My New Neighbour: Sent by God to annoy me.

Sleep is one of my favourite past times, after making love, eating, and having my tender feet rubbed. Sleep is something I try and do at least once a day, sometimes twice if I’m lucky, although motorists and traffic officers seem to frown upon me taking power naps whilst the traffic lights are red.

My sleep has taken a bit of a knock recently however, due to the sudden arrival of an unwanted guest. No, I’m not referring to Some Other Guy (although he is also an unwanted guest, and keeps putting his photos up on my Facebook profile. Very annoying)

No, I am referring to a blackbird, who has recently decided to take up residence outside my toilet window. Usually I wouldn’t fuss about this, as birds often try and set up residence there. Five minutes into my 7:20am sit down usually sends them packing though (a few months back a pigeon even went so far as to hurl himself into oncoming traffic, after filling his lungs with the aroma of my morning special).

This bird however, seems to be made of sterner stuff, and seems unconcerned with the formidable scent. What really grates me about this guy (I know he is a guy bird, because he is always flashing his winky around inappropriately, he seems to think he is rather well hung) is that he INSISTS on singing and making bird noises at 3am in the morning. I mean really, that’s not bird-like behaviour is it?

For the last two nights now, I’ve had to climb out from under The Girlfriend and shout and rave like a mad man, trying to scare him off. He will fly off for a while, and then return about 5 minutes later, JUST as I have started to slink back into sleep, and then start the whole performance again. It’s not as if he has a good voice either, it’s shit and off-key, and he struggles to reach the high notes. Honestly, I don’t know much about birds - well, the ones that fly - but I’m pretty sure that this isn’t normal?

Are birds not meant to be morning creatures? I am very perplexed by all this.

Last night I even tried poking him with the large stick The Girlfriend keeps in her purse to fend off Big Issue vendors, but this failed to work either, as he nonchalantly sidestepped my feeble attacks with graceful aplomb.

Seriously, how do I get rid of this thing? I could buy a cat that could eat him, but I have my reservations about cats as well, as I find them evil and generally rather work-shy.

Needing some help here, people.

It’s now 2009, and it’s that time of year where we make promises to ourselves about how we will either improve ourselves mentally and spiritually, or how we will make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex. (78% of all new years resolutions are made in the hope of having more sexual relations. Fact.)

So, in that spirit, I thought I would look at some potential new year’s resolutions I will be mulling over these next few days, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn, before destructively tearing it up and pissing off it’s middle-aged female owner, who wanted to knit a cardigan for the charming man from across the road, who always politely greets her in the mornings whilst going off to work, and who she was secretly hoping to f**k soon.

Here goes:

• Stop swearing - I do tend to swear religiously, especially in front of young children. I should stop that.
• Give up smoking Dunhill Lights - It stains my teeth, makes me look older, and gives me horrible breathe. I think I shall be switching to Stuyvesant Blue this year.
• Stop speaking in the third person - Shaun finds it annoys people and makes them think he is pretentious.
• Take up more hobbies - Picking my nose and drinking beer by myself are apparently not really considered “hobbies” per se.
• Stop telling bare-faced lies - I should probably admit to The Girlfriend that I’m not really a ninja, although I think she already suspects this based on the regular manner in which I get beaten up in bar fights.

So yeah, these are just some of the resolutions I am presently grappling with. I’ve left out the obvious ones such as cutting out the downloading of porn and paying my TV license this year, but I think those are things we are ALL mulling over at present.

What resolutions will you be taking up this year?

Give us a shout, and let’s share like a dirty needle.

Dandruff: Embrace it.

Seeing as it’s the beginning of the year, I thought it would only be fitting then that I discuss dandruff. Why? Well, because it’s 2009 after all. Christ, stick with the program here.

Dandruff is something that has always followed me around, like that annoying nerd girl that you were accidentally nice to once in High School, and now thinks you’re “friends” and wants to sit on your face if you will let her, but you’re reluctant to because you suspect she has sweaty thighs? Yeah, that one.

Dandruff is something I’ve learnt to deal with, and am actually quite fond of really.
With dandruff, I can play elaborate pranks on people, pranks which I will now share with you in an anecdotal fashion.

There was that memorable occasion where I came running into the HQ, excitedly telling The Girlfriend that it was snowing outside. She immediately jumped off the pole she was dancing on, and dashed off outside, only to realise that the large flakes on my head were due to me not washing my hair since the previous month (it was an experiment)

Or, another lasting memory was the time The Girlfriend groggily made herself some coffee, after I kept her up all night with my lively rendition of Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ Lavida Loca“. She didn’t quite get why I was desperately trying to muffle my laughter, until she realised that the teaspoons of sugar she had just added to her cup of java were not tasting as sweet as they could have been.

