The Beer debate: Miller v Bud.

This debate is rather moot in our beloved RSA as Budweiser is not exactly easy to come by and we have more prominent local beers to choose from, besides it is not one a rockstar of any intellectual demeanor or profuse free time is interested enough to delve into. So if you thought this was going to be a well-structured coherent argument purporting both sides of a beer debate you are misguided. [however if such debate does tickle your thirst try ‘allicareaboutisbeer.blogspot.com’ or another site of less interesting topics like our own]

Instead I have found an interesting little story on a news site that is worth posting. As stated we are not a site that looks to spend oodles of free time sustaining such trivial topic as which beer is better nor are we one of those sites that spends time cutting and pasting stories from current American news sites and pawning them off as our own. [we don’t do that cause (a) it’s a flooded market (b) we don’t have the patience and (c) the arduous task of referencing other peoples stuff is such a hassle that we prefer to Stephan Glass it and hope we don’t get caught]

Fuck I digress. Anyway this is the story:

-------------------------------------Your company needs YOU!

“The battle of the beers took a new twist in Racine this week when a Miller beer distributor fired an employee whose picture was in the paper. He was drinking a Bud Light.”

“In Racine at the Mardi Crawl on Main Street, a newspaper photographer asked a group of revelers to pose for a picture. The only problem was that a man holding a Bud Light worked for a Miller distributor.”

The poor dude said, "I was just having a good time."

I think it’s hilarious it would create a pretty interesting legal debate up on Constitutional Hill if you had the free time and legal resources. His boss didn’t state that he was fired because of the photograph but that he was ‘merely surplus to requirements’! This is speculation but I reckon he was axed cause of what he was wearing and that he was at a Mardi Gras festival. I think my argument is as compelling as the one to drink Bud light…

-----------------------------------------Budlight: Compelling

Monday Girl...

I felt obliged...[well I wish I felt obliged]

--------------------------------------Obliged: Blair A

Fairytales, Ducks and Odds…

One of my favourite movie genres has to be “sporting-underdogs-comeback-from-impossible-odds”! Ever since Michael Jordan got sucked down a golf hole to lead 5 Looney Tunes to a 2 points victory over those gargantuan aliens in extra-time of Space Jam, since Emilio Estevez’s took that fatherless figure-skater under his wing (intended) and together they allowed the Ducks to over come insurmountable odds, poverty and Emilio's dodgy past to secure 2 league titles and an international victory, and since Robert Moxom threw down the shackles of parental pressure, professionalism, strip clubs and whipped cream bikinis to enable his side to defeat their overzealous coach Bud Kilner and claim a State Championship have I loved these movies.

I cheered and shouted when they scored, I cried when they won and I wasn’t surprised when they made a 30 points turn around in the last quarter to claim the win. The scripts to these movies are so outrageous that only their teenage demographic are gullible enough to believe that it could happen in real life yet we all love them…

However it does happen! 25-12 down with 15 min to play the, basically anonymous, Free State team clawed back to score 3 times (2 tries and a penalty) against the Blue Bulls taking the score to 29-25, and then held out for 5 long minutes to claim a Currie Cup they haven’t had for close on three decades.

It was absolutely incredible. Playing away at the stronghold of Broedebond rugby, Loftus Versfeld, everyone knew the Cheetahs were the underdogs and only the most loyal of Orange Free State farmers even gave them a chance. It was an insurmountable task. And at 22-9 down with 30 minutes to go everyone expected the Bulls to claim their 4th successive victory and make any knowledgeable rugby enthusiast vomit into his Woolworths biltong packet for the 4th consecutive time...


Instead grown men wept, minnows gained faith, Jerry Maguire started to believe and neutral rugby supporters around the country smiled as they would now stop playing that beastly Steve Hofmeyer song…

Oh and Auckland beat Otago 39 -11 in a try fest...

Round 3: Ding.

As the quest to find the hottest college girl in America (courtesy collegehumor.com) marches on we find ourselves at the end of Round 2 and just one round away from the quaters. I'm excited.

_____________________________ElizaE
If you do the math, like I have, and think you've done it correctly, like I do, then we left with 32 girls! Here is the 31 addition to the list. [Number 32 wasn't worth putting up] Will bring you an all 16 recap before the quaters.

