Fun and family go hand-in-hand for me. I like laughing at anything and poking fun. And I love my little family of girls. Let’s start with fun first.



Sometimes we need to laugh a bit. We have all the reasons in the world – we are a pretty funny bunch. Us humans. I laugh a lot. Maybe too much. But life is funny sometimes. We are funny most of the time. So why not poke some fun?

I am a traitor

I am a traitor. A traitor to my country. To my countrymen. To South Africa. To my beloved South Africa. And to every South African out there in my home country. I hang my head in shame…

What’s up with the porno pose?

Today started off like any other Friday. On the train to work, iPod playing and already in a weekend state of mind. Almost like having Georgia on your mind, but with more fun and no threat of the death penalty. Anyway… I was getting ready to get off at my stop when I noticed her…

Reading cricket (and why American sports suck)

Look, from an American sporting perspective I am pretty happy to be living in Boston. The Red Sox won the World Series. Again. The Patriots are still the team to beat after so many Super Bowl wins and finals in the last few years. The Celtics made history in basketball when they whipped the Lakers for the crown this year. The Revolutions are top of the league in soccer after making the finals for 3 years in a row. Hell, even the Bruins improved this year on the ice. Yep, it is pretty good to be in Boston if you like American sport. Or what they call sport…

I’m a Zebra. I’m white. I’m black. I’m scary. I’m bad.

You’ve heard me say it before – hear me roar. I’m a Lion! No. Not really. I’m a Zebra. White with some black stripes. Or is it black with some white stripes? It doesn’t matter. I am South African. I’m a bit of both. That’s the great thing about being from South Africa. You stand a damn good chance of having a bit of everybody in your family tree. I am damn proud of it. A bit of everybody. 100% pure South African. A little bit of everything. A buffet of blood running through my veins…

The British are coming or The Boston Tea Party revisited

You thought you beat the British hey. The mighty Patriots. You got independence. Started it all. The great and good men of Boston. So wrong. You are so wrong. You lost and you didn’t even see it. Or notice it. The British won. By stealth. And I saw the proof of it all today…

South Africans and their dirty little secret

You’ll walk into them on the streets of the world. Some might even be friends of yours. But they are out there. Everywhere. And they lie each and every day. You ask them a question. And they lie. Lie through their teeth. Oh, they’ll tell you it’s the truth. And you’ll believe them. Because it sounds so convincing. But I know their little secret. And I am telling…

Italy – Che macello! (What a mess!)

Shortest Italian book ever written? Great Italian War Heroes. No wait, I have another one. Great post-war Italian political leaders. Longest Italian book ever written? Post-war Italian governments. Man, they have had a few…

The Gay Agenda

At last. I got hold of it. You know. “The Gay Agenda”. Now we got them. And I am going to give away all their dirty little secrets. Warning: You will not be the same once you have read this. Be afraid. Be very afraid…

I am going the “throw my toys” “just now”

People over here are still having serious trouble understanding me. And it is not just the accent. In fact, I think they might be getting used to it by now (time to move on then I guess). I think I gave my accent secrets away in I just loooove you accent! and Hear me roar. They can now understand my accent, but it doesn’t seem to help them much. They are still having some serious problems with some of the words and phrases I use. So lets make it a bit easier for them and go through a few words and phrases they hear often out of this mouth of mine. And no, words like doos and donner will not be included. I limit those to President Bush and his Bush-babies.



It’s not meant to be sexist, but I love my three girls. These are just stories of me and my girls. They are my life. My wife and my two daughters. Without them there is no me.

When dad came to watch

Today was the birthday of my youngest daughter. She turned the Big Five. Yes 5. So I took the day off. To spend with the girls. But let me tell you a bit about me as a dad before I tell you about today…

She had to wee

There I was, just taking a pounding. One shot after the other. In the face. I tried to bob and weave, but I just couldn’t escape the fists snapping at my face. Man, this was getting tough. I could feel myself going down. But I had to fight back. Dig deep. She’s a girl. I know I am not meant to hit women, and this goes against every inch of my being, but I had to do something. So I started to swing at her. I got her with a couple of shots. Big ones. But she didn’t even flinch. She just kept on coming. Swing away. In that girlie way of hitting. But it hurt like hell. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I went down. Big time…

The girl I didn’t like (or how I met my wife)

I never liked her much. Didn’t think she was taking it seriously enough. Her studies you know. And not committed enough to the struggle. Always hung out with her gang of girls. Walking as if they owned campus. And partying hard. Not my kind of girl thank you. We never spoke to each other. Not a single word. For almost 2 years. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. And she was English. South African English, but English still…

Martin Luther King Jr is white

I never noticed it before. It has been there for a while. This picture of Martin Luther King Jr on our fridge door. You know, that space that kids occupy. I hardly look at the fridge door – just open it to grab something to munch on or a cold one. But there it was. Amongst all the fridge magnets and numbers and pictures of the kids. I guess it didn’t stand out because it was white on white. Yes, we have a white fridge. The reason why it stopped me was because it looked a lot like my dad. And you know about the relationship between me and my dad

One for my mother – I slept while my mother died

This will the the hardest thing I ever write. Writing about my mother. She was everything my dad wasn’t. That was easy to write about compared to this. Because my dad was an ass. But my mom. She was my mom…

And one for my dad – My dad was an ass

My dad inspired me. Inspired me to not be like him. I am sure other people had worse dads. Hey, my old man never beat me up or anything like that. But he was a tough old bastard who wasn’t always there for my family – even when he was present…

My dad and the hubcap guy

You might know that my dad and I didn’t get along. Yeah, that might be an understatement. You see, my dad was an ass. But I do remember a story or two that makes me laugh at the old man. And the story of the hubcap guy always makes me laugh.

Love Is In The Air

I have two girls. Two beautiful girls. A little princess. And a slightly bigger angel. My girls. My life.

I love my wife

How do I love my wife? In so many ways…

Quick! Pull my finger!

We all have our roles in our little family. My wife is the one that holds it all together. The glue that we stick to. The level headed one. The one that looks after us. And the one we all run to when we bump our toe or just feel like a hug. She is the centre. The foundation. The pillar. The sun we spin around…


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