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Me 2.0: Count your followers...

Me 2.0: Count your followers...

Social media? Web 2.0? This idea that the web will facilitate communications. Allowing us to share information. Make new connections to each other. Yeah… right…

It started off so well. Finding new ways to connect via the web. Brilliant. Facebook allowed me to stay connected to my friends all over the world. To be connected to them in new and wonderful ways. Have fun via virtual touching. I could even follow their thinking and random ideas on Twitter. I can tell them what I like on Digg. And I can blog to just dump my thoughts and emotions in written space. It was good. Really good. Being connected. Being part of each other.

But it also bugged me a bit…

A few things have developed that makes me think we are moving Web 2.0 to Me 2.0. The Me of self. But only “better”. Being obsessed with ourselves. The individual over the group. The god complex coming out to play in virtual space.

I just see too many people disconnected from all of this. Especially my people from Africa. That’s not new. That’s all “fine”. It’s not as if they were connected before. But what happens now is that those voices are not even drowned out anymore. They are just not present. Because they are not connected to the others who have and who are connected. You live in a shack in the DRC? Tough luck buddy – no squatting in virtual space for you. Kid working the farm in Brazil? Sorry, no ideas for you to plant in our little space my friend. Sweating in the shops in Vietnam? No place for you to raise your fist in anger over here.

Oh get off it. I know the stories they tell can be found somewhere on the web. Mostly through the eyes of some do-gooder who are connected. But the problem actually goes deeper than that. It’s not just about them not being here or them being represented by other voices.

The places where we go – Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, Whatever.com, Myopinion.net, Idogood.org – we filter our interactions. We filter it to the bare minimum of our thoughts. The bare minimum of our interactions with the world. We can carve it nicely into little blocks of interactions for every part of our ego. An application for every self-interest. A site for every self-absorbed soul. Your life and meaning in a 140 characters. If you sweat in the factory or you work on the farm or live in the shack – sorry, you take too much space and I only have 140 characters for you. No character, only characters.

And so we filter away to basic interactions. Random thoughts in 140 characters. Fun interactions with friends and followers. A Digg at the other side. And the “people” who make us are left behind somewhere in between the tweets of virtual space. We update our status and forget who defines us. I am because we are.

I am because we are…

It remains true to Web 2.0. It becomes Me 2.0. We becomes me.

We define the “we” as those who can tweet and follow, update statuses and poke us, Digg us a story of fake depth – those who are connected. The new “we”. The real we being replaced by the virtual we. The faces of the masses drowned out by the faceless numbers on the net.

We started off with good intentions. We paved the road to hell ourselves. This new we that we live with. A virtual space made for our ego to be seduced to me-me-me.

I could still live with the potential of all of this. Because we could use this to spread our words. Be the voices of the voiceless and hope someone will listen when we shout into the dark virtual world of Web 2.0. Maybe find an audience and some new ubuntu friends to tackle the problems in the world. Random friends become us. Ubuntu grows to be more people defined by us.

But it didn’t stay that way…

We’ve always had the narcissist hanging around the net. That’s just fine. But what worries me is people turning into narcissists without even knowing. Without even realizing they are selling their souls for a tweet. Without knowing they are feeding the ego through an update of self. Becoming so obsessed with number crunching their followers. Turning into me-me-me. And that’s what worries me. People changing. And taking control without knowing their impact because they don’t see the mirror anymore.

Good people are turning into self absorbed ego-driven maniacs without even knowing what they have become. Because Web 2.0 has become the drug for the ego. Like a true ego addict they don’t even know they are addicted to the self.

Now we have these others taking over and infesting others with their neo-narcissism. The “me” crowd. It’s all about look how big my following is. Look at what I have done. Self promotion through the web. Decent people are being seduced by this idea that they are the centre of the virtual universe. I just published a book. Look everybody! It’s me! I just got a great idea. Look everybody! It’s me! Me-me-me. Goddam bloody me. People are becoming self absorbed by their own cuteness and their own sharp idea and their own bloody ego. And most of the time they don’t even realize it because this Me 2.0 is like a cancer that slowly eats up the real you and it turns you into something you don’t even see. It’s inside and you can’t see it. And you don’t feel it or hear it. But it is written in between your keyboard hits.

