After School Special

After a hard day of story sums, paints and skipping (yes, I was a skipper), there was nothing like an ice-cold ale to help take the edge off those strenous pre-school days.

I remember trundling up to my mommy's car with my little Kermit the Frog suitcase and my unisex leather sandals, tired after another baffling session reading about the mundane adventures of "Kathy and Mark". (How dull were those f**king kids? Why couldn't they string decent sentences together? Why didn't they have any black or coloured friends?)

Anyhoo, my eyes would light up as I appraoched the car, where my mommy would have a well chilled Amstel waiting for me. Then I'd adjust my kiddie's seat, whip out a Texan, and take a deep long drag.

God, I miss pre-school.

Shit, I almost forgot - happy National Cleavage Day. Don't say I never put any smut on this site. Because I do. Click on it to see a little more than should actually be allowed. This is actually a pic of a medical doctor in Romania or "Rumania" if you are Romanian.


Great Cleavage. And She's A Doctor Too.


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Monday Morning Fillers

As everyone knows, I live an incredibly exciting and fulfilling life - if I'm not saving the world from an unknown danger and impending doom (twice last week), then I'm rubbing shoulders with A-list actors and actresses (just saw that other famous guy at Asoka on Saturday, you know which one I'm talking about)

Sometimes though, you run out of suitable material to write about, especially on a Monday morning when you're desperately trying to sober up for work, after refusing to admit you have a problem and having "one more for the road", before realising you're actually sitting by yourself in your lounge and it's time to shower and get down.

Ha ha ha, that was clearly a joke. Honestly, I was joking. Really, I was. That was purely hypothetical.

Anyhoo, that's where the Monday Morning Fillers come in, it tends to be funny and I don't really have to say anything. This was sent in by Steve O, cartoons called "Cyanide and Happiness" which I've come across in the past. It's really funny in a bizarre "Why am I laughing?" kind of way, which tends to sum up both myself and Steve O's warped sense of humour. Weird, it's like we're brothers or something.

Ha Ha Ha, that cracks me up. And:



If this kind of low-brow humour tickled your fancy then well done, you are officially weird. Your next step is to check out more of this at www.explosm.net


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The Departed

I normally make a point not to watch Oscar winning films. I remember watching "The English Patient" a few years back, the multi-award winning film which was so boring I ended up gnawing my arm off, which wasn't a bad thing in the end because I had been born with three arms and had endured many years of ridicule because of it.

So it was with slight trepidation that I ended up watching "The Departed" which earned director Martin Scorsese his golden gong. I had enjoyed "Goodfellas" and "Raging Bull", but wasn't impressed with "Gangs of New York" and didn't bother seeing "The Aviator" either. Why am I mentioning those films, you ask? Because they were all directed by Martin Scorsese, that's why.

So anyhoo, myself, Steve O and the pimple on Steve O's nose (Brian) went to see the flick, which had been out for ages and will probably be on Mnet next week, that's how long it took us to get around to seeing it. Starring Leonard Di Caprio, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson, Martin Sheen, a Baldwin brother (They all look alike these days) and probably most of the not-quite-A-list male actors in Hollywood (besides Mark Wahlberg - oh, wait) the film centres around two main characters played by Messrs Di Caprio and Damon.

Whilst Mr Di Caprio is a cop undercover as a Irish thug, Mr Damon is an Irish thug undercover as a cop. Clever, hey? They find out about each other's existence and the film then plays out like a cat-and-mouse as they try and find one another. I thought the film was brilliant, so did Steve O, and so did the pimple on Steve O's nose (Brian).

It was gripping and quite tense at times, I was dripping with sweat during the some of the scenes - and that wasn't just because of my glandular problem. As you would expect, the film is quite gory and bloodily violent, which is what you would want from the gangster genre. In fact, this film is basically right up there with "Goodfellas", "The Godfather" and other gangster related films. (In my humble opinion anyway)

If you haven't seen it yet, go out and watch it, I recommend it, Steve O recommends it, and Brian, the pimple on Steve O's nose, recommends it too.


