy & I left another copy with them.      For the first few months, they were well behaved & didn’t create any disturbances.     However, their behaviour soon changed.    You will recall that I spoke to you about 18 months ago to complain about a party that they held in the flat, which was accompanied by music played at full volume & which continued throughout the night & into the early morning.    On that occasion, I went to unit 32 at around 4.30 in the morning to speak to the occupants about the noise disturbance.       The crowd in the flat were inebriated & I raised my complaint with two of your tenants, whom I recognised from when I delivered the Conduct Rules to them.    Unfortunately, and possibly due to their state of inebriation, they were argumentative & unapologetic.   One of them (The Glaze!) almost shoved his finger in my face.     They continued to disturb the peace on numerous occasions thereafter with noisy parties & often there would be upwards of 20 people in the unit.    Unfortunately, I didn’t keep a record of the dates & times but going, forward, I intend to keep a record of every incident.

Two of your three tenants have vacated unit 32 in this year, one of them is (The Glaze!).       Again, I haven’t kept a record of when they moved out, but we’ve had relative peace & quiet for the last few months, until this week on Wednesday & again last evening.  

Wednesday, 14 October

At around 10.30pm I went to speak to your tenants about a noise disturbance.   The front & kitchen doors were wide open & the sounds of their yelling & music could be heard from my flat, which is in the block behind them.  I was not confrontational at all, I simply asked them to keep the noise levels down & suggested that they close their kitchen door, which they did.   I mentioned to them that it was a week night & some of the residents have to get up early in the morning to get their places of business & it’s not acceptable that they should have their sleep disturbed by the inconsiderate behaviour of other occupants.

Friday, 16 October

Just before 11pm last evening, I was again forced to go & speak to your tenants about a noise disturbance.    There were three guys in the lounge & one of them was playing the guitar & singing (shouting?) at the top of his voice (Guitar Jon!).     I think what fuels these noise disturbances, is their intake of alcohol – from the perspective of my personal observation, it seemed that they weren’t exactly sober.    To their credit, I must say that they apologised & were quiet after that.

I’m attaching another copy of the Braemore Conduct Rules & specifically draw your attention to Conduct Rules 17 and 18.      Each one of your current tenants must sign the Conduct Rules, acknowledging that they understand the rules & are prepared to abide by them.     I must also point out that the other occupants in that block – from units 31 to 36, all fall into the age group 20 to 30 & none of them cause disturbances.    Therefore, if your tenants raise their youth in defence of their behaviour (as I suspect they will), you may just point this out to them.     If your tenants are unwilling to abide by the Conduct Rules, which are in place to ensure that the rights of other occupants are observed & respected, then perhaps they should consider living somewhere else.      

Kind regards,


What a load!

I know people that are a million times worse tenants than we are. I knew these guys back at varsity that lived in a digs aptly named ‘Mordor’, who threw a ‘bring something to burn’ house party at the end of our third year there and ho-lee fuckballs, you should have seen the resulting chaos.



Because a lot of the kids I was at varsity with had more money than they knew what to do with and were too lazy to sell their furniture at the end of the year, I watched in total disbelief as the following items were tossed into the bonfire they started on their lawn:

2 x wooden bedframes
1 x old queen sized mattress
2 x TVs
1 x CRT computer monitor
2 x vacuum cleaners
2 x single couches
1 x double couch
1 x wooden door (ripped off the hinges from a bedroom inside Mordor)
And my personal favourite:
1 x 2-man fibreglass canoe

The resulting ‘fire’ if it can be called that, was so unbelievably MASSIVE that it actually felt like a small sun had come blazing through the cosmos and crashed in the back lawn of Mordor. You could tell who was at the party the next day because their eyebrows and lashes were singed from the heat, I shit you not.



The fire melted the gutters off the roof, cracked every window down the one side of the house, and burst the piping coming out of the geyser.

Now THAT’S what I call disturbing the peace.

So anyway, I come home from work yesterday, and there’s a letter from the Body Corporate under our door expressing intense dismay because of the fact that some jerkwad keeps taking the creepy out the pool and leaving it disconnected in the sun.

Granted, that’s a pretty dumbass thing to do, but Beelzebub and her committee’s reaction is nothing short of completely retarded.

Did they send a letter to everyone asking them not to take the creepy out of the pool or further action will be taken? No, they didn’t do that. Instead they are now permanently locking the gate to the pool area and making everyone sign a register with the security guard at the front gate every time they want to take a dip in the pool.

Added to that, if you are caught tampering with the creepy in any way, they reserve the right to slap a R500 fine on your ass right there and then, no questions asked.



Those fascist fucks! THEM’S fightin’ words!

I can’t tell you how tempted I am to take drastic action in the face of this abhorrent abuse of our basic human rights to enjoy a dip in the pool on a hot summer’s day. What the fuck?! People have fought and died for the ideals of democracy and freedom, which are founded on the basic premise that we should have have some kind of influence, no matter how big or small, over the decisions that are made by the leaders of our country, our province and our body corporate.

So I need your help. Here is a list of all the actions I’ve thought of taking in the face of this blatant fascism, which one(s) should I do?

1. Fill the pool with cement. That’ll show those fuckers. I’ll sneak in at 3am with 10 bags of PPC and get pourin’, then NOBODY will EVER fuck with the creepy because well, they’ll need a jackhammer to get at it.

2. Kidnap the creepy and hold it for ransom. Another stroke of ironic genius. Also, I’ve always thought it would be rad to make one of those ransom notes out of cut out magazine letters whilst wearing rubber gloves in a dimly lit room. We’ll send the ransom note with a list of our demands and pics of the creepy lying naked and exposed in the midday sun. Evil, yes. Effective, you bet your ass.

3. Write a letter, copy it 40 times and slip under everyone’s door (except Beelzebub’s) giving detailed instructions, with illustrations, explaining how to safely climb OVER the 3ft gate that they’re planning on locking. To add insult to injury, the letter will also encourage everyone to swim naked. Let’s see them try and kick our asses out THEN.

4. Throw another party. You’re all invited.

The gauntlet has been thrown down people. I didn’t start this, THEY did, and unfortunately, they fucked with THE WRONG MEXICAN.



Hasta la victoria siempre!


A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

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