"But I don't want to go among mad people," said Alice. "Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad," replied The Mad Hatter. " But how do you know I'm mad?" cried Alice. "You must be. Or you wouldn't have come here."
ALICE:
The sweet poppet who felt confined in this world of politics, arranged marriages and lady like behaviour decided to follow a little white rabbit with a waist coat and accidentally fell down a hole! Well, what people don’t know about Alice is that she is a horny little fuck! And falling into that hole has done nothing but set her free in the land of dreams, where she can gallivant around butt-naked, tits out and hormones racing! Now, in this Wonderland of vodka flowing rivers that glisten like disco balls and topsy-turvey flowers that enchant you with their smiles, this blonde bomb shell is out to play, and play she will! Although she has the tendency to be horribly vulgar and quite sultry at the same time- she’s a load of fun and will probably get your blood pumping, in all the right places!
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS:
The Queen of Hearts is a bitch. Her title most ironic. The Queen has anything but a heart (nor a brain for that matter). In its place lies a chamber full of hate and anger, pumping rage through her every being, her body feeding off other peoples misery and misfortunes. The Queen of Hearts, unable to see others pain through her own vanity, has no remorse or guilt. She is brutally honest and delivers it as it is. No matter how grotesque or unwanted the news might be. Through all of this, however, the Queen has an attractiveness about her. Like a spell it draws you in. Even with her arrogance, vulgarity, and plain right rudeness, one cannot help but to like her. Slowly you get sucked in and before you know it you too are one of her cards, her minions, laughing at her insults and joining in the name-game. Her hilarious outlook on life and inability to hold back on anything draws you to the dark side in one swift swing of the club
THE MAD HATTER:
You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
It has come to our attention that the SA blog awards are around the corner... Now we have been going for a only a short while, and do not exactly expect to feature, but you know what, we are going to give it a bash... I mean, what do we have to lose right?
So please vote for us. Get your flat mates, siblings, friends, anyone, to hop on the train and let’s take this to a new level.
You can follow the link on the right hand side of our page, or click on the picture below... We are only trying for one category, BEST GROUP BLOG, so please stick to that one. They will then send you a confirmation email, and you have to follow THAT link in order for your vote to go through, so please let's try our absolute best to follow through with this whole process. Take some ritalin if you have too...
Holidays transform people into their rawest state of being. We become wild and free, restless and hungry for passion, fun, life! It’s the time when people let go of their inhabitions and moral beliefs and follow what one can only call, an animalistic calling. Evolution seems to take a backseat and we are driven by pure pleasure and desire. The holidays took hold of me, cornered me in and turned me against my moral instinct and intelligent decision making skills. They pushed me so far back into that corner, that one would have to squint at an angle to make out any human qualities at all, because all that prevailed was an animal. On the loose, the prowl, uncaged and feisty.
It’s been a good 4 weeks since the holidays have ended, yet I can’t say I have returned to my human self. The animal still lurks, still hunting. These last 4 weeks have been contorted, shifted by large amounts of alcohol and men. Is it time to buckle down and realise I’ve gotten out of hand? Or is this the onset of a whole different life all together?
Through these distorted weeks I have met the most incredible and most obscure people ever. I have come to realise that our specie is truly ‘effed up. To give you an indication of just how screwed we all are, I have decided to compile a list of events that took place, regarding sexual activities and the how some people “get off” in the strangest of ways. I have had them all, ranging from nerd to jock, to punk, to emo, to fucking weird.... This is what I like to call my “Mystical Male Encounters:”
First of all it began with the band-man. Call me a groupie if you may, but there is nothing sexier than a guy playing guitar and singing strangled-up, nonsense lyrics that just get your nipples hard and your panties moist. He had the charm, he had the right words, he had the intellect, but he didn’t have the looks. He lay back, relaxed and let me take control. Just the way I like it. It was refreshing, and he was very much above the size spectrum, but the problem was the location... His parent’s house, in the nursery/day care his mother runs. On the floor, surrounded by dolls, colouring-in books, toys, and stinking of baby food and old shit diapers. This wouldn’t be so bad if it was our only choice. It was only when I went to wee that I realised he actually had a private lounge area, dining room, T.V room, fucking kitchen even, or his own goddamn bedroom!... ANYTHING would have been better than the room with clowns and miniature chairs and tables. Fetish perhaps?
Then we had the guy with short-man-syndrome. The shit stirrer that just loves getting into heated arguments and fights, even when he can’t do jack shit to protect himself. When a guy is obnoxious and genuinely arrogant, I get the feeling of just wanting to fuck the attitude out of him!... and I did. Because like most ‘big-talkers’ they aint backing shit, they don’t have many friends and they never get laid. It was quite hilarious actually- he came as he entered and tried to pretend it didn’t happen, hoping I wouldn’t notice his deflating dick. But I did.. I felt sorry for him so I lay there and humoured him for a while as he pounded heavily onto me, and I say ‘onto’ me and not ‘into me’ because there was nothing going in, just his waist slamming my hip bones. I couldn’t stand the torture any more so I rolled him off of me and sent him to the couch. Lame.
Then... ah... the nerd... Picked him up in a dark dingy club. He was motherless and I was horny. Went back to his place where I found out just how dorkish he really was. Boring garage type room literally had the corrugated iron roof and everything, mouldy carpet and it seemed as if the FHM poster girls were his only interaction with the female kind. But he was cute and kind (as all nerds are generally described.) Till this day I am sure he lost his virginity to me. It was like a Duracell Bunny hopping around, not knowing what the fuck to do, or how to react for that matter, scrambling for the condoms like I’m going to evaporate any second and then not even knowing how to put it on. He touched me as if I were a project at the science fair, rattling “typers’ fingers.” He was the perfect engineer, wore glasses, skinny, pasty white and not even potentially funny. But I like to think I taught him a few things.
From nerd we move along to ze Porra! Dark wind-swept hair that seemed perfectly gelled to his head, as if it were a helmet, thick sculpted brows and a wide, pearly smile that read “sly man whore” all over it. His brightly shining grin was emphasized by his deep olive complexion. He had the accent and the moves, and called me “his cow-girl.” It was like a scene out of Havana Nights. It’s a pity how pretty pictures can be ruined with words... Every time he opened his mouth with a “oh Bebi, I like that.” “Oh Bebi, come a liedel bit closer!” “OH BEBI you’re soo Haat!” I wanted to chunder! It quickly turned from Havana Nights to –this could be a fucking pool boy, Gigolo named Rafael and I could be a male gorilla, he would still fuck me! Not to mention the distinct smell of Lays Spring Onion on his breath. God, there is nothing worse than going home with a greasy perve. Hung like a horse though!
