Sugarcult gone bad...

With our pending Idols post just around the corner I wanted to find a decent picture to take your mind backs to our chosen little voice (with boobs) from Idols III. Googling Nicky de Lange doesn't bring you any tasty post-15 minutes of fame mandatory Playboy spreads though, or even the Loslyf version. Instead I got the Nicky fan blog and had the stomach acids scared out of me...


If you are a brave man go check out nickdelange.blogspot.com. Sweet boobs of Free State.! Please meet Ricky from Durban. As if Ricky isn't the perfect small town psycho name already this okes makes the brothers in House of Wax look normal. His interests include: Table Tennis, Rugby, Football, Cricket, Movies, Reading and Nick de Lange.


I'll be the first to admit I have my own little celebrity crush before and in truth the soundtrack of Who's the Boss still gets the little Alyssa Milano hairs on the back of my neck more excited than a redneck at a family BBQ but I never devoted my life to begging people around the world to email me info on her. Check this out:

8/12/2005: She's also wearing that necklace again, if anyone could enlighten me about that, I'd appreciate it too. 8/12/2005: If somebody else has thought of this previously, please just pity my ignorance, but I realised the other day that if you move the 'L' in Lange to the end, you have: angel. No surname could be more appropriate. 8/12/2005: Please, if you have ANY pictures or videos or soundbytes or newspaper clippings or autographs or anything please send it to me at rickystarkey@gmail.com.

Well RickyStarkey you sweaty little fuck. The world has some screwed up weirdos out there but you are leading the national team here. I bet you haven't by any chance fought the urge to sell your body for petrol money yet and road trip across country to follow Bloems favourite starlet on her new groups national tour. I bet you lost that fight when you fought that urge too.


I hope you understand how a restraining order works you crazy fuck...

Amongst real things...

Many things have always perplexed me, confused me, irritated me and flat out angered me. However, they haven’t as individual things had such an impact that they would warrant a post about them, and only them, as the lead role.

Sure these things can be interesting. I know you have spent countless unnecessary hours wondering how in 22 episodes of season 2 Michael Schofield never has to cut his hair yet it is always shaven on number 1. I know it angers you no end that we can make rain detecting wiper blades, photograph the other side of the moon, and fit 500 songs into a match box but we can’t make vending machines that give change in notes.

Now we could never dedicate an entire post to one of these examples alone, as we would run the risk of ending up with the blog equivalent of a Dolph Lundgren movie credit role. However, one of the strange little quirks that has us thinking has pushed itself to the surface and has sufficient depth and substance that it definitely warrants a quick posting.

We have been patiently waiting for Idols 4 to get to the business stages so we can back ourselves a hot little filly and chase her all the way to the finish line. Unfortunately the business end of the competition is where your ability to stomach Gareth Cliff and Colin Moss (Misscloff?) in one production wanes and you lose interest. (apart from in the stage attire selected by our chosen filly)

The real interesting part of Idols 4 is the audition stages. Fuck me they are hilarious. You get a microcosm of what represents everything inbred and weird from our beloved country in 60minutes of viewing. Some of the stuff is priceless.

You have a Welder from Springs, although admittedly 95% of Spring does pursue an occupation in that trade, brother and sister combos that you factually can’t tell apart and guys that roll in and introduce their mates as their crew! Crew? Not since 50cents went to Idols I in New York as a lisping 16 years old high school drop out did someone’s reference to crew ignite such raucous laughter. The thing is 50 got shot 8 times and did enough prison time and performance enhancing drugs that the Tour de France would accept defeat to, whereas Frodo and his crew, will forever remain…Frodo and Crew.

Depth and substance you now perceivable ask? Enter Cliff Jennings! Never since Riaan van Cruswagen said "welkom by die nuus", has someone taken SA television with such force. The man was brilliant. However, it was also such a crock of shit.

The gleaming intrigue behind reality TV would have to be the reality. The only thing real about Cliff was his scarf. It was blatantly obvious that his multi-auditions and hilarious ‘songwriter’ disposition was staged and bank rolled by MNET. They did a few castings. Found a straight faced actor; made him sign an agreement, and wham we have the script reading doos we can all poke fun at.

