Last night San Diego’s finest anchorman, Ron Burgundy of the famed Channel Four News Team announced (while playing the jazz flute) that there will be a sequel to Anchorman…and it will be aptly named Anchorman 2.
“As of 09:00 Mountain time, Paramount Pictures and myself, Ronald Joseph Aaron Burgundy, have come to terms to a sequel to Anchorman,” he said.
Don’t know about you but I can’t wait. Let’s hope there’s another fight scene…trident and all.
Stay classy, Johannesburg…?
Check the video out:
More than reading the Daily Sun and Boerewors, South Africans love to complain, protest and strike.
Listen to Talk Radio 702 for a few minutes in the morning and you will here at least ten people phone in and complain about traffic lights, traffic, their elderly neighbour who has an affinity for small yapping dogs and of course an all time favourite my dear friend Julias.
Listen to 5fm and you are sure to hear some witless young woman call in and complain that the line was too long to get into Tiger Tiger or something irrelevant that annoys the rest of the country.
Listen to Highveld…well just don’t do that.
Not to downplay the problems this country has, because boy do we have so mother flipping problems; but stop all the complaining and do something. Now for the poor girl who had to stand in the line for too long and only caught the tail end of the Britney Spears power half hour, there isn’t much I can do to help you, besides perhaps advising you to take a cyanide capsule or getting better at giving large Nigerian bouncers blowjobs.
A few years ago a little thing called the French Revolution took place. For those of you who have been living in a cave …or Rivonia where history is laughing about ‘that one time at Manhattans when you totally kissed that like totally cute guy then totally did lines in the toilet’ the French Revolution ‘totally’ ROCKED!
So there were some people who were really rich…they looked kinda like this:
No one should have hair that 'big'
That were real douche bags and kept spending the rest of the countries money.Everyone else kinda looked like this:
Sucks to be you
The 99.9% of the population got fed up with the 0.1% of pale faced idiots who were having wild parties while they starved so they decided to do this:
Never mess with a lady wearing a red hat carrying a sword
They literally ripped a building apart! Talk about power of the masses. Imagine what South Africa…which is a smidgeon bigger than pre Revolutionary France could do. Something that is evident in the partnering of COSATU and the DA against the tolling system our somewhat dim-witted government wants to enforce. If an entire country won’t pay there is nothing that can be done to enforce it.
So we have some people that look like this:
Let them eat cake...I sure do
And they are real douchebags and keep spending our money on things like this:
Okay not really, but you catch my drift?
While the majority of the country looks like this:
Please sir may I have some more...electricity, running water and other services?
I say if you complain you should be willing to storm the Bastille …or at least attempt to.Liberté, égalité, fraternité!
Drive anywhere nowadays and you are bound to see some stupid bumper sticker saying something ‘unwitty’ like : “Don’t talk to me talk to my lawyer” or some tacky Blue Bulls sticker…or even worse a set of actual blue bulls’ balls hanging off of the tow hook of an over the top ‘man-size’ Isuzu bakkie that contributes more to global warming than a jumbo jet.
Let me just point out you have a plastic mould of an animals genitals on your car. How is that okay or cool ever? I mean come on people.
Amongst all the plastic genitals and “I’m pumped for summer” stickers, one can easily find a few baby signs.
These signs range from “Baby on board” to “Future bad boy on board” – which may be worse than the animal genitals people decorate their cars with if I think about it. Regardless, why do parents need to put warning signs on their cars when they have babies driving in them?
If you have a sign saying “Little Mikey on board” does that mean people are less likely to kill you by accident while driving? Or let you skip the line because you have a baby with a nappy full of shit in the back seat?
So because people have a sign in their car that says they have a baby with them we should drive more carefully around them? How on earth did we get to the point that we need a sign telling those around us to try not kill us by driving like idiots? Here is a thought why not drive carefully all the time…that’s if those stupid signs even make a difference to the way people drive.
Note to self: get Baby on Board sign.
You are an idiot
Hipster girls have somehow convinced themselves that looking like a man is cool trendy and somewhat ironic. I’m sure if I was to ask some of them why exactly they were dressed like brooding teenage boys from the 80’s answers would include:
“I’m the Virginia Woolf of my time you see; I’m deconstructing how the world generally sees men. I’m becoming the man, that’s the ultimate form of feminism…yeah totally rad!”
Or
“One of the members of Bikini. Sports. Poncho. Has this haircut and I thought it would be like totes the best eva if I copied them. I mean gender is so transient anyways.”
Now girls I hate to break it to you, you look like idiots, what’s worse is you paid a fair amount of money to look like an idiot. If you are not a member of the backstreet boys you should not be allowed to cut a step into your hair. Are any of you in the Backstreet Boys? Anyone? No I didn’t think so. If I can over any advice take a real look in the mirror, what do you see? Honestly! What I see and I’m going to say what I presume 90.9% of the world sees is a gender confused girl with a silly bowl cut with a rather large cameltoe and shaved eyebrows.