As time ticks, we reach the punk, just an older more mature version, but a punk non-the-less. He was one of those mutual friends, easy fuck buddies. Very friendly, would party with him anytime, great guy as a whole and its awesome waking up in a hospitable, none- awkward environment. The only problem isà He is pretty fucking nasty! We were going at it for quite a while, over an hour to be honest. But with the friction from the condom, things started getting pretty dry. I stopped him, (mid-doggy) and suggested he get some lube. When he apologised for not having any, I just shrugged and got comfortable for a good night’s sleep. 10 minutes later he tapped me on the shoulder and said: “uhm, I don’t have lube, but I have slym!”... “Slym?...Whats that?”....He coughed and said: “like I have phlegm in my throat, we can use that?” Now fucking excuse me siffo! But this is not a fucking porno, what makes anyone think that a chick would want some guys virus infected, lung oyster up their vagina??! Jesus, game over!
As a committed party animal, one of the perks is fluttering around, hooking up and then bouncing off to the next, smiling and batting my lashes vibrantly. After an eventful night of boy hopping I met the Average Joe. A polite Afrikaner with smiley eyes and a naughty face. His approach was far more traditional and less drunked than many in the past. Bought me drinks, danced all night and invited me up for some red-wine. I guess I fucked him just because he was so normal, and so quaint. The night was long, I dominated as usual, but he knew how to handle me. We made our way through an array of positions as he played some sweet melodies on iTunes. Very courtly of him, I could tell he recently came out of a long term relationship, which he did. He was one of the lucky ones who had been previously trained... thanks girl. I guess I was his re-bound, and I digged it.
I could continue down the list, but that would just be slutty... ;) There’s a little taster of my recent experiences regarding the odd screw. If you have any really strange Mystical Male/Female Encounters, tell us... we want to hear all about it.
There are some things in life that are just too good to be true. One of these things just happens to be unveiling the truth of a best kept secret that has had you blindfolded for years. Now I don’t really have a talent – that’s no secret – so finding out that someone else’s talent is a fake, is a real brightener to a shitty day. Especially finding out that the greater part of our western worlds role models, idols, and musical influences have been feeding off of our naivety. In fact, that’s not entirely true, they aren’t feeding off our naivety, they just haven’t shared with us the secret, because they know, that if we know what they know, we could all become multi-million dollar pop stars, resulting in them losing their ‘well-deserved’ status as a diva to yet another mediocre person. I have been meaning to share this with you for a while my dear music playing friend, so go on, have a look - the one way ticket to producing a multi-platinum song.
I suppose if we look at it further, they NEEDED to keep this secret, because if every Tom, Dick, and Harry could produce a number one hit, there would be no more number one hits, because every single one of them would be just as good as the last. Therefore ‘great’ would become ‘mediocre’ and the abundance of great music would wipe the magic out of music, sending it into a pit of irrelevance and despair. It would be referred to as ‘The great loss of music’ and would become yet another one of the worlds many problems, being right up there with global warming and the poaching of elephants. Therefore I am only sharing this with YOU, because if I had to include this in my plans of world domination, it would be not a triumph, but a tragedy.
Well, for the most part anyway... We took a month off, maybe more, not for ourselves, but for you. You see not only does OUR absence make YOUR heart grow fonder, but we also took this month to think a little, experience a little, completely overindulge in sex and alcohol, go wild a little, all in all returning with new EVEN better adventures to talk about, new found knowledge, and life experience. We definitely got some life experience.
(These stories coming later.... All in good time old friend.)
We also lost a companion. Surprise, surprise. The Hatter fell down the rabbit hole and was mauled by rats. The bastards. But the queen and I will be just fine without him - thanks for your concern. In fact without him we can truly flourish into the untamed hungry animals that we are, without having to worry about what the Hatter, and therefore my brother, may read. This blog can now go on, fully uncensored! It’s beautiful really. Something like Pandora opening her box if we wanted to get all metaphorical... Or something like a 16 year old girl breaking her hymen for the first time. Boys and girls it’s time to let your hair loose, strip down to your knickers, shave your pubes, and unleash the demon within, because it is set to be one beautiful, beautiful term!
It’s a hustle and bustle like never before! We board the train, Vuvuzelas owning the ears of all, tight fit, everyone- Black. White, Coloured, Foreign assemble. The train is so packed that I haven’t felt this squished since my mother gave birth to me. The carriage rocks with “Scrumba” and every surface is being stomped for beat. Smiles invade all the faces. Colours, paint, wigs and flags, a yellow sea of T-shirts, one just as excited as the next. 30 minutes go by and not a single soul has lost enthusiasm. We arrive- Cape Town City Centre, it is a dancing stampede, filled with song, screams and whistle- lets not forget the “BAAA” of the VUVU’s. Fan Fest here we come! The sea moves along swimmingly as strangers join and create an orchestra of cheers. For the first time in South Africa we have controlled chaos- the laughing police officers says it all.
The tar of Long Street has disappeared. Instead people, hundreds and thousands of people cover it. From the balcony it all just seems like a smudge of yellow, back. green and red- with a few miss matched speckles in between. Traffic-light hawkers have probably never sold so much useless merchandise before, but it sure is fucking awesome! It seems a mass of ecstasy, as though everyone is drunk, perhaps they are, but for the most they are drunk on happiness at 12pm Friday 11 June 2010. This is what we have waited for, this is where we are, the World Cup is all around us, this is South Africa. The expectations could not have been better met as every shop in Town houses hordes of fans, selling out more stock in one day than would have in a month. SABC 1 flashes everywhere as we dance along the pavement.
PAUSE** a guy wearing an Irish cloak and lepricon hat- Ireland isn’t even in the World Cup. Oh well- he’s got the spirit, or had too many spirits…
Alcohol is flowing faster than the sea of people, I spin, stop. Focus, and continue sharing a spliff with a dude from Congo. Can this be what it’s actually all about? The unity amazes me, amazes us, amazes the tourists, the essence of 2010, so much more than just soccer, but a showcase of our heritage. The Vuvuleza outlives all voices and echoes through the streets, people might fade but the “Horn of Unity” stands strong.
Quote:
“It’s so fucking awesome guys, I can sit in traffic and just blow my VUVU and some other car will blow back!... It’s like having a conversation without words, they know exactly what we are saying when we blow!”
“It’s like having sex with random people from other cars!”
It’s now, we loving it, part of it completely, so involved, so proud, so happy. All I can say is, HELLO AFRICA!
Dr Phil is a fucking idiot. I can’t believe that eight years down the line he still airs; everyday. I mean do people actually watch that shit? When we are living in a world of magnificent technological creations like DSTV with its FOUR HUNDRED (jokes! It's actually 190. I counted) channels of non-stop entertainment and magic, why would you tune in to channel 132, SABC 2? You are asking for a total mind fuck, and not in a good way.
The reason for this outburst is because while procrastinating the other day, I found my brother watching this crap. The topic of the day – How to control your kids in certain situations. Well this was Doctor Phil’s advice on a few of the ‘stories’.
“Doctor Phil, my child is 7 years old and is completely obsessed with the way that she looks. She has a list of rules (i.e. no sweatshirts, no leggings, no stripes, no pleats, no zips, no mismatched colours, no creases, and so it goes on and on and on...). It takes her 2 hours to get ready for school – 50 minutes for choosing an outfit, 40 minutes for her hair, and 30 minutes for everything else. Please help me. It is not normal for a child of 7 to care so much about what she looks like.”