But here is the thing. I know Cliff J was a scripted character but it was still fuckin' brilliant. I am prepared to wave the line between reality and fiction and enjoy the result. Maybe I can justify that the judges didn’t know he was fake, but nevertheless the fat fucker got me spending my evenings stomaching Misscloff.

4308\zlx...


This serial number 4308\zlx should worry you for two reasons:

1.) You've seen it, played hide the salami and are now in serious danger of fielding a young blue-eyed rockstar baby monster from the loins of that slutty looking red-heel sporting tiger tiger girl that initiated your physical tryst by eye raping you whilst sipping the straw of her Sarita, or not as worse but also bad you have caught what her ex-boyfriend gave her as a going away present. yay!

2.) You're a cheap perverted idiot that doesn't pay for expensive and reliable durex condoms and instead raids the free dispensers on upper campus of 'no choice, no play' government issue rubbers that Manto so lovingly provides gratis.


Here is the thing. The "government" (inverted commas to emphasis the oxymoronic, or just plainly moronic, irony of describing our health ministry as part of a government) this morning recalled roughly 20 million "government" (again) issued condoms. 4308\zlx.

Their reason? "It's just precautionary!"

Oh really, precautionary? That's fine then. No half the population that does choose to choose is no doubt banging away in the toilets of their local shebeen mentally hi5ing Manto for the free protection. Unfortunately, there is no protection from stupidity.


And if you were the guy that went for the snatch and grab on your way out of the rugby club changerooms instead of swinging by the rad new 24hour Engen in claremont, swallowing your pride and the pricetag on durex king size (sorry I can only relate with what I know) then there is no excuse for your stupidity..!

Believe them when they say responsibility starts with you cause our government could be retarded. The news this morning reported a pending investigation over bribery tenders for the manufacture of substandard condoms to pass the stringent quality level tests.

Nice. Corruption permeates into everything and now into the free condom trade. Yay!

I just want to be more than that...

Mondays are not considered as my best days. In fact from the time by phone starts kicking me out of bed at 7am I hack constantly until about lunchtime, where I get an hour of rebate before having to hack my way back to my bed that evening. Apart from monday girls, monday sucks...

This monday started off less raucous than a muslim brewery tour but took a turn for the worst when I opened up my email inbox. The list of unread emails was long. Too long. It was so long I did the delete every third email trick. Sorry mom.

However, my monday bloomed into unbridled sunshine when I came across an email that survived the 1 in 3 delete ploy! Some things ignite my happy fuse like peanut butter M&Ms, and one of those things is spanish models...


I love Spanish models so much they make me look past things I hate. Spanish models in crocs? Done! My email, my lovely email, was entitled "you've been invited by facebook to be my friend"! The loathing hate bells began to toll but from sheer irritation I open the email to see who the culprit was. Ana Dominguez!!! The Spanish model bell began it's solo rendition of Send in the Clowns... OOOOH BABY!

Ana Beatrize Barros and Adrima Lima were springing up in my brain like naughty little neurons and playing with each other, literally. Oh god I was excited...

For an entire 30secs I pondered casting aside my logic and pride and signing up immediately for FB but then reason stepped in. This hot sounding girl I had never heard of wanted to be my friend! Fuck that, if she was hot, I wanted to be more than friends. So I googled her on the interweb...


Take your pick. I found Ana D the skin care range for metrosexual men, Ana D the octogerian leader of a religious cult (check it out, I promise) and firm supporter of the NYPD and lastly Ana D the weird dancing squatting ripped dykie looking girl. Interesting!

Unperturbed to be heart broken this easily I pursued my probably as yet undiscovered spanish sounding (she could be mexican) model girl.

Eureka. I found her. Rockstars and showstoppers please meet my new best friend:


How hot is she? I told her straight up this friends thing was cute but benefits must either flow quickly, or we must bump it up a notch to I want to be more than just friends...