So yes, dandruff is awesome. I had recently found myself with some free time, after The Girlfriend made me sleep on the couch, and thought of some other clever ways where dandruff can be useful:

• Can be used as a healthy alternative to salt. (it tastes like salt)
• Can be used to track where you’re going, instead of using breadcrumbs. (If Hansel and Gretel had a dandruff problem, they would not have had to go through all that shit. Fact)
• If you’re diligent enough, dandruff can be used to create a fake beachfront outside your house, thus increasing the value of your property.

Those are just three uses, but there are surely loads more you can come up with.

Christmas at the Favourite Son household. No, not really.

Like a young 20 year old getting his first blowj*b, Christmas came rather quickly this year. Indeed it felt like only yesterday, that I was promising The Girlfriend that I would have a six pack by the 25th December 2008.

A year had since flown by, and I was in fact seated with a six pack, but it wasn’t the kind that she could pour warm custard over, and slowly lick off with her tongue, much to my everlasting disappointment. (Along with befriending a dwarf, gymming will surely be my number one resolution for 2009)

Christmas Eve provided some eventful tidings, as we were both awakened from the communal bed that evening, by the sight of someone in a red coat trying to squeeze in through The HQ’s chimney. This excited us greatly, until we rememberd that The HQ did not in fact have a chimney, and that this was just a burglar trying to break in through a hole in the roof.

Nevertheless, it was this type of occurrence that made us remember Father Christmas and his modus operandi, and it warmed my heart enough to get into the Xmas spirit just a little bit.

For Christmas, The Girlfriend received a playful grope at her breasts from me, together with a Nintendo Wii, both of which she didn’t seem overly fond of, as I received a stiff kick in the groin - albeit together with a new wallet - in return.

Nevertheless, another year in upon us, so let’s see what 2009 holds for us. I saw a psychic in Kalk Bay last year some time, who told me that I would either die this year in a terrible boating accident, or achieve something brilliant involving wild Addo elephants in the Knysna forrests (in addition to increasing the length and girth of my winky, she added somewhat inappropriately I thought).

So ja, I guess I’ll be staying away from boats this year.

I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face.

Hello my friends, how are we all today? Happy New Year and all that jazz.

I will be filling all of you in on my exciting adventures shortly, so do sit tight until then.

In the meantime, have your funny bone tickled with this awesome music video.

If it doesn’t play, click here

“Last week, I saw a film, as I recall it was a horror film.”

I usually jizz in my pants whenever I see old, old wooden ships docked in Hout Bay, but we will leave that story for another day.

Toodles.

Morning, how are you?
Well and yourself?
Good, and you?
I’m…. well. I just f**king told you that. Why are you asking me again?
Oh. Okay then.

Just thought I’d start Monday off by warning you not to involve me in your whole “greeting loop” vibe. That shit doesn’t fly with me. I told you I’m fine, don’t ask me again, or I WON’T't be fine and neither will you, ESPECIALLY after I punch you in the solar plexus.

Moving along, I know we’ve already touched on the whole Christmas vibe, but I’m not quite done yet so I thought we’d all take a look at Santa Claus’ Gmail Account. See below, it’s pretty snaaks.

Santa's Gmail Account

Love the Easter Bunny. I personally always dug his vibe.

Yes I know I mentioned the word “vibe” three times. Make it four now. That’s how I roll, bebe.

My Dick - Apparently Not Acceptable.

Fair enough then.

Good day to you too.

Is there any greater way of starting Friday? No, of course there isn’t. This week, it’s the most famous Swedish dentist-turned-singer of all time, Dr. Bob Alban, with his smash hot, Sing Hallelujah. (I don’t know if his name is really Bob. I’m just taking liberties. He looks like a Bob though, or a Gary for that matter, so I’m just going to go with it)

Pay careful attention to the way the chicks in the pick plastic and swimming caps clap horribly out of tune.

Sing it. Sing hallelujah. Sing it! I said SING IT!!!

I finished watching this advert, armed with a bit of a semi and sudden urge to buy a washing machine. After viewing this you will see why.

Link:

Very nice.

Delicious in fact.

Although, at the risk of sounding pedantic, the chick really should have been killed in a fall like that.

I’m just saying.

It’s 11th December, which obviously means it’s National Office Prank day. The scene this morning at a certain eMarketing agency in Cape Town.

Why the f**k is my mouse taped to my desk?

And my files.

This is a problem.

I Love Boys And They Love Me

Nice one. I think we all had a good chuckle at that.

Seth Rotherham just put up a rather tasty little email exchange, where a Cape Town businessman nonchalantly puts out an advert for a P.A (personal assistant) and requests that, in addition to filing papers and general secretarial duties, the successful applicant should also be willing to basically lick his balls when need be.