Having said that, I would like to thank the girl in the black Renault driving on Tuesday afternoon along Oxford Road. Your ridiculous hair and dance moves truly brightened up my day. With the rancid sound of The Frown bellowing out your window with hand movements that would put Joe Cocker and David Bowie to shame; all while typing on your not so ironic iPhone undoubtedly uploading a picture of the poor hobo begging at your window onto Instagram with the caption: “OOO hobo chic, I bet you he shops at Deer Hunter!”.
Anyways your hair looks like shit but you did make me smile for at least an hour afterwards, so thank you.
Things have been tough lately for dreamers. They say dreaming’s dead, that no one does it anymore. It’s not dead, it’s just been forgotten. Removed from our language. No one teaches it so no one knows it exists. The dreamer is banished to obscurity. Well I’m trying to change all that, and I hope you are too. By dreaming every day. Dreaming with our hands and dreaming with our minds. Our planet is facing the greatest problems it’s ever faced. Ever. So whatever you do, don’t be bored. This is absolutely the most exciting time we could have possibly hoped to be alive. And things are just starting.
The flesh covers the bone
And they put a mind
In there and
Sometimes a soul,
And the women break
Vases against the walls
And the men drink too
Much
And nobody finds the
One
But keep
Looking
Crawling in and out
Of beds.
Flesh covers
The bone and the
Flesh searches
For more than
Flesh.
There’s no chance
at all:
We are all trapped
By a singular
Fate.
Nobody ever finds
The one.
The city dumps fill
The junkyards fill
The madhouses fill
The hospitals fill
The graveyards fill
Nothing else
Fills.
Dorothy had her Oz, Alice had her Wonderland and Bastian had his Fantasia, I have my Ubud.
Having been accosted by a number of Bintang breathing Australians, being taught to samba by a handsome Italian, and having to constantly refuse requests such as: “you come look my shop” and “ey luv come ‘ave a dring with us”; I was done with the shoddily built group of clubs that is Kuta.
I sat on my surprisingly bug free bed in my bungalow trying to find the opposite of Kuta, and what did all the guide books say (along with a discerning Julia Roberts)? Ubud!
The peace and quiet of Ubud is truly indescribable with only intermittent calls for “taxi, taxi” I was able to wonder the streets filled to bursting with art galleries and a ‘shot left’ of the road landed me in the most beautiful rice paddies I’ve ever seen. My plans of stopping in a new town everyday fell apart as soon as I entered the laidback Art Cafe, filled with stereotypical travellers nibbling on humus and either reading a book or clicking away on their computers or phones.
There was the European looking woman on her Mac with armpits in desperate need of some attention from a razor…where’s an Australian sheep shearer when you need one? A group of stereotypical young Americans with fake dreadlocks and i phones were talking loudly in the one corner. Across from me what looked like a mother and her daughter were sitting glumly at a round table, food untouched, throwing daggers at each other each time their eyes met.
I shared a bench with a Swedish woman who had sold everything she owned after she caught her husband cheating and had been in Ubud for 6 months, not feeling the need to go anywhere else for the moment. I could see why she wouldn’t want to leave, after all who wants to leave paradise?
A paradise where the cool mountain air takes away the edge of the constant heat, where the mud from the surrounding rice paddies feels like velvet between your toes and the rain on your face doesn’t bother you but is a welcomed refreshment.
A paradise where everyone, is there just to be there. With not a frown in sight I whiled away the five most fantastic days of my life, all the while knowing that one day I would have to return and stay for much longer, because that’s what Ubud does to you.
I asked a hundred painters and a hundred poets
how to paint sunlight
on the face of life
Their answers were ambiguous and ingenuous
as if they were all guarding trade secrets
Whereas it seems to me
all you have to do
is conceive of the whole world
and all humanity
as a kind of art work
a site-specific art work
an art project of the god of light
the whole earth and all that’s in it
to be painted with light
And the first thing you have to do
is paint out postmodern painting
And the next thing is to paint yourself
in your true colours
in primary colours
as you seem them
(without whitewash)
paint yourself as you see yourself
without make-up
without masks
Then paint your favourite people and animals
with your brush loaded with light
And be sure you get the perspective right
and don’t fake it
because one false line leads to another
She’s not your average girl ̶ I guess this is an understatement when it comes to Tank Girl. She’s basically a girl with a tricked out tank fighting against all the ‘baddies’ controlling the worlds water supply…doesn’t seem to farfetched with what the worlds facing at the moment does it?
Originally a comic created by Jamie Hewlett and Alan Martin her character was later thrust onto the big screen in a bone crunching, ripped stocking, post apocalyptic masterpiece. Let’s just say Tank Girl kicks ass in style!
I met a girl once while I was at university who had shaved her hair exactly like Tank Girl did in the original comic; it looked amazing and inspired me to do the same…something I’m hoping to leave behind as a youthful mistake.
But if you’re bored grab a comic or get the movie, it’s really over the top and fantastic…and maybe not everyone’s cup of tea
Thigh highs and the end of the world
abcitsme 