Sadly, (for me and for the xmas bear collecting candle girl with flattering cleavage) the girl in the picture is not the girl on that sent me a message. My interweb inclined friend logged onto facebook and searched for the real Ana D. She has red hair. Need I say more as to what my friendship reply was?

Monday Girl...


We might change it to Monday Alessandra...

Quote un quote...

So occasionally we run this quote competition. So we're doing it again. So it is lank appropriate because tonight is an important night for important guys in an important team. So tell us who said this and you can come meet these important guys tonight and have a drink with them.


"Every man at some point in his life is going to lose a battle. He's going to fight and he's going to lose. But what makes him a man, is that in the midst of that battle, he does not lose himself."

It's from episode 121.

A Docstar photgraphic moment...


We are not big on publishing pictures of ourselves, mainly for contractual restraint of trade agreements we have signed, but moreover for other personal reasons. However the Docstar is now a free agent so we can. In addition to this is the fact that these photos were sent in by a world famous pouting Italian Nadoe that was with the Doctor on the recently posted London Fez-capade night and we must please the public...


The photos were actually taken by an up-and-coming new era photographic artist and are considered 'art'. They are like the Warhol of the 21st century of sorts...just without the quartet image split and neon colour fades. You must admit, they would not look out of place hanging above my mantle adjacent to my 'blue nude'.

The first one that I have opened this post with accentuates the style of the evening shared by his Docness and the Nadoe executives and the style of this post, and the style of our site. It is thoughfully entitled, "Hey you there! You're my angel for the night!" Commentators on this rectangled picture of greatness lauded how the image speaks through the cleve use of light and recommend that it be hung on the front door of your master bedroom. Provoking.

The second hallmark of artistry in the portfolio is untitled as it is groundbreakingly referred to as a 66% triptych. The novelty of this wholly novel genre of art cannot be diminished by the antiquated use of a title. Instead it is captioned.

The caption reads, "It's hard to be humble when your triceps are so big but pouting is the most fun you can have with your moustache on"! As a post scriptum the artist requests the art connoisseur (yourself in this case) to draw their attention to the blonde bar ladies in the back ground. The artist refers to them as the missing third of the triptych and captions them succintly as "angles is awe".

I feel moved..!

Not in this champagne room...

I have wondered about this for sometime but have never had the stalker inclination to actually research it so when it landed on my front door step I decided to act accordingly.

Ladies I am sorry, but please meet Dan Carter's girlfriend: Honor Dillon


Yes the young kiwi lass plays for the Ladies National Hockey Side and likes to wear tiny shorts. Why do I sense a lot of jealousy hanging over this post?

To be honest if I was Dan Carter she would be hotter, but I guess that is the reason I am not Dan Carter, although only in reality that is...


Oh, and just to link some relevance to the title, I stumbled over the picture when reading about the strict All Blacks 'no wives and girlfriends to share rooms with the players' policy for their RWC07 campaign.

Shame. Since this is the case I pray that for the sake of the players the final doesn't go into overtime...

Monday misses...


Denny was right, she would make a great 6th ex wife...

Podium...

South African did something far more remarkable on Wednesday night than set a record score against the hapless Namibian RWC07 side. I only got round to watching the highlights of the 4th tier union match up yesterday and was utterly appalled.

Somewhat worrying (for all non Springbok supporters like myself that is) was the realization of South African rugby players at how effective a properly run dummy runner's angle can be. Thanks Eddie Jones, you just gave the dumb +100kg bonehead green runners an actual line skill that makes them threatening. Eddie Jones has been to the SA attack what the USA was to North Korean nuclear warfare effort.

However, vastly more worrying was the new kit sported by the Springboks. For years the Namibians have been the infamous holders of the most feared accolade in World Rugby: The Ugliest Socks Award. Their blue stockings with green, red and yellow hoops would mesmerize opposition defenders leaving them strewn in the wake of Namibian ball runners clutching their stomachs in a vain attempt to stop kotching.


Step aside Namibia, the only title you have in World Rugby has been stripped from you. Step up the Springboks.