Your typical P.A - Helpful and Efficient. Unlikely to want to lick your balls.

Here with an extract of one of the emails in the correspondence:

Nice. Did you read the whole thing? 25k for some office hanky panky with a (probably ugly) boss, I wonder if there are any women out there who would actually go along with that vibe? The advert is still up, you can check it out and send Adrian a message over here. Go on, tell him what a quality guy he is, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it

As every man and his dog knows, if you have a decent car sound system, you have special dispensation to play loud music with your windows down. If you have a shitty system however, and it sounds like the music is playing through a pair of baked bean tins from Koo, this privilege obviously falls away. The young lad who went to the Standard Bank on Saturday afternoon at the Meadowridge Park & Shop clearly didn’t know this however, as he proceeded to park his red Fiat Uno, leave the windows down, and nonchalantly stroll over to the ATMs whilst the dogs in the neighbourhood had to put up with the shitty treble vibe his speakers were giving off.

Red Uno - With Crappy Speakers.

“Tsst. Tsst. Tsst.” it went, which made my toes curl up in embarrassment. This didn’t phase the driver though, who clearly thought this was solid effort on his part.

So to my friend with the red Uno, please know that there is nothing impressive about leaving your music playing on full blast whilst you do your banking. Especially when you seemingly paid R200 for your entire system. Your are just making a fool of yourself.

Seriously, don’t pull that shit again.

Not sexually though, I’m not saying I’m going to give myself a blow**b. That’s just disgusting. Although I could if I wanted to. (I’m just saying)

So some of you were wondering where I was these last 7 days. Well, if you were watching DSTV last night, the cat would have been let out the bag.

On the televisie last night.

Click here to see the recorded telecast from last night.

Nice one.

Oh, and that chick Amy Chong? I could have totally had her if I wanted to.
Totally.

Whatever, I’m just confusing myself now. If you live in the city, you would no doubt have noticed the air was slightly hazy, yesterday afternoon, with a faint smell of something burning. You can now check out the pictures below for the reasons why.

There is fire on the mountain...

Fire.

Seriously.

I kid you not.

No?

Well, what do you call this then?

That's my point.

Hectic.

And here I thought someone was just having a braai.

“Parentals”.

What the f**k does that actually mean?

It’s not a real word, stop trying to force the issue.

You are not being clever. Not at all. You want to know how my parents are doing? Then f**king ask.

Say, “Hey Shaun, how are your parents?” or “Shaun, are your folks well?“, or alternatively, “So how’s Mom and Dad, Shaun?” although that may still get you a kick in the groin, because you would still sound a little too smug for my liking.

Seriously, the next person who casually enquires, “So how are the parentals?”, whilst nonchalantly sipping on their espresso at Vida, will earn nothing less than a swift kick to the throat.

Just a warning...

Possibly a punch to the ovaries as well.

You think I’m joking?

Say it. I dare you.

I double dare you.

Seriously, don’t tempt me, I’m internationally renowned for my mule kicks. You don’t believe me? Ask Bernie Mac, he will tell you about my mule kicks.

What was that?

He’s dead?

EXACTLY.

With all this intense Cape Town weather, the early signs of a flu, and The Girlfriend refusing to obey my direct orders, I’ve been a little under the weather these past 7 days.

Just like Moses did though, I have risen from the dead, and managed to climb out of the whale that swallowed me, before proceeding to beat it over the head with the wooden cross that Gepetto made for me back when we were still buddies and gymmed together at the Virgin Active in Wembley Square. (before I caught him playing with his winky whilst watching me lather my thighs in the shower, but we’ll leave that for another day)

Anyhoo, with the holidays around the corner, it’s time to get into the whole “Christmas Spirit”, which means it’s time to send out the famous Shaun Oakes Christmas eCard, the greatest Christmas eCard ever made. Fact. As usual, it features Some Other Guy, as I couldn’t get hold of a decent model, and he always seems to be lurking around The HQ, looking for handouts and a warm meal.

Almost Xmas - No shitty gifts this year, or I'll never speak to you again.

As always, I’m constantly amazed by Some Other Guy’s perfectly even tan, his pearly white smile, and his weird-looking thumb, which looks like the tip of a long thin penis.

It’s a great eCard, with a compelling message - let’s face it, no one wants to receive shitty gifts this year - so feel free to use and share with your loved ones, your relatives, acquaintances and even a nemesis or two.

Anyhoo, I think I’ve rambled on enough for now, I’ll chat to you all a bit later again.

Cheers everyone, oh and nice meeting you by the way, although you should probably wear a bra next time. Maybe wash off some of that perfume next time you come around here again as well.

I’m just saying.

Don’t get all huffy about it.

Well, f**k you too then. It’s a horrible aroma, I was just being honest. I don’t care if your grandmother bought it for you, it’s smells like a mangy dog threw up all over you and then left you to bake in the sun. That’s exactly what you smell like.

Okay wait… put that down…. I was only joking. There’s no need to make threats.

You smell great.

No seriously. You do.

It was a warm and Summery Thursday evening, which of course found me trying to seduce The Girlfriend, a weekly tradition we have in order to keep things “spiced up” in our relationship. She was having none of it though, and insisted that I romance her and take her out for a meal first.

Thus we decided to dine at 1800°, a grill room type restaurant situated in Cape Town, at the Cape Royale hotel.

The restaurant has a pretty chilled and relaxed vibe, with seating inside or preferably outside in the courtyard. I had just blowdried my hair, so was quite happy to dine outside.

For starters, The Girlfriend enjoyed the steamed mussels, whilst I tucked into the chicken liver dish. I’m not usually a fan of liver, usually only eating it when someone has pinned me down and forced it down my throat, as my mom used to do. This dish was immaculately prepared though, and the taste actually left me with a bit of a semi, which as everyone who is familiar with me will know is a glowing endorsement.

1800 Degrees Restaurant: It will give you a semi.

For the mains we were spoilt for choice. Although primarily a grill house, with a wide choice of delectable steaks on hand, their seafood was also supposed to be pretty highly rated.

I was in the mood for meat though, and so dived head first into the prime beef rib, with The Girlfriend - still feeling the seafood vibe - dining on the grilled swordfish.

My steak arrived with steamed veggies and three different imported salts, together with a sauce from Argentina called “Chimichurri”, which had a bit of a kick. The steak was tasty, yet wasn’t dry or tough as is sometimes the case with beef, and left me with my toes curled in quiet contentment. The Girlfriend was pretty cuffed with her swordfish, and agreed that we could now fool around later in the evening, much to my delight.

Not before dessert though, where we enjoyed Homemade Ice-cream and Vanilla Creme Brulee (”Broolay”, not “brully”, you Philistine)

So yeah, 1800 degrees restaurant has a cool vibe and a great setting, and would be a very good choice for a first date or just a romantic dinner, virtually guaranteeing you some action later.

Here with some more info on this Cape Town restaurant:

Shaun gives it three thumbs up. (He was three thumbs. Deal with it.)

What: 1800° Restaurant (www.18hundreddegrees.com)
Where: Cape Royale, Green Point Main Road,Cape Town
How Much: + - 250 per person. (for three courses)
Contact:+27 (0)21 430 0506

It’s Thursday and that means it’s time for a snap poll.

Today’s topical discussion - Is going to a strip club and getting a lapdance the same as cheating?

Is he cheating by getting a lapdance? Or just enjoying a semi.

I have heard varying opinions on this. Some girls feel that their boyfriends getting a lapdance from a stripper is the equivalent of the girls then having a strange guy rub their balls up against them, so if their boyfriends are comfortable with that, then they can have their lapdances. Some guys feel it’s only cheating if you then end up having sex with the stripper, as long as it’s not the missionary position, as apparently that’s allowed if you’re left handed and originally hail from Port Elizabeth. (The P.E Law of 1981)

What are your thoughts on this? If a guy gets a lapdance is he in fact cheating on his girlfriend / wife?

What do you think?

Not Christian Bale mind you. I am of course referring to the comic book Batman who, after 70 years, will apparently be killed off soon. I know they did this with Superman a while back, but then decided to bring him back to life. It’s all a bit like a soap opera, like that show from the 80’s, Loving? When Jonathan is a bad guy and then Father Jim Vochek kills him, and then Jonathan comes back but now he’s Keith and he’s a good guy? I think Batman could have a similar vibe.

Well there you have it. Interesting that Robin will be the one to kill him. I was never really into Robin’s vibe. In fact, I will go so far as to say that Robin is a doos.

Which is NOT a term I just throw around lightly. So there you go.

Spotted at a beach in America somewhere, you know, where they just elected Barack Obama?

Beware the Giant Penis: Especially when you have perfectly symmetrical boobs.

Anyhoo, the sign is warning people to be wary of giant penises, which is perfectly valid, as I myself know many large pricks I’d rather avoid. (Budup Doosh)

Turns out it’s ACTUALLY just someone having fun with the original sign, which looks like this:

Jelly Fish - Not a Giant Penis.

I love it when someone clever defaces a public sign for the amusement of others. It reminds me of my High School days, when someone changed the “Art Room” sign to read as “Fart Room.”

“FART ROOM!”

I KNOW! Can you handle that? That is quality. I mean, think about it, “fart room” - a room where you could theoretically go to break wind. To this day, it still raises a giggle and makes me pee in my pants a little bit.

Fart room. What a lag.
Anyhoo, hope you all enjoyed that. I’m going to go change my underwear now.