Dear Nici

Cause it's just that easy when you have a blog.

Pretoria bly Pretoria

“Kaffirs! Kaffirs! KAAAFFFFIIIIRRRRSSSS!” We eventually turn around and look back at the guys drinking on the bakkie before the game kicks off. “QUOTA SYSTEM!!!” We hang our heads and walk away, being a group of high school kids trying to raise funds for a tour to Argentina there’s no point in our saying anything back. Our coaches made sure not to forget the tell “us guys” that people were going to say ugly stuff and we were to just forget about it and carry on. Pretoria bly Pretoria, nie Tshwane nie! Pretoria!

Tuks FM have attempted to make a viral campaign via the use of Nazism. Apparently the point is to stand somewhere ridiculous, hold ones right arm out and fake a Hitler moustache with the other hand and have ones picture taken. Although this is not entirely unexpected from a city that boasted old South African flags every time they played the song Delaray at Loftus Versveld rugby stadium, it still does hit a new element of low. Are the youth of the city that far deprived of meaningful engagement with one another that the only recreation they find suitable is that of condoning and enabling hate? Nazi-ing apparently is the stations reply to planking. Yeah genii both suggestions are retarded but the difference is that planking does not perpetuate abhorrence of one to another.

Tuks Fm is based on the city’s university which means it is focused on the youth, what message is this sending out. Get their mushy minds now? Radicalize now, so they can mobilize later? Get them to admit the military genius of Hitler so that they can appreciate him as a genius in other measures? This may all seem like a stupid attempt to go viral on a whim but the truth lies behind the real coded message being sent out. The blog post that caused such a stir was only taken down a day later after Tuks FM listeners were up in arms via social media networks. The radio station did not issue an official apology though. Why retract and not apologise? Oh yeah because apparently the listeners did not understand the joke without context. Here’s a few jokes with context:

Afrikaans people are like rope; thick and hairy.

All the black people in our family tree are still hanging in the backyard.

Hitler: Today we’re going to play squash! Hans start the steam roller!

With the three jokes above which of them are slightly offensive and which are completely insensitive? According to history life was considered cheap for some. If you’re going to make fun of an atrocity make sure your context is clear for all to understand and have a point to your joke, otherwise you just become labeled a bigot and give the hood you’re repping a bad name. I would like to extend a huge Fuck You to both PJ Van Rooyen and Rob Forbes for once again fucking up the reputation of Pretoria. I had gotten people to believe that the racial tension was as relaxed as that of Jo’burg give or take a few designated whites only zones and curfews. Now you’ve put us right back to Bloemfontein.

Chris Rock Quote

Chris Rock: Are we so desperate for entertainment that we fall for a trickless magician? Saw a lady in half. Pull a rabbit out of a hat. Do something. What's his last trick? "I'm in a box and I ain't going to eat. I'm in a box and I ain't going to eat." That ain't no trick. That's called living in the projects.

Watched Never Scared again the other day and realised that his jokes still tickle me quite a bit. There's so much truth in them it's really hard not to laugh.

5%

“ I hate fucking Fridays!” Jason spits out to Thami as he lights up a cigarette.

Thami doesn’t lift his gaze off the floor, “Why? We make triple than what we do during the week.” He tells him calmly.

“Ja but during the week we don’t have to deal with as many drunk assholes! Especially those poppies that we’re not allowed to ask for I.D, look at them their fifteen. This is fucked.”

“You’re taking everything too personally. You’re not trying to get their money are you, so pay them no mind. Just get those pathetic fucks they’re here with drunk, stroke their ego’s and put your fingers in their wallet.” Jason opens his mouth but Thami cuts him off. “Don’t try talk about the morality of the situation of serving alcohol to minors and all that other kak, cause then you should just quit. Or go try give Leonard kak about his policy. But you’ll do neither cause you want the money. I’ve got a table.” He leaves Jason smoking in the corner of the courtyard.