I have scoured the internet. I looked at every single google hit I swear and couldn't find a picture of them, since SA has only played in the strip once and well it's too embarrassing to admit they wear them. Eventually I found the above picture on a turkish website. I swear to God. Turkish!

Green tubes with this weird gold patch on your calf muscle? They look like a team of little gold dots running around... It's terrible...

Social Experiment: Part 1 Introductory Brief

I have learnt two valuable things in my relatively short, yet overwhelmingly successful, life. The first is never undo your belt unless you are intending to take off your pants and the second is slightly more complex and far more pertinent so lets deal with that one...

[belt-pant story? Another time, another place dear sir]

The second very important thing I have learnt is that although women can look and act stupid they actually aren't and in coonection with this; although they might not be stupid they still believe just about everything..!

Let me elaborate. To begin I am not just referring to the dumb JHB girl I convinced I was a dolphin trainer at the Aquarium as she is the exception to the idea that girls may not be as stupid as they look. Reverting back to my insistence that women can believe just about everything, it is worthwhile to point out that this can be a very very good thing, however our little social experiment is aiming to challenge this truth.


How you may ask? We are aiming to make them believe something else. To end this background introduction into how this social experiment was born I must explain what brought it about. You see we have a friend that is without doubt the guy with the most important characteristics a guy needs to have to be defined as the perfect friend.

The problem however arrives in that a vast majority of girls don't like him due to a number of reasons. However his lack of social graces and tact are not sufficient reasons for girls to harbour there initial reaction. Girls are, on the most, afraid of his truthfulness whereas in reality it should be the most praised characteristic of any person. Afterall he does call a fat spade a fat spade...

Girls: Sucker for a guy in uniform!

Hypothesis:
Girls believe they should dislike our SUBJECT. Girls don't believe this because it is true but only because they believe the first thing they hear. If they knew the full extent of him they would hold a very different opinion.

The Experiment:
Let girls know the truth about what type of guy he is.

Reasoning:
Girls hold this belief because they are prejudicial, superficial and make judgment calls without proper scrutiny, they also believe anything they hear and form opinions in groups as opposed to by themselves.

Method:
[1] Word of mouth: Without forcing the conversation, comment favourably on the SUBJECT whilst in the presence of females who hold this adverse opinion. Be fair and never lie. Only sell the truth. Target gossip girls.
Example: I stupidly ran out of petrol the other night at 2am in the pouring rain, and my friend SUBJECT, came and bailed me out. You must meet him. He is the most trustworthy and reliable guy.

[2] Creation of social scenarios: Place SUBJECT in situations that will only cast light on his favourable characteristics.
Example: Take girl home one stormy night on an empty tank, and phone SUBJECT.

Apparatus:
Numerous rockstar guys to 'sell' our product verbally. See method 1. (To apply please email us at rockstarweb@gmail.com)

Possible Outcomes:
This might catch on like wildfire and girls all over the planet will be singing the SUBJECT's praises and offering fellatio like peanuts at a beer festival; or my premise that girls believe anything is wrong and he gets fellatio offerings like a registered sexpest would at a parents day.

Evaluation:
Watch this space.

The Return of the Fez…


The day that the Fez closed its doors in Cape Town was a sad one indeed. It was a truly wonderful place. It got me through second and third year. Okay, that’s a lie. It nearly made me fail second and third year. Almost every Thursday for close on 2 years was spent there, I met 2 girlfriends there, stomached many a tequila slammer (these were pre jager bomb phenomenon days) and got to know friends who are still close to me.

All of this came rushing back when I discovered that there is a Fez in London. Following last weeks exploration of Tiger Tiger London, I thought it would be a good idea to continue our tour of some of South Africa’s finest institutions’ namesakes.