Telkom is Next

The coolest thing about having your own website is the amazing power you command over lesser mortals like the public and major broadcasting coporations. (it's not really the coolest but for the purpose of this post it is) My scathing review of Supersports' less than impressive coverage of major sporting events (like the NPC) has reaped the reward of them making a formal and public apology. I didn't think a verbal media conference was necessary for them to show their repentance for being useless and that simply apologising in the form of broadcasting the NPC final live on 2 channels was sufficinet.

SS1 and CSN will both be showing Auckland v Otago at 08h35 tomorrow morning.

No need to thank me, I've thanked myself.

You'll know it when you see it...

------------------------------------Beeming: 10 points

I am in no way whatsoever condoning the actions of Donald (f/d)uck here, as she does look under-age (albeit consenting) and he is of course married, (Daisy Duck) but you have to see the humorous side to this. I think it adds clarity to the phrase that “the best way to judge results, when there is no scoreboard, is by the smile on her face…”

URGENT:

There is a massive 21st this weekend and people are flocking from across the globe to come to it. [I'm not going cause I have to study so don't get your hopes up girls...] Anyway a mate of a mate of a mate whose digsmate knows this guy from that thing at that place has a mate who knows these girls that have road tripped down for this 21st from Maritzburg. (hearsay but from their looks I must be right) Problem is they couldn't bring their horses to complete their outfits so we're looking for 2 shetland ponies, 1 My Little Pony and The Trojan Horse...

[that order must be read from right to left, and preference will be given to Odysseus's 'trojan horse' or one of comparable carrying capacity and Sundance or that cute yellow MLP]

Supporting all Sides...

I blabbed on recently about how pathetic the contact-sport competitions in this country are and how rather ineffectual in encouraging the fanatical supporter inside me they are and how in an imperfect world blah blah blah we couldn't expect more blah blah blah and how it's great that the Currie Cup in finally ending.

--------------------------------Blue 1 or 9, Blue 1 or 9!

It seems that when one door of misery closes a door of expectation opens. Only problem is the Lingerie Bowl 2006 will not be shown on Supersport or any SA television screen. And so our 'expectation door' slides closed. (sounds like a Gwyneth Paltrow movie review) At least the internet can allow us access....

-----------------------------Shouts of 'Smash her', encouraged the crowd.

When it rains it pours...

I love how this happens. When something happens it starts happening more often. I put up an intersting ad that I ound and then someone emailed me another ad by chance. Uncanny hey. Anyway when it rains it pours, and you better get this pun when you work out how the ad works...

Get it. The lovely people in Germany do the world such favours. (guilt reaction or whatever I don't care) They came up with an ink that becomes translucent when wet. Hence when it rains, it pours... we need these in Cape Town!

2D or not 2D...

Everything seems to be taking a turn for the better. Summer pokes her lovely face at us with more regularity as the days go by, with the end of exams comes the start of a long well-deserved holiday and this weekend signals the end to the excruciatingly painful farce of a so-called Premier Rugby competition the Currie Cup.

Yes I would prefer the aforementioned Summer to be the gorgeous starlet one from the OC and that she wasn’t just poking her face at me, and I would prefer it if exams were actually over let alone not even begun and I REALLY would prefer it if the Blue Bulls weren’t in line to win their 4th CC title, but in an imperfect world the mere end of the most boring sporting show on earth is enough.

---------------------------------Facet 1: Physics 900 v 700

Not surprisingly in the little tip of Africa we call home there are people (entire cultural groups of people) that totally disagree with me and are actually excited for the prospect of witnessing meatheads dressed in blue running headlong into a wall of defence over and over again until their superior weight advantage drives them past the wall and into the in goal area so they get an opportunity to watch their favourite son attempt to kick a ball through a couple of posts.

Everyone accuses Blue Bulls rugby of being one-dimensional! Utter lies, it is two-fold:

Facet 1: Blue-clad bonehead running into wall.
Facet 2: Blue-clad boy kicking ball.

I find it strange that people enjoy both these facets of SA rugby with such vigour. Besides the added perks of eating copious amounts of pre-packaged dried meat and swigging from brandy polluted buddy coke bottles whilst watching it there must be two explanation for why 50 000 of aforementioned bonehead supports (also clad in blue) pack an over-sized concrete lunchbox to witness the event.