Jason watches him serve a large man dressed in a khaki shirt, blue jeans and brown shoes. The man doesn’t look at Thami as he orders. Thami then says something and the man lights up. His thick white moustache unveils yellowing teeth. Thami says something and the man begins to laugh. Jason watches as a lady wearing a bedazzled denim jacket and a pink crop top underneath take a seat at the table. She gives Thami a look over and proceeds to look at her menu. As she casts her eyes down her blue eye shadow and bright pink lipstick give her a comical look. The large man then taps her arm and points to Thami using his thumb. When she brings up her head to look at Thami, the enormous gold earrings exceed colour and become a glaze. When she finally decides to smile the yellow of her teeth add to the colour display. As the witness to all of this he decides that the woman who is on the verge of being an optical illusion is too much for him to watch. He concentrates on Thami. The smile with which he addresses the people is not genuine but is enough for them to want to return it. Even the look he gives them seems patronising but they laugh and engage with him as if they were trying to impress him. A remarkable feat considering moments before they barely felt the need to acknowledge his presence. Thami makes his way back to their corner having wiped off the fake smile.

“ I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”

“There’s little to smile about.” Thami returns.

“Okay, so how do you do it?” “Like I said, play into their hands. Impress the one you need to impress. That’s hospitality.”

“How come you don’t have a problem with all of this? Aren’t you always going on about how much you think that capitalism is such an immoral system and how it keeps the poor people poor. You’re always on about how much white people still control the economy and still treat black people like shit and yet here you are.”

“What’s your point?”

“You don’t have to be here taking this shit. You don’t even have to be working. You didn’t even say anything about the fucked up situation of us selling liquor to minors! What if those kids went to our school?”

“You can’t be deep all the time.” Thami returns.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that. There’s a time to be practical and a time to be philosophical. The trick is about finding the balance.”

“Whatever.”

Jason walks off. So exasperated by the interaction with Thami that by the time he reaches the table he went to check up on his frown clearly gives away his fake smile. Thami feels his phone vibrate and takes it out. He pulls it out and checks the message. “Pessimist.” He smiles and is off to check on his other tables.

5%

The night at the restaurant is crazy as Friday’s usually get. The waiters run up and down with little breaks between. Jason and Thami run a tight ship in their smoking section and do well in supporting each other. The owner Leonard makes his usual Friday night appearance. Slightly drunk and shouting at his staff. He steers clear of the smoking section knowing that Thami and Jason are his real money makers. The restaurant’s current reputation weighs on their shoulders. No matter how large the table the need neither pen nor pad. Their chemistry is unrivalled. Should there be a big enough table they make a performance of it and partner up to have the table served. After serving a table of 24 off memory and getting the restaurants biggest tip ever Leonard knew to leave them be of service to him. By all standards everyone working in the restaurant knew Leonard was a dickhead. He even took the time out to announce to his staff that he could afford to be cause he could afford to own the restaurant. But Leonard always knew that he could only go so far with Thami and Jason. He needed them both. So he always stayed in the non-smoking section when he came to the restaurant on his Friday visits. Not because they had said anything but because Leonard knew that when he was drunk he could not help himself. But there was more to it than that. Leonard never really felt he had real authority over Thami. The boy had a look that always made him wary of him. He also had a way of speaking that made him consider everything he said carefully. As if he was the one telling him what to do and when. Even the way that he commanded the staff was incredible. The kitchen did anything he told them to. And he even had a way with getting the cleaning staff to work immediately, without the brooding demeanor he got when issuing them with commands. There was something unsettling about the boy and Leonard wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what it really was. Thus always kept to the non-smoking section on Friday nights and waited to tally up the smoking sections earnings at the end of the night.

5%

“ Did you hear that the Siplmetons are…”

“Piet I’m pretty sure you were going for Simpletons.” Monique cuts in.

She takes a drag of her cigarette and smiles at him with an eye brow raised. Everyone laughs and Monique takes another sip from her cider bottle and continues to stare at Pieter. He looks back at her but drops his gaze and looks at Joan.

“ Are we going?” Tumi asks everyone.

“ I think I wanna go anyway. Their old stuff is so great!” she adds.

“ I’m not sure what I would be doing there as a man, you guys can go enjoy yourselves if you want to.” Is Siya's chirps.

“ If you ever want to get sex again in your life you’re going to that concert.” Tumi issues.

“ Yoh!” Jason slips out slapping his hand to his mouth.

“ I’m sure your balls are lonely and missing you wherever they are.” Nthabiseng let’s out as she grabs her vodka mix off the table in her zigzag to the bathroom.

The table erupts into laughter. Siya drops his bald head into his hands. With Tumi’s light brown eyes on him.