London’s Fez is actually very similar to our old favourite although as an added extra it has a dancefloor that lights up a la Pulp Fiction, providing some lesser minded individuals with hours of entertainment. One thing I was disappointed in was the quality of the ladies. I am beginning to realize that we take Cape Town for granted. That is until, very late in the night, I glanced across the dancefloor and was blinded by the light emanating from a giant halo. The angel who possessed it was top notch. Tall, slender, blonde, little dress, boots. Stop it. I drank it all in and thought to myself how much she resembled Megan Mackenzie and how much the dude next to her resembled Neil Mackenzie. Yes, it was indeed South Africa’s golden siblings. The Fez never disappoints…

Saturday night saw us venturing to regular Kate Moss and Sienna “my future wife” Miller haunt China White. A connection meant guest list, free drinks and a table in a back room which we ended up sharing with Lawrence Dallaglio. I decided not to bring up the days match against France. Got to love those frogs. At a pub earlier in the day our waiter’s response to the query as to whether he was French was “Of course I am French. Can’t you tell from my fucking accent?” Bad day at the office pal?

So all in all a pretty star studded weekend. Some might say that’s just how we roll…

Spamelot...

We were unceremoniously cut from the blog squad over the weekend. Apparently we got flagged as a possible SPAM blog and they automatically shut us down pending further investigation.


Apparently these robots look for sites that "can be recognized by their irrelevant, repetitive, or nonsensical text". Oops! The repetition of Monday girl and how grand we know we are definitely got up someones USB port. I think it is a triumph though. Besides it's not like we write perpetual articles for the intellectually stunted about Paris Hilton's latest tortoise shell channel eyewear...

Like our shoulders, we're broader than that...

Reading Festival...

When I found out that Jimmy Eat World were coming to South Africa just after I had made the move to London I was feeling the rage at the thought of missing out on an opportunity to see one of my favourite bands. I knew however that there would be plenty of great concerts in London and was sure I would get a chance to see them and many others at some stage. Well that time has come. Welcome to the big daddy of concerts, the festival. Three days of camping and watching a few decent acts. Take a gander at this line up and let the tears of jealousy drip off your little faces.


Razorlight, Kings of Leon, Interpol, Jimmy Eat World, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Arcade Fire, Bloc Party, Panic at the Disco!, Angels and Airwaves, The Shins, Smashing Pumpkins, +44, Billy Talent, Ash, Brand New, The Subways, Silversun Pickups and many more....

Monday Girl...


We're venturing out of the box here. We want out monday girls to have some skills. Fair, they aren't nunchuck skills but you have to start somewhere. Dean this baby should make you very happy on this fine day...

National Women's Day...


What better way to celebrate NWD on the 9th August than through celebrating everything that is womanness! And we were accused of being sexist. Ha to that...

Monday make-up...


I love our sharp and responsive readers! Got this mailed in quicker than a Tyson Gay hundred meter time and whats more they pander to my red shoe fetish with such force we now have two monday girls...


Yay!

Falling on your own side...

The great thing about coaching a team is that you get to choose your side, unless you're Jake White, but the fact remains it's a lovely perk because it doesn't undermine your accountability. Ie: If you don't choose your side you can't really be held accountable for losing...


Well, Gareth Jenkins, take a bow. I am not saying that refusing to select Gavin Henson for your Welsh RWC07 campaign was the reason you took 60 from a crap English team but I am a spiteful prick and leaving me, and my hair behind, is enough for me to say you chose your side now sleep with it...or however it goes.


Oh and James Hook is lank good on the bench. You might as well start him with his feet chained together cause you will get the same result..! Actually you won't because Hook can kick with both feet whilst Sweeney can't kick with either.

Fool!

Docking: Change your life..!


I witnessed this at the local 7 11 over the weekend and it really got my hate sensors going off like they do when Philip Burger gets an intercept.

Short fat dark haired girl: Sorry, can I get a packet of dunhill menthol! Oh and sorry I might be a bit short...(dumps handful of copper coins from plumb sticky hand on counter)

[It is worthwhile to point out here that her concession at being short pertained to her financial inadequacy not her vertical one as if she was admitting physical shortcomings she would have to had added her lack of treadmill time and...um....beauty]

711 Cashier: No madame, I think you have enough here..! (whilst counting out scrooge mac-shortfatbitches coins)
SFDHG: Oh really? How much are the cigarrettes?
711: R19,95.
SFDHG: How much is there?
711: R20,50.
SFDHG: Can I have my change then?


