RSLJ Article 12: They must be afraid of failing...

Here at rockstar journals we make preparations for the regular occurrence of human stupidity and offer various platforms from which to highlight, examine and then ridicule such occurrences.

The ‘Hate Mail’ section and the newly launched ‘docking’ section tender an impressive platform from which we can snapshot the antithesis of rockstar behaviour, read in awe how some guys are like that and hopefully instil a growing trend in the readership to sway from making comments, wearing outfits, and performing certain acts that would remove any of the doubt of whether you are a world class douchebag.

The flipside of this stick approach is the carrot approach of the ‘rockstar of the moment award’ and viola you are now getting an idea from what is expected of you to prevent you living out the rest of your life looking like more of an idiot than Luke Watson at flyhalf. No vision, no options, no skill and no success, just one stupid looking “I’ve-got-a-barfridge-under-each-arm” swagger. So read and learn.

I have frequently stumbled upon a series of incidents; which are so severe in abhorrent nature that neither the ‘hate mail’ nor ‘docking’ options I have before me do justice in successfully attacking them. So I have gone for the big gun! Hence, we’re writing an article.

I have summed up the situation and through cogent reasoning have unmasked what I purport is the reason behind this specific behaviour. The most unscrupulous vice a man can have is being so pathetically unable to hold his own in any arena that he accepts failure from the outset. These guys walk out to the middle of life’s batting crease expecting to get trapped LBW first ball.

---------------------------Should have stayed in the changeroom...
But here is the kicker. These guys know they are going to fail to such a degree that they go out to the crease without their bat, so when they do get the umpire’s index finger they have something to blame.

If I am talking past you, then let me translate this away from the cricket metaphor. Take the scenario of a guy hitting on a chick who is straw-pedoing away her night at the bar at Tiger. Now make the addition of the element that the guy knows this particular girl has a boyfriend. I assert that this guy has the knowledge that he is more out of his depth than a fat girl at a swimwear shoot and so what does he do? He finds a reason to fail before he starts!


It makes sense does it not? If one of the aforementioned brutal fruit glugging girl’s boyfriendless friends were to be approached by our subject he would undoubtedly fail worse than ‘Do Not Touch’ signs written in Braille. However, when this happens he will be shown to be useless. So what he does is he hits on the one with the boyfriend? This way, getting bat gives him the excuse:

‘she was so into me, if she didn’t have a boyfriend I would definitely tap that shit’

Funny how this guys idiocy is pronounced by his use of ‘tap that shit’ when referring to coming right, just when you thought the guy couldn’t get any worse! Before you know it he will be wearing a sleeveless shirt to campus and calling his equally dim-witted friends dawgs…

Truth be told this argument despite being coherent and bereft of nonsense it is also bereft of fact and is more accepted for its plausibility than it’s factual content. Nevertheless its plausibility is supported by the fact that if such actions continue he will find himself lying in the local medi-clinic trying to explain to the doctor, how the jagerbomb he was nursing hit the linked chain around his neck with such force it ignited, engulfing his face and charring him beyond recognition, by way of a white story board and ink markers…

The way I see it is since no man wants to eat his food through a feeder tube for 8months he must be overwhelmingly scared of something else, and that something else must be terrible. Hence, he prefers not finding out that he is a total and utter loser. Sorry for you but when the nurses hear how you wind up with a hotel stay courteous discovery health they will be thinking it anyway…

Monday Girl...


Don't lie. Now that you have seen her you know she is worth the wait...Oh and since you have waited so patiently she is ready to take your order!

You heard it here first...

A confidential source has leaked to us that Snow Patrol will be coming out to do a concert early next year. If this is true, you heard it here first. If not we accept no responsibility for unnecessary excitement.

Eddie's got a gun...


To judge a man by his calves would be an injustice merely because gangstas exist likeEddo 'frikkan bullet' Lepine. The man shot his first fist of fury in standard 9 in the parking lot of Wanders Club late one saturday evening. His aim was sweeter than his cat and to this day that poor Jeppe boy will tell you, a bullet from that gun comes at serious velocity...


Thankfully Eddie grew out of his hardass jozi exterior and into the soft cape town lover he is today. Another thing he is today is 23. And if you knew him, thats 3 times older than he acts.

Love you brother. [in that I want to marry your sister way]

Girls are forever...


One of our most valued readers Clarkie is currently thrashing the head advertising exec for De Beers. He sent this stuff in to us. I think he stole it from her laptop, along with her..erm..heart?

