Don't say I didn't warn you...

Don't say I didn't warn you...

Me and the girls are off to our first family vacation in a very long time. And we are going all American. No, we are not going to take a trip down Route 66. We are not going to do a history tour of Boston. We are not going to stare at symbols of power in DC. And we are not going to be all continental in NY. Neither are we going to hunt for the world’s biggest ball of twine. Or go have hot dogs and beer at the ballpark. Forget the Keys and middle America. We’re not even going to follow the trail all the way to the Wild West. Getting married again by Elvis in Vegas will have to wait as well. None of that. Nope, we are going where real Americans go. We are going to the temple of America. Where Americans gather to pray to the god of vacations. Where you can see France, Brazil and China in one day without ever leaving solid ground. Where people gather to eat buckets of ice cream and drink gallons of soda. Where odd ears are celebrated. Where hot chicks walk around in weird clothes. Where…. You get the picture…

We’re going to Disney!

Of course my long suffering wife will be the only adult going. But they do sell booze at the hotel to calm her down and I’ve packed my stash of Starbucks coffee to keep me going. Me, my wife and my two little girls. We are ready to have fun-fun-fun!

Look out for some news headlines: “Angry African on the Loose in Disney”. And we are not talking about the lions in the park either. No sirree! I am ready to claim back a piece of the colony for my brothers and sisters back home. I’ve packed the spear and loincloth. I am ready to go hunting. Gonna get myself a nice little wildebeest on the fake Serengeti and then make a huge fire for a braai. It’ll be almost like home. Hum… Minus the spear and loincloth of course. We don’t really do that back home. We are way more basic than that. We have wallets and khakis instead of spears and loincloths. But sometimes we wear lioncloths…

Anyway… I am getting off topic again…

So we will be away for a little while. Back sometime around the end of June. Yes, 2009. I won’t be blogging until I get back. The laptop is staying while I am going. I promised the girls 100% of my attention while we are gone. And Jasmine already called asking for a date…

But you can follow me on Twitter while I am gone. I’ll update that as much as what I can in between rides and runs and food and punching Goofy and whatever you do at Disney. Click here if you want to follow. Or just type http://twitter.com/AngryAfrican.

Or you can just sit back and read a few of my greatest family hits – see below. Nothing but me and the girls having fun. And a few funny stories thrown in for good measure. Hope you enjoy. If not – see you on the other side! I’m off! Bye-bye! Hello, Jasmine… How you doin?

Love Is In The Air

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

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…

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…

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…

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

I love my wife

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

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…

I just loooove your accent

Let’s just get something straight here okay? I do not have an accent. You do. In actual fact, South Africans have the most pure and perfect English accent you can think of. It is a little known fact that we speak with the most delightful English accent – and the purest of them all. I didn’t suck this from my thumb – it comes all the way from a very well known study of languages by Oxford University. Please do go and do a fact check. (And let me know if you find it because I couldn’t)…

 funnygirl2

I have been blessed with a loving sister. She cared for me and always treated me as “the special one”. I had special names for her and she had a special name for me. The two of us. Bliss. She used to play with me and make me my favorite food. Pour me a little drinkie when I needed it and dressed me in my best clothes for Sunday school. She taught me about love and caring. She loved me and looked after me. My sister… She was my angel. My special one.

And then I have this other sister. Man… You think Freddie Krueger was bad? He wakes up screaming from the bad nightmares she gave him. She used to ride the “mares” until they pass out at night. If she didn’t pass out from the alcohol consumption first. She was the kid you warn your kids about. And that you pray to God you never get. She was the kid that the bogeyman told his kids about to scare them. She was the kid that people refer to when they say “I heard this story about a kid…”. She was the reason why cats stayed indoors. She made grown men cry. She was the reason why social services was created… for parents. The Chucky movies was based her favorite toy. When people spoke about “those Fockers living down the road” they weren’t referring to a family by that name… She was the Nightmare on Our Street.