Are you fekking joking? I hate most people, most people that smoke, all people that smoke menthol, and that are short and fat; but people who ask for a discount and then have the tight audacity to ask for their change need to be beaten with the cash register. I hope she gets the black lung and the hospital refuse to be paid in coins...

Maran Monday...


I looked for a girl for twenty minutes. Usually I find her in the first two and take the next 30secs to give her the time of her life, (posting her as your monday girl) but today I just couldn't find her. I am just settling on this one from poor boredom.

Nothing too bad in settling is there? Right? Whom I kidding. Settling is like kissing your sister, which unless you have a hot sister must be terrible. But think of it in this light. We are making her life...

Test match…

I was 13. I was made of Kevlar, at least I thought I was, and that was enough. We were main! We had lost to College early season and missed out to beating Glenwood by 1 point. We were so main.

Now we stood in the quad, brothers in arms. A freezing cold autumn night. The only thing that drowned out the thumping of our hearts was the raucous noise of 500 screaming boys.

The game was a blur. We scored early and defended until half time. Gidaracous, Conradie and Edgar were their usual devastating selves, but the forward were even better. God we were so main.

They were better than we thought. The Huff guy could carry, Rutherford never stopped tackling and when Bastard connected those kicks went forever. They were right; Bullimore was fast but such a pussy. Man, that Greek prop was ugly.

They didn’t give up. Never. Jono scored in the second half. We won. We stood on the field in awe of the day, the atmosphere and the victory…

Hilton/Michaelhouse didn’t change my life. It revolutionized it. I played 9. Some guys are lucky enough to play more. They aren’t the hardest opposition, but they’re the most important. Some of them were important enemies, now they’re important friends…although some didn’t convert.

The other victories, the other losses all pale insignificance. Rivalry is what makes life interesting, it makes competing important and it makes it fun...

This Saturday, the First XVs run out against each other to bring the house down on what is a monumental day of festivities. From u14D teams to First teams and including the other winter sport, every boy faces an opposition boy on that day and the competition is fierce.

Michaelhouse go in massive favorites with 6 SA schools players and a very positive 19-5 drubbing of powerful Westville last weekend. Hilton isn't in the same boat on paper, especially after losing to Kearnsey, on the weekend but the game isn’t played on paper.

It’s played between the white chalk lines of Gilfillian and Meadows and you won’t find a game anywhere in the country that a player wants to win more…

The World on a String: Part 2

A couple of points about travelling. And specifically what to do before you go.

The only way it seems that you'd actually be able to travel for any extended period is to sever all your connections with your past life. In fact, faking your own death might be a good option.

That's right, close your bank accounts, terminate your phone contracts, say goodbye to loved ones and hand in your resignation to the website you helped found. And make sure you switched off the gas in your apartment. The alternative (short of faking your death in a motorbike racing accident where you swerve to save a small animal/child) is far worse.

Take my position, for instance. Currently, I'm sitting in the sun, tapping away at the laptop overlooking the Mekong River. Not a bad life you might think. You'd be right, but only for a while. 5 days in and it gets a bit tedious. How so you ask?

Well, if you attended Mrs Thompson's Standard 7 Geography Class you'd have discovered two things. One, that she loved a Freudian slip. And two, that the Mekong River separates Thailand from Laos. This is me in Thailand. Not in Laos.

So cross the damn river I hear you say. Of course, why didn't I think of that I reply. Only. Only what?

Only, HSBC have cancelled my cards because someone (me) is drawing insubstantial amounts of money in South-East Asia. When I try phone them though, it appears 02 have suspended my mobile contract because someone (me again) has been making international phonecalls from South East Asia. Although this doesn't seem to stop them from charging me ludicrous amounts of money. Sitting here stranded without money, without a phone and with 1 x showstopper quickly heading towards the wrong side of the admin line I must admit, the rockstarish charm seemed to be wearing off.

Luckily though, the gentleman next me in the Panama hat has offered to make me a deal. Although I hear the words of a Rolling Stones song jangling in my ears, I ignore them and shake on it.

Mick. Knows what he's talking about.