Web 2.0. It was a great development. Getting us connected in new and innovative ways. But it has changed the me into Me 2.0. Where we can drive our own image online and become even more self centred than before. What was hidden because of public “frowning” before is now let loose on the web because the ego goes unchecked. We’ve always lived this dangerous life where we think we know better and are better. It was checked by society. Now there is no one to check it because we can hide our faces behind our screens. The saddest part of it all is that we don’t even notice it. We don’t even know it. And we will fight this idea because it can’t be me right?

I mean really. Do you bloody well think you are God because you have followers? Do you expect these followers to become your diciples? Bow down before the might virtual God.

This is what I fear. That something that started as a new way to connect us actually tears us apart without us even knowing or taking notice because we are too absorbed in our own little virtual world where we are God. Something that makes information democratic becomes just another way for the individual ego to replace the ubuntu. You see it in little ways as peoples “updates” move from conversations to self promotion and ego boosting random self-perceived “wisdoms”. We don’t use Twitter to share random thoughts with our friends and converse with other. We now use it to create followers by the thousands so they can hear our wonderful stories and so that they can feel the glow of our 140 character Bible.

It’s in the nature of people I guess. We create something we think could be good. We start off doing good. And then we get seduced by the power it gives to our ego. We create something good but we don’t know how to control it. Actually, we don’t know how to control ourselves. It’s not in our nature to control ourselves. Even when we think we do and can. We are so easily duped by our own ego. We don’t even know it or see it. And we become like the people we despise. Those people who only think about themselves. Those same people who say they do it for “the people”. We become them. We just don’t see it. But it is hidden in those Tweets. In those updates. In those… hitting of the keyboard sending our ego into virtual space. Like a drug for the self-centered soul.

Me is the new religion of the internet.

Web 2.0 is turning us into Me 2.0.

It’s not social media. It’s self media 1.0.

Don’t update your status. Update your life. Don’t tweet the ego…

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Loose ends...

Loose ends...

Hey! How are you all doing? I know, I know.I’ve been a bad boy… Hardly a blog over the last few weeks months. Don’t push it – it hasn’t been years. No. Not!

Anyway…

Okay. I don’t really have an excellent excuse. But let me give it a shot in any case.

I’ve been a bit all over the place. Got a brand new job a few months ago and haven’t stopped running since. Been on the road for a pretty big part of the last 8 or 10 weeks. Coming up for air as we speak. Cool job. Cool organization. Very cool people. Loving it. A place where value and values really walk hand-in-hand. So that is my excuse and I am sticking to it.

Not really a good excuse? Okay, I just took a break from blogging. I didn’t lose my mojo. I just left it at home while I traveled. Read a lot on the plane rides. Played PSP. Fixed up the garden for summer. (Got a nice veggie patch and all!) Played with the girls. Loaded old and new music on my iPod (The Ramones is back on the menu.) You know – the usual. A little bit of this and a little bit of that.

But I did blog. Oh yes I did! I just never posted any of them. Or actually completed any of them. I’ll start writing one and then stop. All 143 of them… Some almost done and some hardly started. But they are there. Saved. So this is what I am going to do…

I’ll post them “as is”. Tie up a few “loose ends”. You know, get them out the way. Don’t expect too much. They are rough around the edges. But I am taking responsibility in these tough economic times and using what I have… Mr Responsibility. Reducing my blogging footprint by recycling draft stories and opinions. Hum… That one didn’t work.

So.

From tomorrow onwards you’ll get random blogs. Bit and pieces. All under the “Loose Ends” heading. Clearing out the old draft section.

I hope you enjoy. If not. Well, tough.

Oh, don’t worry. I have a few new unwritten blogs as well. Some early thoughts. About pigs and kissing and my girls and cotton tail bunnies and gardening while dreaming of farming and the company you keep and… and… and… so much more. It’s all there. Stuck up in the old head waiting to come out and play. But that is for another day. For now you are stuck on the Angry African’s clearing house…

Tying up a few loose ends.

I'm back!

I'm back!

Okay…

I know I have been a very, very bad boy. Not blogging and being all quiet for the last few (or many) weeks. I am soooo sorry. I promise I won’t do it again. BIG promise! I promise on the right foot of Steven Gerrard. And if you have to go and look that up… Come on you Reds! You’ll never walk alone! Anyway…

Getting off topic again.

