Vuvuzelas At The Soccer.

It was Saturday and I had the sudden urge to watch a live football match at Newlands rugby stadium. As fate would have it, there just HAPPENED to be one scheduled for that day, between a team called Kaizer Chiefs and a team called Manchester United, so I made like Tom and cruised over there.

Side note: Who watched him on Oprah last night? Anyone notice how he and Katie kinda look the same these days? It must be like having sex with yourself, except you have a vagina. Would that be considered gay? Or is it narcissistic? Something to debate for another time.

Anyhoo, the game was a pretty lively affair, and is similar to rugby, in that you have some guys kicking a ball from one side of the field to the other. I had just settled down and was enjoying some fine cuisine - a salty chip roll, drenched in tomato sauce, vinegar and someone's fingernails - when I heard what sounded like a wild Addo elephant climaxing as he finished shagging his elephant wife, doggy-style.

I quickly turned to my right - as I've always been a great fan of elephants, and love seeing them out of their natural habitat, as I find they tend to be creatures of habit and are seemingly reluctant to try new things - but was instead greeted by a callow youth blowing on a long, red horn with all his might.

"What the f*ck do you have there?," I enquired politely, as I motioned for him to hand it over.

"It's a vuvuzela," he replied defiantly, and then felt the need to further substantiate this claim with another deep blast, simultaneously hurting both my eardrums as well as his chances of coming out of this alive.


Vuvuzelas - Blow Them In My Ear And Sign Your Own Death Warrant.

With all the agility of a wild Canadian otter, I feinted an attack from the left, then struck from the right flank, pinning him up against the wall as one would do to a small child who refuses to give off his pocket money on the playground. His mother, a large and rather sweaty looking woman with "Ronaldo 7" stretched across her back, seemed unconcerned as I pried away the red horn from the desperate clasp of her offspring.

It seems as if these "vuvuzelas" are like little plastic horns, designed to annoy old white people who live around the stadium, I soon noticed that virtually every second person at Newlands was armed with one. When blown at the same time, the racket it generates is the equivalent of a large bomb going off, or The Girlfriend freaking out when she catches me walking around in her high heels.

Sure, the vuvuzela can also be used to chugg down beer, or to smack people over the head when they owe you money - but other than that I don't really think I'm a fan. It's helluva popular among the soccer loving folk and who knows, it may even catch on with the rugby loving folk - if only to give them something else to do with their mouths, instead of smoking, swearing at their wives and chanting "Ole ole ole ole...ole...ole".

With the whole "Soccer World Cup" thing that's apparently happening in 2010, we will likely see more and more of these contraptions on the streets, so be prepared. You can apparently learn more about it and even purchase them, at the following website - http://www.boogieblast.co.za

Peace up! A Town!

Yeah, OK!

Usher! Usher! Usher! Usher! (whispered)



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