They all are either astute students of the science of physics or it is their Tow-truck heritage that accounts for their excitement. Only a really commited scientist would be fascinated time and time again by the obvious truth that 900 kilograms of (blue) meat will, without fail, manage to push through, past or over a pack of meat of less magnitude. I think it is Newton’s 2nd law (or maybe his 1st or 3rd) but it’s an absolute truth. It’s physics. And if it is not for their scientific background it is because of their tow-truck affiliations. They just live for a collision, quite literally as it accounts for their income and hence their livelihood. Kind of like how all the tow-truck drivers in America watch NASCAR.

Maybe Rassie Erasmus’s shrewd and credibly intellectual coaching demeanour will rub off on his wall of defenders and they may actually turn a ball or two over and keep it away from the blue brainless lump heads and do something with it that might be worth watching but then again this is an imperfect world…[and while we tempting fate, maybe Supersport can broadcast the NPC final, pretty please]

Advertising...

People say some adverts are too offensive and in your face. So being the geniuses that they are the whiz kid coke snorters of the advertising fraternity decided to change this and make some in your car ads.

Rockstar of the Moment ...



Today's Rockstar is something everyone of strives to be. Not a guinea pig, though he is that too. Rather, a lad with an incomparable way with the ladies. He's like a 15cm Frank Sinatra. With fur. I will, however, bet that even ol' Blue Eyes never managed to fuck 24 female guinea pigs in one night, as this Rockstar has.

Sooty the guinea pig, catch up with me up at chicken burger sometime. This one's on us.


PS. This post was resaerched by the incomparable Splattermail. So, uh, thanks, I guess.

Special Mention: This goes out to our unknown reader in Sao Paulo, Brazil, who was the 500th person to visit The Rockstar Journals since we started keeping track last week. Now, I don't know you to well pal, so I'm not just going throw a free chicken burger around. Hell, you might even be a chick. Doubt it though - can they use computers? Anyway, I'm not a heartless bastard so pop over sometime and I'll buy you a coca-cola. 450ml one too.

Rockstar Anthem ...

" Oh Lord it's hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way. I can't wait to look in the mirror cause I get better loking each day. To know me is to love me I must be a hell of a man. Oh Lord it's hard to be humble but I'm doing the best that I can. I used to have a girlfriend but she just couldn't compete with all of these love starved women who keep clamoring at my feet.

Well I prob'ly could find me another but I guess they're all in awe of me. Who cares, I never get lonesome cause I treasure my own company. Oh Lord it's hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way, can't wait to look in the mirror ause I get better looking each day. To know me is to love me I must be a hell of a man. Oh Lord it's hard to be humble but I'm doing the best that I can.

I guess you could say I'm a loner, a cowboy outlaw, tough and proud. I could have lots of friends if I want to but then I wouldn't stand out from the crowd. Some folks say that I'm egotistical. Hell, I don't even know what that means. I guess it has something to do with the way that I fill out my Levi's blue jeans.

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way, I can't wait to look in the mirror cause I get better looking each day To know me is to love me I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble but I'm doing the best that I can.

I'm doing the best that I can"

- Mac Davis

Waltzing Matilda ...
(sung to the tune of Waltzing Matilda)





Somebody wrote in and asked me what it is I have against Australians (cf. James Bond post). It's not that I have anything against them - just that I think that they are arrogant, inbred, brash, inbred, overachievers who were all bred from one tiny genetic pool of reprobrate prisoners sent there by Her Majesty's government to die.

Now we know from our own experience here in South Africa that putting people on an island and hoping they'll just go away isn't the best idea - mostly because they won't - they'll come back and take over. So maybe Her Royal Highness erred a little here.

Even so though, they should all be extinct by now, but instead they're winning more Olympic gold medals per capita than any other country. Now this might sound like sour grapes, hell, it may even be sour grapes except for one thing. They cheat. This is a fact. Everyone knows it, and they don't even try deny it.

In the past two years doping scandals have surface involving almost every known Australian rugby player, and yet, not one of them has been suspended. It has all been dealt with 'internally'. As if. Whatever.

Sorry, my 17 year old, uh, female companion, got hold of the keyboard there.

