Talledega saturday nights: The ballard of Carly Pope

Fair enough anonymous. You spent saturday night at home learning instead of catching the new Will Ferrell movie. However that doesn't give you the authority to formulate a negative opinion about our monday girl. Go watch the flick. You come back saying that you think Leslie Bibb is still not hot and I'll entitle you to your opinion and then beat you like a red-headed stepchild...

I know sex appeal is hard to define and probably hard to translate onto a still image but you have to go check this girl out in a pit suit. Stop it.

Monday Racer...


I want to go fast! And I want to be a racecar driver. She only dates racecar drivers...

Rockstar of the moment...pah!

It is with great distain and bitterness that I pen this post, but it is my duty to get this out the way so I am just going to throw out the award.


My anger boils down to the fact that the worthy recipient is a guy I absolutely hate. He is everything I don't like in someone. However despite his horrible assemblage of misfortunate characteristics and the huge burden of having me hate him he still manages to pull something out the bag, something of rockstar magnitude!


The (I bite my tongue) right off that is Pete Doherty has taken his relationship with Kate Moss one step further and knocked the model up, and he has done it properly. Yes, it's true. You will see this week on the skilled purveyor of celebrity gossip, www.splattermail.org, that there is truth in the rumour. Basically it has been confirmed by Pete's uncle who just so happens to be the couples gardener. I think they meant hydroponic development expert but let's laugh off the details. However, I reserve the right to rescind this award if the uncle is lying...

It is interesting to note that since this article has been up on splattermail for nearly 24hours you will only have to wait another 24 to see the exact version copied in the Joey Miller column on the nadoes site. I love cheap shots...

Speak up man, you're through...!

I can understand the latent envy average folk harbour toward those of rockstarish disposition but I implore those people not to think it is all hot women, fast cars and great abs. Fair enough most of it is hot women, fast cars and great abs but there are also things like popular attraction and fame.


May I point out that these aren't necessarily good things. Especially in our country where people hand out celebrity status to people and events just because a royal son of another country attended them...attended the event and to the person!

These two voicemails and the phone conversation might assist in removing any doubt you have about this:

Voicemail 1: "Hey R (probably standing for rockstar). It is Philip here from the Steers Rugby Franchise. I urgently need to speak with you in regard this upcoming season so please phone me back on 083^%^%&)!"

Voicemail 2: (home phone this time) "Hi again Sir. (yes formalities go a further distance) I am again phoning in connection with rugby next year. It is Phil from Steers..."

The first message was garbled and I thought my brain made up the rugby part and it was just a Steers Franchise phoning me. In connection with what I have no clue. However, the second voicemail confirmed my rugby suspicion. Steers Rugby? Never heard of them so didn't return the call. Then I had this conversation this morning:

Phil: Hello Mr Henson.
GH#12: Yes hello.
Phil: Hi, it is Phil phoning again from Steers.

GH#12: [Good god who are the friggan Steers?] Go ahead Phil I'm all ears (and abs).
Phil: I understand you coach at (insert name of successful club rugby side) and I know you guys had a very successful season [told you] and basically I am short of a tight head prop for next year so was hoping you had one we could look at...for the Steers?

GH#12: That sounds fantastic Phil, but sorry, who the hell are the Steers?
Phil: We are a super 14 franchise based in the Eastern Cape...(very quizzical, and irate, tone)
GH#12: Ahhh...the Spears...! [echoed by the deafening sound of a million pin-sized spears dropping to the floor.]

It makes sense that SARFU don't want them to play on the international scene since their dude in charge of recruiting can't even say their name properly.

Incidentally, I spoke to all our props and they would've gone if it were in actual fact a steers franchise, so he shouldn't have bothered clearing up the confusion...

Summer at-tired…

Life’s little pleasures that are associated with the more regular occurrence of warm days as spring swiftly turns into summer are as plentiful as yellow umbrellas on Clifton 4. The sun comes up earlier, it goes down later, you no longer have to sport a jersey to campus and you no longer have to get drenched by cold rain and battered by strong winds.


The marvellous weather translates into other fantastic pleasures; like days spread eagled on hot squeaky sand, afternoon touch games, bitterly cold MGDs in bottles covered in perspiration and best of all skankily, I mean scantily, clad women lying next to you in the sand, admiring your touch skills or serving those millers.