AEQUITAS...


Every man worth his salt loved Boondock Saints. Yes it is cool to walk around in black half length trenchcoats and recite latin phrases at will but it is friggan cool to take it upon yourself to eradicate bad people vigilante style.

Well, we've taken it upon ourselves to create a continuum in such thought and stamp out idiocy vigilante style.

Target 1: Acquired.


Walked onto my small campus early this morning to find a guy (who was an idiot before this social indiscretion) sporting a puppy to campus. Added to this, he was standing at the end of the coffee queue. For those of you who don't understand the significance of where he positioned himself, the coffee table is akin to the watercooler in gym.

Puppies belong at home. The reason guys bring puppies to varsity (or anywhere) is not so poor Friddel doesn't get lonely at home but because he needs a way to get chicks attentions.

You might as well bring a baby elephant (pachyderms are cute too you know) and stray paint on it in bring orange, "I use infantile animals as bait..." Now watch the girls come running.

Monday Dream...

Good morning loyal followers. If you have ever lingered on FTV's midnight hot whilst surfing DSTV late at night you might recognise this pretty young thing. I am feeling particularly unmotivated what with my newly broken ankle and all but Elena Santarelli will get me through the week...

Heroes and villains…

The name Gayton McKenzie should (assuming you are of a rockstar disposition like myself) conjure in your mind a Philadelphia Eagles linebacker or a hardened coloured Stormers support standing on the ramparts of Newlands.

The first vision would actually be rather plausible however the latter is actually not far from the truth. The bit that is far from the truth is the reference to the sport, team and stadium, whereas the rest is actually close to the truth. However despite its closeness to the truth it is not nearly close enough to encapsulating the entire truth.

I could try put the truth in a nutshell but would fail dismally…

If you want the truth go read ‘The Choice: The Gayton McKenzie Story’. I can open your eyes to part of what is in this abbreviated biography of a great man’s life but I wouldn’t get near summarising his greatness. In fact his greatness is too big to be summarised.

If you had asked me when I was a 10 years old prep school boy who my hero was you would have got a figure that was an amalgamation of Pete Mitchell (the maverick part not the Tom part) and James Small.

If you had asked the same question when I was 15 years old you would have got Christian Cullen morphed with Maurice Green.

If you had asked me two days ago it would have been Dave Denbury, Tyler Durden and Robbie Williams rolled into one.

Ask me now and you’d still get those 3 (okay maybe without dave) but Gayton McKenzie would definitely be part of that hero equation.

The simple truth is that his life was the exact opposite to mine. He was dirt poor. Lived in a terrible segregated settlement in serious poverty. He was exposed to abhorrent crimes when he was very young. He took the life choice of pursuing a life of crime…

He lived that life. He was successful at it. And he paid for it with 15 years in Grootvlei prison.

His book tells the story of a little boy that had nothing, went into crime, became a successful ganster, went into hell, and came back a better man. People appreciate movies or books that portray character development. This book does it better than any other because it is the truth.

McKenzie’s story is told frankly without shying from the truth. The good, the bad, the ugly is all told without remorse. The man has nothing to hide. You step back from the book wondering why nothing else has provoked such thought in you before.

You want a reason to take some introspection and survey your life so far? Read this book. You’ll throw away every hero you have ever had before and find yourself staring at the face of a man you wish you could mimic in terms of what he has overcome.

Rockstars that can tell stories like his from the first person are few and far between…

Monday girl...

In the absence of GH#12, I have been given the honour of choosing this weeks Monday girl. I think I've done rather well. I give you Alessandra Ambrosio. I do love Brazilians...

New competition...

The hilarity of watching Survivor SA cough and splutter it's way to the pathetic hall of fame dispated sooner than I thought. I really anticipated been able to watch atleast 4 episodes laughing 'at' it before the novelity would wear off and I'd have to go back to laughing at other substandard SA productions, like the currie cup.

This was not the case, in fact the novelty wore off during the pre-credits but I stomached my bile and watched all 50 minutes of it. I came to a two conclusions.

The girl we were backing is deceptively portrayed in her photo and on screen sans the airbrush she is one huge bitch. Also realised her name is not Bridget, but Brigeeeet. I'm guessing her great relatives drove oxendrawn wagons.

