Playing With Fire - The IT Support Team At
ForwardSlash
A great wailing and gnashing of teeth
was recently felt at top IT
company ForwardSlash, with the news that they were no longer
able to access the reputable website, ShaunOakes.com
"It's ridiculous," said a rather aggrieved employee, who
wished to remain anonymous as he had a silly name and didn't want
anyone to publicly ridicule him for it.
"There is nothing pornographic or offensive on the site. It's
just a great read. It's even better than Facebook"
When contacted for comment, a source in senior management admitted
that the site wasn't offensive or contained images of gratuitous
nudity, but supported the decision to block it nonetheless.
"Basically it came down to productivity" said the source.
"We found too many people were spending their days sitting
on the site, which ate up our bandwidth, slowed down our internet
connection, and caused a slow down in worker performance. We agreed
to allow Facebook but we had to draw the line at the Shaun Oakes
website"
Management seemed concerned at the threat of mass action,
but were unmoved on their decision at the time of going to print.
Shaun Pays Another Visit To His Favourite
Watering Hole
Saturday night arrived on my doorstep like an unwanted
ginger-haired stepson. How could it be Saturday night already?
One minute I was watching rugby, eating biltong and stressing over
my excessive dandruff problem, and the next minute
we were at Asoka, as if reeled in by a magnetic force.
My excessive dandruff problem may still be lingering but it was
a good night nonetheless. (One word. Not two. Or
three.)
Let's Get This Party Started: With everyone initially
struggling to hold a conversation and communicate effectively, it
was unanimously decided to get soaked on Jägermeister to liven
things up a bit. Is there a social problem which needs addressing
here? Note the differing shot glass grappling techniques on display.
Whilst Some Other Guy showcases the Four-Fingered-Square
Technique, Paul goes for the riskier and flashier Crab-Claw
Hold. Kim looks dainty with the Lady Godiva Grab,
while Claus highlights the safer Baseball Mit Maneuver.
In the background, is a Jameson glass with four fingers attached.
It kept floating around, annoying everyone until it was eventually
asked to leave by the Asoka management.
Grilled Cheese With Tomato On Top: Kim and Claus
say "Cheeese" as they try and block out the guy in the
dodgy red shirt. Behind Claus' left shoulder, are the beginnings
of a shot glass architectural masterpiece. By the end of the night,
we had constructed a miniature Leaning Tower of Pisa, which unfortunately
came tumbling down when the Jameson glass with four fingers attached,
bumped into it. This was obviously before it was asked to leave
by the Asoka management.
Playing With Fire: Some Other Guy got drunk and
began making moves on The Girlfriend, which he is very fond of doing.
A dart of Horse Tranquilizer in the thigh soon had him reasonably
well behaved though.
Grilled Cheese With Salsa Sauce On Top: Claus and
Jess say "Cheeese" - or, are at least thinking "Cheeese"
as they share an intimate moment.
Duet Time At Asoka: Some Other Guy and Paul, doing
their rendition of "Endless Love" by Lionel Richie and
Diana Ross, whilst Claus looks on in utter dismay. In the background
is that damned Jameson glass with four fingers attached again.
Some Other Guy The Smoothy: At Barcelo's, Some
Other Guy tries charming some American chick who apparently sings
a bit. He shows how cool he is by giving the Peace Sign which,
as everyone knows, is a hallmark of coolness.
Getting Out Of Hand: Some Other Guy started getting
out of hand, so we had to shoot him with the trusty Horse Tranquilizer
again to calm him down. In the background "Norma's Biscuits"
is proudly emblazoned. Her biscuits are amazing. Norma's.
Camps Bay - Walking A Little Funny This Morning,
After A Visit From Shaun
It is a rainy and miserable evening
in Cape Town, and so naturally I decide to venture out to Camps
Bay for another raucous
Thursday night adventure.
I am joined in my quest by The Gupster, looking rather buff and
beefy after several weeks of gorging protein shakes, whilst working
out in the gym. Feeling slightly inadequate by his broad frame,
I quickly change into a shirt two sizes too small,
in an effort to make myself look rather buff and beefy after several
weeks of gorging protein shakes, whilst working out in the gym.
Things don't quite pan out the way I had hoped though.