Alas, as with everything in life, be they good or bad they have exact opposites. So for every fantastically good thing, there is a terribly bad thing. Kind of like how every good thing is this world has an equaliser. Think, a chicken burger and res food. Think, Nelson Mandela and Jacob Zuma. Think, beach-day Sundays and exam preparation. Think, that blonde girl on the stepper in gym, and her form-lacking boyfriend. Think, Richie Macaw and Luke Watson. Enough said…

Okay so what is wrong with an incredibly sexy belter bouncing along the campus promenade on a sweltering day sporting cute little shorty shorts exposing her long limber ‘please wrap those around my waist’ legs? In a word: nothing. As nothing is wrong with it specifically, but the evil equaliser to the shorts belter is her frumpy friend trudging along side her, budget role in one hand and cigarette in the other.

I understand how fashion is so important nowadays and Miranda Priestly taught me that the very average person wears a blue jumper from a sales bin because the devil wore turquoise prada last season but why? I repeat earnestly, BUT WHY? must a girl not built for skimpy shorts sport them just cause they are fashionable.

You see. Tight little shorts look good on a tight little ass because they show off the tight little ass. It would be the logical fallacy of presuming the antecedent to then infer that the ass looks tight and good because of the shorts! If you reading this wacky Wednesday please pay close attention. If you’re the type of girl that would only look hot in the awaiting trial cell at pollsmoor you shouldn’t be wearing any type of clothing designed to look taut on Kate Moss!

--------------------------------------------Taut!!!
However I am not only preaching my urgent plea here to the girls that are shaped like a Clifton 4 granadilla lollie! Cast your rockstar knowledge back to a superbly written article a while back (article 7) that dealt with the phenomenon of ‘cheating’. Well, average girls in risqué outfits that expose their averageness is the equivalent to anti-cheating.


You may have a respectable form and even a hot characteristic but show us the orange peel cellulite on your inner thigh whilst you’re trying to match your bouncing belter friend walk up jammie and we’re more inclined to tighten our core to holster the automatic vomit reflex than to lie you down and rub Nivea into your thighs. Which by the way, you should go home and do right now…

Federica vs the Chicken Roastery...

Given the option between Federica Fontana and Fontana Roastery after a big night out, we'd go with our Monday belter...

Light at the end of the tunnel...

Someone said to me the other day that they have a dud tunnel, one without a light at the end. This got me thinking that maybe many of the RockstarJournals' readers are feeling down. Whether its a giant workload, relationship issues, summer panic or some other form of stress getting you down, it is important to find something you are looking forward to and focus on that. For example, the light at the end of my tunnel looks a little something like this...













Ah yes. From November to March I will be living in Aspen. Now either come with me, find your own light or be very, very jealous.

I am stupid: Please explain...

I, like most people, come from the school of thought where excessive indulgences in life are acceptable, plausible, awesome and should never be knocked. However, this has come to my attention and it makes no sense.

Volkswagen have placed their esteemed GTI moniker onto their Polo model of cars. Originally it has only ever been on Golfs but now they have found cause to bestow the honour and the muscular performance that comes with it on the smaller Polo.

You wouldn't see me complaining if a gorgeous girl in a red bikini was partnered by her gorgeous little sister is the same bikini. (same kind of bikini although if it was the exact same bikini it would make for happier opening) Perpetuating this methaphor would you bitch if you invited Paris Hilton over for drinks and a shag and she brought Nicky with?

If you answered 'no' like I did then why am I bitching about GTIing a polo? Simply because you pay for a polo, you don't pay for a night with the Hiltons. But lets say for the sake of argument you did have to pay for the Hiltons.

If you could not afford sex with Paris, but could afford to pay for it with Nicky. (I fear I am alone in thinking Nicky is actually worth more so will assume here that Paris actually is) Would you prefer to spend your money on sex with Nicky or head, a striptease and a hand job from Paris?

You see the 2006 Polo GTI will have the 1.8-litre, four-cylinder, 20-valve, turbo/intercooler petrol engine already seen in other VW products that, in GTI guise, will be capable of 110kW, 229Nm, 0-100km/h in 8.2 sec and a top speed of 216km/h.

However, the Polo will go for R188700 wheres the Golf V GTI is around R250K, although optional extras can bump it above R300K. Whereas your 190K could probably get you a very decent Golf V 2.0 FSI?

Play it again Sam...

I opened my eyes on Saturday morning with great trepidation. You know when you're expecting a headache due to the previous evenings misbehaviour and try not to make any sudden movements. When my eyes focused I realised I was in a bed and I could see a hot body with long slender legs in a tiny little white skirt and a tight leopard print top. Oh God, did I cheat on my girlfriend I thought before realising that the body was in fact mine. I also realised I had charming comments such as "I have a big cock and I want to suck it" and "I suck cock for cock" scrawled all over me in permanent marker. Such is the aftermath of a Stellenbosch 21st which included the birthday boy acting out Robbie Wessels' "Leeuloop" (the new Vodacom advert for those of you who aren't educated in Afrikaans pop culture) and also left me with a red wine handprint stain on my cast.