The second conclusions gives rise to my new competition:

(drum roll) Who between Sam - the camp ripped energiser keen bean gay biker - or the presenter will be the first to die after a fellow contestant, or viewer at home, places one of the rare, venomous, indigenous tree frogs in their rice bowl?

I am not sure how the viewer at home will pull such a moment of skullduggery off but as soon as I realise that you will see either Sam the fag or Gareth Cliff's older brother frothing at the mouth while palpitating on the deck of a panama boat ambulance.

Hope you appreciate the Gareth Cliff's older brother thing! The guy is a spitting image and talks the same amount of crap. Did you hear the symbology quote? For fuck sakes, Willem Dafoe would do his nut, 'I believe the word you are looking for is sym-bo-lism....'

Miller M o n d a y . . .


It's Marissa Miller time!

A star was born...


They say Michaelangelo's David is the perfectly proportioned male figure. I am not too sure about that since The Makers second worst punishment after red hair is curly hair but I'll give the statue two things:
A- He is cut to shit and could probably crack a walnut in those abs; and
B- He has Adriana Lima in his crotch.

How this relates to this, the second day of Spring, also being the birthday of our favourite rockstar I am not sure. Maybe it is cause he is also pretty ripped, and because the only way he'll ever have Lima in his crotch his through my help.

Happy birthday big guy. Bring back your gap-year paycheck so you can buy us a round.

Correction...


The clouds were held at bay in the southern suburbs and the Atlantic was hotter than girl in the green bikini. (Girl in green bikini not pictured. If you came you would have my mental image)

Spring into summer...

The first day of spring was meant to be a sorching 27 degrees in Cape Town and I had a wonderful post planned rubbing it in to people who live in less comfortable climates that spring in CT is like summer everywhere else.



Unfortunately the clouds have rolled in with my idea and ruined it. So lets just enjoy summer the only way we can...

Oh please no...

I used to have so much free time on sunday evenings (after making a mockery of my touch colleagues the whole day) that I would kick around the apartment and do arb stuff. You know arb stuff right?

Tabulate, index and cross reference my Men's Health collection (sundays are religious afterall), teach the cat how to use it's right paw, phone the sibling to touch base, chat up the new tenant upstairs, recalibrate the sights on my airrifle, try set another highest score fur Burnout 2...you know arb stuff.

However I was never, and I am not friggan joking...never inclined to turn on MNET to watch that camp american show with the 'pseudo-queer eye for a queerer guy' host that knocks down poverty stricken family abodes to built mansions in the projects!

Home-wreckers or whatever it's called encourages me to ambidexterise my pets but whats coming now to that time slot is going to make me do arb stuff like superglue my eye-lids shut and pogo downstairs backward.

I don't want to get too cynical about the advent of Survivor SA, but let's be brutally honest. Idols SA? I rest my case. But since we're proudly South Africa here at RSLJ we are going to run our own subsidiary competition to SSAP. (Survivor SA, Panama...wow...it even has a dutch acronym) Yes you guessed it! Which girl are we backing.

Disappointingly it's a one horse race, since only one chick is a belter so we pick her. Who said we weren't (insert an antonym of shallow)!

This you might enjoy. Whilst scrolling down the names of the contestants to click on the female names to recruit for your competition, I inadvertly clicked on this bloke:

---------------------------Still cut up after losing 5-3 in the last rubber!

Forgive me, but carrying a name like Sam, and you're friggan assured of being mistaken as a girl. That aside the interesting thing about this phedracut moron is that he is Mr MH 2005. (it makes sense now that MHs is a religion cause it is flawed) You might vaguely remember a reference to the guy in dec 05 on this site because he cheats at touch. Don't forget that....

Monday call girl...

Peter Doherty is officially the best role model for little boys across the world! The best role model for why not the get addicted to heroin. He goes out with Kate Moss, but hires this crackwhore as a $500 call girl for a night. He passed out and was unable to best use his 5 dead presidents but that doesn't change the fact that this is fairly uncouth...

The Real Monday Girl...

It's time you left him Kate and came and join myself and my girlfriend in a trilationship..!

Ugly people flirting. Act 2, Scene 1:

(Cue Jaws theme music)

Oh God, I think there is some sort of epidemic spreading. All are in danger. You never know when your time will come. Your time to witness the atrocity of (dun dun daaaa) ugly people flirting...

I seem to have been cursed by the Gods (some form of Karma perhaps) as the other day I witnessed my second bout of ugly people flirting in a week. This time, the act could've been a scene from Brokeback Mountain because the "girl" role was played by a Heath Ledger lookalike and the guy looked like Jake Gyllenhaal's ass.

