Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Make them look left then run right....

This could quite possibly be the only way that a team of girls could beat a team of guys.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Friends in high places...

This is a picture of me with the mayor of Aspen, Helen Klanderud. It was taken last Friday on a round of pub golf. It is important to make friends in high places. It is the only way to roll. I learnt my lesson after a night in the Plett jail a while ago and could see pub golf heading the same way so managed to wangle a get out of jail free card from the mayor. Literally. She gave us a card with her number to call if we got arrested. A mayoral pardon. Block it. Too bad it doesn't last all season...

You can't pick up shower gel...

Despite my overwhelmingly superior intellect compared to humankind I still somehow struggle in vain to comprehend certain aspects of society. I don't sweat the little stuff I don't understand like how Graeme Smith keeps his position in the batting order or why SA people are now hooked on facebook but something important has me flummoxed now and it pisses the bejesus out of me...

Coming toward the business end of summer panic in early November I made the educated decision to move my home gym from claremont to wembley. Better parking, better girls, better views and less time between your last load set of bench press and Clifton 4. However, what isn't better is the ratio between straight guys and..um..guys that won't bang Adriana Lima if she bent over in front of them in a thong...

Here is the crux of my bewilderment. At public places with ablution facilities men and women have separate amenities. The reason? It's blatantly obvious! A - the good people running the establishment don't want promiscuous trysts happening in between their lavatory cubicles and B - girls don't want to be ogled by dirty old men.


Why then, why then, oh fuckin why then, are faggots not excluded from attending to their ablutionary needs in their own friggan restrooms? I mean for fuck fuckin sakes. Do you have any idea what it is like trying to get out of your gym sweats and grab a quick shower before you meet the delicious little belter from the treadmill at the downstairs Vida while getting eye-raped by this 45kg hairless fruit cake covered in tropitone self tan and blonde highlites.

I was always sure hell for homophobes was eternal damnation and exile to the hades that is the other side of the wall at Sea Point pool but I think the men's room at Wembly is worse...

Fair enough the little ball licker is the size of that kid you punched in the 3rd grade cause he wouldn't stop crying in class so you know he ain't going to muscle you into the sauna and introduce his mudflap to your prostate but it is still lank unnerving.

Practically it would be a mission now having to build four sets of toilets, for straight and queer men and women but fuck if old Hendrik V did it so can someone else. The other option of course is to just level the playing fields and have only one big unisex bathroom at every venue...?

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

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Saturday, January 06, 2007

Be a man...

I hate having to apologise. Apologising is one of the trickiest things a man has to do, however doing so also vindicates his position of calling himself one. Admitting faulting, holding yourself accountable and biting the bullet is never easy although in some cases it is easier than asking for permission.

I am apologising for making less posts than Graeme Smith does summer runs but now that he actually made some in the current test I guess I should do likewise with posts.

The other problem is that because we are so rarely at fault here at RSJ the concept is foreign to us and we aren't too good at delivering apologies. So I am left to do it the only way I know how. With this: