Back in the days there was a TV show called “My So Called Life” and it revolved around some teenagers who were just not experiencing high school the way they should be. Instead of learning the intricate, yet surprisingly (with practice) easy art of un-strapping bras, drinking until they vomited and shared embarrassing sexual experiences with their friends (I’m hoping many female readers have fond memories of this, because I have memories of girls experimenting together and some of them didn’t ACTUALLY happen) or experimenting with that evil Mary Jane, these youngsters were trying to figure out what it’s all about. What is the meaning of life? Actually the more I think about it, maybe they were stoned, and they were asking all those questions because of the journey their illegal substances were taking them on. Those naughty deviants!
The reason why I am thinking about these stoners (love how I just labelled them-claSICK!) is because this question plagues many of us for a period that’s as long as a piece of string (HATE THAT PHRASE! Want to meet the guy who came up with it so I can introduce him to my friends: Bog and Wash. Good oakes even if they are full of s%&*). I have decided that I am multi-talented and that I No. 2 ice cream, so I choose to live my life doing what I love. Arrogance aside, I put my all into everything I do, but that is because it’s exactly that-what I want to do. I am also not into just one thing, although some people are lucky that way (was going to use Steve Irwin as an example but I don’t know-Too soon?), but I am a creative, so this can manifest itself in many strange and very exciting ways.
This unfortunately is not how it goes for everyone, and that’s because reality bites (harder than a bulldog in Pretoria that sees me as a thief). Bills can be paid by dreams, especially if you make the Idols “Best of the Worst” list. I am not the type to pop your dream bubble, but if it’s blown out of the gum of unreality and disillusionment, then I’ll pop away boet! (Gotta show you I’m hard core at times, you check?). As I am writing this, I am having a conversation on Facebook with my old school mates, and amongst reciting what our old school song was (you’d be surprised at how much you remember, really), we are all talking about where we thought we would be. Out of everyone having this discussion, maybe 2 of us are actually kinda, sorta where we wanted to be. The rest are paying bills the way you need to, and some are feeding illegitimate children at the same time (but that’s a bed time story for another day).
So what point am I trying to get to? Or do I just love rambling on like the lunatic those that know me know I am (trying saying that 10 times fast and take that “she sells sea shells by the sea shore”). Well you need to find some sort of escape if you find yourself in that hell that we call daily living. For some it’s going to our favourite haunting ground and bumping into our favourite ghosts. For others it’s that hobby that’s borderline weird, but whatever keeps you going. Others enjoying dressing up as girls once in a while and seeing if you can get picked up (as if you’re fooling anyone), or maybe it’s something as simple as…uh hum….some….uh uh….alone time where you manage to de-stress (mine is not to judge).
For many of us though, we have that fear of the unknown. We know that our hearts are not in that crappy office job where the highlight is when you find out who Beth slept with over the weekend (the slut), but fulfilling a passion you just don’t believe you could make money from or succeed at. Sometimes you need to go for it. Start it as a side project. Get into it slowly, but always know it’s never too late. Remember it’s a long walk…
I have always found it extremely difficult to utilise bathrooms at work in a comfortable manner. Although many of my colleagues may not be my friends, in fact some are the complete opposite; I still find it necessary to maintain a certain level of respect for those who may enter after me. The work bathrooms are not an area to attempt to leave the biggest stinker which we can all share a laugh about. It is not the same as “unloading” in your home where you live with loved ones, who look past the cacophony of smells you leave behind because of their fond feelings for you. As I also worked in a rather small office in one of my jobs, we had to make do with 2 bathrooms for 50 people. This is not a difficult logistical equation, there is bound to be some toilet traffic if the ratio of loo’s to bum’s is 1:25. What becomes very important in that kind of situation is to “drop off your goods and go” without any procrastination so as not to further aggravate an aggravating, and extremely uncomfortable situation.