Ok, you can do this. Just take a deep breath and tell everyone what happened...
They had clearly taken a break from the front row of the Finance Honours lecture to commit this heinous act. I was perfectly placed to witness the whole thing...

Jake's Ass: So what did you get up to this weekend (fart fart)?
Heath: I had so much fun. I worked all weekend
Jake's Ass: That sounds (fart) awesome. You have really nice eyes
Heath: Thank you. The size of your forehead indicates to me that you have an impressive frontal lobe

(he..I mean she. Oh fuck it. Heath goes in for the kiss)

Why me?

A house to make a home in...

Last Thursday I was dragged (not too hard) to House of Rasputin (H.O.R.), the new gentlemen's club, by GH#12 and Mr G. It was one of those spontaneous outings that turns a planned night of work and an early bedtime into a Millers-fuelled evening spent in the company of naked and gyrating Bulgarian and Russian angels. True, there were one or two less appealing locals. For example HF Verwoerds daughter with the fake tits who thought that we would actually enjoy it if she stuck Mr G's glasses in her underwear. I don't think he saw as much of Milla's (stop it!)table dance as GH#12 and I did because his spectacles were a bit steamed up. Other than Milla's (stop it!) bum, the two highlights of the evening were:

1) The Eastern Bloc stripper who was sitting on my lap feeling an sms vibrate in my pocket, making some filthy comment, and then proceeding to attempt to read out loud an invitation to a braai and drinks the following night. A heavily accented stripper trying to say "Come for a jol at 5 Harcourt Avenue, Claremont" is nothing short of hilarious.

2) The dirty wH.O.R.e stripper who adopted us for the evening and actually turned out to be a nice girl who doesn't do drugs, only approves of stripping if it is in an effort to make a better life for yourself or your loved ones, and pays her 13 year old sister's school fees introduced us to word of the week when she referred to Verwoerd's daughter as "rather uncouth." Rather uncouth? Sweetheart, despite your aspirations of being a UN goodwill ambassador and South Africa's first female president, you have just taken all your clothes off on stage during which time my two friends and I, as well as the 30 middle aged dudes, were privy to the fact that you have two nipple rings. Uncouth!?!

3) After being asked if I was old enough to be there (Fuck sorry if I don't grow facial hair like Boyd Varty), convincing the entire work force that it was in fact my 18th birthday. Lesson learnt - strippers are gullible.

It was nice to finally meet some of the girls who live in my girlfriends old house in Camp Ground road. I think I might stop in and pretend that I'm looking for a shirt I left there once...

Monday Doll...


In reference to the last post. Thanks for keeping us rotating...

Things that make the world go round...

Up until very recently I wasn’t familiar with the name Lily Allen. My position in this regard was altered over the weekend when her name came up during the ‘celeb gossip’ insert on the radio news. It turned out young Lily is not shy to pass judgement on famous people and to do so public.

--------------------Drinking like a bergie and pregnant tops accentuates women!

The news spot was about how Ms Allen had spoken out about the onstage antics of the girl group ‘The Pussycat Dolls’. We here at Rockstar embraces the idea that everyone is entitled to their own opinion but sometimes we also embrace the opportunity to platform our own opinion on those held by others.

Allen had this to say. ‘They [the PCDs] are bad role models for young girls as they project the image that girls must be skinny, must wear revealing clothes, they never say anything of value and that womanising is acceptable’.

As pointed out, Lily, you are entitled to your opinion and we can’t take it away from you. We would like to point out however that skinny girls wearing revealing outfits could very possibly be one of the geophysical reasons that the earth rotates on an axis and would a stop to such behaviour would make our geoid home stationary and the abruptness of such a stop would probably fling us off the surface so far that people admiring skinny girls in revealing bikinis in Croatia would end up lying face down in a lunar crater.

As for the womanising part, this is simply a reaction to skinny chicks in very little attire and such attention is necessary to invite aforementioned scantily clad women to continue dressing like so, hence perpetuating the motion of the earth.

As for purporting the idea that women don’t say anything of value! We agree that they should stop perpetuating such a stigma if you do to…

Guess who?

I have a thing for Guess? girls and as much of an angel as she is, I'm not referring to Anastasia in the Cavendish branch but rather to the countless models who have appeared in the Guess adverts that adorn their shopping bags and stores. Cast your eyes friends...