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Planet Bar At The Mount Nelson Hotel

After a few weeks of pacing up and down at The HQ, the time had come to find me a local watering hole. I had fond memories of my previous "local", Mambo's in Plumstead, which served as the starting point for many a wild and crazy adventure, like the time I broke the nose of an obnoxious African Elephant, who came down all the way from the Addo in the Eastern Cape to pick a fight with me. Then there was the time I threw my drink at Kirsten Dunst, who would regularly fly down to South Africa incognito, to have some of Mambo's famous Long Islands. As usual, she got drunk and started mouthing off about how there are no real men in South Africa, so I stepped in and poured my Kiwi Brutal Fruit down her cashmere sweater, which settled that little argument once and for all.

Anyhoo, I'm totally digressing here, I had decided I needed to find a new place to get horribly drunk and be anti social. Naturally I decided to check out Planet Bar at the Mount Nelson Hotel, which for those of you who don't know, is a bar at the Mount Nelson Hotel.

Finding the place turned into a bit of a logistical nightmare. Once inside the grounds I mistakenly ended up at a St Patrick's Day Ball, thrown by a large group of jolly Irishmen in celebration of their countrymen not losing to Zimbabwe in the Cricket World Cup. Guinness was in abundance, people were literally swimming in it, but eventually I managed to backstroke my way through the beer and out the exit door, where I found a yellow brick road.

There, I met up with a Scarecrow, a Lion and a Tin Man who were also walking along, completely and utterly lost. The Lion could amazingly walk upright and could speak, although he had quite a dirty mouth. (He called the Scarecrow an "obnoxious prick" and a "slut") The Tin Man didn't seem too phased by his mates bickering though and asked me for a light, which I duly gave him even though I don't smoke. Why was there a lighter in my pocket? Anyhoo, they all stopped for a smoke break while I carried on and eventually ended up at Planet Bar.

The place wasn't really what I expected. The plasma screen TV's were lacking, there were no rugby jerseys and photos of Francois Pienaar hanging anywhere, and - most shockingly of all - there were no bowls of peanuts to be seen for miles. The place was filled to the brim, but I eventually found a spot underneath a double seated couch which I crawled under and settled down. I ordered a double whiskey, downed it in 3 seconds and then attempted to start up a pub song. "Olé olé olé olé" I began, but this didn't appear to go down well.

The decor isn't what you would expect from your typical bar, everything looks very clean and smart. There are carpets and rugs and walls bedecked with paintings of old white men (Not Francois Pienaar though). The music mostly consisted of Death Metal and EMO* with a sprinkling of avant garde jazz or classical music.

Everything is neat, tidy, in it's place. People are well behaved, no raucous patrons appear to frequent Planet Bar. In short, Planet Bar is a classy, trendy upmarket type of establishment but it's certainly not the place to watch rugby or cricket on a Saturday afternoon. And so, with a heavy heart, my search continues.


*Emotional Rock Music

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Crime Watch - Beware Of The Latest Scam

A quiet day at the office, spent cleaning my ears and catching up on my needlework, was interrupted by a frantic email from The Gupster, who informed me of a relatively new scam*. As he explains:

Here's how the scam worked - Don't be caught!!!

Two seriously good-looking 20-21 year-old girls came over to my car and started wiping my windscreen with a dirty rag, which made me hellava annoyed as I had just had The Gupstermobile cleaned.

However, I then noticed their breasts nearly falling out of their skimpy T-shirts, and thus thanked them and offered them some of the various R5 coins I keep lying around the car. They declined and instead asked me for a lift to Canal Walk. I was in Tokai Main Road on my way to Lakeside but felt that it was kind of on the way and so told them to hop in. On the way, they started fondling one another in the backseat. Then one of them climbed over into the front seat and performed "oral pleasure" on me, while the other one stole my wallet. Police later told me that the two of them have been operating in the neighbourhood for the last few months, hitting a string of motorists.

I have now had my wallet stolen Feb 4th, 9th, 10th, twice on the 15th, 17th, 20th, & 24th. Also March 1st, 3rd, twice on the 7th, three times just yesterday and very likely again this upcoming weekend.


Don't Be A Victim. She Will Rob You.

Thank you, The Gupster, I'm sure everyone will be very vigilant against this new scourge.


*Disclaimer - This is probably not true.