Basically what I am saying is simple. A solid flush of the loo once you are through is always appreciated, even if it’s after a number 1. Trust me if you got “absolutely hammered last night boet!” there will be reminders of last night’s fun at today’s prices i.e. an unholy stench. Washing one’s hands never hurt anybody. It also protects the rest of the people whose hands you might shake. Here’s a fun fact, apparently it washed bacteria while you’re at, so maybe give it a little thought. A quick spray after a sitting is an absolute must. I have yet to understand how people come out of a bathroom with a spring in their step, especially when it smells like they have been exorcising “fresh out of the fire of hell” demon through the back door. Finishing your business without first reading an entire newspaper is also not considered courteous. Surely if you sat down, and maybe even invite some friends and put out snacks and drinks, you could come up with better locations to catch up on your reading? One thing of course that is an absolute no- no is using the bathroom, with a fellow co- worker as a private “love booth”.
Of course all these rules are scoffed at whenever the office party makes its entrance on the calendar, but that’s another story for another day. That’s right; I just wrote a whole piece on toilets. Uh huh, it’s just happened. How you like me now…?
I used to have quite a reputation in my younger days, mostly because, like a hobo, I was always out. Although now I have become a more responsible chap. Although once in a while it’s always great to take the old skin out for the night. I met up with this phenomenal female creature, the type who I had an accident in my pants about while I was simultaneously texting my friends to inform them of her beauty. She was such perfection that I always said she was well on her way to being a super-model, she just lacked the Bulimia and Cocaine addiction. She told me about a new Cape Town hotspot called Blakes. I figured if a place had the name of a preppie American, spoilt-brat teen, it was probably a place that was pulling in that type of crowd. Luckily I party with all types, so I prepared to put my dancing formal shoes on, which are never quite as comfy as their dancing sneaker counterparts I’ll have you know!
Before going out I wanted to see if I could make any headway with the mythical creature of untold beauty. We sometimes chat online, so since she told me about Blakes, I asked her for more information. All of a sudden we got into one of those conversations where you wish you had just picked up the phone because she was responding as quickly as I was typing. Of course I wasn’t complaining because I was as excited as a Paedophile landing a PE teaching post for Grade 5’s. I decided to ask her if she kinda wanted to go to Blakes with me as like a hook up, and then when things took a turn. I waited…and waited…and waited…and then it announced that she went offline. I thought of maybe calling her, but I didn’t want my romantic intentions to translate into crime stop actions, so I gave one of my best friends a call and told him to suit up!
As we headed to the club, I felt like I was on a royal car ride, except the royalty I felt like was Princess Di. I became so afraid on the ride, I started concentrating on taking suppositories just to get my mind off what was happening, although that vision in itself made my bowels dance for joy (not a good thing for me though). Eventually we stopped and at the right time because I had a feeling a dirty protest was about to take place and the meeting point was in my undies. Blakes is on 189 Buitengracht Street where the restaurant Relish used to be. The décor is modern and trendy, and in this case each of the 3 floors had their own individual function taking place. I was there for a whiskey tasting. On entry I spotted my internet bud (ja, sure) sitting in the far corner. While trying to get away from her and maintain a restraining order type distance, I ended up sitting next to this girl who gave the word muggle a whole different meaning (here’s a hint, it’s not a compliment). To top it all off she also towered above me, but I am a very civilised guy. My so called bff went over to speak to the vision of all that is wonderful with the world, so while I was stuck with the Empire State building on a bad day, he was having the time of his life.
The music selection was superb. They were playing Deep House tunes with some Progressive House here and there, and also a bit of Funky House to get people on the dance floor. Of course I had to ask the DJ about all of that because to me House is House. I mean Progressive House, really? What is it progressing from? Should it not be called double-storey or mansion? It’s all very confusing to me. I mean even if they just called it Under Construction at least we’d know something is going down and we would be patient with the track because of the changes it is experiencing. I felt a great deal better when my mate came back and told me that he was having the time of his life with the hottie. She enjoyed his company so much and she ended up saying that she needs a guy just like him in her life. He thought this was his chance so he said “So why not me” to which she laughed and replied “No silly not you, but someone just like you. See, you’re so funny”. This was where he drew the line and finally decided to throw in the towel. If that had happened to me I would have thrown in the towel then doused it with gasoline, set it on fire and flushed the remains down a toilet so that there would be no recollection of me even having had a towel.
