Its Monday...

Who better to celebrate hot women on a monday with than a SeaGal....

Since the Seahawks won the NFC last night and the honour to meet the Steelers in the Super Bowl I figure one of their cheerleaders would do nicely... She does...

--------------------------------------------Nicely.

Every story has a moral...

Joey was happy. He had been dating his girlfriend for over a year, and so, they decided to get married. His parents helped them in every way, his friends encouraged him, and his girlfriend? She was a dream!

There was only one thing bothering Joey, very much indeed, and that one thing was her younger sister. His prospective sister-in-law was twenty years of age, dressed provocatively and was quite a flirt. She was also very good looking...


One day little sister called and asked him to come over to check the wedding invitations. He was surprised to find her home alone. She told him of her attraction to him and propositioned him. He was flabbergasted. She rationalized that it would be okay before the marriage while everyone was still single and that they could not do it after he married her sister. He was so stunned he didn't know what to say. She went up the stairs to her bedroom and said if he didn't follow her, that she would understand. Holy crap. He stood there in shock as he watched her go up the stairs. Then he immediately turned and went straight to the front door.

Joey opened the door, stepped out of the house and walked straight towards his car. His future father-in-law was standing outside. With tears in his eyes he hugged him and said, "We are very happy that you have passed our little test. We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome to the family."

The moral of this story is: Always keep your condoms in your car!

Ladies of DogTown ...

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away ... Wait, actually, cut the bullshit. I'm upset, very upset. Having chosen to visit my rather considerable rosckstarish charms upon the so-called Mother City this festive season, I must admit I expected a lot. Aim for the stars, and you may land on the moon, so the saying goes. The rest of the saying, which most will not remember, is that you should you overshoot you may land in DogTown - and I do not mean the skater trash movie.

Cape Town 'model season' has earned somewhat of a reputation, and needless to say has a lot to answer for. As I sit, lotus-position, and type I am surrounded by a bevy of, well, not beauties. Expecting an influx of Scandivanian multiple-birth sisters, I took up a Tom Cruise á la Cocktail-style job in order to be suitably positioned to be taken advantage of. Now I've seen the movie, and I'm a damn sight better than looking than Tom Cruise, and, goddamnit, it's 'model season' but by Great Oden's Raven, if Tom Cruise doesn't see a far-sight more better looking women than I have (even given the dodgy 80's hair) then I'm not Rockstar. In which case, I wouldn't be writing this article. Preposterous. Quat erat demonstratum.

Not, of course, to say that their haven't been any, but certainly I feel my powers could have been put to better use. (Note to self, try harder to conceal superhuman powers.) We would not, however, be the superior beings we claimed to be if we provided you with at least one solution. In this case, we'll throw in an extra one free - just like when you buy the left shoe.

In those cases where you may see some potential, but aren't sure as it obscured behind puppy fat, suggest this approach, as recommended by the dieticians over at WWTD:
Step 1: Take 1 chicken breast
Step 2: Fillet chicken breast
Step 3: Throw away chicken breast

In cases where the problem is largely above the neck (balaclava model, perhaps?) we suggest these nifty extreme makeovers, available for a mere $2.95 on the world wide web.

In extreme cases, use two


Or you could just be a rockstar, get out there and find yourself a real model. Hey, if Seal can do it ...

Audacious...

Got this emailed to me. I figure if the broad is dumb enough to believe this it is a suitable way to break it off.

Dearest Andrea,*

It is with great sorrow and remorse that I am forced to write this letter and especially under these circumstances. If only you had let me explain myself face to face when I stopped you in the gym parking lot yesterday instead of trying to run me into that guy’s Volvo. I would even had settled to explain myself over the phone as a second option had you not repeated hung up, screened my calls and then blacklisted my number. (I always knew you would harbor great perks since dating that vodacom technician in high school but I never thought they would work against me)

I am aware that this is not the best medium for which I can apologize through but alas you leave me know choice. The task I have to apologize is not an easy one. I can say nothing that will undo the damage I have done but I want to reiterate that I didn’t mean to hurt you.

It is difficult for a guy to explain to his serious girlfriend of two years that he had sex with another woman and it has led to her pregnancy. I acknowledge that for my horrid action there is no excuse but I stand (write) before you as a broken, humble and apologetic man.

I have ruined everything we ever had. The walks on camps bay, the hours making love in your school dormitory, the long conversation about life and stuff. All for what? A simple slip up whilst I was away? I never thought my aid relief in Ethiopia was ever going to lead to a wild, drunken, passionate love tryst one night. I fucked up. I don’t deserve you. I am truly sorry.