Now lady, I completely agree. There is a big problem here and one that will probably lead to Anorexia and death. When I was 7 I was still climbing trees, riding bikes, and thought that I was a boy. But no, not according to Doctor Phil, this was his advice:
"There is no problem here. All girls care about what they look like and what image they are portraying. Your daughter, like everyone else’s, has found her niche and so she dresses accordingly. She is trying to give off the image that suits her. No problem."
Well thanks doctor Phil, that sounds just about perfect. Good advice.
Next!
“Doctor Phil, the other day I got a call from school because my son, of 5 years old, had instigated a little cahoot during class. He got 5 boys to line up, and said that he would show them his if they showed him theirs. Is my child normal? Is he possibly homosexual? How do I control this situation?"
Doctor Phil –
"This is normal. It is just a case of curiosity, not sexuality. However, it is mildly inappropriate to condone this behaviour in the classroom, rather do it in the controlled environment of a home."
Jeepers’ creepers. The woman is soon going to be convicted of encouraging child pornography, and soon enough she will be running a full-on male brothel.
I have personally sworn never to watch that show again, and definitely not to EVER, EVER take Doctor Phil’s advice. From now on he will be referred to as Mr Phil; he doesn’t deserve the title Doctor. He’s a fucking idiot.
There is nothing worse than people who pity themselves. Now I don’t mean one can’t cry over a sore toe, a crushed ego or a broken heart, but seriously, those manically depressed individuals who think that they are alone in the world, that they are more ugly than anyone else, and that nothing they do is ever good enough.... can just grow the fuck up and chuck that sense of self loathing!
I get that depression can often be a chemical imbalance in the brain and cannot be helped without the use of anti-depressants, but PLEASE for the love of god, if you are going to waste away in self pity, suffer alone! Yes, it is even worse when you have a problem with yourself and feel the need to get everyone around you involved too.
“Does my ass look big in these?”
No, no really you look great, if you are worried, maybe try a bigger size?
“Oh so it does look big then, it’s too tight and that means I’ve gained weight..... (Not that I ever do anything about it)”
-no, man fuck! You look good; I was just saying that, if it bothers you...
“So first you said I look great, now it’s just good. I knew you thought I looked fat”
Ah! Please, are you crazy! You look fucking HOT!
“Ok now you are just patronising me! If you really thought that, you would have said it in the first place...”
SHUT THE FUCK UP BITCH! Can you see how exhausting it is when you are around someone who needs constant reassurance!? And the thing that sucks is that generally people like this have a very sharp sense of humour and are incredibly witty (I mean there has to be some reason why they would have friends) Well their sense of humour which often makes use of sarcasm is due to the fact that they are constantly putting themselves down in their own minds and therefore probably have really good come- backs if they ever had to be involved in a ripping-off battle.
Another characteristic about these types is that they are so obsessed with comparing themselves to other people, to make sure that they fit the criteria of “normal” that every other endeavour in their lives becomes unproductive. Granted, these people often have already found their niche’ in life (because they analyse their own person so fucking much) and generally they excel in this, but it’s the only thing they can accomplish! They struggle to master the basic things in life like; keeping friends or knowing what is appropriate to say in a conversation or meeting new people (they choose to only surround themselves with long term friends and people who know them really well) and this is just fucking pathetic.
Try to see the world in terms of its bigger scheme; in fact just try to see the world. Get out of that enclosed, self-critical view that you have and open up your mind as to what is more important in life. It boils down to priorities and perception. Your average life, and your average looks are fucking average, and if it makes you feel better, “average” is like ‘standard’ or NORMAL. Stop making up problems, there are none, if you want to be a rebel, junky from a broken home and an abusive mother- then write a damn book, and you can live through your character. But for now, try and see how great your life is, and how much worse other people have it. I know you have probably heard this a thousand times before, but its true THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS PERFECT!!!!!
You are wasting your life feeling like you’re odd and that people are watching you wherever you go, Wasting your life looking into every mirror or shop window that you pass, just to see your own reflection and to judge yourself, fucking wasting your life when you don’t want people to stare for too long – cause it might cause an awkward moment. There is far too much damage and dirt in this world for you to waste your life on something that exists only in your mind. The only one who is critical, judgemental, obnoxious and sad, is you! And if you do have a very unfortunate background that made you this way, I promise you that there is always someone who is worse off, always!
You need to stand proud, look at yourself in a different light and soon other will see you differently too. The secret is that when you think people are gazing at your imperfections and taking note of them critically, actually, the only thing they are looking at is the way you hate yourself so much. Yes, people can see it and they don’t understand why. Confidence can turn you into a pro-active, self- loving, contributing human being, instead of a miserable sod! No one is going to run up to you and scream “you’re beautiful and I love you!” so say it too yourself! When you can admit that to yourself, you can be free and approachable. Only then will love and admiration find you.
It is easy to spot someone who is not getting any action. All around the world, every day of the year, there are thousands of sexually deprived boys and girls who lurk in the valley of frustration, where not only single folk, but those that are in relationships too, get sucked into this ‘curse of aggravation’ and often make it very publically visible.
Have you ever seen a dude in class, looking really strangely into the distance, while clenching his legs very close together? Then suddenly you notice that his eyes start travelling from one girl to the next as he searches for some visual stimulation. Well, that is a clear sign of someone in need of sexual satisfaction. Then you have the girl who sits on a bench reading a novel, probably a romance, ‘Mills and Boon’ kind of shit. If you focus on her for long enough, you will begin to notice her cross her legs, then again to the other side, then she glances up to see who’s looking, then glances down again and continues alternating sitting positions while her cheeks blush. Boom! Horny, and wanting some lovin’.
Lets move on to those friends of yours who all of a sudden seem more edgy than usual, ready to snap at any minute. Lack of sex increases aggression and assault, and it is understandable. Jesus, if I were a hormone, escalating up and down as a thought aroused me, then had to settle again, without actually being able to blow, Fuck! I’d be ready to pound a brick into the face of the next person who smiles.
Masturbation is always an option in relieving such suffering, but I’m talking about those uncontrollable urges that people seem to randomly experience during the worst times, on campus, in class, or at work. Now unless you are like Runckle (Californication), you will have the decency to wait until you get home before “settling the storm.”
So you get home, what a fucking surprise, “Mom it’s so nice of you to visit!” She stays for dinner, you have to clean up, then your best friend calls for relationship advise, and the only advise you can give as to why ‘Johny won’t pay enough attention to Sally’, is “because you not throwing your pussy at him!!!!!”... With this, it’s pretty much a given that there is serious tension in the nether regions. No, not only the nether regions, in fact sexual frustration is much like a disease that takes over your entire body, slowly eating away at your every being....
I can only describe the same kind of pain and frustration to people who are creatively inclined and incapable of expressing their inner desires. It’s like an artist without a paintbrush, a singer without a microphone or a fat person without a burger! Desperately trudging through the day as your frustration starts to build, grinding away at your teeth until all you have left is gum, rubbing your hands around and around as your skin begins to flake, clenching your knees tighter and tighter until your knees are blue, bleeding from the inside... That is the horror of sexual frustration. That is the curse of man.