The drinks prices at Blakes were very reasonable; although the beauty of going to a whiskey tasting is that you get a lot of free whiskey. The cheap dates all revealed themselves during the last few minutes of the tasting. They would start chirping big time, and the vultures would go sit next to them because they were looking for a shortcut on the road to action. I also had a few close shaves with some very drunk guys, but like they say, it’s easier to restrain your anger when the other guy is much bigger than you. Even more so when he looks like he moonlights as a bullet-proof wall that could swot the Hulk like a fly. All in all though, it was an evening well spent. I thoroughly enjoyed this new venue and will definitely be going back there. Minus the drunk-on-whiskey bullies, it’s a chilled venue designed for those that want an honest to goodness good time. Blake, you’re OK by me! See you again big guy.
I am vaguely familiar with the concept – LOVE. You see I have – through my years – been trying to figure the whole thing out. It began with warm fuzzy feelings in prep school. Everyone was doing it. We all started playing games like kissing-catchers and spin the bottle. The girls were far keener in these games than the guys were. Or in reality we just did not want to admit that we enjoyed the occasional mouth wrestle because we feared being labeled as wimps by our friends. It was never too difficult to guess who liked who. Whenever the girls had to catch a guy, they would run tirelessly after the one they loved. The guys who did not feel the same way felt no shame in moving their small legs, as fast as possible, away from the “attacker” without caring about sparing the girls’ feelings. That for me was rejection at its most brutal. There were the okes that went straight for their ‘dream flossie’, but it always seemed that she had like 10 okies trying to get at her. I always felt sorry for those babes. They had to suck face with whomever was the fastest and sometimes it worked out in their favour, but at times it was whichever guy lived through the stampede, and the result of that was far more hilarious to watch. The survivor of those stampedes was almost always the strongest guy, and in those days, that meant the fattest. Ahhh… the days when we were first introduced to the opposite sex.
I would play it cool. I was the cute motor mouth (if I do say so myself), so I would not lower myself to mindless chasing as I had other tactics. Yes, I was a dog on heat like everyone else, but I always operated during the quiet after the storm. And by zooming in on the girls that tried to catch me during the game, I would seek and destroy throughout the course of the remainder of the night. Oh how they went down. Those were the good old days when “making out with multiple maidens made sense” (say that ten times fast). As time progressed we began to fool ourselves into believing that everybody has a soul-mate, that there is one individual for everybody somewhere out there. My personal belief was that it was all nonsense. In fact, excuse my ignorance in using the past tense as I still do believe that it is complete hogwash. I remember my first official “long termer”. Her honest belief was that she was in love with me. How sweet was that? I was 13 years old, and so was she, which begs the question “what on earth was this chick thinking?” I mean it was really sweet that she had all these astonishing emotions for me, but to translate that into love was a gross miscalculation on her part. But perhaps I was confused. Who was I to rain on her parade, or try dissuading her of her own personal feelings? True we were young, but perhaps she had begun a process of trial and error that would ultimately unite her with her true love.
As time moved on, these young girls blossomed into divine teens. There were the occasional few that were casualties of the acne wars, but most grew bumps in appropriate, and oh so perfect places. I, on the other hand began maturing into a man, or bastard, whichever you will prefer to use after reading on.
There was fierce competition in the change rooms about who was more of a man, by seeing whose pubic region had the most hair, and being black I never really fared well (I made up for this factor due to what lay beneath the pubic area). If anyone had a smart comment I was there with a quick retort, so I was always safe. I was always a jock in school so I never feared being picked on as it was me who was handing out the unhygienic bog washes and the life-altering wedgies. The headmaster called it bullying and punished us accordingly. After suspension we came back and redefined the word bullying. No principal has ever been so hated for punishing the cockroaches of a school. At this stage I considered the possibility of making one of those new and improved girls my girlfriend, but it was my duty as a cool guy to have many girlfriends, and I didn’t complain.
