Hallmark

Tonight is my cuz's 21st. He's crazy mad... I think it runs in the family. To his friends he's known as "B" aka PariaH.

The card and poem is for you bruva!



THE BIG TWO ONE

The dude in question was a social Pariah,
it wasn't 'cos he was a compulsive liar.
His day of all days had finally arrived,
he was grateful and thankful - twenty-one years survived.
His friends were invited to celebrate this feat,
they'd party the night away, to the big solid beat.

The meaning of life, with challenges rife,
will soon question choices, no ease without strife.
The future is paved and it all looks great,
don't worry too much, leave some up to fate.
In other words dude, just live life large.
You'll know if it's real or just a mirage.

Fingered

Today I'm gonna complain about yesterdays little mishap in the kitchen...

I was chopping some veggies for some soup, when I somehow managed to slice the edge of my finger off (even though I pride myself in my slicin' and dicin'- yeah luv that term- capablities.)

Needless to say, the soup was tasty! YUMMMMM....very ironie *BURP*

Moral of the story- learn to chop using your feet.

Chilli Escapades

There are a few things in my life that I truely love- the red, fiesty, burn-baby-burn number is definitely one of 'em. I've recently become more immune to the gastric explosion, thus allowing me to constantly fuel my burning desire...
I can now say the more the merrier, and every munch down is a chilli oppurtunity.

I'm officially a capsaicin addict, it has reached the point- where at every meal I need my fix or I find myself not feeling satisfied. It is becoming a problem... people are refusing to cook for me saying that it's sacrilege to mess with flavours... that chilli dun go with mac and cheese (bollix!) :S

I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU ALL: CHILLI GOES WITH EVERYTHING!!! (I mean look at the recent fusion of the chilli choccie combo (that no one ever thought possible). I rest me case!

On satty I went to dinner at an authentic northern Indian restaurant (by the way- my fav food is indian if you haven't already guessed). Let's just say I've been to most of the Indian restaurants in and around Jo'burg. However, this was my first visit and I wasn't sure what the heat-level was like- so to play it safe (since I was sharing my palak paneer) we opted for medium. I wasn't too phased as I knew I could always order a side plate of chilli.

The food came, and I was right- the heat was lacking, so I needed the extras. The waiter was summoned and arrived with a plate of 12 whole, unripe greenies. ("Ummmm, and what am I sposed to do with these? Gobble them up whole?") Let's just say the plate went back with only 2...

Throughout the meal, the waiters kept coming to inspect me masticating (pah haha... how rude!)- they couldn't understand how a pigmy-sized person could eat all them chillis (dynamite? small packages?) They kept asking if I needed anything to drink...
One even commented that in all his years working there, no one had ever eaten so many chillis, he said I looked like an apple... (huh?) a red apple to be exact.

P.S. My intestines are intact- and no, I don't need frozen toilet paper!!!

What? Say that again slowly...

Out of nowhere the wretched Work-Monster flies in, and poops on my weekend. Thanks heaven above, you truely love me with all the angel wings in the world. I was just sitting there minding my own business (or lack there of) and WACK...

Semi-conscious, poop on me face, I dig deep and pull myself towards myself. I don't think being half-mast and groggy (from all the abusive substances- and yes chilli jam sarmies do constitute) will productively lessen the weekend load.

Serves you right, man upstairs ie. Peter the CEO of the company... You should know better than take my treasured Sat and Sun days- while you tan around the poolside with hovering scantilly clad woman serving you champers.

P.S. Ummm, does anyone have an alarm clock for me?

Voodoo Doll

Yesterday I wrote some words of winterdom, by doing so, I think I might have premonitorily seen something on the horizon...

Today I'm sitting here with a cold. My nasals are stuffed and my throat is itchy and scratchy.
There might be a few people (or maybe more) that don't particulary want to be stranded on a deserted island with me, but come on, there must be something more sinister behind this sudden outbreak! Someone MUST HAVE picked up a Sasta voodoo doll and poked it in the face.

Well whoever that was, Imma getcha!! By George (and Peter John Sullivan) Imma getcha! Imma acupuncture your butt to the wall if it's the last thing I do... (eeekkk my evil avenging self is coming out.)

