Posts Tagged ‘haircut


There is no post today

There is no post today. Don’t come here all expectant, looking for something significant, something that will make you laugh, something that one day you can tell your kids about, because you won’t find it.

The post that was supposed to be here up and left, no goodbye note, no forwarding address, no explanation. It was here the one minute, and the next, it was smoke.

There are other posts out there, millions upon millions, written by other people, fine people and people you can admire and say ‘I’m proud of him. He did everything I wished he would do, he grew up into a great person and made all the right choices in his life and I couldn’t be happier with the direction his life has taken. What a great guy. What a winner. His haircut is the best. He dresses well. He says everything perfectly at the right time, always. He will look after us… he will look after us…’

Don’t come here for that guy. The guy here isn’t that guy. The guy here is bent and a million different kinds of fucked up and if you don’t believe me, just ask people for chrissake, they’ll tell you. They’ll tell you straight up to weave a circle round him thrice and close your eyes with holy dread, with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed.

And drank the milk of paradise.

There is no post today, be glad of that, because if there was one it wouldn’t be friendly and curl up in your lap and keep you warm while it dozed contentedly, no.

It would bite you if there was a post here, with dirty teeth, and you wouldn’t leave feeling happy, you would leave feeling hurt.



There is no post today, but the authorities are on their way to kill whatever has taken it’s place, the rough beast that slouches, growling, slavering here in the dark.

For your sake, and mine, let’s hope they bring the big guns and don’t stop until whatever is here is sprayed in wet, red chunks all over the walls.

Here’s hopin’.



Killer Sunday

Yesterday was definitely a pretty killer day as far as Sundays go. Back in school Sundays always used to depress the shit out of me, especially as it got closer to Monday, but once you start working, every free second you have to yourself is precious.

By the time I finished writing up that last post (how epic was that post?!? Fuck, I thought it would never end) it was already about 10 in the morning so I called up my buddy, Ex-Polar Bear Jon because I had to play him one of the best albums I’ve heard this year.

The Ex-Polar Bear and myself love talking shit endlessly about music. Thing about ExBear is that he eatssleepsbreathesshitsloveslives music. He works at ProSound and is one of the best and most badass blues/rock/acoustic grunge guitarists playing in Joburg right now.

So he comes over and we make some coffee and roll a few games of Backgammon (NEVER play Backgammon against me, I will destroy you). He plays me his favourite tracks from the new Pearl Jam, pretty good, pretty decent album, but then the gloves come off.

I start playing the album I called him over to listen, and it blows his mind, soft and slimey, all over the living room walls.

The new Arctic Monkeys album, Humbug, is fucking amazing. Sure, you don’t know me very well at this stage and probably you think this is what I say for lots of albums, but I assure you, it’s VERY seldom that I’ll give an album the accolade of being ‘fucking amazing’.


This album does not fuck around. I want it in and around my mouth

This album does not fuck around. I want it in and around my mouth


Tonight I’m gonna try get my lazy ass into gear and write my first album review for this blog, so I can properly explain how happy Humbug makes me on so many different levels, in the meantime, just buy that album, but it now!

Once I had thrashed ExBear sufficiently at Backgammon, he left in shame and (drum roll) I actually got my fucking hair cut.

Man-o-man, it was WAY overdue. I even feel lighter, like my head weighs less and my body temperature has dropped down a degree or two now that that large, dead animal no longer adorns my head.

Things are looking up.

I was a little nervous though cause by a slight coincidence, the last time J-Rab got her hair cut, it was by the same lady and without getting into details, J-Rab and I were going through a bit of a rough patch because I had been a total, total jerk.

J-Rab told the hairdresser some of the story which was why I half expected to walk out of there looking like a lawnmower had driven over my skull.


No one deserves a haircut this bad. No one.

No one deserves a haircut this bad. No one.


I voiced this concern to the hairdresser, but she laughed and said no, she is a professional and as much as I deserve it, she wasn’t going to cut my hair and leave me looking like my parents are cousins.

After that it was lunch with the folks, same old same old. Our family has no traditions, none. We have no cultural heritage, no specific dress, no music, no art, nothing. We eat lunch. That is how our little tribe (which is only really my folks and me) bonds. Over snooty lunches in snooty restaraunts. The dining dead.

I picked up J-Rab after that and brought her sexy little ass home. I love that woman about as passionately as it is humanly possible, she just GETS me, she understands me really, really well, is just really fucking cool.

We did the domestics, other stuff too, and afterwards I by mistake called her ‘dude-babe’.

It was pretty hilarious, as I was leaving the bedroom and I meant to say, ‘Fuck babe, I don’t think I can feel my legs’, but instead I said ‘Fuck dude-babe, I um…’


This is what my mind conjurs when I think of a 'dude-babe'. Bleaugh.

This is what my mind conjurs when I think of a 'dude-babe'. Bleaugh.


‘Dude-babe?’ she said, laughing her ass off. Haha, so funny, I nearly called my girlfriend ‘dude’.

Freud would have a field day. Actually, first he’d have about four lines of coke, THEN he’d have a field day.

We laughed our asses off about that one, but the real gem of the evening happened just as we were about to doze off together.

I ask J-Rab if I can tell her a joke, so she says OK, and my joke goes like this:

Me: A termite walks into a bar
J-Rab: Okay…
Me: And asks, ‘Where is the bar tender?’

Silence. [SFX: Crickets]

J-Rab: Yeah?
Me: Yeah! That’s it, ‘Where is the bar tender?’
J-Rab: Haha, isn’t there more?
Me: No babe – A termite walks into a bar and asks, ‘Where is the bar tender?’
J-Rab: O-kaaayyy…
Me: Hahhaa, c’mon babe, think about the words, a termite walks into a bar and asks where is the bar TENDER y’know? Cause he wants to eat it.
J-Rab: Um… he wants to eat the bar tender?
Me: Hahaha, aaahh babe, you’re killing me, hahahahahaha!
J-Rab: What?
Me: ‘Where is the BAR TENDER?’ Cause he wants to eat the BAR, cause it’s made of wood and he wants to know where it’s TENDER, y’know, like soft so he can eat it!

We laughed so damn hard about that we both ended up in tears – best. Joke. EVER!


Termites: Funny as fuck

Termites: Funny as fuck


I couldn’t think of a better way of ending a really killer weekend and as I held J-Rab close and started drifting off I felt so calm and content, my mind clear and happy.

And that my friends, is love.


A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

August 2020