Yes, I write this as I too experience such dismay and feel that I have been infected with the disease. It is an incessant fluctuation of boiling blood that never seems to rest. Why we don’t have public ejaculation cubicles bewilders me, - but I guess that’s what one could call a prostitute. All I can do now to fight it is page through sport magazines, imagining the after match shower next to Victor Matfield, “Grr come to Mama you hunk of Cave- Man!”
These past few weeks of exams have got me thinking.... Mainly about my future of being a Chartered Accountant as that’s the direction I’m headed. I can’t say I’m extremely excited about the work I’ll be doing, but I’m excited about the cash, that’s for sure. We’ve all had our dreams of what we wanted to be when we grew up, mine began with ‘a ballerina on a horse’, and then it slowly progressed to a Formula One racing driver. I can’t say either worked, and I can’t say an accountant came into any of those dreams either. Ever. But we give up, forget, and move on.
Well I’m happy to say, one long-time friend of mine didn’t. Ladies and Gents, I give you, Steve Benjamin! At first meeting you’d think he’s a seemingly pretty down to earth, laid back sorta guy. Well let me tell you, he is anything but. He is one of the craziest mother fuckers I know, and soon to be one of the craziest mother fuckers you know! You see, Steve does deep-sea diving, but diving in a way that you’ve never seen before. He’s only 27 years old and he’s seen more than you and I will probably ever see in our life.
He free dives with all those beautiful creatures that we hope and pray we will never, EVER bump into. His love in life – sharks. He follows them , and our other marine friends around the world, swimming with them and capturing the moments. Just looking at the pictures makes me shit myself a million times over, the thought of actually being right in front of the beast, capturing the photo, sends my mind racing to images of blood and missing body parts, and my heart into a rapid frenzy of minor heart attacks...
But not for Steve. See for yourself! I give you – Steve and the Beasts!
Now there are some things in my life that I can let slide. Forget about, get over, move on. They become less hot, less funny, and I find myself wondering why the fuck I was ever interested in the first place!? I can look and I can look but no matter how hard I observe this male specimen, the reason is just beyond me.
But sometimes, no matter what, the attraction remains and they make it onto my “To Do” list. For reasons I can’t explain I just can’t let them slide. I do not have any romantic feelings towards them anymore or any of that nauseating crap, there is just a curiosity of what would it be like the 2 of us in the sack. Would we gel? Would I orgasm? Would it be an awesome no-strings-attached-yet-there-is-a-bit-of-a-history fuck?
I mean the list is just fool proof! It’s a 100% guarantee of a good time. It’s brilliant really. It’s better than the normal one-night-stand (and they are pretty good too) because you have actually thought about this, fantasised over it even. It doesn’t come as a surprise when you wake up in the morning after a big night out; surrounded by the lingering smell of sweat, cigarettes, and sex, cum stains on your bed, and your vag feeling a bit raw. You had this planned! And now you can pat your self on the back, count your victory, swim in the sensation of accomplishment, and cross him off the list!
My “To Do” list I take very seriously, and it is definitely not something that I rush. Once the “chosen person” is on this list he is there for life, and in the end, we WILL do the nasty. It’s not a long list, only a select few, but so far it’s been great fun. It really puts ones priorities in order.
I highly suggest you make a “To Do” list. Just think about how once the deed is done, the sense of accomplishment that you will feel!? It’s phenomenal. But there needs to be a limit – certain criteria need to be met, other wise you will find every friend’s ex-boyfriend, old best friend, boss, and friend’s brother on there. It will become a list longer than Hugh Heffner’s and that is quite a feat. You don’t want to be disappointed at the end of your days when your list is only half complete. You want to be ecstatic - dying with a smile on your face because you know that you fucked the shit out of every lucky guy that wandered onto the list!
A few weeks ago I showed you the Haiti tribute song, produced by Quincy Jones. It made it to number one on ITunes and so far has raised over 63 million dollars! Now it was absolutely amazing and pretty unbeatable, but Simon Cowell challenged Mr Jones, ensuring that he would come up with a better compilation.
Well I followed up on that, and he did. Simon Cowell created a re-make of R.E.M’s Everybody Hurts, comprising of 21 stars like Leona Lewis, Mariah Carey, Jon Bon Jovi, Robbie Williams, Kylie, Rod Stewart, Alexandra Burke, Miley Cyrus (who has been lucky enough to feature in both tributes), Cheryl Cole, Mika, Michael Bublé, James Blunt, James Morrison, Susan Boyle, Westlife, and others.
Another phenomenal re-make! Hugely moving. A bit more graphic than the other tribute what with the people stuck in the rubble and all, but it’s necessary. If it actually came down to it I’d have to say that I prefer Quincey's version, but it really doesn’t matter.
Someone else, however, was not quite as positive about the whole thing... This is what they had to say:
“A humanitarian disaster of unimaginable proportions has hit a country long buckling from centuries of corruption and poverty. And what is pop’s response? Everybody hurts. It’s not just you, poor things. We poor creatures hurt too. “When the day is long” – hey, we sympathise, those aftershocks must be a right bitch, especially when you don’t know when they’re going to bury your family home deeper in debris – and “the night is yours alone” – especially when your wife and children are dead, and you haven’t got any food or water, that must be a right bummer – well, “hang on”. That’s what pop says: “hang on”. The temerity of that lyrical twist, its jaw-dropping tastelessness, telling people that have had to hang on already, forever, to just bolster their spirits in the face of devastation – a state unknown to pop stars who wouldn’t piss in a bottle for less than ten grand – makes it pop’s grimmest moment of all time.”
http://thequietus.com/articles/03670-haiti-appeal-everybody-hurts-rem-simon-cowell Hmmmm... Once put like that the lyrics do seem a bit ironic, but I can’t say I’m going to get all worked up about it. In the end it isn’t the song but the visual imagery that people react and respond to. Like they’ve always said, a picture is worth a thousand words...
Friday, is the day my friends! It’s the last time to go totally ape shit before exams begin, and what better way is there to do that than at Assembly with Haezer, Grave Danger, Bruce Willis, Lapse, Blush ‘n Bass, and INTERNATIONAL awesomeness Cyberpunkers!!! That’s right boys and girls, they’re here. They are doing a South African tour, saying hello to CT, Jozi, Durbs, a host of other places, and even Stellies! You can’t say no. People are going to be talking about it. You WILL miss out. If you refuse, it will do nothing but take you back to those feeling of isolation, those feelings that always arose when your pure little innocent virgin self was sitting amongst a group of whores as they discussed their favourite sex positions. You don’t want that to happen again do you?
Now I haven’t posted something in a while. I’ve wanted to, but there just hasn’t been time. I’m not too sure why because I still have not attended lectures (It’s going on nearly 6 weeks of unattended class, a frightening and horrific statistic), I still have not joined the gym (especially after I went for a run about 2 weeks ago and fucked up my leg so badly that I had to skip for four kilometers back to the car), and I still have not looked at a textbook or done that assignment that was due for 2 weeks ago. None-the-less, life has been hectic! The social calendar has been off the charts!