“Shame Siya.” Joan says as she patting his back

. On the slow meander down the corridor, Nthabiseng takes out her phone and checks to see if she might have missed any calls or messages while she had been outside. 2missed calls and 3 messages. She suppresses her excitement and starts by checking her missed calls. Her mom and brother. She immediately scrolls to her messages not thinking of her actions. Barely noticing getting into the bathroom taking off her pants and sitting on the toilet. The phone tells her of her two voice messages. She reads that her brother won’t be coming home again tonight. Not unexpected and her parents love and miss her. After she flushes the toilet she makes the voice call. Washing her hands she listens to her mother tell her to behave and that she was calling just to check in, since they hadn’t spoken in two days. She tries to save the message but the voice mail tells her the her inbox is full. Second call: the caller drops without saying anything. She picks her drink off the sink and makes her way back down the hall one shoulder barely pressed on a wall. She scrolls down to Thami’s number and stops halfway down the passage. She stares at the number and then looks at all her friends on her balcony. After staring at the number for a few more seconds she resolves to send him a message. Typed quickly as she can, she drains her glass and switches her phone off then staggers onto the balcony.

Don't Fall Off

"Craig Mack fell off, Yoda doesn't fall off!"

My little brother.

Don't Fuck Around

"All my homies that were fighters are either in hospital or in the morgue."

Someone told me last night, which made me realise that I really am not a strong motherfucker! Getting into fights to claim hardcore is simply retarded. The conversation continued to discuss that our egos only control us as much as we allow them to. Fuck your bullshit ego there's very little reason to ever fight.

"The only time I'll get involved..." he proceeds to tell us "Is for some real shit."

"Word." I say solemnly, checking out my shoe laces and reflecting on the stupidity that was the previous week. The more he spoke, the more I realised that at some point my luck will run out and I could easily either end up in hospital or in a morgue.

You never know who you're fucking with I think while we talk.

"I learnt my lesson through a golf club. My advice to you is don't fight. And if you have a dude in the crew pushing that shit, lose that homie. It's not worth it. And if you don't lose him don't back him and let him get taught a lesson." Are his words after we tell him about a fight we got into as a crew and got served a hot dish of knocked the fuck out.

"We were actually lucky not to have come out with more from that fight." We say to each other somewhat retardly.

I need to learn how to keep my temper in check or have it broken for me.

5%

“ Then I see this guy swaying on the dance floor drunk out of his mind! And some little girl whispering in his ear!”

The room erupts with laughter.

“ Wait…wait… then she puts her arms around his neck says something to him and this fool laughs at her!”

Howls of laughter fill the room once again reaching noise levels to disrupt the ear drum. Xolani is sprawled across the long sofa hitting his hand on the floor and digging is face into the arm rest. Jerry is bent over holding his stomach, jumping up and down to express the agony that the laughter is causing, his low voice transformed into a high pitched cackle. J.T sits behind him in a corner and smiles at the room from behind the mixing desk. Ndumo crawls in circles on the carpet gasping for his breath, with tears streaming down his face.

“Hau what was I supposed to do? She goes to school with my little sister!”

“No wait, what I wanna know is what that girl said to you...”

johnnyboardman.blogspot.com

Ndumo announces from the floor. He rolls over onto his back and still choking on laughter. A sneer slowly crosses his face. His big and lazy eyes concentrating on him, his afro makes a cushion for his head to relax itself without having to touch the navy carpet. He pulls out a cigarette box from the pocket of his baby blue skinnys that he sags just below his ass. He takes a cigarette out from the box, pops it into his mouth and takes a box of matches out the other pocket strikes a stick and ignites his paper cancer cylinder. Xolani sits up on the couch lays his head back on the rest, he slides his back down pointing his knees out while keeping his feet flat on the couch. He also reaches for his cigarette box and finds it empty after flicking it open.

“Skyf.”

He calls to Ndumo. Ndumo throws him the cigarette box which Xolani catches with one hand against his chest without having to move too much. After tossing the box aside he takes his lighter out his pocket and lights the cigarette on the second click. Once he’s done the lighter is tossed aside.

“ Kuluma ndoda, sifunu’kwazi!” Ndumo directs at him.