The girls began to drive themselves further into hopeless despair and misery by seeking this inanimate “love”. Some claimed they found it. Funnily enough, this love that was going to carry them through to marriage was found with plenty of okes. This is something that I know because I was fairly loose back in the days. I felt no shame in telling some sweet little Flossie I loved her because I knew she would reward me handsomely in exchange. All I had to say was those three simple words (I love you) in exchange for home base. YEAH!! It seemed like a perfectly good exchange. One I never passed up on. “I promised to save myself for someone I love and who loves me too”. That statement was a turning point in my life. Ironically the number of times I said “I love you” were directly proportional to the amount of times that I had sex. Coincidence? Hmm…
So was I the bad guy? I was crushing these girls’ dreams of finding everlasting love because I wanted to get action. There is a school of thought that says that I was helping them realise that there is no such thing as love. Unfortunately I am the principal of this school of thought, and my pupils are usually guys who have track records similar to mine when it comes to the opposite sex and relationships. The other school of thought condemns my actions and labels me as a reckless heart–breaker who will soon get his when he eventually falls in love. Those are usually the chicks whose tears I’ve seen far too many times. To them I say “Sorry, I was young and stupid and I was just seeking some sexual adventure.”
Well, as luck and irony would have it, the tables did turn. I was fresh out of high school. Here I was the perfect player. I hit varsity thinking I was cooler than a frozen lake. I was about to find out that life can come back to bite you in your behind. I had always been to school with a far more privileged bunch of youngsters. We had to fence during PE while other guys tackled the life out of each other, like uncouth hooligans. Besides the fact that this was the reason why most of my peers were to be considered poofters in later life, we were also gentlemen. And the girls that went to school with me came out as prim and proper ladies. Sure I had been exposed to sexual escapades, but I think I had only enjoyed the sexual encounters of the prude kind. Them varsity honies were in another league all together. A league that got me to fall in love, and I fell HARD.
Of course I was swiftly replaced by another and far more, experienced guy. The reality that I may not be the king of the sheets was made clear to me after being with this chick after a few months. I was heart–broken for the first time in my life. I went on a rampage of fierce boozing, but that loose goose had left a hole in my heart. Of all the girls I could have fallen for, I fell for the worst of them all. It was as if justice had been served. In fact, justice had been served. I swore to respect all women and treat them as gems. I swore to respect whatever others think they feel for their partners. I learnt never to say “I Love You” unless I, like my ladies from the past, actually believe it (whether it be true or not). And I have also learnt a whole lot of tricks in bed that I realised not all women like. (Sorry Susan, I didn’t know that you wouldn’t like me sticking my finger in there).
I have never really been a huge fan of cricket. Sure I played the game at school and I quite enjoyed playing it, but sitting all day watching a test game is almost like watching a cake bake in the oven. My philosophy on cricket is quite similar to my philosophy on Formula 1 racing, just watch the first five minutes and the last five minutes. It is then very strange that in the last two weeks I have watched two live cricket matches.
The first game was in Johannesburg on Saturday 15 January between South Africa and India. I was fortunate to have been invited to a box suite at Wanderers by my friend Prince, which meant free food and free drinks. I took advantage… I realised something really important about cricket, it’s much funner to watch from a box where there is snacks, booze and a flat screen TV for the replays. To be realistic, I think I actually watched more of the game on the flat screen then out the window.
South Africa lost that game, and I was actually quite sad at how we lost, but on the flip side, that game got me interested in cricket again. I swore after that game that I would not go to a match unless I had box tickets, but two weeks later I found myself in Cape Town at Newlands stadium watching the cricket from the stands. I learnt something very important that day about cricket, it’s great to watch from the stands. All in all, I actually like watching cricket live even if it’s a good excuse to be out of the house – which I haven’t been doing too much of recently. It was fun being at the cricket with Justin, Luke, Que, Todd and Johan, thanks to Standard Bank.