I’m back and I’m back with a bang baby! Loads have happened in the last few weeks. Loads. All good. Started a new job with an amazing bunch of people and a great organization. We almost moved to DC but thanks to the intervention of some really good people we decided to stay in good old Boston. It took all of 2 minutes for us to “consider” the offer to stay in Boston… It’s how long it took me to put the phone down, talk to my lovely suffering wife and phone them back. Wish I could tell you more but I know you don’t really want to know. Let’s just say that everything is good and I am back.

I can feel the blood flowing and the thoughts running wild. Actually…

… I have over 100 drafts almost ready to go! So be ready to be flooded with some new stuff and new ideas. I am African! I am On The Loose! But I’m not really that Angry. Damn… No one is perfect.

Just a quick story before I come back with a bang though over the next few days.

I am the funny one…

It is official – I am the funny one. I was away for a few days and my poor lovely suffering wife had the girls all to herself. You know I mess around with the girls when I am at home – have another look at Quick! Pull My Finger! and Love Is In The Air and She Doesn’t Care and… Okay, I’ll stop there for now. Anyway, my little princess (the youngest one) and me always do funny things – pulling faces in the mirror before I bath her (“picture time!” as she calls it), tickles until she begs me to stop and asks me to lift up my arms for her to tickle me, and we do a little bit of “potty talk” when I call her peanut-butt and she tells me she has “art in her fart” (and my wife tells me she needs another adult in the room please…) We just have fun. I love seeing her laugh and shake her head in disbelief because of her silly dad – just like a mother. It’s my “job” to make them laugh. And we have our little rituals to ensure we have fun and a few laughs every single day. And my poor wife tries to take over on the silly part when I am gone. And she really tries hard.

She did all the stuff I do when I am home. A little “potty talk”, funny faces in the mirror and tickles that stops just when I think her loud laughing might scare the people next door – or in the next town…

So my wife was doing all the stuff I do and really trying to be the funny one. My little one just tilted her head and said with a bit of a sigh, “Moooommmmm”. (You know the way kids stretch out the word to tell you enough is enough and then roll their eyes? Oh wait, my wife does that with me…) But no laughing from the little one. Just a “Stop it, moooommm.” My wife asked her what’s wrong and why no laughs. Her response?

“Dad is the funny one”.

And what about mom?

The truth and nothing but the truth from my little girl. And I could not agree more.

“Mom, you are the lovable one.”

Damn right!

__________________________

See ya all tomorrow! Get ready. Be ready. Or run… We’re gonna go on a bit of a ride. I just read Ubuntu and What Are We Doing? again to remind myself why I am doing this in the first place. Oh… And don’t forget about I Am A Traitor

I’m back. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

I know what you blogged last summer…

holding_breath

Come on! I worked my BUTT off trying to make my blog pretty and not one single person even commented on how pretty it is… (Only compliments please…) You cut me deep. Real deep. Oh the pain! Oh the humility! Oh the… Hum… (Get a grip AA.)

(Let’s try begging.) Big please… Pretty please… Must I beg? A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a comment! I will now curl up and suck my thumb… No! I will hold my breath until someone comments on how pretty it is.

I’m waiting…

Still waiting…

Mmm… (Blackmail.)

Okay then… Do it or I tell them. I will tell everyone. You know I will. And you know what I am talking about… Oh, I will. Just try me…

&%$#*! (It’s not working!)

Come on! I know you want to do it. I know you can. There you go… Slowly now… Put your fingers on the keyboard… That’s right… Slowly now… Now hit the button! Do it! Do it! Be Nike and just do it!

<Sob!> I haven’t cried like this since Liverpool lost the finals…

(This should do it. I know this will work.)

Comment or pull my finger! The choice is yours. And remember that the consequences of this “no comment” stand of yours will be on your head. Think of the children. The poor little children…

———–

Honestly, do you like the new look?

mandela1_11

I’ve been asked about my “anger” many times. What do you have to be “Angry” about? Why are you the “Angry African”? Why indeed…

I would rather have a good meal. Maybe help my wife prepare the food. Get the table ready. Talk about whether we should have brocolli or peas or carrots to go with the maple syrup chicken and roast potatoes she just made. That’s what I would rather do. Just have a good meal together with my family. Sitting at the table and laughing at the silliness of my daughters. Making funny noises and joking with their mother. Good times. Me, my family and a good meal. I would rather have a good meal. No need for anger here.