Double header...

Yes folks, today is a rockstar birthday double header. In addition, both birthday boys happen to be digs mates in Wonderland (all strippers from across the road are welcome to the party tonight).

Best wishes from RSJ to Charles aka Kenrick Brown and Gregory Bastard. In many ways, these men are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Kenrick is known as by far the fittest man in Western Province whereas Greg enjoys the odd binge and sent me this (albeit inadvertently) yesterday:

"Wonderland, I apologise for over-consumption of the alcoholic beverage. I will no longer consume as from Sunday the 20th August. Henceforth in writing."

Excuse me for stating the obvious but today is before Sunday the 20th and so most punters are expecting an epic performance, hopefully from both men.

May your days be blessed with chicken burgers and your nights with swedish lingerie model twin threesomes...

Rockstar of the Moment...

We wanted to reinstate the importance of this award so started getting stingy with throwing it around. Also rockstar is overseas selling prefab condominiums to any retired grandmothers above the poverty line so hasn't been able to focus.

There is no doubt today that the awardee is very deserving of his free chicken burger. I hope you didn't infer from the Tiger article below that some good things don't come out of Tiger Tiger, because last tuesday something good came out and she went straight to Dboy's place.

We're going to use the CIA highliter on this one cause some details are so personal they are better left unmentioned but lets just say coming right (what a euphemism) with number 2 a variety of times in a variety of positions means this is quite possibly the last time I will ever speak to you.

Dave our friendship is over, but you're now my hero...

Ugly People Flirting: Act 1 Scene 1...


(It was a dark and stormy Cape Town winters day and the UCT Commerce Computer Labs were full. Enter the two lead characters from right of stage...)

Fat, Balding, Spectacled Guy (FBSG): Let's open g-mail accounts together

(unwittingly or not initiating a bout of flirty banter as graceful as the Bolshoi Ballet)

Afrikaans Red-haired Girl with Hairlip (ARGH - see what I did there): But I are not knowing how

FBSG: Thats ok I will guide you through it

ARGH: What must I put my address as?

FBSG: Whatever you want

ARGH: Do I have to make it my name?

FBSG: Whatever you want


(She gets worked up, unleashing a barrage of questions at the unassuming FBSG and seeming as though her red hair is about to catch on fire for real)

ARGH: Do I have to put my surname as well? Should I put a dot between my name and surname because I've seen lots of people with that. Why's it not working?

(He pays her a compliment in a blatant attempt to sweet talk her into bed)

FBSG: You're a clever girl, I'm sure you can work it out

ARGH: Dankie. I like your boep. Let's go naai.

(They exit the stage to the right, leaving the only audience member nauseous)

Easy Tiger...

I love how things in Cape Town are so hot right now one minute and then like Jaco van der Westhuzyn the next. I guess it is natural that things fluctuate between popular and detested but night clubs take it to the exteme.

Tiger filled a niche in the market with better timing than a Tiger Woods down stroke. Someone with a liquor licence could have opened a breadbin with a muncipality regulation firescape, used a half filled Ipod shuffle of contemporary dance hits plugged into an amp and charged R50 entrance and still become a super club in Claremont.

Tiger went a step further than my example. They got a really big breadbin, used an Ipod mini and had the odd student night and wham bam thank you ma'am became the night spot destination of choice of the southern suburbs (for the people of the northen suburbs too, unfortunately) for 4 nights of the week. Easy hey! The owner must be printing money.

However, success when wrongly channeled can lead to complacency and that is where the big 'striped kitty' finds itself now. Tiger has developed a reputation that is far from laudable and people are already boycotting it as a result.

This new found stigma emanates from two very real Tiger related scenarios. The first is the suspicious hangover some people are starting to wake up with, coupled with severe memory loss, a soon to develop and very justified LC and a very strange coppery flunitrazepam after taste in their mouths.

Drink spiking used to be an urban myth associated with clubs in town and Wynberg girls house parties but a recent spate of incident at Tiger has some serious rumours flying:

Rumour 1: There is some wild maniac drink spiker on the loose targeting ugly girls and guys!
Rumour 2: The Tiger management or barladies wash their glassware in pure alcohol.
Rumour 3: They buy the MyKINDA spirits brand and syphon the contents into the bottles of respectable labels.