So it was with great relief that after a Thursday night spent at the dirty Tiger and the filthy party in Stellenbosch on Friday, I found myself invited to a very civilised Jenni Button, Aca Joe and Hilton Weiner fashion show at Rhodes House on Saturday. The show was hosted by Big Joe van Niekerk and (finally the actual focus of this article) Sam Katz.

I have noticed the lovely Sam in FHM before and eagerly hit Google images search this morning which led me to this. Guys and girls, this is Sam Katz...





















Mayor Sam Katz of Winnipeg in the US. Not easily dissuaded from my quest, I looked harder and found these. She presented the show with the typical girl speaking at a 21st, "I learnt my speech off-by-heart in blocks" lyrical voice but my god is she hot. Like a thin Lauren Mellor with darker hair and more striking eyes.
































Have a look at Sam's Next Models profile at http://www.nextmodels.co.za/?a=models&g=F&id=90259&PHPSESSID=67edc086fe58e684b0d1875c190b09a7

When good times go bad...














Friday afternoon saw the annual Belsen Beer Run, which is more commonly known as the trolley races these days, descend into madness. The course takes 4 male pushers and one female driver from the back of UCT's Kopano Residence to the hockey astro and back, during which time they have to drink close to a case of beer. This year would have been my 5th consecutive participation but unfortunately due to injury, I couldn't take part. This is terribly unfortunate because last years combination of fitness, speed, experience and a 42kg trolley driver from Fishoek ensured that we overlapped other competitors and finished with easily the quickest time. Members of the Canoe club will proudly inform you that this is not the point and that the goal of running the race is to make vomit patterns at "chunda corner." Well, I'm fucking competitive and I want to win so it is the point.















Clearly my absence from the event also meant that there was no calming influence or reponsibility because soon after the end of proceedings, a riot broke out which included: people throwing beer cans at and vomiting on a car full of girls before climbing onto the roof and completely covering the vehicle from sight; a trolley bonfire which billowed a column of dark smoke high into the air; a vagrant (the supposed arsonist) taking his shirt off and tossing it into the flames before nearly being knocked by a trolley into said fire; and other general debauchery.
You've got to love mob mentality. The collective mind is a scary scary thing. Can you imagine if one guy did all that and everyone else just looked at him as if he was mentally unstable. But it doesn't work like that. Everyone thinks its a good idea and before you know it, students have erected a fortess at the top of an embankment and are lobbing cans and bottles at shotgun-toting police officers. This is what your mother meant when she said, "Its all fun and games until someone loses an eye," except that getting shot in the head sucks a little more than being poked in the eye with a stick.

My research led me to a site for the Centre for the Prevention of Shopping Cart Abuse. Some people have far too much time on their hands. Join the cause at www.shoppingcartabuse.com

Monday girl...


This got sent in by one of our esteemed (e-steamy) female readers. The beautiful young girl didn't request smutty pictures of hot rockstars to quench a female desire like say would happen at other sites but instead the little showstopper sent in this for us to use. Use we will!

The legend continues...

I heard people whispering about Him in the African studies library. I heard a guy in the chicken burger queue say He met him once. At a dig party a clarendon 1st year was heard quoting to say he stays in the actual room as He did, and a carinus girl saying she drank from His crackling bottle. The stories of Him are countless... His name is Andrew.

The most recent story I overheard concerned a fight that broke out, probably at the tennis club. It was a mass brawl. Forty guys, shirts off, bare knuckles...old school. He entered the fray, 7 feet tall, (including hair) lightning bolts firing from his eyes, and fire balls from his arse. He came brandishing a buddy coke bottle and just one bottle of unopened Cape To Rio. He spoke to the masses, calming them, then He fed them. He fed them all. Every person drank their fill from the bottle as He offered it to their lips. They apologised to Him, and He forgave them...


The claremont riot police were astounded when they arrived to witness the calm flock of content people following their leader to the heavenly Tiger. Upon arrival He walked His flock, straight to the front of the queue and asked St John to let His people in. They all went in. He wept.

Funningly enough. He did not follow His people in but stayed outside. Those days of staying outside are gone now because He is 23 today and legally allowed to enter, plus this mysteriously and conveniently falls on the same day His 3 month ban is lifted...

Krew intentions...

You probably of a similiar vein of thought as me if you can associate with the idea that hot girls on campus attract a large amount of attention? Well, then you will also agree that the recent (okay not so recent more like 4 weeks ago) model shoot on campus of 4 girls dressed in attire that is more suited to clifton 4 than Jammie stairs raised your attention a bit?