You might have seen a few comments from her over here. Just go check out anything by a certain person called Marlize in a few earlier stories. The last one – Fat Kids and Stupid Parents for instance. She made a few comments about the lovely food she used to lovingly make me. Yeah right… More like force feeding. She has the cooking skills that is equivalent to my dancing and singing skills. And you know how awesome that is. Actually, she does bake extremely excellent tarts. But then, she knows a lot about being a tart. Baking tarts is not that huge of a jump for her.

But let me tell you a few stories of my sister from hell. The kid the devil rejected as “just too much to handle”. And what I am about to write is 100% true. I kid you not.

Yes, she did make my food almost every day when I grew up. My mother and father worked so it was up to her to feed me. Feed me and food might be a bit of a stretch, but there isn’t words to say what she did and “cooked”. But let me rather say that she “made” my food and not made my food. I need the “made” to qualify her “cooking”. But wait, let me first tell you the story of me chasing her down the road with a fork…

She commented in the previous story that I chased her down the road because she made me fish fingers with syrup and cheese on it. That is a complete lie. I did not chase her down the road because she made me fish fingers with a syrup and cheese topping. Never did that. Complete bullshit.

I chased her down the road because she made me a Big Jack pie and stuck the bloody fork in it. And that was just the start of something bigger…

I had a choice of three dishes. Actually, it wasn’t a choice. She decided which of the three I would get. And these were my “choices” for most of my life until I managed to escape her claws. I could have a Big Jack pie with some All Gold tomato sauce (ketchup), fish-in-sauce or fish fingers with syrup and cheese on top.

Now Big Jack was (and I hope was and not is) a soggy and doughy pie from a box in the fridge that tasted like cardboard and never had anything inside no matter what the box said. I think the box might have tasted better if we only tried it once but my sister was too lazy to give me that. And the box most likely had a higher nutritional value as well. It was crap and my sister had a special way of making it taste even crappier. (Note to sister – Next time just follow the instructions on the box please.) I don’t think that the instructions said that is should be burnt on the outside and frozen in the middle…

Fish-in-sauce was even worse. It was a piece of “fish” (or fish by-products most likely) in a bag of sauce. Three flavors – green crap, yellow crap and brown crap. I liked the yellow crap the best. If you want to call it “like”. I have blocked most of the details from my memory and sitting here and just typing about it makes me break out in a cold sweat and the shivers. Let’s just leave it at the fact that it was pulled off the market and declared a WMD by Saddam himself. And yes, I do have a certain “glow” at night like one of those light sticks. You never recover completely from it and I still get my tetanus shots daily thanks to my one-time consumption of fish-in-sauce when I was a little boy.

And then there was the fish fingers. Another fish-like by-product. If you take an old fish head off the rubbish dump and cook it for a few hours and then leave it for a week to cool down in the African heat outside in the middle of summer… The stuff you can scrape off the top is what fish fingers are made of… Including the flies and other “additives”. My sister tried to hide the impact of the smell and taste by smothering it with Golden Syrup and grated nameless yellow cheese. The taste of that will stay with you forever… For-effing-ever I tell you. I can taste it now. Hali-bloody-tosis! (Gotta go brush my teeth quickly…)

So those were my choices…

And then we had the fork-down-the-road scene. My sister-from-hell made me a burnt-on-the-outside-frozen-inside Big Jack. Again. For the fourth day in a row. It might have been a chicken one. Or steak and kidney. I can’t remember. And you couldn’t taste the difference either. You only knew what you ate if you opened it up. Chicken was a gooey yellow with chunky dog meat inside and steak and kidney was a gooey brown ball of crap. It all tasted the same. And on this day she emptied the full bottle of tomato sauce on the pie-like lunch. And I just had it with crap food.

(The kids at school was laughing behind my back and pointing fingers at me because I always had to go to the bathroom and smelled a bit even though I bathed every time I brushed my teeth. About six times a day. You can never get that crap out of your system..)