Xolani begins a routine that they were all too familiar with. It was described as X’s performance. It was the thing that made him such an endearing performer. The enigmatic ability to hold a secret from an audience yet allure them to the fact that they needed to know what it was, making them hunger for more while he gave them nothing. It started with his head going down showing the top part of his head while his dread acted as a veil. Then the cigarette disappearing behind the veil and his hand coming back empty.

“Hey! We’re not your fucking groupies! Hurry up and tell us the story so that we can get back to lacing this song!”

J.T had a way of controlling everyone when they let things go too far. Being the oldest in the group this didn’t really surprise anyone. Behind the spectacles a short and stout man with a bolding head. Xolani snaps out of his trance and whines in a high pitched voice

“ J.T why you always got to kill my buzz?” Xolani lifts his shoulders and hands to the side.

“Cause you’re buzz is killing me. Now what did that little chick say?” Xolani sucks air into his mouth placing his front teeth on his inner bottom lip to express his disapproval.

“Whatever man.” He says clearly deflated.

“She was just like I’m willing.”

The room goes quiet everybody holding in their laughter anticipating the punch line on its way.

“ And I was like willing to do what? And she was like willing to take it as far as you want as I wanted to. That’s when I laughed at her…”

The room stays silent except for a few awkward chuckles that come from Jerry. J.T and Ndumo quietly look at each other and shake their heads.

“So Xolani tell us again…” Ndumo begins “Why didn’t you do big things with this girl?”

Jerry protests on Xolani’s behalf “The man is recently married guy!”

“Since when was that an excuse?” asks Ndumo.

He gets up to put out his cigarette on the ashtray on the desk. He leans his backside on the mixing desk next to J.T sitting in the corner. The baby blue skinnys divide the white shirt from the his white sneakers almost making him look smurf like. His height and skin pigment give rest to this notion. Ndumo puts his drumsticks into the back of his sponge like fro making the seem like antennae, he then crosses his arms focusing his big and lazy eyes on Xolani.

“Truthfully what I really wanna know is, if the model older brother is indeed living the life that he projects to his little sister or if he’s fallen off the wagon.”

J.T stands up next to Ndumo and he too crosses his arms then stares and smiles at Xolani.

“Fuck off. I don’t need to explain myself to you guys. Let’s just finish up here.”

“Run all you want, you’ll just keep coming back to the same spot and we’ll still be here waiting for the answer to the same question. Hey! You could use that in a song lyric, that’s some deep shit right there. I love the shit I can make up on the spot.”

Ndumo professes clearly chuffed with himself. J.T sits down and turns to face the mixing desk. Ndumo takes the sticks out his fro as he walks into the recording booth to record his drumming. He begins to sing the words he just said to Xolani. He does a fast drum roll starting at his legs and making the last snap on his feet to accompany his horrific singing voice. Xolani gives him a look that turns him around sits him down and get ready to start drumming. All the while Ndumo lazes his gaze right back at him, without letting the sneer fade.

New Blood

It was a pretty little place in the shade that she had to herself. As people walked by she smiled and nodded and appreciated their actions. Shades tinting her view, she watched the bodies making their ways up and down paths and smiled to herself. A grin trying to be concealed, a boy hiding his hand behind his back, walks up to her.

Hello.

As she finishes her word, he soaks her wet and scurries off, allowing the lady time to recover from the shock and realise that the pages too were damaged in the brief interaction. Once she accepts the fact that she was shot with sopy water and that the stickiness is somewhat mildly annoying. She gets up, picks up her blanket and flaps the pages in hand, and walks out of the park thinking of the shower to follow.

http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Woman-Reading-Book-on-Park-Bench-Posters_i4890940_.htm

Boys will be boys.

Out aloud, to no one but the people walking by.

The Devil Is A Rockstar

Sex, Drugs and Rock N Roll right?

Feel good, Feel better and Feel Godly Right?

Ecstasy, Passion, Power.

Indulge, Indulge, Indulge!

When I was a kid... wait I still kinda am, this is what life was supposed to be for me, well at least it's what I wanted from life. Work hard, but only at what I loved. Pick and choose companionship at a whim, much like having a choice on what meal to eat without any fiscal restraint and never touch your feet on the ground. Float above the rest, without question doubt or to even acknowledge anything else beyond your realm of existence. Fuck yes!