"Change that shirt. You look ridiculous", said The Girlfriend.
And so I do.
Fifteen minutes later, and The Gupster and I are outside Ignite.
The air is electric, and my carefully gelled mane is now actually
standing on end. I make this observation to The Gupster, who informs
me that this anomaly is in fact because my hair has minced
in the rain, and not because of any perceived "electricity".
I make a note to spit in his next drink as we head off to the bar.
There, we meet up with The Brand Ambassador, in the process of trying to
persuade a young flossie to start drinking his premium
brand of brandy. The Brand Ambassador is obviously thrilled to
see us, and so we head to the outside area to commiserate and swap
old war stories. Seated at a table, we are joined by a rather shapely
- if slightly weathered - lass, who is obviously attracted to our
Hollywood looks and witty repartee. The conversation eventually
steers toward careers, and she duly informs us that she is a high
class escort, able to do anything one's heart desires.
The Gupster is immediately digging in his pockets for his credit
card, but just then her phones rings, it's a business call, and
so we bid her farewell.
We find ourselves on the dance floor, where time manages to tick
by, in a haze of Jameson, Fish Eagle, Jägermeister, Tequila,
Peroni, Absinthe as well as methylated spirits, which I gulped down
in the toilet. Oh and glue too.
By this stage of the night I am in a state, The Gupster is in a
dark corner somewhere, fondling a 19 year old brunette
with heavy eye makeup; The Brand Ambassador is talking shop to clubbers,
singing the praises of his premium brand of brandy; and I am trying
to dance to the beat of some R&B song (it's R&B Night)
This is proving difficult though as my legs feel like thick stilts,
and I could never use stilts, having dropped out of Stilt
Walking School many years earlier. Also, my vision appears
to have gone to shit, everything seems blurry, and the club seems
to smell of whiskey. Am I going blind? Why am I smelling whiskey?
I remember reading in a medical journal somewhere that you get the
aroma of Irish malt before your appendix bursts.
Am I dying?
No, no - false alarm. I have been looking at everything through
the bottom of a glass of Jameson. Feeling slightly
sheepish, I try and stilt-walk my way back to the bar, where a pretty
model strikes up a random conversation with me. I know she is a
pretty model because she tells me.
"What do you do!", I demand abrasively.
"I am a pretty model", she answers.
"Oh", I retort aggressively.
She seems quite enamored by my boyish charm, giggling
furiously when I let out a massive burp whilst simultaneously scratching
my testicles. She is also mightily impressed when I tell her of
my 9-5 as a masked crime fighter, as well as my ongoing passion
of building a yacht using Lion matches, which I will then use to
sail in the America's Cup. By myself. Which I will
also win by the way. You read it here first.
Anyhoo, I am in the middle of regaling her with heroic tales of
my days as a fearsome Texas Ranger, when I feel
a firm hand on my shoulder. It is The Gupster, who calmly informs
me that the 19 year old brunette with heavy eye makeup has an older
Russian boyfriend who would very much like to cut us up into little
cubicles, which he will then no doubt feed to Vladimir, his German
Shepherd, as well as Terence, his Afghan hound.
Taking all of this into account, we make the informed decision to
leave the premises - it's a hobby of mine not to be eaten by Afghan
hounds named Terence, and anyway - we're hungry and the lure of
a "Double Delicious" special at Barcelo's
is reeling me in, like an older Italian woman seducing the young
pool hand at the Tuscany villa in the hills.
As we blast off into the sunset with The Brand Ambassador, I am satisfied
that another glorious night has been had. So satisfied that I don'even
need to end this properly.
Date: Wed, 13 Jun 2007 15:28:58 +0200
From: info@shaunoakes.com
To: info@sterkinekor.com
Cc: info@shaunoakes.com
Subject: A Grievance From Shaun Oakes
Dear Ster Kinekor,
I am a regular patron at your various establishments, am a card
carrying member of your prestigious club, and regularly
badmouth your competitor, Nu Metro, to various friends and family.
In short, I am a loyal customer.
Something has bugged me recently though, and I would like to take
this
opportunity to share my grievance with you.