So I said, “No more”. Actually, it could have been in Afrikaans and something like, “Jou moer“. Translated roughly into “F-you” or “your mother”. But the message was clear. I wasn’t going to eat it. And she said, “Yes you will”. And I said, “No I won’t”. And she said, “Yes, you will”. And I said, blah… blah… blah. This went on for about 60 or so exchanges. But I think the language might have been more colourful the longer we went on with this “argument”.

Then she stuck the fork in it. In my pie! Or whatever you called that thing on my plate.

And that was it!

I said, “Now I won’t eat this effing pie!” And she said, “Yes. You. Will!” And blah… blah… blah… I think we stopped when I got up and tried to escape… I mean run away. And she started chasing me around the kitchen table.

Picture the scene…

We had this big kitchen with this big table in the middle that could fit about eight people. Nice 70’s style yellowish top table. Formica or something. And matching chairs. And cupboards everywhere. On the open half-wall was a Japanese picture my mother liked. One of those that could roll up and had the doves on the lake scene. A narrow wooden-stripped roll-up painting. Hand painted. Remember that. Now back to the “chase scene”…

So I am running around this table trying to stay away from her slapping me on my head or something and she is chasing me all the way. But I was small and nimble. No way she was going to catch me because I could take the corners quicker. She can beat me in a straight run – being older – but no way could she catch me when there were turns and twists involved.

We did about twenty or thirty laps when she started to get tired. And thank God I noticed. I realized she was slowing down and turned to look at her on the other side… and ducked just in time. The pie was about an inch away from my face when instinct kicked in and I hit the floor. I looked at the pie going past me in Matrix style slow-motion and watched as it hit the Japanese painting. Right where the two doves where flying. They were fried. KFC thank you.

The pie just stayed there for a few second but it felt like minutes. And then it slowly started to slide down the painting and eventually hit the floor. Right next to me.

I stood up slowly and kept on staring at the picture with the pie marks. And then I heard a “whoosh” sound and felt a stinging pain in my left buttock. I turned around and saw the fork stuck in my backside! She threw the fork so hard it got stuck in my arse! WTF?

I was pissed.

I pulled out the fork and shouted, “Now you are going to get it. I’m going to effing &%^@# you to pieces!”… And I charged at her. Like the Light Brigade. No, I was a Zulu impi and I had my spear. I’m gonna get me some revenge on this colonialist tyrant. Charge! For country! For freedom! For liberty! Viva La France!

(Juluka playing in the background.)

She looked at me and realized she was in deep shit. Little baby brother is about to kick some ass. She turned and ran. Out the front door.

And I was right behind her screaming and shouting.

Down the road we went. She just laying it down flat as if she was running the 100 meters sprint like Flo-Jo in the ’88 Olympics. And I’m the mad man with the fork trying to get her. Eyes blazing, screaming that I was going to take her out this time. Man, we were crazy.

We must have run about 400 meters down the road when both of started realizing how stupid this was. What must the neighbors think? I am sure I saw a few people peeping through the curtains and calling their kids and dogs inside. Again. But we just kept on running. And then we started laughing.

It was stupid. But it was fun. We stopped and just laughed and laughed. Me and my stupid weird and crazy sister. Lying in the middle of the road and laughing our asses off.

That’s the story of the fork-in-the-road incident.

But let me just give you a few other stories of my sister from hell so you can get a clearer picture of her.

She is older than me by three years so she was already well known in high school when I entered the same high school. There I sat in my first class on my first day. I had no clue that she had a “bit of a reputation” at school. The teacher introduced himself and started asking each kid to give their name where they came from. No problem. I can do that. The teacher smiled and pointed to me when it was my turn. I was chuffed to stand up and announce my name with a big smile. The teacher’s face just dropped. He kept quite for a little while and then asked, “Say that again? Are you the brother of Marlize?” “Of course!” I said with an even bigger smile. They know my sister! Great! Right…

“Come with me young man”, said the teacher and turned around to go into his little backroom. I followed. A little puzzled, but maybe he was going to ask me to help him carry some pencils or books or something. I followed him into his little backroom and saw him standing there with a cane in his hand. He looked at me and said, “Bend down”. I lifted up my school blazer and did as he said. He caned me six shots on the arse.