On Saturday, 16th October 2010, Trevor Noah performed his latest one man show, “Scratch That” to a capacity audience at the Baxter Theatre. The hall has a maximum capacity of 630 seats and although the Grand West Arena can hold up to 7000, an audience capacity of 630 people is nothing to sneer at – especially within the comedy industry. He had performed to capacity crowds since the opening of his show on Wednesday, 13th October 2010.
Trevor Noah performed two back-to-back two hour shows that evening, which is quite an achievement for any comedian. The Baxter was buzzing with excited bodies ready to put name to face of the comic who had exploded after his ‘appointment’ as Cell C’s “CEO”. Most of the audience members had never seen Trevor Noah perform and had only known of him from the billboards (which are EVERYWHERE), television adverts (including the hawk cawing one), newspaper, online and print.
I was caught between the buzz coming from his earlier show and the anxious buzz of those who had not seen the show yet. The air was quite electric. After a relaxing glass of red wine, headed into the hall so that Trevor Noah could amaze me with his comic brilliance.
The opening act that evening was Robbie Collins, who will actually be opening everyone one of Trevor’s shows on tour. His material was memorable, his delivery was clear, his comic timing was on point and he looked as if he was having fun on stage.
Then came the tumultuous applause for Trevor Noah (which I found very interesting because Trevor had not had many performances in Cape Town, so most of the people there had only seen him on his TV show, YouTube or the Cell C campaign, amongst other campaigns) which was humbly received by the first Generation coloured South African comedian who has commercialized comedy in a huge way.
His set was a typical Trevor Noah set that had a very clear delivery, some though provoking ideas and topics smothered with a variation of accents to keep the audience intrigued. The construction of the set was very well done and it did not even feel as if it was two hours, although an intermission would have made those of us, with bladders like humming-birds, extremely happy.
His set ended with a very patriotic rendition of the South African national anthem which is a sure fire way to get the audience on your side. Overall I enjoyed the set, but having seen him live on many occasions and seen what he is capable of, I was actually expecting a little bit more from him.
His performance was fantastic for fans who had never seen him perform but for a fan of live entertainment and a fellow entertainer myself, I feel that his use of expressions and accents were used as more of a smoke screen and a time-buffer rather than how he used to use accents and expressions strategically to enhance his punch lines. A lot of people always wondered if he would be able to top off his “Daywalker” comedy set. After a very successful run of “Scratch That”, I still think that we have more to see from this comedian in the future and hopefully one day he will give us something better than “Daywalker”.
The other thing I found quite interesting about this show was the title – “Scratch That”. The term “Scratch That” implies disregarding, omitting, or ignoring a previous statement. I was not too sure if his intention was to have the audience try to forget everything that he has said, while sub-consciously allowing the irony of his reverse psychology to sink in, or if he was using the term “Scratch That” to imply the process he did while actually constructed his set. I would like to think that his inspiration for his title came from the latter, because it creates a fantastic metaphor and image of a comedian writing and re-writing his set, scratching jokes that won’t work and improving the ones that will. Evidently a lot of time and effort went into this show, but deep down in my heart of hearts I was secretly hoping that he would have put in a bit more of that Trevor Noah spice into the set.
No matter what I think of the show, commercially, the show is a hit and because of the successful run of “Scratch That” his ‘likes’ on Facebook has increased to 340 800 likes (and counting). The show is very simple, with no flashy lights, piano or backdrop like he had in “Daywalker” and thus was trying to get down to the core of what stand up comedy is about. The show was well executed but behind the veil of expressions and accents, was lacking in as much punch as “Daywalker”. Stand-up comedy is based on punch… and punch lines.
I am quite excited to be performing at the new and improved Jou Ma Se Comedy Club which is still every Thursday, but is no longer at The Albert Hall. I had performed at the Albert Hall JMSC last year and I did enjoy the setup at the Albert Hall, so much so that when the stopped running the JMSC at the Albert Hall, I thought it would be a good idea to run a comedy show there, so I did. I ran a comedy concept called “The Show” which was a blend of comedy and comedy-music.