So, so far, we have qa nation of lying, cheating, inbreds. Added to this, they're inherently racist. Now, I realise that we lack the moral high round here, but we didn't exactly prance around in big dumb hats with corks hanging off them criticising anybody else's domestic policy, did we. In fact , while Australia were imposing sanction on apartheid SA, there was a law floating around Oz which allowed for Aboriginal hunting. Not cool.

I could go on, but as I type I'm foaming at the mouth and the people around me are getting that wide-eyed 'fetch-the-pitchfork' look. God, these people make me mad. Hate inbreds.

Fear and Loathing on the Nacho's Trail: Part 1

In the interests of all that is good and pure in the world the Rockstar Journals has taken it upon ourselves to travel the country sampling what may be one of mankind's greatest inventions, and report back to you - our devoted subjects. uh, I mean, loyal readers.

After venturing oceanside, aformentioned rockstars attempted to secure said nacho's at Buena Vista Social Cafe. Being in disguise (so as not to draw attention to our upcoming critique of the fair) the peons at BVSC failed to recognise us, and hence were unable to accomodate us - due to our lack of a reservation. (Note to self: fire secretary for failing to think of making a reservation on a Sunday night.)

From there, it was but a hop, skip and a jump to the V&A Waterfront, where we unerringly steered ourselves into Cantina Tequila. After seating ourselves, we were eventually attended to by a rather unattractive waitress. Strike 1.

As Mexican style restaurants go I don't expect a lot. I mean, they're hardly a very civilized nation. I do, however, expect Corona. Cantina Tequila had no Corona. Or jugs of frozen Margarita. I also expect that. Strike 2.

Corona: A must

Nacho's, however, they had. Or so they said. Unable to bring myself to order a portion after my appetite was ruined by Strike's 1 & 2, it appeared that the Nacho's trail might be over before it even began. Enter fellow rockstar, GH#12. In an effort of what I can only call sheer utter bravery, and self-sacrifice he ordered Cantina Tequila's Nachos Chiquita (or something to that effect). Dry, yet oily, tasteless, yet overwhelmingly unpleasant tasting - these were undoubtedly the worst nachos I have ever eaten - and I only stole one.

The nacho's were oversized, the portion was small, and the cheese looked like plastic. The chicken looked like shredded tuna of the earth, and tasted far, far worse. A unanimous - Strike 3. Cantina Tequila - You're out!

Rockstar Nacho's Rating:

1 Bandito (out of a possible 5)

Monday Girl...


This is JulianaF coutesy Collegehumor's competition for the hottest college student. She gets my vote. Christ if she ran for president she would get my vote...

Not so superSport…

It never ceases to amaze me how people come to Cape Town from all over the country and are staggered by the amount of beautiful women we have in the Mother City. People flock from unheard of places like Fouriesberg, Buffelsfontein, Diepsloot, Durban and Pietermaritzburg to walk around mouths agape at our impressively talented female collection.

This phenomenon continues however when we too leave the confines of our fishbowl. My mate Joey just got back from Biaritz, (think Serge Betsen) and he said the chicks were to die for. So the theory goes that when you get stuck with something you get complacent and when you remove your blinkers and open your eyes to what else is available you get stunned.


I realized this first hand this weekend. For a decade (or so they claim) the lovely people at multi-choice have bought us DSTV and 10 channels of Supersport. For a decade we have been in total debt for their brilliant sport coverage. And like all other weekends they bought us ‘great’ coverage this weekend.

We had the Premier Division Currie Cup semifinals, the First Division final of the Currie Cup, the Grand Prix on Sunday morning, the finals of the Kremlin Cup, numerous soccer match-ups from England, Italy and Spain, the entire coverage of both one-day games between SA ‘A’ and New Zealand. And on top of this they had their usual supersport highlights channel, news channel and ESPN.

HOWEVER, nowhere, at no time, either live or delayed did they show the NPC semis finals. They didn’t even show the highlights!!! How often does Otago (or anyone) beat the mighty Crusaders at Jade Stadium in Christchurch by 15 points and when ever are 10 tries scored in a semi final of any rugby competition like when Auckland beat North Harbour on Saturday morning?