Hangovers, behind the scenes and waking up next to girls you never in your life expected to sleep with, brought the reality of my dream closer to me. Maybe it's cause I don't have the money yet,therefore, still drink cheap liqour and wake up next to girls who are down for the same lifestyle. I mean don't get me wrong more often than not the sex is worth it, but every now and then there's that one chick who just adds an ache to already sore head.(The top one I mean)

The Devil is a Rockstar, I thought, fuck that! The devil is whoever I choose to make him. An easy excuse for me to open up and blame all my bullshit decisions on. I dig the lifestyle I'm leading, it's like anything else, you take the good with the bad. So.... and I'm really trying here not to sound like a fundamentalist ponce at this point but here goes:

Lucifer and Jehova share the same space. If you see God somewhere, the Devil is right behind him and vice versa. This is not going the way I wanted it to. You can find good in evil and evil in good. I hate motherfuckers acting like missionaries trying to save the dark continent. But those being "Saved" by them appreciate and love what is being extended to them. They don't know no better at that stage except what's being given to them to replace what they don't have. Maybe later on they'll see through the bullshit. Yet at the same time I'm not doing anything to help people out of their bad situations except to turn to this machine and start typing under the guise of social consciousness on my blog that averages 30 pageviews a day. That's how I make a difference! That's just one example that I can think of. But the point is that there's three or more sides to every fucking story and maybe one shouldn't be so quick to polarise, because that's the easiest way to go about shit. Maybe it's about seeing shit from as many angles as you can. But seeing shit from every angle needs to be instant otherwise, it takes to much effort and time and the easiest way to make a decision is to either choose black or white. I won't lie more often than not I choose the darkest shade of white I can. I blame that on religious indoctrination from the age of... innocence? What's that?

I'm The Chauffeur

I was told to get myself a brain today. I found this cool image accompanied by a terrible punk song with http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/34019

Today's Mandela's birthday.When I was in high school, I once asked a friend's little sister when she was 11 who Mandela was and she responded with the following:

Isn't he the guy who invented freedom?

"That's actually who he is" said I, thoroughly impressed with her knowledge of politics and philosophy.

Any brain donors? Charity starts at home.

Stranger Things Have Happened In Europe

I got picked up, and dropped in jail yesterday. Oh how I love the South African Police Service for allowing me to make my annual trip to the slammer. Once again I kick up a fuss and collect another street cred stamp. How'd this game start?

Going out with friends and doing utterly ridiculous things. Apparently I assaulted some dude for kicking around my cheap ass Nokia calculator. Following this I'm told the bouncers kindly escorted me out of Nula. I tried to apologise to the dude outside the club and was given a thick slap by life's assistant also known as the Gypsy. I was told that I was able to make the getaway to the dude and we did shake hands.

A walk home. A cop car. The back of the cop car. The police station, where I stand on my own in surrounded by a few cops. After refusing to sign the admission of guilt thing a majig again, they tell me to stop swearing. The tazer dude touches his rod to my shirt twice over and the shock and mixture of alcohol make me scream "Fuck I'm sorry! What's my charge?". This little sequence has a few of them in stiches at this point. Right there and then I realise these guys just made me their court jester. That's why they picked me up. They weren't trying to serve or protect me, pigs just get so bored of not doing their jobs that they drive around picking up blacks to entertain them in this city it seems. When they finally do get bored of me they throw me in the cell where i'm left for seven hours.

Sleep comes kinda easy. I wake once or twice as the door opens delivering a Cameroonian beanie and umjita who's hustle is to drink a bottle at the closest begging spot. I'm not really worried at this point yet, probably the dutch courage still inside me. I wake up to see a young coloured cat standing in his boxers smiling at me and asking if I also got thrown in for no reason and are you gonna eat that?

I manage a smile, if I laugh he'll hear that I'm nervous. Shook, I hand him the sandwich and flash a few teeth. An hour later a young piggie is given the task to move us from the cell to the holding area. In the holding cell, the young coloured cat manages to get a cigarette sparked, having made friends with Cameroon Beanie, who managed to get the little tobacco wish. Watching the cigarette burn and too shook to ask for a drag Beanie and Boxers enjoy themselves cupping the smoke every time they hear foot steps.

Here's the list of charges:

Kid Boxers: Aressted and held for four days for not leaving a crime area after the police asked him to leave, he mentions the fact that they Moered him the previous day.

