by Zaptoid | Jan 13, 2011 | Arb
This has been bothering me for a while now.
How the fuck do overweight woman insist on wearing Mini Skirts?
I mean, they know how they look in it; after all, they are putting it on? Surely they realize that, if it takes anything longer than 5 seconds to put on a piece of clothing, something is wrong?
For instance, there’s a DJ on one of our local FM radio stations, Anele that does the mid-day show with a guy called Grant. She’s one of the big boned female persuasions that insist on wearing clothes that should be on an anorexic model. What the fuck is wrong with you? You cannot tell me that you feel sexy in that clothing, Christ, even the clothing feels embarrassed.
But, this waffle isn’t about her as she is already a failure as a woman. Not because she is fat, not because she is proud of being fat. But because she thinks that her rude, obnoxious attitude gives her the right to be a disgusting excuse for a female.
Anyway, I digress. . .
The mini skirt thing, wtf indeed.
Perhaps Mini Skirts should come with a label: “If you’re wondering whether you’ll fit in this or whether it comes in a bigger size, you shouldn’t be wearing this“
by Zaptoid | Oct 6, 2010 | Arb
In ancient Greece (469 – 399 BC), Socrates was widely lauded for his wisdom. One day an acquaintance ran up to him excitedly and said, “Socrates, do you know what I just heard about Diogenes?” “Wait a moment,” Socrates replied, “Before you tell me I’d like you to pass a little test. It’s called the Triple Filter Test.” ‘Triple filter?” asked the acquaintance. “That’s right,” Socrates continued, “Before you talk to me about Diogenes let’s take a moment to filter what you’re going to say.
The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?” “No,” the man said, “Actually I just heard about it.” “All right,” said Socrates, “So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now let’s try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about Diogenes something good?” “No, on the contrary…” “So,” Socrates continued, “You want to tell me something about Diogenes that may be bad, even though you’re not certain it’s true?” The man shrugged, a little embarrassed. Socrates continued, “You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter, the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about Diogenes going to be useful to me?” “No, not really.”
“Well,” concluded Socrates, “If what you want to tell me is neither True nor Good nor even useful, why tell it to me or anyone at all?” The man was bewildered and ashamed. This is an example of why Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.
It also explains why Socrates never found out that Diogenes was shagging his wife.
by Zaptoid | Sep 30, 2010 | Arb, What the Fuck?
Well, how to start this. .
Initially I didn’t want to blog about this, as it’s a bit of a personal waffle. However, it’s been buzzing in my brain for the last week and I need to get it out before I start haemorrhaging.
Last Friday I was at a braai(Myself, Papa Bear, his family and EchoTango), for those American retards that struggle to understand the intricate slang of the everyday South African, a braai is the equivalent of your barbeque. We planned the day to be one of epic drunk, stoned and stupor. Naturally, we succeeded and by 5pm, even the football we were kicking around got a bit slanted. I think Papa Bear got the worst off tho’.
There I was mid explanation to EchoTango when my cell phone rang. I did my best to focus on the display in order to see who the fuck is phoning me while I’m trying to explain the beauty that is the GUT. I didn’t recognize the number and decided to entertain the caller. Now, this is where it gets a little odd. In fact, I was so surprised by what the end result of the conversation on the phone was that I beckoned to EchoTango to listen in on the conversation. The conversation in question, went like this:
“SURNAME”
(I answer by only saying my surname, yeah, my ego is that fucking huge)
“Hi, [name], I need to speak to you about organizing some stuff”
“er, stuff?”
“Well, I’m not sure, to be honest [name], let me rather give the phone to grandma”
At this point I’ve figured out who I’m talking to and I can’t help but wonder how my grandmother got into it.
“Hello [name], its grandma. I spoke to the doctor and he told me that the only way that I can get the pain to go away is to smoke some zol”
My brain immediately jumped into action and called for reason. Unfortunately, reason was drown in Southern Comfort and Giggletwig.
“er, zol?”
Was the only thing I could muster out as my brain was trying to do a double backflip while walking on a rope. It was at this point where I told EchoTango to listen in on the conversation to ensure that I wasn’t going absolutely batty.
“The doctor told me that the pills I am taking can only do so much. He told me to try and get my hands on some weed. I know you smoke it, so now I want it”
“You want some weed?”
“Yes please, will you be able to score me some?”
It finally dawned on me. My frail tiny grandmother is asking me for weed. She wants some of the stuff that she use to warn me against. My grandmother is asking me for some reefer. Holy shit. Could this possibly be some sick joke that this old lady is playing with me?
“er, sure grandma, should I roll it for you?”