Yes, really super coverage. Instead I had to watch terrible summer cricket ads, John Smit motivational ads, Shark Bite (fuck sakes), an NPC ad (interestingly enough) and the two semifinals of the pathetic excuse for a rugby competition we call the Currie Cup. It was nice watching the Free State anonymous XV beat the blue&white striped Springboks and Anton Leonard popping his shoulder but I wanted to see real rugby.

God help them if they don’t show Auckland v Otago next weekend…

Glam Fighting…

Leading an active lifestyle and staying in shape have made fitness a recurring infatuation of humankind. And rightly so. The rewards at looking at your toned body in the mirror and allowing gorgeous angels to do likewise on the beaches of the world are reason alone.

For this reason the fitness crazes that whip through society are more numerous than strip malls full of fast food drive-thrus. Cape Town is known for its cool and current atmosphere and for the city’s people for having their skinny, sexy, bronzed thumbs on the pulse of what is cool and in.

The positive effect of this is guys are sporting truckers and girls the latest in short skirt fashion even before they have been made public in the like of Heat magazine. In short Capetonians are our national trendsetters. [It follows then that this is the reason the Mohawk just arrived in Durban]

As with everything there are negative effects. We have this mob of dumb idiots that latch onto any craze with reckless abandon as they live in the perpetual fear that they might be left behind by their more progressive neighbours. Hence we have flash-trending. This is the reason you can’t park within 500m of Caprice, you queue to get a drink at Pulse (plus the barmen are crap), the reason 500 Puma tank-caps were bought from the Waterfront before people realized they looked ridiculous and why people started watching OC and Desperate Housewives on a Thursday night rather than going watch how the VIP queue at Fez was always longer than the normal one...

Anyway the latest flash-trend goes something like this…

- Guy at Pulse bar to girl: “Wow, I’m lank tired…!” [definite bait]

- Girl: “Really, how so?”

- Guy at Pulse bar back to girl: “Cause I do Muay Thai, and it’s lank tiring!”

- Girl: “What’s Muay Thai?”

- Guy: “It’s this hectic new martial arts thing from Thailand that I do. It’s lank tiring. Basically it’s a combination of hectic fighting moves and enough cardio to make me ripped and tired. And I obviously learn to handle myself in a club. Clubs like this one. You see that Bouncer? Well my personal instructor and good friend Quentin Chong taught me a back-foot, reverse jump roundhouse kick executed to the rear of the skull that would drop him. Quentin is world-champion. He says I’m pretty good and with a few months training, at only R350 a month plus access to their full gym and new changing rooms, I could be ready to compete…”

I have no problem with people taking on a rigorous form of exercise. Actually any fat girl who takes up one as a hobby should have her efforts lauded with a rockstar free chicken burger. (technically she wouldn’t cause she is a chick and they aren’t given to chicks and the carbs wouldn’t do her any good) What I do have a problem with is people paying a gross amount of money to be taught how to hit a punch bag by a ‘world champion’ and then claim they are ‘fighters’. It’s like getting a virgin contract in Claremont and saying you’re a bodybuilder, it’s like watching a movie and claiming you’re a film critic, it’s like starting your own blogspot and claiming you’re a rockstar…wait that’s not the same.


I found this interview with the acclaimed world champion instructor on kungfucinema.com. I think it proves my point:

KFC: Do you think you could beat up Keanu Reeves in the 'Matrix?'
QC: In the movies, definitely not because he’s paid to win. If he’s on the street with no 'Matrix' powers, he will sleep very quickly.

I suppose this is the reason that said world-champ instructor uses his amazing talent and fighting skill to fuck up guys in clubs just because they accidentally bump into him, and then hit his mates for just being there, and beat up homeless bergies on Long Street because they asked for change…

I can think of a change worth asking for. How about you drop the charade and change your horribly unrockstarish approach of pretending to be something you’re not…

The name's Bond ...

James Bond. Man, I feel cool just typing that.

I know this is somewhat old news but I've been away in some undisclosed location on some undisclosed mission. And no, I don't know anything about the upcoming stolen home video of Britney Spears , nor if I did would I be at liberty to discuss it.


Back to real life secret agent men - it appears that Daniel Craig will star as the next Double 0 - 7. Judging by his perfomance in Layer Cake he should be pretty good. It's not as if he could be any worse than George Lazenby (fucking Australian) was. Or worse than Jude Law could be, for that matter.

Break a leg..?