Frost Bite

Brrr, cold...
No snow, just chilly winds slicin' 'n dicin'.
Blankets, willy warmers, hot choccie.

Crunched up, shivering body, heat.
Hibernated eyes slumbering.
Emotionless, dead- no movin', no groovin'.

Smog filled air, intoxicating, choking.
Gray matter, tiptoeing in slow motion.
Meloncholy vines entangle...
Fight or flight?

Spring in your step,
mind the gap.

Pilates Class

"It's the bitchy "sshhh" sound you make when you're trying to quiet a room of people"- well that's what my pilates teacher says.

I have to disagree with her on that- it's more like a pre-natal breathing class. The reasoning behind this forced in-and-out breath - which is stemmed from the abdominals- is apparently, to strengthen the inner core muscles.

I've been attending these "sshhh" classes for the past year or so, with much enthusiasm I might add. In that time, I've seen scores of people (big, medium and ummm... average built) come and go. Most of the regulars are rich housewives, trying to maintain their liposuctioned bellies and thighs. It seems with every in-breath they take; their fake plasties freakishly inflate, much to the pervy satisfaction of the 10% male representation.

[BUT WAIT!!! If you read further, I'll throw in a few more grotty incidences from my class at NO EXTRA COST!!!] (Aint it your lucky day) hahaha....


• Sometimes, when you concentrate really hard you can hear the faint "parp" of a fart disguised by loud "sshhh" breathing.

• If you get to class late, you are forced to the back of the class, where you get to "enjoy" the bee-hind view.

• A full class also means people sticking their smelly feet in your face, as you do floor exercises- YUCK!!

• Graceful agility of steroidian men trying to point their toes.


You might ask why I subject myself to this retinal eye-sore, well the answer is simple: It cracks me up fully (pun totally intended). The comic quirks are what draws me week in and week out. All I need to do is install hidden cameras....

Rubba Duckie

I'm making a habit of not having time for Blogonia. Last week I finally presented da Tea stuff- that had been causing much creative turmoil- to client KACHING :D WOOP!

My latest project is "Rubba Duckie" for Sista Blista's newest spring/summer 2005/6 range. She's entering SA Fashion Week, so I designed a character and wrote some words of inspiration for the moodboards. [No surprise, it features another animal of sorts]

Enjoy lil munchkins!

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Rubba Duckie would swim around,
Rubba Duckie made a squeaking sound.

The fateful day came when the plug was pulled;
The bathwater drained away and the duck was fooled.
As he swished around like clothes in a dryer;
He tragically drowned; it was water on his fire.
He was left for dead on the side of the bath,
That’s when a fashion designer came to save the aftermath.

She stitched him up with needle and thread.
Duckie felt better a thank-you was said.

Roz the designer made him outfits in denim,
He particularly looked good in all shades of lemon.
His new found style went straight to his beak;
He strutted his stuff, fashionista of the week.

The shenanigans was more than anyone could take-
So she offed him with a scissors,
For his own goodness sake.

Reincarnation is definitely not for slackers,
Rozanne is…
A whole lotta quackers.

Deep, dark and dirtay.

Once again, I find myself not having much to blog about, so I'm going to have to recite- or is that cybercite?- one of my poems. I wrote this one a week ago...

Stuck in a hole of muddy remnants,
Destruction seeps to join the rancid concoction.
As the pungency sherberts and gobs,
it spills onto the pristine surface.

The cotton dreads lick up the sludge,
a sweet smoke wafts and weaves through the nasal disaster.
Stains locked in,
to eternally taunt.
Ghost-like odors,
hang in limbo.

By the time the note is read;
the drifting senses leave no trail.

*disappears into the night*

KoOky Kid

KoOky Kid has a hole is tum,
his dad before him, lost his liver to rum.

Whatever he ate; would drip out and leak,
kids would point and laugh; and call him a freak.

His only friend was a spider named Ted,
he would hang around and always play dead.

KoOky Kid just wanted to be normal,
so he dressed and acted alot more formal.

He decided to stitch up the hole in his tum,
the only problem now- he farts from his bum.




Hope you enjoy! [KoOky Kid© 2005 was illustrated and created by moi.]