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Outsurance Saves Shaun's Car

Besides my legs and inner thigh insurance, my car is probably the next most important object I have insured every month, protecting me from the various hazards which could befall the fastest car in Cape Town. Being in the "high risk" category, I pay a small fortune, enough to fund a military coup in central Africa and causing me to live on crackers for most of the month, which I highly resent as I'm allergic to crackers and regularly make enforced visits to the hospital to have my stomach pumped.

Anyhoo, the other day I had just walked out of The HQ to find that Miranda, one of my tyres, had died sometime during the night. This upset me deeply as Miranda was one of my favourites, we had been through many turbulent adventures in the past and her sunny disposition was bettered only by her never-say-die attitude. Ooh irony, how cruel is thy nature.

After shedding a tear or two, I began realising my predicament, Miranda needed replacing. Of course I had Marvin in the boot, but I had no idea how to put him on. Many years ago my dad had attempted to educate me on manly things, but I had unfortunately slept through Changing Tyres Made Easy, having also previously bunked Meat Carving 101 and Not Throwing Like A Girl 102 E.

I then remembered watching infomercials at 4am during my bouts of drunken insomnia, and remembering that my insurance guys handled these sorts of things. Answering the phone in a sultry voice, the Outsurance lady muffled a laugh as I told her my problem, but then proceeded to have it sorted it out in the time it would have taken to phone my dad, have him berate me for not paying attention in class and then making me do it myself.

A guy in a bakkie rocked up after 15 mins, did his thing with what he called a "jack", and then had my car good to go. My insurance guys phoned 15 mins after that just to confirm that everything had been sorted out. Quite amazing, my family and some of my best friends don't even pay me that much attention. Marvin doesn't have a car rim like Miranda did so that looks a little strange, but I can always sort that out. Bottom line is I was fairly chuffed with Outsurance's level of service and customer care, which in today's society is a pretty novel concept. Well done guys, now I'm off to get the old stomach pumped again.


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Sobhar Bar Staff Are "Hot" and "Single"

Being the ever popular Cape Town socialite and D-list celebrity (recently promoted from the dark depressing abyss of the E-list) I'm often bombarded with functions and invites, like last week when I was invited to the opening of the new Engen in Claremont.

This also means I get a large assortment of text messages from a wide array of bars, pubs and rotary clubs (strange but true). Sobhar is one such establishment, regularly sending me messages on a weekly basis, despite my best efforts to remove myself from their mailing list. Normally upon receiving one of their messages, I let out a silent scream, slowly die inside, and then delete it from my phone.

This recent one however, caught my eye:

Unbranded live at Sobhar tonight with lots of drinks specials (think... Tequila) and tomorrow night DJ's, give aways and hot single bar staff....

Come again?

Now besides the fact that they're proudly boasting about their "hot single bar staff", it's the elipses (....) at the end that really makes this message stand out from the crowd.

It's sort of left hanging there in a flirtatious, snooze-and-you-will-lose manner, you KNOW whoever wrote this thought they were being very clever and suggestive.

So come on then ladies, what are you waiting for? You better get down to Sobhar in Claremont tonight (It's Friday!) and snare yourself one of these prized hot, single bar staff members right now!


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Bukhara Restaurant

After a long day at work, smashing rocks with my bare fists, I like nothing better than to slip into my favourite "sherwani", and enjoy a good night of fine Indian cuisine. So it was very fitting then, that we ended up dining at Bukhara, in Church Street, Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa for a night of Tikka Pasanda, Dum Aloo, Warki Parantha and Amstel.

I am a big fan of Indian food and a regular patron of the Spur in Canal Walk. Our waiter eyed me suspiciously however, when I asked for a Double Rib Burger with cheddarmelt sauce, but the Chicken Tikka in Butter Curry he brought out more than made up for the restaurants apparent menu faux pas. A novelty of Bukhara's is the see-through window to the kitchen, allowing patrons to watch the food being made. We spent several minutes watching in wonder as the child labourers employed there expertly butchered and carved up a rather feisty cow*.

The meat, as one would thus expect, was incredibly soft and tender, literally melting in my mouth as soon as tongue hit flesh - allowing me to slurp up my food in a most dignified manner.

To cater for the white people, the dishes are not too spicy, although we were quite fortunate to witness one unfortunate chap literally bursting into flames as he tried some of the chilli sauce on his garlic Nan bread.