To try and create a bit of a lull in this department, I decided to stay in Stellenbosch for the weekend and to do some work. Everyone seemed to be going to Cape Town and so I would have nothing to do except work. Well that was a fail. Some Cape Town mates came up on Friday to watch Die Antwoord. It ended up being an awesome, eventful night; although I missed Die Antwoord due to my empty wallet, got hit on by a man that looked like he could be my grandfather, walked into a tree, fell down a flight of stairs, apparently hooked up, and found my friend passed out against my front door, using the step as a pillow. On a positive note I partied in great company, didn’t spend much money (there was nothing to spend), got free Mc Donalds, got a random lift home, and got to jam to PH Fat!
And so, with that, Saturday rolled in. I had planned to spend the day alone, with nothing except my books and an overdose of self-discipline. That was until The Queen rocked up. Before I knew it I had been to the Food Fair, returned, gotten comfy on the balcony, and popped open a bottle of champagne. Two hours later I found myself in Blouberg Strand with 5 other girls, 3 Gin and Tonics down, and another in my hand. Self discipline is not my friend.
Not long after, The Queen and I were absolutely motherless jamming in Stones and Buckleys; not having paid for one drink, having played hundreds of games of pool, and having made thousands of friends. Two of these lucky boys found their way home with us whereupon we partied until the sun came up, chilled on the beach, and then waved them off at 6am; pretending not to have noticed that they had reversed into the house – denting their Merc and leaving a huge black mark on the wall.
And so... Sunday swung by. After spending the whole day on the beach we decided to settle down and do some work. On Saturday I had consoled my self-loathing at my pathetic capability of being able to get my priorities in order, take life seriously, and do some work, by taking my bookbag along to Blouberg. It had worked and I felt good, but oh boy was that short lived. You see while I was frolicking on the beach doing fuck all except further confirm how useless I am, some sneaky mother fucker snuck into the house and grabbed the first thing he saw – my bookbag! Seriously. We were sure that he must have dumped it and so we commenced our search for the bright green bag. We found a bag alright, but not my bag. We found the owner of it using nothing but a Temporary drivers licence and a video card (the only things remaining in his wallet). What detectives are we!?! It's insane!This guy, Nicolas, had had his car broken into earlier that day and because there was nothing but Bible books and verses in there, the thief had dumped it. I’m still trying to figure out if his bag was left because it’s contents would bring karma, a moral conscience, and hell, or because the contents were of no worth to him...
Either way some motherfucker is sitting happily; covering my exam pad with stick men as he tries out every coloured highlighter known to man, while trying to figure out what planet a flash-disk originates from, with the assurance that he will definitely get laid tonight seeing as he just bestowed his wife with a beautiful green bag from Germany, smiling as he looks down at his hand, the R250 remaining of my food money looking lovely in his grubby paws, while his toes curl above the warm flames slowly enveloping and devouring my years worth of hand written notes. Fucking Great.
This is a comment that we received recently about the blog on Anton Taylors’ article. Thought I might share it and try to indicate just how silly some people can be...
babyshooz said...
hey doll, i read your "'retaliation' in words" before commenting on this frankly feeble blog post. I thought it would be cheap and mean to roast your written retort by arguing how it's an attack on Anton PERSONALLY whereas he is criticizing a general group, culture and mindset; honestly a cheap, immature, sour comeback to attack him personally (especially by perpetuating the problem you have with him- YOU don't know HIM: just as much as HE doesn't know stellenbosch students). that's an argument for another day and another blogpost though- this one is the one i was attacking, i don't need a link to the other (thanks for the help ;) ) and as before, this is still a shitty attack at him. profile pictures. honestly. if anyone is sour... it's gotta be you- the "anonymous" group who attack the man himself.
but, i mean, who am I to criticize, I "dont have the ability to read"
thanks for the entertainment
xoxo
gossip girl
Ok Gossip Girl... lets begin at pointing out a ridiculous statement:
“attack on Anton PERSONALLY whereas he is criticizing a general group, culture and mindset”
I am so happy that you got the point babyshooz, as that is exactly what I intended on doing; instead of attacking UCT, (because I truly believe it to be an amazing university,) I did indeed attack Anton, because if I did attack UCT then, firstly: I would be lowering myself to Anton’s’ level.
Secondly: I would be generalizing and saying that all UCT students feel this way about Stellies, which they do not. I would never insult a university with such prestige. Anton generalised, he stereotyped us and he displayed discrimination. Of course I would only retaliate to him and no one else, he is the one to blame, not UCT... you not a very bright girl are you? Because.... attacking a culture or group of people is seriously more bias, morally wrong and discriminative than insulting one person.
The reason for putting the profile pictures up was that we thought we would give our readers some kind of indication of how Anton looks, as well as showing his contradicting nature where he calls us “the drunken vagrants of tertiary education.” – Why call us that when he himself is clearly a heavy drinker? His insults on Stellenbosch gave the impression that he is a saint, which he clearly is not. “These pitiful creatures” was also thrown at us- Puking and making it his profile picture is pretty pitiful, and if he is so proud of the pics, why is it such a problem?? I’m sensing a wee bit of embarrassment.
Anyways, “this shitty attack”is anything but sour, I was simply addressing his assertion and showing how utterly wrong it is, not only unsubstantiated, but prejudice and immoral. I was giving Stellenbosch a voice, not aimed at insulting any students form UCT but Anton himself. I’m actually really sorry you feel this way, because you are a UCT student, and this was not aimed at you, it has nothing to do with you at all, like I said, it was just a little response, giving my view on the subject.
In the same breath however, I feel that your comment was needed, so that I could make clear my intentions with the blog post. I do not condone UCT, but rather Anton Taylor- so unless you are him, I have no goal in mocking you what so ever, no matter what university you come from.
It is our pleasure for providing you with entertainment and appreciate your contribution to our comment section. As you can see, we take all comments into consideration and try our best to answer even the most trivial of questions and respond to even the densest of opinions. It is also good to know that you are a religious reader and thank you for your prevalence on our stat counter.
What would this world be without stalkers? Well I think a much more pleasant place. Ok, I have been in Stellies for almost two years now and straight from the get-go, when I and all the other first years were making our way to our respective faculties, aimlessly floating down the corridors, as our eyeballs went crazy with intrigue, watching and observing all the new faces, I noticed something was up.
The BA Faculty houses some of the strangest looking people you will ever see. As most of the BA students are artistic and culturally orientated, they feel free to express their inner personalities for the entire world to see, letting their desires of Mohawks, tattoos, Satan worship and Asian style platted beards flourish. At first I was taken aback with this concept of liberty and eccentricism, but now I have come to love and enjoy the spectacles of the “Lettere en Sociale Wettenskappe gebou.” Every day is like going to the circus, as Elvis (an alternative bloke with dark hair that has a striking blonde Elvis curl, which bounces on his forehead with every step he takes,) Sumo (A morbidly obese dude who dresses like the drummer of Slipknot,) Riana (a coloured girl who is very pretty, but has shaven half her hair off and spikes the other side, who comes equipped with a lip, eyebrow and nose ring and a tattoo of a crown on her left arm.)