But how can I? How can I just have a meal when I know that somewhere out there in Zambia is a family arguing about how they divide the last of the nsima. Maybe this will be the last meal they share together. Because tomorrow brings no food and no hope. Maybe tomorrow the kids will have to go down to the charity handing out food and slip some away for ma and pa back home. But will grandma make it? Can she wait another 24 hours before she gets a little something to eat. No laughing or poking of fun. Not when the bones on their bodies are poking hard at their skin. How can there be no anger?

I would rather watch telly. Just vegetate and do nothing. Stare blankly at the screen. Flip channels because I can’t decide between CSI Miami or Kitchen Nightmares. Or maybe I should watch that Bond movie I taped? Or watch Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King again? Yeah. That’s what I want to do. Just stare at the telly and think of nothing. No anger here.

But how can I? How can I stare at the telly when tonight someone might be staring at the barrel of a gun somewhere in the Congo? No channels for them to watch. Maybe tonight will be the last time they see anything. I can change the channel but they can’t change their lives. I can play with the remote but they are here. Waiting for me to think of them. Always hiding somewhere in my conscious. Waiting to flip the channel of my brain to their station. No static. Just their lives waiting to be changed while they live a reality life. How can there be no anger?

I would much rather read a good book. Maybe just finish one of the many I am reading right now. Should I go with Mao and his killing or read about hope through the eyes of Obama? Maybe just get away from all that stuff and laugh at Bill Bryson telling me about A Short History of Nearly Everything. Aah. That what I want to do. Just read my book and let my mind slip away for a little bit. No anger here.

But how can I? How can I read a book when tomorrow the children will go and work those cocoa fields? The pages they flip are the pages of their life going past. One empty page after the other. Or maybe it is a horror. The horror of their lives. Living a Stephen King life larger than even he can imagine. But maybe some khat will help numb the pain. At least it will take away the glint in their eyes. And the empty pages of their life can be seen in their empty stares. How can there be no anger?

I would much rather play with my kids. Play outside like the crazy gang we are. Wild splashing we call swimming down at the lake. And go down that snowy hill when winter comes. Just me and my girls. Crazy, crazy, crazy. All I want is to hear their laughing and more laughing at their silly dad. Egging them on. Come on! You can do it girl! That’s what I would much rather want. Me and my crazy girls. Having fun. No anger here.

But how can I? When the other kids are running away from the warlord down the road. Playing dodgeball with the bullets. Not a sound of joy and belly laughs to be heard coming from their mouths. Just cries of pain as the bullets hit. Lucky if it misses. Dodge, dodge, dodge. That the games they play in the Congo. How can there be no anger?

I would must rather lie next to my wife. Falling asleep and hearing her breathe next to me. I can feel the stress of the day just slip away. Here is where I belong. Always telling her how much I love her. I can never say it too much or too often. And I run home because that is where I want to be. Just there next to her. My lovely wife. The one who gives me meaning. No anger here.

But how can I? When the women in Africa have to walk miles and miles just to get a drop of water for their homes. Every day. Down to the river and back. In the rush forgetting to boil it clean. And they see their families die around them. From a simple thing like drinking dirty water. How can I look at my wife and not see those women carry Africa on their backs being beaten and beaten and beaten. Day in and day out. Rape and murder. That’s what lies next to them at night. Death and destruction giving them meaning. How can there be no anger?

I would much rather just go on holiday. Maybe take a trip to Europe and visit those fancy French. Some cheese and red wine. Aah, that’s the life. Or laugh and point at Mickey and Minnie down at Disney. Maybe get away for just a week or two and visit my friend back home. Another trip to Bucks County would be nice. Just me and my three girls. Hanging out in New Hope for a drink and maybe a small piece of memory for the mantle. No anger here.

But how can I? When the only break my people get is another trade deal that fails. Or another empty promise for those dying of aids or malaria. Or the breaking of another leg as the torture continues in countries down South and East. But also here in the North and West. Broken promises to go with their broken lives. How can there be no anger?