I bring your attention back to this interesting story because this week was the launch of Krew, the ac-claiming (witty hey) SA's first weekly guys' mag. I haven't opened a copy yet (the bleedin witch handing them out today stepped me like Pierre Spies stepped that short, fat, WP flanker who plays without sleeves over the weekend) but will admit on face value it looks like a hybrid of a skinny FHM and a guys' version Heat magazine. And at R12,95 that is a good thing, cause after all you can't be too rich or too skinny...

However a combination of these two aforementioned publications isn't exactly a recipe for anything more than a useful late night bedroom aide but then again what more do you really want. In the interests of a complete objective opinion I did some research (no, not the late night kind) and checked out their website.

I would have said that accessing the site is probably not worth the cost com labs will incur from your visit, but then I stumbled on a sneaky link in the right hand column, Krew Extra: Behind the scenes links! Check this shit out (www.krew.com) , here is a taste...

I like the middle one. The guy in the pastel pink-purple puma top has the distinct 'fuck-you-prof simpson-I-told-you-I-could-drop-out-of-B.com-and-still-make-something-of-my-life' look. Althought I really like the last one. New idea to behind the scenes...

The warm fuzzy centre of the universe...

A man reaches a point in his life when he stands back and reflects at where he is! It is in this moment of introspection that he realises that the strongest support group he has is those close people around him. No, those people aren't there to only make him feel famous, they are also there to make him the warm fuzzy centre of the universe...


If Hugh Hefner was the man, Brigette, Kendra and Holly would be those people. If our little RSLJ was that man, our readership would be our support group. Please observe this recently received email:

Morning Rockstars

This is a short plea, can someone please help Doc to get his end away or send him for a rub-and-a-tug somewhere. The man has some pent up emotions that need some release, I am a little worried he is going to 'crutch' someone to death on Jammie stairs if he does not get some anger management counciling.

Cheers

A

I am jack's healing white ball of light. Unable to play touch, blisters on your hands from long distant...walks to chicken burger queues that weren't there and the bleeding hack of having to dance with one leg can make 4 weeks unbearable.

Step forward through the back door of the room. Into your happy cave. Find you power animal.

------------------------------------------Slide?

It is emails like these, that makes Docstar's last two weeks in plaster a breeze! As for the other venting requirement we are putting out offers for someone to sort that out, because I certaintly ain't!

Woo Sah...

Ok so I promised that I was going to stop being sour and break my angry trough. I'd like to share my saving grace with you. I am now on cloud 9.













Easy as that. I'm so temperamental

All wrapped in 1...

It is so rare when something comes along that is blessed with every concievable feature one would require from it. Like Clifton 4; the sun, the sand, the clear water and numerous scantily clad touch supports. Like a chicken burger; nourishing, affordable, satifying and the correct ratio between fats, carbs and protein. Like the Golf V R32; bullish, beautiful, airbags and more watts than a partially deaf guy having a conversation in a crowded bar...


However, somethings actually have all the sufficient requirements, and a lot more. You want an example? Try today's birthday boy. An astute intelligent academic, a charming conversationist, a part time male model and enough of a phenomenal rugby player to remove any concern of campness. Basically he is a born leader with every attribute a guy should have making you wonder if he is the female response to Stepford wives. Unfortunately, hold your enthusiasm ladies, the one thing he is not is a bachelor.

He could be the quintessential rockstar, but that's only if the editorial team stood down from the race. Never mind, Marty, 4th places is pretty special behind us...! Happy 32nd bro...

Its still monday...


Oh please stop it. This is getting too much. I am sorry Justin but I'm bringing back more sexy than a good dog does frisbees....

Celebrating magic...

I tentatively ventured over the Nek last night with Docstar in tow just to make sure the millers at Caprice were ice cold. Jones doesn't always work the bar so we were concerned in his absence that they may have let their high standard drop.


Our fears were unfounded, the MGD was so cold it could have been Miller High Life. But moving along, we surveyed the refreshing taste of the beveraged whilst surveying another interesting spectacle. That of a very boozed and somewhat unstable looking Naas Olivier, 'swaying' like a Perishers track.

The first time I was introduced to young Naasie was from behind the polls in a SAU rugby game where he converted 7 flawless kicks over the polls and our UCT huddle making Pukke's domination pretty emphatic.

However his swaying last night didn't bring back the memories of the forward dominated ass raping we recieved that day but rather of another memory. You see, Varsity on one rare (fucking rare) occasion won quick attack ruck ball. The ball spun out to flyhalf Paddy Fitzgerald who had runner on his inside and space on his outside. Paddy took it up his channel, introduced himself to young Naasie, and broke his line so badly he just stood there swaying worse than he was after last nights binge.