Exams are around the corner for many so I thought I would throw out a bit of a 'good luck' sentiment from all of us here at the Rockstar Journals. Since such sentiment can be construed as fairly queer I am going to throw in a macho photo... ha!

Asexual reproduction...

The Birds and the Bees talk is fairly fresh in my memory but Matric Biology is more of a faint memory. However, I'm pretty sure that someone told me trees reproduce asexually. Someone also once told me Dolphins are the only species, besides men, (used men specifically instead of humans) that have sex for pleasure. Judging by this picture one of these 'facts' are horribly incorrect...

My Grand Slam Year...

You can't really keep a rockstar down. No matter how hard you try to squash an individual of such rockstarish pedigree or remove the stage on which he can perform, he will always find a way to blow your feeble attempts away and show his true rockstar colours.

After speculation that he would recover from groin surgery and be ready for action as soon as Wales' game against New Zealand in November, it was corrected that Gavin Henson would in fact miss the rest of 2005 along with possibly the 6 nations.

Without the rugby field to use as his canvas for expression the celebrity player has written a book about his year. The rockstarish theme to his audacity is tangible. Firstly, the book is just about 2005 and not a biography. Secondly it is about 2005 and its only October!!!

Besides the huge drawcard that he speaks his mind and says it how it is without giving a coalmine about the repercussions, he also has a nice stab at Sir Clive Woodward. Anyone who hates the Poms is a friend of mine...

On SCW:
"I also felt his tactics and his game-plan were out of date, while I was shocked to see how little actual coaching he does."

"Clive's coaching methods were something new to me and left me a bit bewildered."

Hate me cause my tan is impossibly fake yet it looks good. Hate me cause my hair is sick crazy but chicks love me. Hate me cause I shave my legs, wear silver boots yet kick game winning penalties from my own half. Hate me cause I'm small in stature yet put in huge hits. Hate me cause I play 12 yet score more tries than your wings. Hate me cause I'm better than you...

Beating yourself... and the competition!

I must admit I have been full of empty promises of late. I’ve decided to turn over a new tree and start to make good on some of my currently void pledges. Remember I went on about Miss College Student 2005 courtesy collegehumor.com? Well here are some of the girls still in contention.

----------------------------Kristina B: Contender
The nationwide competition is still in the preliminary stages but as soon as they get to the business end you will be supplied great footage of the girls rears ends…

---------------------Rachel Y: Hot favourite (enoy the play on words?)

Aerial Dogfight…?

Found this on a website dedicated to animal rights and those dimwitted vegan activists that spend their lives trying to further the entrenchment of animal rights awareness in a society that hardly gives a fuck about human rights. Found the irony hilarious.

The article supporting the pictures went on about how the owner (of the airborne mutt) and the owner (of the irate looking bovine) were liable for their negligence in not sufficiently protecting either animal, which led to the attack and the ensuing counterattack. Apparently both animals were victims! Strange how when nature runs the course it is meant to some poverty stricken Bolivian (hearsay) farmer is to blame...

RSLJ: Article 4 Home-wrecking: Harsh or fair?

Miam Miam. Friday night full. You there with your Group. Nonchalantly leaning against the bar sipping your Millers. Effortlessly tossing out that rockstarish vibe. There is little doubt you’re a lead contender for the next free chicken burger voucher. Up sidles that saucy little blonde girl and…

In a place where the atmosphere is more sex charged than an open-cast funeral of a deceased member of a necrophiliac support group and where the only things more abundant than (excruciatingly) loud music are expensive drinks and expensive looking women one thing is bound to happen. Someone is going to come right. If you’re the guy. Great. If you’re not the guy but the saucy little blonde girl is your girlfriend…not so great.

It happens. It happens more often than you think. It doesn’t happen more often than the situation where the guy cheats on the girl but that’s not my concern here. The crackwhore (saucy blonde girl) is not my concern either. As long as she thinks of me when she has another drink and drives herself home I’m content. [thanks Brand New] My concern is the 3rd party. The guy that drove the wrecking ball through your palatial little love nest.