I really just want to hang with my friends. Or drink a coffee by myself. Sip by sip. A braai and a good old fire. Learn to play the guitar like I’ve always wanted. Or write that bloody book that’s been bugging me for years. Save some money and retire early. Go for a drive in my car to watch the leaves go all rainbow in fall. The good things. That’s all I ever really want to do. Take it easy and stay easy. A smile, a laugh and good times.

I don’t want anger. I hate anger. It’s not nice. And it is not me.

Why am I angry?

I know happiness. I know what it is. I have it. Oh boy, do I have it. But I can’t enjoy it. At least not the way I want to enjoy it… Fully. I want to give myself totally to happiness. I want to live my happy days by throwing myself at it. Just living it 24/7.

That’s what pisses me off. That I can’t just enjoy life because of bigots. Because of liberty for some. Equality for those who can afford it. Freedom for those who were born free. Justice for those at the top.

I am angry because I can’t enjoy my life thanks to oppression of others. My right to have a fun time is shot to hell because of the rights of others being shot to hell. Bullet by bullet. Every warlord pisses me off because they remind me of what I am missing because of them. They are taking away my happiness because they are taking away the happiness of others.

I am angry because my friends and people I don’t even know can’t just love who they want. I love my wife. I love my wife. But the more I love her the more I am reminded of those who can’t love the way we love. That their love is somehow less meaningful than our love. I am pissed at bigots taking away happiness because they are taking away the rights of others.

I am pissed and angry for purely selfish reasons. I don’t want to fight for the rights of kids to have a shot at a life. I don’t want to fight for justice in the world trade and aid system. I don’t want to fight for the freedom of African women. I don’t want to fight for the equality of my gay friends who want to get married. I don’t want to fight for the liberty of the slaves working the sweatshops or farms in China or Africa. I don’t want to do all this crap. I want nothing to do with any of this.

I. Do. Not. Want. To. Do. This.

I just want to sit back and enjoy my life. Just me, my girls and my friends. Happy times. Good times.

But I can’t. And that is what pisses me off. That is what makes me angry. That is what makes me the Angry African.

I can only go do nothing when there is nothing to be done. When others can afford to do nothing. When everyone has a shot. You bloody people. With your rights and freedoms and liberty and equality and justice. Just have it already.

Fuck. Dammit. And everything and anything else that go with that.

I am because we are. Ubuntu.

I can only stop caring about what to watch on telly when there is nothing to care about. I can only be happy watching my kids go crazy when you have a shot at happiness. I can only have the liberty to drink my coffee sip after slow sip when you have liberty. I can only have my braai in peace when you have peace. I can only be the equal of my wife when we all are equal. I can only have justice when you have justice.  My freedom is your freedom…

I can only be free when you are free.

I can only be me when you can be you.

Until then… I am the Angry African.

f_slavery_boy_map_africa1

I don’t know where to start… Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t need hugs right now. Or love. There is a disconnect that comes in waves. And the wave pulls you under. You are under water and can’t get out. No panic. Just don’t breathe. Hold your breath and wait for your body to catch up before you break through for some fresh air again. Beautiful fresh air. But right now you are under water. Just lie back and float under water for now. Don’t panic. Just wait…

Do you ever feel like this? What I call “The Heavy”. Where it just seems as if the world gets a little bit too heavy. It closes in on you. When you feel it is just a bit too much. I don’t mean the personal stuff. There is no heavy there. That is always good. Always good.

But the world. This fucked-up world we live in. It sometimes gets too heavy.

It’s been like that for a few weeks now. Sometimes heavier than others. It’s like you are in this noise bubble. Your brain overloaded with so much bad news and visuals that you just can’t make out anything anymore. Like someone switched the lights off inside you but you are still awake – just not sure what is going on and can’t see much of what is inside. Like you’ve gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. Just tired. Just tired. And battered. This fucked-up world of ours.

There are kids dying out there. Of hunger. Of wars. Because the water they drink is bad for them. For no reason but for being born in the wrong place, in the wrong time. It’s too much. I can’t handle it.

I am not strong enough for this. God knows why Ubuntu is in me. It shouldn’t. I am not strong enough for it. I admire people who can work in the field every single day and see it happen. My friend Vasco Pyjama does it every day. Every single day. Somalia. God knows how she does it. She is stronger than me. I love her and Toaf for being able to do that. I am too weak to do it. I am paralyzed when I just think of it.