The comedy band – The Brothers Streep, were the resident band that would open the show and featured at every comedy night that we held. “The Show” had a fantastic run, but being a social entrepreneur I new that I need to find a venue that had more walk in traffic, was more centralised, offered food and was closer to home. Enter Purple Turtle.
Kurt Schoonraad must have also had the same thoughts in his mind when he moved JMSC to Riverside Pub in Obz. JMSC is one of Cape Town’s longest standing comedy brands and has situated itself as a brand of premium comedy. I am quite excited to be performing there on Thursday, 28th October, so if you guys would like to check me out at Jou Ma Se Comedy, feel free to pull in. If not, don’t worry, you will get to see me at Blacks Only on 5th November 2010 at the CTICC and you all know that I am always at Funny Bones every Tuesday.
I will definitely do a review of the venue and I will add it to my list of Cape Town comedy clubs. Once I have completed that list, you will have a conclusive list of all the comedy clubs in Cape Town. Catch you on the flip…
Saturday, 25th September 2010 was a very special moment in both my careers as a comedian and as an employee of Afrigator as I hosted the South African blog Awards at the One & Only Hotel. As a comedian, it has been a highlight of my career performing to the most influential bloggers in the country and to an audience that included the Honourable Helen Zille and comedians Peter “Blade” Sserwanga and Paul Snodgrass. As a blogger, it was an honour being surrounded by some of the most creative and intelligent minds in the country. As an employee of Afrigator, it was great for me to finally put face to name as our network has 15000 blogs that we aggregate on Afrigator and about 215 blogs that I, specifically, sell the advertising space on.
My personal highlights of the evening was Helen Zille’s speech where she mentioned that “Bloggers are the new voice of society.” and, of course, the after party at the One & Only’s Vista-bar where Marcel the magician amazed me with some fantastic tricks (Including levitating one of my own R10 bills from my hand). I must congratulate my buddy Thomas and the Don’t Party team as well as all the 2010 SA Blog Awards winners.
I cannot tell you how happy I am that people enjoyed my MC-ing of the event. It was great meeting some fantastic people, including Aslam Levy and Lize The Unicorn. Now I need to focus on the week ahead. You can catch me performing comedy on the following nights:
Monday, 27th September 2010 – Naked Sushi Comedy Night at the Cape Royale (CPT)
Tuesday, 28th Septemebr 2010 – Funny Bones Comedy Night at the Purple Turtle (CPT)
Sunday, 3rd October 2010 – Cool Runnings Comedy Underground in Melville (JHB)
For those of you who head down to the Waterfront any time soon, just remember that the V&A Waterfront is running a fantastic competition where you could win 3 unforgettable experiences. Click this link to see how to enter.
This weekend was fantastic. It began on the 17th September where myself, Peter Sserwanga, Dylan Skews, Rustum August, Lungelo and Gino Fernandez performed at UWC for the Ithuba Arts Festival comedy evening. What started like an awkward gig (because it seemed as if we were going to perform to an audience of only 20 people) actually turned out great. (Rule number 1 of comedy is that there must always be more audience members than there are comedians on the bill).
The next day started with a very productive business meeting (gotta make that paper), followed by a hike into the Higgovale quarry (this is a must see for the adventurous), then followed by an exciting game of 8 on 8 soccer on the Seapoint promenade (gotta get that blood pumping), then followed by a romantic dinner with my girlfriend, Batya (Gotta keep my lady happy).
Then came Sunday. After an exciting morning jog around Tamboerskloof Primary School and an exciting breakfast cooked by my other half, I lazed around until 4pm watching The Unit (I’ll admit it, I’m addicted to it -- no matter how absurd some of the episodes are). Then I had to get ready for my performance at The Baxter Theatre for the Nandos International Comedy Festival.
The show last night was fantastic, and what most excited me was the reaction that I had received from the audience. As I only had 5 minutes on stage, I tried to give the audience as much of me as possible. (And they loved it) Highlights of my evening included performances from Orny Adams, Trevor Noah, Pete Sserwanga and Bobby Lee and a great conversation with Jonathan Arons (the trombonist who featured in America’s Got Talent). Backstage egos combined with front of house excitement made it an interesting night. Thanks to all the supporters last night and a big thanks to all the acts who performed and all the organizers.