Cameroonian Beanie: Got picked up for being drunk.

Mjita othanda utshwala: Being drunk.

Phumlani: Being drunk.

Now lets clear this up right here and now. I was not charged with being drunk and disorderly nor was I charged with being Drunk in public. The charge is for being drunk. What does this mean? Has being drunk become illegal for us? When I say us I mean blacks. Does this mean I'm not allowed to walk around in the city I call home for the time being? Curfews, maybe? Little do they know that I am not a tourist here, this is my country and I can live wherever I want.

Can Torey Skate Afri..?

Torey, what's your steez like in real life?

Karabo Makenna, Dizzy Tyd on the ones and twos! if you don't know, just smile and nod.,

Impudent Snobs Who Charecterise Themselves As Intellectuals

Houston, Texas, 22 May 1970
by Vice President Spiro Agnew

“Sometimes it appears that we’re reaching a period when our senses and our minds will no longer respond to moderate stimulation. We seem to be approaching an Age of The Gross. Persuasion through speeches and books is too often discarded for disruptive demonstrations aimed at bludgeoning the unconvinced into action.

The young – and by this I don’t mean by any stretch of the imagination all the young, but I’m talking about those who claim to speak for the young – at the zenith of physical power and sensitivity, overwhelm themselves with drugs and artificial stimulants. Subtly is lost and fine distinctions based on acute reasoning are carelessly ignored in a headlong jump to a predetermined conclusion.

Life is visceral, rather than intellectual. And the most visceral practitioners of life are those who characterise themselves as “intellectuals”. Truth to them is “revealed” rather than logically proved. And the principal infatuations of today revolve around the “Social Sciences”, those subjects which can accommodate any opinion and about which the most reckless conjecture cannot be discredited.

Education is being redefined at the demand of the uneducated to suit the ideas of the uneducated. The student now goes to college to proclaim, rather than to learn. The lessons of the past are ignored and obliterated in a contemporary antagonism known as the “generation gap.”

A spirit of national masochism prevails, encouraged by an effete corps of impudent snobs who characterize themselves as “intellectuals”

SKATE OR DIE!

Let Them Eat Steak!

So things get crazy once the cooking begins. Everyone from around the hood with time on their hands (Basically everyone) comes round for a taste. Which is cool cause there's way too much meat for one family to eat. The backyard that was cleared of rubbish by our hands is now infested with a lot of drunken men waiting for a taste of the meat that they'll either claim to have played a p

art in killing, cooking o

r they'll claim family member and hope not to be caught out or whatever. Either way I don't know why they do this cause they will get to

eat meat in the end. It's probably the hunger aching their stomachs cause all they've had is liqour for the last couple of days. Stumbling around

and getting to close to the meat we're cooking, we keep having to tell them to get back and go sit somewhere else. They keep trying to creep back. Shit!

Before the eating commences speeches are once again said. The new uncles who's clan name we're taking on have their say about the significance of the sacrifice and the meat we're about to eat. The

se guys prete

nd to listen and take in the words. But some of them, some of these cats just can't help but stare at the pots where we stir the meat. Obviously we have to taste it from time to time to make sure that it's cooked right.

We used to have dogs when I was growing up, and whenever it was feeding time they used to ram against a me

tal door that kept them in the backyard, by the time they smelt the food on its way they were barking and spinning in circles and when we put down the bowls, they'd forget they had their own bowls and rush to the first one starting a fight, although there were other bowls full of food. We always had to stand there and make sure they moved to their own bowls. That's what these guys are like. We call

them Ward 9

's, cause they generally come from that ward of the hood. I once remember an older cousin of mine throwing out a shit load of bones from the kitchen and I literally watched men turn to dogs descending on them like a pack and fighting over the bones. South Africa is indeed a third world country for the majority, and all the poverty I've seen is still urban.

Once the speeches are over and the Women of the house have had their trays of meat handed to them it all begins. It doesn't matter here, class aside you eat from the same plate as the man in the same designated zone as you. It doesn't matter if you drive a Merc, Jag or whatever the fuck you do w

hen you're in Jo'burg, Pretoria or Cape Town, in the ceremony everybody is an equal. Germs what's that? We all dig in and eat whatever meat and as much as we can. Teeth dig into flesh, we rip and enjoy! We eat Fucking Meat!