Everyone was enthralled by the spectacular show and our dinner party decided there and then to try some of what he was having, which we loved.

Afterwards, back at The HQ, I settled down on the couch for a viewing of Little Britain (Season 3) while having my varicose veins and abnormally large feet massaged by The Girlfriend, to cap off a most enjoyable night.

*That was a blatant lie for dramatic storytelling purposes

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Saigon Restaurant

"Saigon" was the name of an old movie which had a "2-21" age restriction on it, so you knew it had to be good. As a young spritely lad of 8 or 9, I remember spiking my parents drinks with copious amounts of Grandpa, sneaking into their bedroom and watching the R-rated flick, which had some sort of military story if memory serves, although the strongest memory I have is obviously the gratuitous nudity, and the severe beating my mom gave me when she woke up 3 days later.

So it was with this feel-good nostalgia, that we dined at Saigon in Kloof Street. The venue is large and spacious, letting you chat among your dinner party without the risk of any pesky eavesdroppers - something I value as I am often guilty of blurting out government secrets and blatant slanderous lies after an ale or two.

I'm not sure whether the food is Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese or Chinese - I can't remember and I'm too tired to look it up now. Let's just go with the safe route and say that it's Asian. Not Indian or Pakistan Asian though.

Okay, so the food is Asian, reflected by the decor, and the waitrons are all dressed in traditional Asian garb, (Think "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon") looking as they they could easily rip your heart out with the Eagle's Claw technique if you're unhappy with their service. We were certainly mindful of not annoying our waitress, who probably leaned on the side of over-helpfulness, at one stage even explaining to The Girlfriend how to eat a spring roll.

The complicated concept of eating has often baffled me though and so I watched and listened intently, finally realising what I'd been forgetting all these years (ie: chewing) and so settled down to sushi, which is raw fish which the Japanese eat because they are too lazy to fry.

Our waitress spoke in an incredibly high-pitched tone, sounding the way I did before my voice broke 18 months ago. Her pitch seemed to get higher and higher as the evening progressed, shattering my spectacles during the starters, and causing my brain to begin hemorrhaging during the main course. Eventually her voice couldn't be heard by a human ear, and so I had to get my favourite canine friend Mr Biggles on the line to translate for us, which he duly did even though he was chilling with his mates at a nearby kennel.

Everyone agreed that the food was really good and all in all it was a very enjoyable dining experience. Getting into the whole sushi thing, the next day I tried wrapping raw snoek in a lettuce leaf, but it didn't quite have the same taste, so it's something I'm going to have to work on.


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The Great Two Oceans Challenge - Cancelled

I woke up this morning tired and depressed. Tired because I had a pizza at Primi Piatti in Claremont the evening before, which caused my stomach to experience Shock and Awe, and depressed because I ran out of Two Ply, and am now the owner of zero handkerchiefs. Thank you Primi Piatti, thank you.

Was cheered up slightly however, by the news that The Great Two Oceans Challenge (See The Great Two Oceans Challenge) has been cancelled.

A bitterly disappointed Gupster informed me that we had procrastinated on the whole registration process, resulting in us missing out as the list is now full. This was all part of my master plan, as my false bravado belied the fact that I was literally shitting bricks, which I had begun using to build a little bed and breakfast establishment on the Green Point Common. My plans to enter the hospitality industry for 2010 have thus been shelved for the tiime being, but at least it means I won't be dying on the road now, which had begun looking like a real possibilty.

So The Great Two Oceans Challenge has now been pushed back to next year, giving me the chance to start exercising, and maybe cutting down on drinking (two bottles of vodka every morning) and smoking (I eat cigarettes when I'm feeling peckish, dipping them in Welington's Sweet Chilli Sauce for extra tang).


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Going Back In Time

This also takes me back to the fun times we had at Springboks, Conti's and before that, Blink, in the days when brandy and cokes were the order of the day, and copious amounts of beer were consumed at Meadowridge forest ("the forage") before going out for a night on the Town. (in Claremont)

Aaah, good times.


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Would You Let This Doggy Die?

Mr Biggles is Cape Town's favourite dog, he is my pet but he is also one of my closest friends, and we do practically everything together. We play in the park, watch movies, we even go clubbing occasionally, although he sometimes struggles to get into certain establishments as he is only seven in human years.