Then we have the Drama students who persist on wearing their costumes to class, I’ve seen everything from a fairy to a Roman Emperor. The B.A faculty is a mad house and holds the breeding grounds of Homosexual relationships and nicotine addicts- (picture Will and Grace, Lady Gaga and Marilyn Manson chewing a bat combined). I am proud to say the BA faculty has the most diverse group of students. The Poppies, the Hippies, the Loners, the “My grandma knits all my clothes” people, the Fat and Proud, the Emo’s, the Goths, the Anime’ freaks, the “I do art so I’m gonna make sure you see my clothes full of paint,” the Jocks and sport fanatics, the Covered Muslims, the Wanna be Rappers and the Nerds. Oh and don’t be surprised if you don’t understand what someone is saying; The BA faculty is home to international language studies, so often I find myself surrounded by German, Mandarin, Greek, Spanish, French or Nederland’s speaking students.
I have come to terms with the variety we shelve and absolutely love the array of strange individuals. But there is just one certain someone who I can’t stand. “The BA Stalker,” “BA Legend,” “Die Hard” or “The Ginger Burgie.” He goes by all of these names, if you have never encountered him, well then you are definitely not a BA student. This creep lurks through the hallways, with his beady eyes alternating from side to side as he preys on poor pretty girls. He wears the same fucking outfit every fucking day – a dark shirt with a white long- sleeve school shirt over, brown pants and black scuffed farmer-style shoes, AND HE STINKS!!!
Many stories have circulated as to why he lives at the BA. He doesn’t seem like a student because no-one has ever had a class with him, he carries exactly one book, does fuck all in Humarga, except for sitting at a pc and gazing around, and if he is a student and can afford tuition fees, why the hell cant he afford a new change of clothes? No-one has ever heard him speak and he looks like an old, poor- white, car guard from Strand who has a red complexion from sun damage or alcoholism.
Why in Randy Jacksons name has no one ever beat the diarrhoea out of this fuck head??? Probably because they feel sorry for the mentally retarded, because that is what he has to be if he is a 30 year old man who has nothing better to do than walk around, pretending to be a student, stinking up the corridors and prowling on girls. Holy smokes! If only one could draw the line somewhere, cause that shit is whack! Not only is he the only adolescent Wranger that I have ever seen, but the way he watches human interaction- without displaying any himself, seriously makes my intestine shudder.
If anyone has information as to whom he really is, please drop a comment. I can only imagine him being called Slitherin or Sméagol. I wouldn’t be surprised if I came back to visit my beloved faculty in 10 years time, that the “BA Stalker” would still be there, attracting flies and married to the tuck-shop lady, still stalking as powerful as ever.
Now my parents love me, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes they have a seriously funny way of showing it. I don’t know what it is but every time a long weekend is on the horizon, they make me seriously question their paternal instincts…
This stemmed from the Easter long weekend - A weekend all about FAMILY and family unity. Well, they went away, inviting me BUT informing me that they had given my bed away to someone else so I would have to make a plan or sleep on the floor. Well fuck that. I should be first priority! I am their one and only daughter for Christ sake, and a lady at that! Nevertheless, without hesitation, they left me behind. I was abandoned with no family and an empty house.
Now, another long weekend is in store. While having a lovely family supper last weekend my father politely informed me, “Mom is going away, I can’t deal with your shit, therefore, don’t come home this weekend. Yes, you are temporarily kicked out.”
Well gee wiz, that was uncalled for! I’m the perfect daughter, hardly given them a grey hair in their time, and what do I get for it, kicked out. Awesome…Still reeling I retaliated with, “Well that’s fucking awesome, what am I supposed to do about clothes?” Whereupon he replied with, “I’ll give you half an hour every two days to come and fetch some.”
I mean, is this a joke!?! What the fuck is going on! DAD!!!
My usual strategy with him, when I am not getting my way, is to threaten him with a pregnancy. It hardly ever works but what else is there to go on? So I gave it my best effort.
“Dad, if you kick me out where am I supposed to go!? My friends are all busy so I will have to find a random STRANGER who will take me home. A stranger whom I will have sex with him ALL weekend. Who knows what that could lead to, a pregnancy perhaps? Another child that YOU would have to pay for and look after because it was your fault?”
I was sure I had won, knocked some sense into him… He looked up, unphased, and replied, “Well as long as you don’t come home I don’t care what you do.”
Well that’s fucking great. So now I have a ‘family’ but no home. Can we not find a balance please? And maybe some love? Some care? SOME HUMANITY!?
Maybe I just need to find myself a new home, and a new family. Any takers?
Alice xxx
Wednesday, April 21
If being a student is supposed to be the best time of one’s life, why is everything so shit? I think I have fallen into that dark pit they call despair, where everything is bleak and the sun light seems to dim with every ticking second. I’m not trying to be melodramatic here, but fuck, I need a break. Exams start in two weeks and they seem to be a looming force, peaking over jagged rocks. These jagged rocks have sharp points that could pierce through even the toughest flesh, and are known as; Essays, Assignment and Tutorial tests.
Lecturers are lazy sons of bitches who leave everything to the last minute and thus decide that the last two weeks before exams should be filled with tasks to build up a predicate mark. Why they couldn’t do this a month ago, I have no clue. So right now I picture myself climbing over the jagged rocks, making my way to the looming exams, but I’ve managed to stumble, and am currently impaled between hundreds of sharp, stony spears, two of which are gouging out my eyeballs. Yes, I have a none- stopping migraine that is located in the sockets of my eyeballs, because of staring into the bright, white screen of my lap-top for 14 hours in two days, as I type never ending essays and pointless assignments.
My social life has not only gone to a ball of shit, but typing this blog, in the hope that someone will read it, will be the most contact I’ve had with the human race, this whole week. My legs feel dead from sitting in one place for so long, and I’m pretty sure that I’m going to need physio just so I can walk again properly. My only exercise is walking to the fridge to eat or drink something. Not only am I getting fat, but now I have no more food, and I’m broke.
Furthermore, my parents don’t want anything to do with me, every time I ask for a little extra cash to sustain myself, I get told I’m spending too much. It’s funny how all the times I asked for extra cash before, because I spent too much money on booze and cigarettes, it was so easy to get it. But now, when I’ve been doing my best to be a moral academically focused student, I must starve. Oh the unjust life we live. I’ve lost my friends, my parents and my money, what more can happen? Ah, that’s right, my car has decided to kick the bucket and has started fucking- out (apparently my alternator is screwed). So what do I do, seek comfort from my boyfriend? No, he loves ‘Pokémon Pocket Monsters’ more than me. When will these serrated, spikes release me from their painful hold?