Lets evaluate these. R3 is probably the most plausible. It is a sneaky way of selling cheap ass township liquor at premium prices, but this doesnt't explain the black outs suffered by the more northern suburb patrons as they were brought up on this KINDA low grade tipple so have a tolerance to it. R2 is also plausible as one can't detect the addition of pure alcohol in a double cane as it is masked but then I did hear it from a girl so that rules it out. R1 is a goodie and makes more sense when you think about that weirdo that walks around cavendish dressed like Bjork listening to his ipod and doing things with his hands that indicates he probably thinks he is one of those girls from Triplie Trax. The problem with this is that why the hell then does no one see the fucker? He obviously does it as a prank (no guy would otherwise to do it to ugly girls and guys) but surely since it happens so often someone will see him?

The second scenario panned out like this:

At 23h55 young Jon has been standing outside at the front of the non-moving queue for 45min. Two inebriated ugly girls (possibly prank spiked) are begging the NBA looking bouncer to allow them urgent re-entry so they can find the girl that is their lift home. Had it been a guy they were requesting entrance to find Jon wouldn't have been so sympathetic but luckily it wasn't.

The guy from "The Air Up There" (you knew you recognised him) is a steadfast as Madagascar in the Indian Ocean and won't budge. The girls are very adament and their constant begging and pleading is unheard. Eventually they resort to higher channels and request to see the Manager. The spear-looking bouncer tells them to 'Fuck Off'!

The girls then explode in a rant of non-repeatable expletives that really shouldn't come from the mouth of ladies but given the circumstances (and their slightly butch disposition) they are forgiven. The big man is more silent than a totem pole and only a touch taller.

One girl then tries to push past him to get her chubby face inside to request assitance and High Tower throws her a Butch James stiff arm and roughly shoves both girls back a large distance. Jonny's private school upbringing reminds him that never should a man physically attack a women so stands in and confronts the bouncer.

[At this point, Jonny has not really been party to the proceedings but definitely was on the girls side just cause letting them in would solve the irritating annoyance of their complaints that were ruining his already wonderful night out]

Jon: Hey Pal. That's really not necessary. They are just girls. Your excessive use of force is hardly commensurate to the problem you are faced with. I think your immediate apology is in order and that you should go to all lengths necessary to assist these young ladies.
Flagpole: What you say?
Jon: Do you speak English?
Treetop: What you say?
Jon: Can I see your passport?
Topfloor: What you say?
Jon: Work visa? Immigrant status? National ID document? Letter from the Congo Embassy? Maybe a Ghanain football shirt? Can you prove you are allowed to live and work in this country?
Jack's Beanstalk: Shut up.
Jon: You're an asshole man...

Jon then got an overhand right and a life ban...

You might be a roomy establishment with ample parking lots of bars and big crowds, but if you don't sort out your security issues you are going to have people sticking flyers on cars saying "boycott Tiger"...

Monday girl...


Stop it!!!

Thumb, th-thum-thumb, thumb...

The 13th of August came and went for many of you out there like any lazy end of winter sunday should. A nice little breakie here, and a spot of gym there. Maybe a round of golf or any past time soaking up the Cape Town winter sun before settling into reruns of Desperate Housewives and CSI.


That is how you spent the day. However, half the female population of the Cape was not so laid back and carefree. Instead many women stalked around exchanging shifty glares and knowing looks. The day meant something to them, and it made them tingle inside.

You see yesterday was the birthday of a man that changed the face of drunken night frolics with single women. The advent of his masterful technique meant no longer would one of these late night trysts leave the man satisfied and the obliging lady unfulfilled.

When the hallowed holy man Vatsyayana heard about the technique he said, "Dean my boy, you've done well!"

Happy Birthday big guy, where ever you are...

Happy happy birthday...


We seem to be going through rockstar birthdays of late like this man went through university credits, slow at first and then with surprisingly regularity. Yes the 8th of the 8th is not just normally the day on which we celebrate Women's day but it is also the day of the Gav.

Now had it been my birthday this would have been little no coincidence. After all, what better way for women to celebrate their day than with me...okay who am I kidding, he is probably the better gift.

Young, rich, successful and always scheming he bears stark resemblence to the other famous jewish guy and he could even be immortal too. Who knows though cause today he is only 23. Your age has finally surpassed your gold handicap...

Here is to another 23 pal...

Aaargh you aware that its Monday...


It isn't often that a girl makes the monday page on more than one occasion but I am feeling cut-throat. Keira, stop it!