I understand that your heartache was compounded by the method you found out. I really didn’t think she was going to tell you before I could get a chance. I was always going to tell you. Unfortunately your pain will now be transformed into public suffering as I just found out that Heat magazine has got wind of the story and is running a front page article.

I am very sorry it had to happen like this.

Forever regretful and sorry,

*names have been changed to protect the innocent...

@#$%!

The most expressive, versatile and probably most common word in the world unfortunately shouldn't be used in the presence of approximately half the world. This is a pity as this generic term does have infinite usages. However this unwritten rule of verbal ettiquette is hard to abide to for two reasons.


Firstly, most women are not shy to throw around profanity and in fact some can swear for about an hour without even repeating themselves. If you didn't know any better you would think you were on the deck of the Black Pearl as opposed to an all female chardonnay fuelled book club meeting. The second reason is that these same females to whom you are meant to control your tongue in front of are the same that so strongly advocate gender equality. You want to be equal honey, then you fucking well don't demand me to change the way I talk in front of you...

My sentiments, and lewd tongue, will not change the fact that profanity will remain taboo in linguistic culture, although sometimes it is just unavoidable. I was emailed this documenting the expert usage of it through history...

They are as follows:

11. "What the @#$% do you mean we are sinking?" -- Capt. E.J. Smith of RMS Titanic, 1912
10. "What the @#$% was that?" -- Mayor Of Hiroshima, 1945
9. "Where did all those @#$%ing Indians come from?" -- Custer, 1877
8. "Any @#$%ing idiot could understand that." -- Einstein, 1938
7. "It does so @#$%ing look like her!" -- Picasso, 1926
6. "How the @#$% did you work that out?" -- Pythagoras, 126 BC
5. "You want! WHAT on the @#$%ing ceiling?" -- Michelangelo, 1566
4. "Where the @#$% are we?" -- Amelia Earhart, 1937
3. "Scattered @#$%ing showers, my ass!" -- Noah, 4314 BC
2. "Aw c'mon. Who the @#$% is going to find out?" -- Bill Clinton, 1999
1. "Geez, I didn't think they'd get this @%#*^ing mad." -- SadaamHussein, 2003

Not like most blogs...

Most blogs find they need a valid reason to put up a post. I think we can agree I don't need a reason for this one, or at least that the reason is intrinsically woven into the bikini bottoms of the second doll...


Nice!

RSLJ: Article 8 Angles…

Life can very easily be likened to a game. You spend a few months preparing, it begins and according to the game clock it will inevitably end. This could explain why people like sport so much. Sport is a game within your life game. Sport is like mini episodes of life that you get to either participate in or just sit back and watch.

To perpetuate my analogy many facets of life that people seek to succeed in echo a similar trait to one many sports have. At the end of a sports game the winner is usually determined by which team or individual racks up the most points. To outscore your opponent you have to exhibit an offense that trumps his defense.

So here is the thing, to be successful requires you to breakdown defensive barriers. For a pious person it would be to conquer the faith barrier and believe whole heartedly in a religion or god that you can’t test or prove. For a rugby backline player it is straightening the sliding defenses and having the pace and skill to then beat the cover. For an investment banker it would be to break into the emerging market before anyone else. For a suppressed minority it would be to abolish the restrictions of inequality. For a horny guy trying to get his freak on it would be the veil of coyness and aloofness a girl protects herself from horny guys with…

Hence I find life in many respects to be nothing more than breaking through a defense. If you find this argument non-sequitur it is probably cause you weren’t following. Moving along…

So what is the key to breaking D? I am an atheist member of a majority that has no interest in the corporate world with less skill on a rugby field than I have before a woman. However I am a skilled observer so can relate one of the most important facets of offensive play. It’s all about the angles…

Dan Carter has his flat attack drift thing which he easily straightens from to beat a slow inside defender. Reggie Bush has his unpredictable swerves, steps off both feet and more pace than a Japanese public transport system. Shaka Zulu had his bull horn frontal envelop attack that never failed. John Nash had his let your mates hit on her ugly mates tactic. Sun Tzu had so many angles of attack he wrote a book on it...

My elaborate (yet well elucidated) point? Whether you are trying to break into the corporate sphere, trying to win a Rose Bowl, crashing it up against the opposition, waging war against another state or just trying to score some hot ass you have to play the angle that suits you best and deceives the defense the most. And in that you have a winner…

To illustrate my point I am going to pillage from the lives of many idiotic men out there that don’t get laid cause they played the wrong angle. Actually it is not the wrong angle…it is the worst angle.