As I have been spending the past week inside my quaint little flat, I caught myself inventing new methods of procrastination and entertainment. I thought I would share a few, in case you would like to try them:
1. Pluck your toes hairs, one by one- even if they are blonde and you can’t see them.
2. Learn the lyrics to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’- because they are damn hard to hear.
3. Look up a word in the dictionary that you don’t understand, and then just start reading the whole book, for interest sake. (I now know what pyaemia means: “blood poisoning caused by pus-forming bacteria in the bloodstream)
4. Count the amount of white cars that drive past your window.
5. Look underneath your bed, you are bound to find something interesting. - I found a condom wrapper, some stale chips and an SL magazine.
6. Try and tie your hair up with a pencil, like they do in the movies- took me a good half an hour long.
7. And finally just stare out of your window, day-dreaming while tapping your teeth with your pinkie finger (I did that for fucking ages)
After I post this, the donkey labour continues- my brain is starting to fry, when exams start I’m not going to have anything left but mere ash. At least the clouds are crying for me, it just means winter is approaching though, another depressing concept to add to my list.
We were taught to make collages in Grade one, and for those fast learners they may have even come to grips with the concept in pre-primary. On first learning about them I was a bit perplexed, it seemed rather bizarre. I mean, why would my teacher want me to cut out a whole lot of my favourite things from a magazine, and paste it all on one single page with no particular order or pattern? Had I been moved to the special needs class or something?
Well no, I hadn’t. I had just been taught how to make my first collage. Since then I have warmed up quite mightily to the idea because for someone who is highly unorganised and messy it is right up my alley. I aced that shit from that day on.
Well girls and boys, today I bring you the best collage ever!!! Well it’s not as good as the one we made of different sex positions but VERY nearly. VERY nearly. That’s saying something. Although come to think of it, it’s not really a collage at all. Maybe a montage. Ok it’s a fucking tribute.
It’s a tribute to the people of Haiti. Quincy Jones got all the biggest legends in the singing business to sing Michael Jackson’s – We Are the World. It’s bloody beautiful. Gives me goose bumps, no lies. The only problem (well it’s a good thing, but it sucks for my broke ass) is that in order to download it you have to pay, all the proceeds go to Haiti.
Simon Cowell is rather jealous and is saying that he is going to make a remix that will top this, but it’s going to be difficult. I mean imagine one song sung by; Celine Dion, Lionel Richie, Stevie Wonder, Jennifer Hudson, Josh Groban, Justin Bieber, Tony Bennet, Mary J Blige, Janet Jackson, Barbara Streisand, Miley Cyrus, Enrique Iglesias, Jamie Foxx, Pink, Usher, Randy Jackson, Orianthi, Fergie, Mary Mary, Lil Wayne, Carlos Santana, Akon, T-Pain, Will.i.am, Snoop Dog, Busta Rhymes, Iyaz, Kanye West, Kid Cudi, Jonas Brothers, Jason Mraz, Jordin Sparks, Vince Vaughn, George Lopez and many more! It’s like a dream come true. It’s basically a collection of the biggest legends on the planet. Except for Justin Bieber. I’m not exactly sure why he is there, AND he opens it up! I’m hoping it’s because he is a kid and a symbol for all the youth out there, or for hope, or for something along those lines, and not because people think that in this WHOLE month that he has been ‘famous’ he can now be seen on the same level as Celine Dion and the likes. If so, I will curl into a ball and slit my wrists- much like an emo kid would do. Except I would have reason for it.
So here it is, Michael Jackson’s “We Are The World”.
Written by Anton Taylor
Thursday, 08 April 2010 09:44
At the time of writing this I, like many other UCT students, am doing my best to come to terms with the loss of the Ikeys in last Monday’s Varsity Cup Final. I would love to say that it is just a game of rugby, and that I don’t care about what happened, but sadly, I cannot. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, the game meant a lot to me, as it did to thousands of us, and I really, really wanted us to win.(but you didn't) We had fought so hard (Bullshit!) and a loss was always going to be heartbreaking, especially when we came so close to taking the cup. (I agree that our boys were not up to their usual standard, but in stating this, it just shows how pathetic UCT is, because we should have lost- with all the ball dropping and shitty passes, but we didn’t, because even with all our flaws, UCT still managed to do worse.)
The second, and probably bigger, reason that our loss irks me so much is because of the way in which people seem to assign to the result of the game some measurement as to which university is better (and I use the word ‘university’ very lightly, in fact rather ironically, when referencing that torpid hell-hole of ‘academic’ squalor). (I have no idea where this information is coming from because Varsity Rugby has nothing to do with academics or the level of the University as such. Ikeys and Maties are merely rugby club teams that can be joined by any person within a certain age gap who has skills, therefore representing the area of Stellenbosch and Cape Town rather than just the Universities.)
I generally seek to avoid mentioning such repulsive places in my writing, but I can no longer do so. We need to have the Stellenbosch talk. I have to clear things up, and you need to know this: UCT has always been, is, and always will be, superior to Stellenbosch. In all endeavours, including rugby, UCT wins. (Your over ambitious statements have no factual proof, so stop blowing steam out of your arse. Stellenbosch is renowned for its traditions and camaraderie. Something that UCT does not and never will posses.
I do not need to describe Stellenbosch to any of you that have been there. If you were there last Monday you would have experienced the hate, the bigotry and the absolute bloody barbarism of its inmates. You were probably pelted with cans as you walked out of the stadium and, if you walked in alone (as I once did) - (and always will, because you are a sore little loser.), you would probably have been pushed into the fence or thrown to the ground by hordes of drunk, red-faced shouting dogs. If you were with a girl, a big gang of them might have come up to you and sworn at her, hoping you would retaliate so that they might beat you to a pulp. (The things you are mentioning happen all over the world when people get drunk. You have no right to generalise Stellenbosch like this. I come from Cape Town and most of my very good friends are in UCT, it is foolish of you to think that shit does not get out of hand in your part of the woods. I can assure you that if there were any fights or 'bullying' behaviour going on, it was probably caused by sad, aggressive UCT students, whom, like yourself were so let down about how crap your team administered the game, that the only way to let this aggression out was to look for trouble with a joyous, happy Maties drunkard. Either that, or your face is really offensive and grotesque and me myself would not even think twice before sticking my foot in it- not because you are from UCT, but because you are ugly, please stop taking your personal issues out on us. The students here are passionate and vibrant. They wouldn’t waste their time kicking a random dude’s ass for no reason when they could be out getting jiggy)
Every time I’m in Stellenbosch I find myself waiting for somebody to run up to me and go, “It’s a joke! It’s a joke! This isn’t real!” When I hear ‘Die Stem’ blaring through residence windows, and guys in cars are driving past and calling us ‘k-lovers’, I keep waiting for somebody to tap me on the shoulder and go, “We really had you going there! You didn’t actually think that this could really happen in South Africa in 2010, did you?” Yet nobody ever does. (Being the cleaver UCT student that you claim to be, you are doing something really stupid! By seeing Stellenbosch students as racist you are only encouraging the problems we have in South Africa today. You know it is not true, Stellenbosch, just as UCT is rich in different cultures, I have many black, Indian and Asian friends who do not, even slightly feel threatened at this University. What is your problem? The only type of discrimination going on is coming from you- 'Die Stem' is enjoyed throughout the Afrikaans communities and maybe it's not so much the University you have a problem with, but Afrikaners??