The other day at Cavendish Square Ster Kinekor,
in the foyer, before I entered
the theatre itself, I was greeted by a rather foul smelling odour
- quite a
formidable scent which stung my nostrils and caused my girlfriend
(The
Girlfriend) to pass out. I was forced to revive her with a strawberry
Slush
Puppie and smelling salts, which I thankfully always keep
handy in my male
handbag for situations such as these.
Anyway, we managed to stagger into the cinema and watch the film
and, by the
time it had ended, were in better spirits again. Upon leaving the
theatre (Cine
3) and entering the foyer though, we were again greeted
by this horrible aroma, which left me with tears in my eyes and
a bitter taste in my mouth.
Granted, I suffer from halitosis, and always
have a bitter taste in my mouth, but this was really bad. Although
I found the smell slightly familiar, I couldn't quite place it and
The Girlfriend and I spent the journey home discussing what it could
be - Detergents which have gone off? Some sort of gas leak?
We were at a loss until we got home and I changed into my pyjamas.
Upon taking my Spiderman socks off, that familiar
smell emerged, causing The Girlfriend to pass out and forcing me
to revive her with my trusty smelling salts.
You see, I hadn't changed my socks for about 4 days,
it's Winter and it keeps my toes warm and snug.
Your foyer, for whatever reason, reeks of smelly feet. I'm not sure
if it's the cleaning detergent you are using to clean the carpets,
but
something clearly has to be done about it.
I expect the odour of smelly feet in the comfort of my own home,
not at my
cinema. I trust you will look into this and rectify the situation
immediately?
If you're one of those people also getting into the show Heroes
on SABC 3 (Wednesday - 8:30) you may find this
clip amusing.
I'm not sure how old this is, I suspect this may
be quite old and I'm way behind as usual but I don't care. I saw
it today and I thought it was funny.
With this is mind, you will no doubt find it funny too.
Incidently, you may be interested to know that I have the power
to fall asleep anywhere, in any position.
In my days as a young tearaway I have fallen asleep on - among other
things - couches, rocking chairs, a giant gum tree, a slab of concrete,
a horse, a camel, a Jehovahs Witness, a school desk as well as on
top of a couple having sexual intercourse.
Who Farted On The Starboard Side? All Clues Pointed To Captain Barbosa.
I remember when Kanye West came down for a
concert in Cape Town last year. My friends literally shat themselves
in excitement when they heard the news on the radio, which left
me feeling slightly disgusted and resentful as
this all occurred in my car, leaving me to take it away for a valet
cleaning.
Nevertheless, I liked Kanye's music, and in the ensuing months,
also became increasingly excited, even going so far as to have his
name tattooed on my derriere
( which I've since managed to remove with a combination of Dettol
soap, a scour, and steely and determined resolve)
The concert arrived with much fanfare and I was left feeling.......
well...... underwhelmed. Basically I had put too much buildup to
the event and the concert, while good, still left me feeling a little
flat.
I was left with similar feelings after watching "Pirates
of the Caribbean: At World's End", the other day.
After the second film (Dead Man's Chest) I was
like a giddy little schoolkid, excitedly counting down the days
till the new film arrived. The Girlfriend eventually got fed up,
hiding away my Captain Jack Sparrow pyjamas and
duvet set until I had calmed down, but the anticipation remained.
The film, while good, was not of the vintage I had come to expect.
Something just didn't feel right, there was a certain freshness
which was lacking, although this is probably understandable seeing
as it's the third film in the series. (With a rumoured
fourth on the way?) The flick was also overly long though, forcing
me to miss my mom's birthday, a friend's wedding, Christmas day
as well as my godson's first steps.
All in all, the film was what you would come to expect from the
series, with audacious battle scenes, back and forth backstabbing,
and Johnny Depp mincing around. Keith Richards
also has a brief cameo, as does Hakim Kae-Kazim
(The Fresca guy)
For Slow Days When He Has Nothing Of Substance
To Say
As everyone knows, I live the life of a jetsetting
man-about-town, regularly being involved in a range of
crzay and adrenaline filled adventures. Occasionally, there is a
lull though, and on these rare occasions, I trawl through my Inbox
for amusing things which people have sent me.
Tonight, we shall go through a few of them. Yes, I said tonight.
I'm actually writing this in the early hours of Friday morning.
I can't sleep because there is a rather obnoxious mosquito hanging
around. He has a serious attitude problem, and we are presently
feuding.