Drum roll please. The worst angle of attack that a guy can use to get into the pants of a prospective lady is the ‘friend angle’! [its official unabridged name is ‘ididntbackmyselftopullhersowebecamefriends angle’!] The reason is because it NEVER works. [some ‘nevers’ do have anomalies which I will explain in good time]

The reason this ‘friend angle’ is as futile as playing golf at night is that girls and guys can never be friends. Please read that again. Yes NEVER. Guys are only friends with girls under two circumstances. The first I have outlined above and the second is that he is gay. Every time a guy is friends with a girl it is cause he has the aim of trying to get into her la senzas, or he is not that way inclined...

[need I mention that every time I refer to a female I am referring to a hot female that is worth trying to jump into bed with? So if you are formulating the ‘But I have ugly girls as friends’ argument as a retort you are a perverted fuck who is trying to get ugly ass]

You see the problem with using this angle is that girls don’t realize that men are trying to project this image as a nice, lets go for coffee and be exercise and study buddy, guy as an effort to instigate a friendly game of hide the salami. This effort is horribly in vain, because girls don’t see this, they don’t consider you a threat to their chastity so they don’t consider you someone they would want exchange bodily fluids with…

It is for this reason that girls will fight whitened tooth and manicured nail with my statement that girls and guys are never friends. To them platonic has meaning; to guys it is laborious foreplay that isn’t going to get you on the scorecard.

You don’t like my theory? Test it. Go out there, find a nice broad and become friends. Straight up from the start don’t compliment her, don’t flirt with her, and certainly don’t send her any fuckme stares. The result? She will tell her she loves you! You see, girls say I love you to friends. It’s the absolute kicker. Because she does love you, as a mate.

Give up the angle bud. It’s the worst there is. One night she may get drunk and use you as an orgasm crutch but the next morning she will regret it and say she has ruined your friendship, no matter how much you protest the opposite. And don’t feel special cause you got some ass, girls kiss their girl friends all the time. If anything it just bumped you up a few notches on the will&grace ladder. Continue like this and your man card is soon to be revoked…

Monday Maxim...



Swimsuits...nice

Bullshit!

I let very few things piss me off to the extent that I actually want to do something about it. At the end of Shrek 2 when the big green couple had the option of living the rest of their lives as hot humans and they refused, I didn’t email DreamWorks and say “come the fuck on…”! When SANZA gave SA another franchise for the expanded Super 14, I didn’t make “At least the Stormers won’t come last!” t-shirts. When the Wynberg magistrate confiscated my license I didn’t appeal! When Katie Holmes started partaking in statutory rape of Frankie Muniz's little brother I didn’t bitch and moan or…err…make Free Katie shirts…

You see? Pretty much an easy going laid back kinda guy…! However some things are just so erroneous and iniquitous to society that I have to get off my lazyboy and do something. I took a big fish to task on this matter, and since I am a huge advocate of equality so will heed a lesser fish no mercy.

Earlier Nancy Gibbs (23-12-2005) felt the wrath of the rockstar muscle for her ambiguous use of the term. You should hopefully see the sarcasm in my reference to wrath as we all know she hardly gives a full page advert space for webbloggers that gripe her use of the English language. Knowledge of this before writing my view didn’t sway me from sticking it to The MAN (the gender inclusive man) and neither does the purposelessness of my view now dissuade me…

I came across another incorrect usage of our beloved term during my yuletide net surfing. It pissed me off that the text on the site is written in white and to ‘cut and paste’ it you have to change the colour to read it. Fucking annoying but as I said, I am an amiable kinda guy… (besides I suppose blue on white is used by splattermail.org, and borrowing their idea would make you no better than someone who steals from say... wwtdd.com…like…um splattermail!) I digress.

Here is the kicker: “It's true, anyone in Cape Town can be a rock star. Christmas obviously bestowed some new shades upon the faces of our pseudo rock stars.”

What the fuck??? Everyone in Cape Town can not be a rockstar!!! You need a webblog specifically stating you are one. It’s like a 00 license to kill; you can’t buy such decorum at 7eleven. Admittedly the second sentence is more correct in that it implies these people masquerade as rockstar when in fact are very far from it. That’s believable.

But an audacious quote giving hope to the little people out there is just cruel. It’s like letting a white guy compete for the 100m Olympic gold. Why don’t you just rip his heart out and stand on it and save him the embarrassment of only crossing the finishing line when the black panthers are halfway through their victory lap…

How many cape town cockdiesels lay on their beds that night making a mental note to replace muay thai gloves with rockstardom on their next xmas list???

Okay, so the quote is probably a little out of context and there were some high points in the article, but the rockstar references are totally incorrect and off beam. The author even goes as far to imply that if you drive a Citi golf you are not a rockstar. Swear to god it is there in the text, just narrow your eyes from the glare.

What so I guess you have to drive a 2001 Golf 4 GTI to be cool, or does that also fall into the 'cars not considered rockstarish' category? It’s not what was on the price tag bud; it’s who is behind the wheel…!