It is very difficult to find a norm or rule to follow in such circumstances as every case is unique in its context and content. The (rhetorical) question I ask is what kind of guy kisses a doll that is in a committed relationship? I come up with 4 types:

Type A: Mr Bona Fide, aka Mr ‘I-really-hadn’t-a-clue’
The unsuspecting guy who, in good-faith, yielded to the pressure of the advances from Miss Saucy Blondgirl’s extravagant offensive pull tactics and really hadn’t a clue she had a boyfriend. This type is the most rare as such a situation is very uncommon. It takes two to tango but one to poll-dance. Type A would have to be a complete rockstar to warrant such advances and Ms SB an utter crackwhore. 3rd Party 0 CW 1.

Type B: Mr Bob 'Deepthroat' Woodward, aka Mr ‘I-really-did-know-but-will-claim-I-didn’t’
This guy gets wind that Ms SB does in fact carry the stamp of another guy but works on the theory that if he doesn’t know the boyfriend, the boyfriend isn’t there to stop it and she is up for it then what the hell. This is a very defendable position but still enough to get the home-wrecking t-shirt, so half a point. The chicks obviously played a big role in letting it happen…bitch. 3rd Party ½ CW 2.

Type C: Mr Bulenani Ngcuka, aka Mr ‘We-have-mutual-friends’
This guys a fuck. He doesn’t know you personally but he’s heard of you. (tricky for Rockstars as many people have heard of us) Put it this way, he knows people that know you and they know that this tight little piece of blonde ass in the saucy little skirt is meant for your exclusive connubial pleasure. Whether she played a proactive role in the action of deceit or not is irrelevant as she qualifies for a point by allowing it. 3rd Party 1 ½ CW 3.

Type D: Mr Judas, aka Mr ‘Sorry-can-I-have-my-knife-back-when-your-back-is-done-with-it?’
This guy is a world-class snake in the grass. This two faced prick masquerades as your blood buddy during the day but at night turns into a blonde stealing bastard. He will dance with her, flirt with her, sms her, compliment her and buy her drinks, and when your back is turned he’ll snake her. He wrote the book on home-wrecking and prefers to implode the building than use the ball. 2 points. But as with everything in life, the wheel comes full circle and so will his irate ex-mates 16” alloy mag over his head…

------------------------Final Score: 3rd Party 3 ½ CW 4.

Moral: In most scenarios the guys are at fault but ultimately the girl always is…

PARIS HILTON SCREWING BY A POOL...

Which optimistic prick said life wasn't a let down... Hope you read the title first and were heartbroken when you saw the picture... Hope I ruined your day! Just kidding, hope it was crap before this anti-climax and I just made it worse.

[Why the beef? After reading the same title above, I waited with child-like optimism for this picture to download. It took ages and every second that pasted the fire of anticipation grew brighter inside me. I thought I was on the verge of something special. New porn of Paris doesn't hit the net as often as it used to/should. My fire was doused like a little jewish kid finding out he couldnt believe in Santa Claus. I wasn't a happy camper.]

Rockstar of the Moment ...

Here at the Rockstar Journals we don't like to reward celebrity. Being famous is overrated. Plus, there are enough fringe benefits already without additionally being recognised by a prestigous publication such as ourselves.

On the other hand, some celebrities are undeniably cool. Like the Hoff. And this week's Rockstar, Wilmer Valderamma. While you might recognise him as the geeky Fez from That 70's Show, Wil is no slouch. So far he has racked up a fairly impressive list of conquests which include Mandy Moore, Lindsay Lohan and Eva Longoria. That in itself would probably secure him his chicken burger, but the lad has now truly outdone himself.



What Would Tyler Durden Do reports that:

“Wilmer Valderrama has struck again. The "That '70s Show"
chick magnet was spotted locking lips with "My Name Is Earl" star Jaime Pressly
at Tao Las Vegas last weekend.”

I mean - my God - Jaime Pressly. The girl was not entirely ignored when looks were being handed out. This man needs to set up a school or university. Public buildings should be named after him. I'll even go one better - Wil, this week - the chicken burger's on us.

3 in 1…

So right here on this very site you have read about sports, drinking and the art of quoting. (quoting usually about the first 2 categories) This post has all three in one. This could be likened to a threesome of blogging pleasure. If it is your first online ménage du trios…read on and enjoy. It is a pleasure.