“Yes please, perhaps bring some extra for later”
Later? Jesus Christ lady, you haven’t even started and you want more? Seems like drugs run in the family. Odd?
“Ok, no problem”
*phone disconnected*
I stood there absolutely amazed by the conversation I had. My grandmother was trying to score some dope from the dope. Needless to say, I immediately started rolling a blunt for my grandmother. I usually don’t mix my weed with any type of tobacco, but, this was a special case(plus, I didn’t want to kill my grandmother) and I put some menthol mix in it. I quickly drove there and gave it to her.
When she took it she politely explained to me that she has never smoked the stuff, I gave her a quick crash course in how-to-be-an-excellent-stoner.
“Ok nana, light it, and don’t take more than 3 puffs. Wait 20 minutes, if you’re not stoned enough, have another puff. Wash, rinse repeat.”
After all, this was some A grade shit. I didn’t want my grandma to go on a paranoid tinge on her first high.
I went over the following day and asked her how it was. She told me it was awesome and she still has some of the reefer left. I was about to leave when she asked me:
“[name], would you mind being my dealer?”
My brain tried to do a handstand on a turtledove. I replied:
“erm, no, I don’t mind getting you some from time to time, but I am not a dealer and definitely not my grandmothers dealer.”
I mean, how weird could that possibly get? Your grandmother calling you “The Dealer” is absolutely insane.
No fucking way.
That’s my little Friday Freak Out Slash Grandmother Stoner event.
by Zaptoid | Aug 30, 2010 | Arb
There’s a distinct difference in how your brain processes thoughts on an empty vs. a full stomach. There I was, trying to get my finance situation sorted out on the phone, in Mthatha(where I might add, people do NOT know how to drive. I mean sure, people moan about Jo’burg all the time but holy-shit-on-toast, Mthatha is just whack. There are hardly any lines on the roads, no traffic lights work and people just drive anywhere. I think that the previous two sentences are in the wrong part of the thread but what the hell, it’s cold, I’m far from home but I have a full stomach. Yes, I was stuck in Mthatha with a financial problem. Where was I going to sleep for the night? I don’t mind camping, but I do need a tent. Luckily, we live in the era of the electron & switch and an EFT later, I was sorted.
I arrive at the place, drop my stuff off in the room and confirm with the guys that the payment was too much; they’ll give me the difference in cash. Awesome. Odd thing, it’s been roughly 4 hours after the chap told me he would draw the money from the ATM, still haven’t seen or heard from the chap. I start to wonder whether this dude has pulled off the “Jo’burg swindle” on a Jo’burger. No wait.. that makes me sound like a burger. Fucked. Up. In Afrikaans it makes sense, but in English it sounds like a Steers Whacky Wednesday special.
While smoking and watching a little spider prepare for the night, I decide that it’s time to investigate the disappearing ATM guy. The lady tells me not to worry; they will check the statements in the morning and then sort me out. I have to admit, I was quite taken aback by this as the Standard Bank is 1.7km away. Hell, I could see it when I went for a walk. But, I smiled politely on the outside while the inner-cunt gave her the finger and inner-cunt-punched her.
I haven’t eaten at this point, the woman just told me I had to wait till morning for money (which belongs to me in the first place, why the fuck did she not get that?) with an empty stomach with nothing but cigarettes and inner-cunt-anger? It was at this point where I figured, what the hell, if my head was going to explode it might as well be directed at something. I could feel the anger building in my head, like a forest fire in dry season, aching to be unleashed at anything that moves. As I let the fury start killing all noise in my ears I saw her lips move. I frowned and wondered what possibly she could want at this point if I was preparing to give her the cunt-punt. With a couple of breaths I managed to subside the beating of my heart in my ears and started to focus on the soon-to-be-dead-nemesis.
“You’re more than welcome to have supper here, we’re serving somethingandsomething..” is as far as she got. She stopped talking and asked me if I was ok. I told her that I thought I was going to sneeze. This is what really went on in my head:
“……………………………………………………………………..”
It was like a switch in my head that had suddenly gone off. Quite numbly, I followed her to the dinner section and sat down. They brought me some really fucking awesome soup (might have been the hunger, I dunno, but holy shit, great fucking soup), then some beef stroganoff with carrots and baby marrows (who the fuck eats that shit, honestly). I had a glass of coke as a beverage and after I finished I came outside to have a smoke.
Sitting, smoking and just staring at the grass. It struck me; the whole stupid situation could have been avoided if I just paid attention. Then, it struck me even harder:
On an empty stomach, everything is fucked up.
The whole mood, the whole issue. Nothing mattered, everything was ok. What mattered more was that I learned something new about myself. I’m a rude schmuck. But a schmuck with a full stomach.