If Mr Biggles ever needed a medical operation I wouldn't think twice about paying for it. Sadly, there are many pets out there who don't have that financial support if medical care is needed. This is where the PDSA (People's Dispensary for Sick Animals) comes in. They provide free medical and / or surgical treatment to animals / pets belonging to people who cannot afford the fees of private Veterinary Hospitals.

Obviously to keep this running, they need money. While blowing up ATMS may be a viable option to some these days, they would prefer any cash by way of a donation. This can be made quick and easy by filling in the following form:

http://www.pdsa.org.za/bequests.html

I just made a donation but the form may be slightly wonky. (These NGO's tend to have wonky websites) What you can do though is go to their website and get there contact details.

Come on, you know you want to. You're a good person.



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The Camps Bay Thursday Night Adventure

On Thursday after moving all the boxes into The HQ, it was decided that the new neighbourhood would be explored. Putting on my trusty explorer hat, a brown Indiana Jones style fedora, I dialled Kurt The Rep and The Gupster, and told them to come on through. Upon their arrival, we rubbed two sticks together, creating fire and thus toasting the single slice of bread I owned. Once we were finished feasting, we jumped in the Gupstermobile and headed on out to Ignite in Camps Bay, where we planned to get smashed and act in a horribly juvenile manner.

While The Gupster was out and about pulling women, Kurt The Rep and I milled for a bit on the deck, debating the merits of slinky pants over the micro, belt-like skirts which seemed to be in abundance at the club. A case in point was the pretty young brunette with the Cindy Crawford mole, who literally showed us her Hello Kitty panties every time she breathed.

After a session of heavy petting with a young floozie, The Gupster came back to us and we headed on out to Baraza, where I bumped into the Cape Town DJ and Top Billing presenter Jeanie D. I immediately apologised and helped her off the floor, but she was clearly in an unforgiving mood and sunk one of her razor-sharp nails into my Achilles tendon. As I hobbled off, it was decided not to hang around Baraza and so we headed off to Zep Teppi, a new club next door where we were promised free booze and snacks. By this stage I was famished and had begun nibbling on my forearm as it's quite chunky and, with the right seasoning and a little imagination, actually tastes like chicken.

Booze was in abundance at Zep Teppi, the whiskey flowing like the Niagara Falls on a rainy day, but sadly snacks (and clientele) were lacking. We found the decor of the club quite interesting, with some sort of catwalk / lifted dancefloor in the centre of the club. We amused ourselves for a few minutes parading up and down the floor ala Fashion TV, The Gupster looking like an absolute tart in the high heels and fishnet stocking he found lying in the bathroom, but eventually the joke got old and so we headed on back to Ignite.

While The Gupster was out and about pulling women, Kurt The Rep and I milled for a bit on the deck, debating the merits of plunging necklines over the push up padded bras which seemed to be in abundance at the club. A case in point was the pretty young redhead with the Cameron Diaz eyes, who literally affected the Moon's gravitational pull every time she breathed.

After a session of heavy petting with a young floozie, The Gupster came back to us and we headed toward the dancefloor, where everyone made space for me and applauded my innovative dance moves. The truth was my snapped tendon was making it difficult for me to walk properly, and I was really on my way to the bar, but I lapped up the praise nonetheless. By this stage we were well and truly legless, almost literally in my case and so it was decided to head on home back to The HQ.

On our way out, we were greeted by the always funny sight of a girl giving a guy an almighty beating, as he had apparently groped her on the dancefloor. The girl was ably supported by a cripple, who used his crutches to great effect, smashing the groper's knee caps into a thousand pieces. The Gupster whipped out a hand broom and attempted to sweep it up but the cripple was having none of it and tried attacking us.

His crutches meant he wasn't the most mobile of creatures though and, in our irresponsibly drunken state, we still managed to make it to the car before he could unleash his fury on us. The Gupster quickly punched in the co-ordinates of The HQ and the Gupstermobile roared off into the night, leaving the angry mob the cripple had assembled in our wake. Feeling peckish at this stage, I grabbed The Gupster's sun shade and a water bottle and combined it to quickly manufacture a crude hunting spear, using it to maim a grey pigeon which we then spit braaied once we reached home.

So that signalled my first night in Town, who knows what adventures await us next Thursday?


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