So most of my pictures somehow got deleted off my computer and all I have are these random pics. pots, a ward9 wh

o made a speech and s little bit of family, i wish i had the actaul picks for Let Them Eat Steak. Which is the reason Misteaken is spelled the way it is. Ah well...such is.

Did I Do That?

Wise Words from my Famous Faced Friend:

"for those who didn't know... there is no such thing as an uncool black man.... Steve Urkell was the proto-hipster"

Webster

Computer and internet have become everything now. It never used to be like this. It used to be about the alcohol and real life friendship. Being drunk! Stupidity was a part of the daily mandate thus doesn't need to be mentioned.Instead now it has become Gmail chat or video call. Skype chat or Video call and now Facebook chat or video call! What the fuck has happened? Social awkwardness was something that could be used to the advantage, now it's simply being socially awkward without a redeeming quality. Jokes are mistimed cause they aren't written and thus the duality in meaning of the spoken is lost on most.

So he sits there, thinking about his next status update, the next download, who else to follow on twitter, what to change his avatar to or about the the written chat he could have with a friend that will leave him in stitches and crawling around the floor gasping for air.

It wasn't li

ke this before. His Favourite past time of going for picnics has been rained on by the Cape Town winter. And while his pockets yell at him for going to the club those around him encourage him to do it, as he does them. This leaves a sad and sore man each morning. Fuck those mid-latitude cyclones. With no money in his pocket his mac remains solely on the web. Opening

line?

Either a cool link, "Have checked you checked out my latest status?" and the old faithful "Have you read my latest blog post?"
What's next? Even Zuckerberg's joined google +, why not he?

All pictures Amazingly AMAZING by Danielle Money-Clough! http://phopthop.tumblr.com/, http://motherclougher.blogspot.com/

Untitled music Video

My boy Yannick Ilunga AKA IAMWAVES made a music video that dropped today. I don't really understand it, but I think the visuals are so dope. Theres' a love story in there somewhere and this is what he had to say when I excused him for my ignorance of concept.

Here's the link http://www.vimeo.com/25971206 my blog is shit and never wants to upload the videos i want to.

"

• not everything has to have a definitive story
• when you see an abstract piece of art
• but see how you see it mayne
• 70s inspired
• its a shoot that got filmed tho
• take it more as a visual than a "Music Video" "
  
  
  Cool. I enjoy the visuals anyway Kudo's for your passion captain!

and now the credits roll.

• • SONG:
    
    PETITE NOIR - I DONT NEED YOUR MONEY, BELIEVE ME GIRL (PRODUCED BY YANNICK IAMWAVES ILUNGA)
    
    VIDEO:
    
    VIDEOGRAPHY- JOHNO MELLISH X THOMAS PEPLER
    
    EDITING - JOHNO MELLISH
    
    PRODUCTION - JOHNO MELLISH X CAPITAL COOL X THOMAS PEPLER
    
    ACTORS - CAPITAL OF COOL
    
    PICTURES:
    
    PHOTOGRAPHER - THOMAS PEPLER
    
    STYLING - THE CAPITAL OF COOL
    
    LOCATIONS:
    
    REVOLUTION RECORDS MUSIC STORE
    
    QUARRY
    
    
    
    
    HUGE THANK YOU TO:
    
    ROCHELLE RHARHA NEMBHARD
    
    ZANDILE NKOMO
    
    JORDAN NEMBHARD
    
    YANNICK IAMWAVES ILUNGA
    
    THOMAS PEPLER
    
    JOHNO MELLISH
    
    REVOLUTION RECORDS

Famous Face

There’s very few people in our generation of middle class youngsters that haven’t had a hug from him. Shame.

Describing himself as “The Grill that makes a Mill.” It’ not hard to see why. The friendliest chap on the streets who can both talk his way into and out of trouble. Driving up trees paying pig bribes and waking up to find Macdonalds wrappers on the floor almost became the daily tails of South Africa’s number one hugger. Those of us who've known him for a while like to dedicate our successes to this social demagogue, why? Cause we want to and we can. There’s nothing behind it. Don’t ask what he’s famous for. Just know we made it. Have a beer, give him a cigarette and enjoy the mans company.

Don’t let those eyes fool you though, although they may be childlike physical features, they’ve also seen their fare share of young life and too, are full of Wisdom. Famous Face Fullstop