So let’s look at some hard facts, some of which you already know:
1. In the international rankings, Stellenbosch ranks hundreds of positions below UCT. Where exactly it falls is hard to tell, because the rankings generally stop after 500. (Coming into Stellenbosch University, every single student is aware that their degree will not be internationally recognised although some of them are. It is a choice of life we make. I personally plan to graduate from Stellenbosch and work in South Africa to bring something to the table and hopefully contribute to South African stance in the world, as we are the leaders of tomorrow. But in the real world, if a Stellenbosch student were up against a UCT student, applying from the same job, internationally, the UCT student would be Axed. If you are a representative for UCT, then I don’t think you stand a chance in hell because of your sheer arrogance and aggression.)
2. Stellenbosch is easier to get accepted into. Anybody who has applied to UCT knows that, and they also know how dubious and tired it becomes when some partially-retarded tool tells you, “I went to Stellies because it’s so much more fun than UCT.” (Fuck you are so egotistical and retarded! Are you seriously blaming someone for trying to get a proper education? If someone has applied to UCT but didn’t get accepted, should they just forget about their future and give up because "UCT is the best university and any other university will never be enough" look at yourself, you utter prick! How many people out there are trying to better themselves and become something, but no, they get mocked! You are pathetic.) Secondly- Stellenbosch is sooooooo much more fun! no one can deny that and you actually don’t have a say in that matter as you clearly don't know anything about Stellenbosch because you obviously do not and never will have any friends here, whom you can visit and experience Stellenbosch completely.)
3. At Stellenbosch rugby is everything, however, at UCT our Sports Council is seemingly intent on crippling our rugby side. Our budget is no more than R350 000. Theirs is nearing R6 million. We are an academic institution playing against a sports academy. We are accountants and engineers playing against full-time rugby players with degrees in BA Finger-painting. So the fact that we so nearly beat them, and that we one day will beat them, is a disgrace and humiliation to the students of Stellenbosch. If you think about what we did with what we have, UCT wins. (Don’t take the fact that you have a shitty budget out on us, money does fuck all when you are out on the field. there it is down to raw talent, hard work and determination. I'm not suggesting that UCT rugby does not possess these qualities, but we are just better. Further, if your “accountants and engineers” find it so hard to win a game and keep up with practise times, then maybe they should stick to the books and leave rugby to the guys who live and breathe it.)
When we lose it hurts, it chokes and for a while it sits on your shoulders, but that’s part of life. And part of being a UCT student is dealing with that pain, painting on some more blue, enduring their bigotry and beer cans, and continually supporting our boys, even during the wind-swept games without alcohol on the Green Mile. We do this because in our hearts we know that we are better. And if we can suffer, carry on and contest against rugby teams with far superior resources, can you imagine what will happen when we take that resolve and put it behind the best academic teachings on the continent? It’s actually unfair. (I’m all for pep talks, bring the positivity back, your pain must be too great to handle, so great in fact, that you are trying every single irrelevant excuse in the book as to why you didn’t perform. Nothing that you say to make you feel good about yourself again will change the score board, our budget, international recognition and teaching has absolutely nothing to do with your inadequate rugby team, and you know this, therefore you bring up pathetic, untrue excuses- fuck, how broke up about this can one person be?)
But perhaps we should let them take their victory in the final. Let them savour that fleeting happiness while it lasts. Let them keep their dumb, muck cheerleaders and their biased MC’s. Let them drink brandy and talk about how they beat the souties and the blacks. (The only reason you think our cheerleaders are “dumb” and “muck” is because they wouldn’t settle for your sad ass, and yes, we shall continue to drink our brandy until we pass out, and we will have good clean fun! I am a “soutie” and Stellenbosch, with its Afrikaans heart and soul is my fucking wonderland! Never have I ever seen a Stellenbosch student beat up a person just because they are black, or English. You have no evidence, no right and no brain!) Because, deep down, beneath that bravado, beneath the red faces of the men, and the make-up caked veneers of the women (women, not ladies), as they choke on that stale, old air of the past, they know what the future holds. They know that soon enough they will be flung out of their all-white racistenclave into a country and world which has moved on without them and which has no place for them. (You are the one who is left behind! In a time where people are trying desperately to dim down racism and create a unified South Africa, you come in with your unsubstantiated remarks and petty comments. You have crossed the line in attacking us personally- the women and men from Stellenbosch are part of the make-up of South Africa. They come from far and wide to attend one of the most unified and prestigious universities. These people are all around you, all around the world. You are alienating yourself like a fool. Less than 5% of the students come from Stellenbosch itself. They are from everywhere and they fucking love it here. Now, either you are a first year and don’t know how things work or you just have a way of making yourself believe in the impossible- but Stellenbosch Maties have been unbeaten for a few years now, and I am quite confident in saying that it shall remain that way for many years to come.
As the ill and old desperately cling on whilst feeling that cold dark death pulling them downwards, so too let these pitiful creatures frantically hold on to their dying way of life. For soon they will realise that their degrees don’t cut it overseas. (Neither does your attitude and screwed up perspective) Soon they will be serving the spoilt UCT first-years drinks. Soon they will be calling a black woman ‘boss’. And perhaps, in the midst of that great bleakness, it might make their pitiful existences a bit less depressing to think that they beat us in rugby a couple of times. (As humble as our University, I will humbly say that that may so be true. If serving spoilt UCT first years means we can take your money and earn ourselves and honest day’s work then so be it. And why do you mention “calling a black woman “boss” as a negative connotation? That is very possible considering the rise is women’s rights, leading to their higher stance in society. Or were you referring to the fact that she is black? Does that matter? Are you ultimately racist?)
We are standing upon the mountain as the leaders and creators of the future South Africa, and world. We look down upon Stellenbosch as the drunken vagrants of tertiary education. We are harder to get in, we are stronger academically, we are more diverse, we are more peaceful, we are braver, we will be richer, and despite their desperate proclamations, our girls are much prettier. (If you; a conceited, discriminative, stereotypical, egotistical, presumptuous kid, considers yourself a future leader in South Africa, then this country is looking pretty bleak. Your racial and uninformed remarks are disgusting and distasteful. You are exactly the kind of person this country and its people are trying to get away from. Your perceptions and notions about students in Stellenbosch lead one to believe that you have personal insecurities that need to be dealt with and that you are definitely not a candidate who can make these kinds of statements in the public eye, as you bring negativity, irrationality and disgrace to our land and UCT should be ashamed of you.)
UCT wins. UCT wins. UCT wins. Anton is a sore loser. Anton is a sore loser. Anton is a sore loser.
Join the table as Alice, The Mad Hatter, and The Queen of Hearts discuss daily events, express opinions and share stories in a very honest, humorous way.