I never know how long it will take for me to get up again. Just too many faces. Just too many voices right now. Too much to do.

It’s just too much. I wish I could just walk away. Just for a little bit. Just not care for a few days. Just see the sun and smiling faces around me. Without it reminding me of those kids. And the people suffering. Just a few days please.

That’s the problem with this goddamn Ubuntu. It won’t leave you. Because it is you. Goddamn Ubuntu.

Most of the time Ubuntu makes me see the good and the bad. It makes me smell the flowers. It makes me smile inside when I see my little girls laugh and play. It makes me stare at the leaves on the trees changing colors in fall up here in New England. Ubuntu gives me time to appreciate the beauty that’s around me. But it also creeps up and punches me in the stomach. Reminds me that all is not well out there. And “The Heavy” sets in. Like dark clouds moving in. The other side of Ubuntu. Most of the time it is in balance. But sometimes it’s like this. “The Heavy”.

It’s like I am waiting for something. Waiting for the change to happen. For the world to wake up and go “Oh yeah, I forgot about the other people. Let’s sort that out quickly.” Waiting for the world to change. And make this suffering history.

But I know it is not going to happen. It’s not. People will die for no reason. And they will continue to die. No matter how hard I try. No matter what I do. It will always be there. The “others”. The waiting is for a bus that will never come. And it sometimes it gets too much. This waiting. This working. This treading water.

I want to walk away. Just throw my hands up and say, “Fuck that. It’s too much. You go sort it out. Just leave me out of it.” It’s not my fight anymore.

Why do this? I can’t change a thing. It is too big for me. I don’t want to do it. But I know I don’t have a choice. I can sit here and feel “The Heavy”. But in the end… In the end it doesn’t help. It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t change anything. It’s just me feeling shit. Feeling overwhelmed. I am not feeling sorry for myself. Just drained, tired, overloaded and helpless. But it’s not easy to shake.

The problem is that it is my fight. I don’t want it. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t walk away. Even if I want to walk away. They don’t have a choice. They can’t take a breather. They can’t stop fighting. They live it each and every single bloody day.

I don’t even know where it is. The Heavy. Is it in my blood? Is it on my skin? Where the hell does it come from? If I can find it I’ll cut it out.

Tomorrow is another day. And I am waiting for that day. I am waiting for that day when I will get up and not feel tired. Or drained. Or overloaded. Not feel “The Heavy”. The day I’ll take a deep breath and stare at the world and say, “Fuck you. You will not win. There are more of us than what you think. We will win. You know why? Because we don’t have a choice.” Maybe not in my lifetime. Maybe never. But it’s worth it. Because when “The Heavy” lifts the world is a better place. A place where we fight. And laugh at the fight we are putting up. Where we shout, “Come on! Is that all you’ve got? Bring it on!”

Just not now. I am in between rounds. Taking a breather. Staring at Mike and looking for where I am going to tackle him next. Where I am going to hurt him. I’ll fight dirty when the bell rings and “The Heavy” lifts. I’ll be scrappy. I’ll bob-and-weave for equality. And jab righteousness. I’ll bite the ear of bigotry and hypocracy with the mouth justice. I’ll kick poverty and injustice in the nuts. And I’ll bring hell with me.

Just not now. Just now. In a little while. I need “The Heavy” to lift. It’ll come. It’s just reminding me that this job isn’t easy. That I should never underestimate it. That Mike is one tough bastard. And there is no end in sight. We’re in this for the long run. It gets me down. And then it will get me pissed off. And then I will fight again. Like I have never fought before.

I get like this sometimes. Do you? Do you feel that it is sometimes too much? Too much to handle? That you want to walk away. Like you have lead in your shoes. Not enough air. Too much going on and too much for you to do. Too many leaks in the wall. A heavy weight on your shoulders dragging you down. That you feel tired to your bones. Drained of all energy. Like you are treading water. Overloaded with faces. Noises of voices filling your head. 

Do you ever feel “The Heavy”?

A Broad (Mrs AA) had a real… hum… sh… aah… odd experience on Friday. I have been waiting for her write about it… I first thought she was just taking the piss… But I promise you it is all true. Go and have a look at her story: I’m Sorry, I Can’t Take Your Call Right Now… Toilet humor at its best…

I’m just getting you back for that Incinerated Chicken – Family Recipe braai story

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