After a weekend that great, it kind of makes you dread the week ahead, but with Talitha’s Birthday Comedy Show, Jeff Dunham this weekend and me hosting the SA Blog Awards, I an actually looking forward to it. Catch you on the flip side… let’s all have a great week.
Here’s a little clip that Peter “Blade” Sserwanga made from our weekend:
Sometimes I like to mess with people. In fact, I love it. I like to mess with people psychologically. Feed them false information just to get a reaction out of them. Sometimes I go up to ugly girls and tell them that they’re beautiful, just for the reaction. (In all fairness, ugly people need positive re-enforcement too. I know, because… I am one of them) That’s why us ugly people like myself are always the ones in relationships because we need the daily dose of ego stroking to feel adequate.
I hate physically attractive people. They always feel the need to complain to you about how many people want them and how much daily bat they have to dish out. I, on the other hand, am like a cricket ball and have seen more bat then Allan Donald. (Actually, everyone has seen more bat than Allan Donald) The point I am trying to make is that we give beautiful people too much credit and it all comes down to marketing.
Every time that you see a marketing campaign that has to do with health, the models used are unnaturally attractive. (Unnatural in the sense that they do not look as if two normal human beings gave birth to them but as if they were the offspring of Venus and Aphrodite’s lesbian sex tape) If the models that were selected had fantastic bodies and ugly faces, then slowly people would start associating health with ugly people and that would create a shift in society where being pretty represented being unhealthy.
This would mean that cigarette smokers, heavy drinkers and beer-belly wielding men would be cooler than the Matthew Mcconaughey look alikes. That will be the day that Jabba The Hut becomes a sex icon. Anyway, long term health is over-rated. Who in their right mind wants to live to see 105 years. By that age your hip is a rental, your penis is just decoration and your colon is a miniature porta-potty.
I’m just messing around. I am not ugly and I do not mislead people intentionally just to get reactions out of them (most times). I actually believe that healthy people are, in fact, beautiful because health and beauty go hand in hand. The media does mislead people into thinking that certain types of beauty are preferred or in trend, but essentially beauty is relative. In fact, beauty has many relatives including sexiness, allure, magnetism, seductiveness, charm and charisma (all of which are not necessarily based on physical appearance).
So what is the point of this blog post? I’m not really sure. All I know is that the other day while I was at Rafikis enjoying half price pizza, I noticed attractive healthy people are, especially athletes like Blanka Vasic, who are looking more attractive that the athletes 10 years ago.
I have not been looking after my body too well lately and I realized that it is time for me to get back into shape. I’m tired of looking like a Kwashiokor baby. I have a rugby ball shaped beer boop that makes me the real life Fatboy-slim or Biggy Smalls. There was a time when I used to do soccer, basketball and cross country now all I do is Asoka, biscuits and hot cross buns. Something has got to change.
It’s time for me to start sweating a bit more. It’s been two years since the car accident (where I broke my tibia and fibular bones) so I have no excuse why I should not be more active. I’m tired of people coming up to me and saying, “Wow, BEE is treating you well”. That’s like saying, “Wow, you’re fat”.
This morning I took a nice leisurely jog from Clifton forth to Bakoven and back. It’s a start. Every long journey begins with one step. This post is to me getting fat fit.
Welcome to Mumz The Word (and no, this is not a real Facebook page). Let this site be your comedy playground. I will post articles of interest to the comedy industry and articles that are just generally funny. I would also like to encourage you guys to send through jokes that tickled you or made you hurl with unadulterated laughter.
Welcome to Mumz The Word (and no, this is not a real Facebook page). Let this site be your comedy playground. I will post articles of interest to the comedy industry and articles that are just generally funny. I would also like to encourage you guys to send through jokes that tickled you or made you hurl with unadulterated laughter.