Exhibit A: Drinking

Meet Kyle Orton. Obviously drunk, and slightly rude, Kyle is barside ready to mouth another mammoth order. Please note the petite blonde girl looking to get close to the action and the guy in the baby blue (fag) shirt gawking at Kyle's imposing presence!

Exhibit B: Quoting

Kyle Orton standing on a barcounter armed with bottle of Jim (when you know him like Kyle) with a huge spillage stain down his shirt front, and deftly holding not one but two plastic cups. Read: Fuck I drink a lot and have skills...

Exhibit C: Sport


This is Kyle Orton’s day job. At 6 ft 4 and 223 pounds this fake Babagodouche is no. 18 the first rookie to start the opening game of the season for the Chicago Bears at quater-back. This means he is a famous sporting celebrity in Chicago. He is huge, think Brandon Jack wondering the corridors of Benoni High School, albeit sans the sporting talent.

The Bears had a bye this weekend but in season regulations on drinking in Chicago seem fairly relaxed… At least he doesn’t get Ferguson drunk and take his clothes off…

Quantity not quality...

I got an email the other day requesting I elaborate on my definition of a porksword. Very simply a picture paints a thousand words. This picture paints a truckload more than a 1000. As for the title... it has no relevance to any of this... but I thought it didn't look out of place.

Hurricane Katrina ...

While I'm being politically incorrect, I though I'd subject you to that subject line. Am I trying too hard here?

Rockstars, we present to you the lovely Katrina Kerns. She's the back up singer for the indie-band Sufjan Stevens, as well as a Ford Model. Overachiever? Do we like them any other way? As long as she does my eggs over-easy, I'm not threatened.














Just as entertaining as these wonderful photos is this little war of words between two internet geeks claiming the right to Ms. Kerns' affections. 'Cool Incarnate' may be as close to a rockstar as geek will ever come. Good work, son.

For all those infatuated with the lovely Katrina Kerns, I'd like to put all your silly perversions to rest. She is not available for you to drool all over. So, I suggest that you except the fact that you are all out of your league and enjoy her contribution to the music rather than making a visual display of her all over the internet.
thnx.

Posted by: typo at August 24, 2005 01:30 PM

Uh...actually, I think she's quite available for me to drool over. In fact, she's on my computer screen right now. Now THAT's available, my friend.
And since when is it "perverted" to compliment a woman's looks? Are you serious?
And precisely why would she be out of my league? I happen to be a very handsome and well-mannered individual with a good record collection, white teeth, and great friends. I hold down a steady job, know my way around a kitchen and speak four languages. Out of my league? I play in the major leagues, son.
You sound like that loser she probably dumped before she left to go on tour. Tough shit, kid. I'll tell her you say 'hi' when I pick her up for our dinner at Nobu next week


And another thing...
I think you confused the word "except" with "accept". I mean, it's an easy mistake. They're basically the exact same word, you know, when you don't factor in the completely different meanings, and the spelling, and all that other English language bullshit.
No wonder she left you. Katrina looks like a pretty literate girl to me. By which I mean, both pretty and literate.

Posted by: cool incarnate at August 24, 2005 10:36 PM

Conspiracy Theories ...

JFK was shot by three gunmen, Princess Diana was assasinated by MI6, the pyramids were built by aliens, the Apollo 11 moon landings were faked and George W. Bush is really a cold-blooded reptile, and the Wallabies use steroids and get away with it. All conspiracy theories which the average human being wouldn't waste his time investigating, or believing. (Except the last two which everyone knows are true.)

Luckily for you, I'm not the average human being - far from (or is it beyond) it. Not that I have the requisite time or patience or look into these ridiculous rumours either, but I do have time to formulate some of my own, proudly South African ones. Right, buckle up girls and boys, it's going to get bumpy.

1) Brett Kebble was assassinated by the Sunday Times so that they had something to write about for once, and so that someone would actually buy their paper.
2) Apartheid was some sort of huge 'conspiracy' to keep black people downtrodden, and take all the riches of Africa for white people.
3) Maties (Stellenbosch 1st XV) threw their game against Vics (Stellenbosch 2nd XV) so that Vics could avoid relegation.

The beauty of these theories, they're all probably true. So you can't disprove me. And that makes me right. And better than you.

Rumours that Stellenbosch used reptilian Afrikaners to get

Princess Diana to assassinate JFK were never proved. Or disproved