This is an old joke, but it is actually one that I did myself. Which
makes it funny. Any joke I make is funny. I don't know why, it just
is. Must be my delivery. If you can't see it says "I Wish My
Wife Was This Dirty". Incidently, the car in question is The
Fastest Car In Cape Town. It has won thousands of drag
races. Other cars literally shit themselves in sheer terror when
I drive alongside them.
It is fast.
Fast, but dirty.
This is funny if you were cool enough to watch 300.
If not, you just won't get it.
This is more good stuff from the good folk of Cyanide and Happiness.
Steve O used to stutter, and I would mock him relentlessly for it,
so I can totally relate.
This is more good stuff from the good folk of Cyanide and Happiness.
My dad would read me those nursery rhymes, and I would mock him
relentlessly for it, so I can totally relate.
This is more good stuff from the good folk of Cyanide and Happiness.
I had a friend who had a terminal disease, and I would mock him
relentlessly for it, so I can totally relate.
That cracks me up. You can see more of this shit at www.explosm.net
I have just killed the mosquito. And his family. As well as his
dog.
I took a break from snapping wrists and breaking knee caps today,
and went searching on the net for naked
pics of Patricia Lewis. Alas, these pics were not forthcoming,
but I did stumble across news that Carte Blanche stalwart and resident
ball-cruncher Ruda Landman would soon be leaving
our television screens.
As an impressionable youth in the early 90's, I
harboured strong and unexplained feelings for Ruda, and would often
spend many hours fantasizing about her and the Carte Blanche team,
kicking my door down and then interrogating me over my rather questionable
business of housing old coloured women from Paternoster and outlying
areas, who I would then lease out to do the washing and ironing
for middle class families in Cape Town.
That last sentence by the way, although long, is still grammatically
correct. Look at it closely, you will see that I am right.
Ruda of course, was also ably assisted by the always dapper Derek
Watts, who - although equally talented - looked a bit too
much like 80's television star Alf to be taken
seriously.
80's television star Alf
Separated at Birth?
The Always Dapper Derek Watts
Farewell Ruda, thanks for the memories. Sunday evenings won't
be the same without your strong, persuasive voice and your smooth
and silky-looking hair.
Thursday night was so bizarre. One minute I was lounging on my
Dark Bovine leather couch at The HQ, snacking on a Woolworths Tikka
chicken meal - whilst picking my nose and flicking it out the window
- and the next minute I found myself at Alba Lounge in the
Waterfront, throwing back copious amounts of Jameson down
my throat.
How did I get there?
Was I drugged?
Who is paying for the drinks?
Why is Some Other Guy wearing that dodgy shirt?
These were the questions racing through my mind. Thankfully we had
a camera on hand for dexterity purposes. (As well as for Facebook)
These Cocktails Are Amazing: Some Other Guy and
Claus lose their minds explaining how good the cocktails are, as
The Girlfriend looks bemused. They were pretty amazing though.
They were so good that Some Other Guy vowed to name his first born
"Long Beach Ice Tea", a name which could
obviously apply to either a daughter and son.
Earmuff Time: The Girlfriend had a few shots of
Jägers, and understandably then began swearing like a sailor.
Dashing to protect Kim from the vulgarity, Claus and Paul quickly
covered her ears with their heads. Phew, that was a close one!
Let Me Tell You A Story: Some Other Guy felt compelled
to share with everyone the amazing tale of the night he developed
his now famous bright red ears. Spoilers: It involved tobasco sauce,
a pair of pliers and a high stakes dance-off with legendary Afrikaans
singer, Kurt Darren.
So Intriguing: Paul and Claus found the story very
intriguing.
Unbelievable: The high stakes dance-off with legendary
Afrikaans singer, Kurt Darren really had them going.
The night quickly sailed by, in a haze of Jamesons, Long Beach Ice
Teas, and Virgin Daiquiris. (we hate whorish drinks, in these here
parts)
The evening eventually came to an end once Some Other Guy decided
to disco dance with The Girlfriend on the steps
outside, and accidently fell over the railing and into the icy ocean
below, where he nearly froze. But didn't.
Sorry Some Other Guy, it was an unfortunate accident. I didn't mean
to back into you like that.
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