Ironic then that the jog to my memory coincided with today, because today is that mercurial stepper Paddy is 22. Happy birthday big guy. So here is an iced cold miller high life, to mad stepping, deft passing, slick touches, easy women, big hits and pressure penalties.

Definitely the hottest thing in Edinburgh this winter...

WHATTHEFUCK-WP...

Ok so I used more than the allowed 7 characters in the title but I think you have an idea of what this rant is going to be about. I hate personalised number plates. I'm sick of seeing rich housewives driving big mercs with BARBS-WP or GOLDIGGER-GP telling us what they're all about. We know you skanks. We already know. We don't need you to tell us.

I'm sick of seeing self-proclaimed playboys driving bright red ferraris with LANCE3 or FABIO5 introducing themselves by name (very polite of you gentlemen, thank you. Fuck off) and i can only assume trying to dupe us into believing that the number is to differentiate between the current car and the others in their fleets. I'm more inclined that 3 and 5 refer to your respective centimetre dick sizes.

I'm sick of piece of shit car owners who, instead of spending the R2000 or whatever cost of a personalised number plate on sorely needed repairs and maintenance to their vehicles, feel the need to demonstrate their astronomical brain power and wit by giving us gems like RACEME-WP or 2FAST-WP. Who do you think you are, Paul fucking Walker from The Fast and the Furious? There's a new sequel to that movie called Tokyo Drift. Why don't you drift off to Tokyo moron.

Worst of all though, I'm sick of number plates that tell me what model car you're driving. I can see you cretin. Can't you? I can tell that that's a BMW X5 and that's a Merc C230, I don't need BMW X5-ZN and C230-GP to tell me so. Do you? There's already a little silver sign on the back of your car telling you the model you retard.

I apologise dear readers for my angry hate posts of late. I promise to write you something light and happy to bring a little ray of sunshine into your lives soon.

Monday girl...


Bringing this back! I am over you Justin, you're doing an average job...

Rockstar of the moment...

This revered title was beginning to be so entrenched with the incumbent holder that it was starting to look like a Nadoes internal league record or that of the famous Kulula Dragons dynasty of yesteryear for that matter. After all, young Dave Champion of the World was repeating his feat so often he threatens making it almost ordinary.

Anyway Dboy, stand down champ, we have a brand new awardee from a surprising origin. Before the rockstar of the moment does a victory lap and collects his trophy (with cheese, onion, tomato, mayonnaise, that killer green sauce and hold the BBQ) some background needs to be established.

Basically he was unceremoniously dumped out of a relationship by a certain female. No surprise, she came running back protesting she had seen how badly she had erred in her decision and back he went. He then ended it with her. Nice touch, probably a little insensitive but nice way to slap a big black stamp of authority on your upper hand. (I love mixed metaphors)

So some time passes and he ends up coming right with another girl (as rockstars do) in the same night club that the ex is in. He has no reason to hide his knew found freedom so he unashamedly doesn’t try to do so. Here comes the short of the story. A female friend of the ex comes over points out his insensitivity (I googled it, it does exist) and tells him to stop shoving it in the ex’s face.

The next morning he realizes his previous nights antics were possibly met with a degree of distain so he sends an apologetic, good guy sms admitting he was out of line and his repentance for being so. Here is the spicy part, her reply:

“Not good enough.u never were good enough for me and last night proved that.i hope u feel like an absolute idiot cause that’s how u looked.u r pathetic,childish,and need to get a life.i am so glad i am no longer a part of your limited,aimless,thoughtless,emotionless ways.i am so much better off without u.last night I was embarrassed to even say i had once kissed you.sort yourself out or you will never get anywhere.i’m serious.”

I could elaborate on her bitterness and haughtiness or berate her poor command of the English language but the real reason he gets the award is because of his priceless reply:

“you must still be in lashed for me…”

Start running Pig, we want 2 victory laps…

What's in a name?

Just realised that the young lady below combined with our Monday Girl of 18th September means that Elena is a pretty hot name. Is your name Elena? Would you hold our hands? E-mail us at rockstarweb@gmail.com with a photo and proof of ID. I'm testing out your name with my surname as we speak. It could be you..

Girl on our minds...

Apologies to GQ for stealing the title of their regular article but its a fitting description of Elena Anaya. You may recognise her from the new Justin Timberlake music video for Sexyback. I swear she's the only reaon I watch it ok. I've also just discovered that she was one of Dracula's smoking hot wives in Van Helsing. Behold..


















Jokes. Behold