Why? Let me quote you using his own words – translated. “Because your sister is Marlize and just in case you turn out to be anything like her. And for what you might get up to later today”.

WTF?

Yep, that’s what happened. I was a nerd in secondary school but got my first taste of corporal punishment on my first day in high school all thanks to nothing more than being the younger brother of Marlize. Thank you sis…

I quickly learned that she was a “special needs” kid at school. Every single class had a table and chair right next to the teacher’s table. Facing away from the other kids. That was her special table and chair. In every single class. So that she couldn’t disrupt the class too much. As if that helped. Just because she couldn’t face the other kids didn’t mean she couldn’t do anything. Those ink pots had a special meaning for her…

That’s how my time in high school went. I got canned often just because of my lovely sister. She was also the only girl I know of that got canned the way boys got canned at school. On the backside. And boy did she deserve it.

But she did teach me a thing or two. Like how to hang out the windows of the top floor to shout and wave at her when she was down in the courtyard doing PE. Or rather, skipping PE and having a skelm smoke instead. My teachers had a few heart attacks with that one but I trusted in the builders having done their job. And it was cool to hang out the window on a hot summer day and feel the wind blow through your hair. Three stories up…

She also taught me that throwing a handful of certain chemicals in the big fish tank outside the headmaster’s office will allow just enough time for you to go in, get your daily caning and “the speech”, walk out and then run when you hit the corner – just before the fish tank explodes. I bet that was what they used to make those fish fingers…

Oh, and because of the mess they never gave you a hiding for the fish tank on the same day. That had to wait until tomorrow…

She was horrid. My sister. No idea how she passed any of her exams. To say she scrapped through would be an overstatement. A string of DNA could not fit in between her scrapping through school year after year. I know the UN has been investigating just how the hell she managed to pass since 1982 and are no closer to getting an answer. It’s also what Stephen Hawking has been studying since he wrote A Brief History of Time. I think he based his black hole theories on some of her exam results.

And she could drink… At school. She used to skip classes and go to the bar down the road and ask for a shot of everything. No, I don’t mean a shot of brandy and a shot of whiskey and a shot of tequila. I mean a shot of every brand in the bar!

And she stole my dad’s cars a few times… To go for a spin. And a few drinks. He never noticed the dents and marks left on the car. She added them slowly. One at a time. Little by little. Until it looked like those old stock cars from 1980. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

And oh, my parents once decided to send her to boarding school. Yeah, like that worked out pretty well…

She got kicked out after 2 weeks. And she was home for the weekend that fell in between those 2 weeks! I still have no idea why she got kicked out so quickly. And I don’t think I will hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth from her either. Ha! My parents were so stupid that they gave her her yearly allowance for hostel as she started her first day there. She came back with… Nothing! She blew it! In two bloody weeks? I wonder if her getting kicked out and blowing her allowance had anything to do with each other? Mmm… Was there a bar close by?

Man…My sister. Here is another one.

You know the sign on the back window of the bus that says “Push out in case of emergency?” Guess what…

My dad got a call one day from the bus service complaining about my sister. Again. Why? Because she kicked out the back window. My dad just shook his head and asked in a faint little voice, “Why?” Her answer? “Because it was hot and for me that is an emergency.” She eventually wasn’t allowed on the bus either and my dad had to drive her to school each day. A 30 kilometre drive each and every day. Here is the clincher. My dad was the boss of the bus service in his role as head of the prison service where we lived. Yeah! She managed to get kicked out of something my dad was in charge of!

Or how about the time she kicked a hole in my room door because I didn’t want to let her in to beat me up?

Think of the worst thing you can think of for any kid to do just short of getting caught and going to jail. In her infinite wisdom my sister has done that and upped the ante to a level where you need bottled oxygen and a space suite just to breathe and survive the pressure. She lived in a rare space. A planet just for her. Population? One…

She made me take my first ever cigarette. I was six and she was nine. She was already a full time smoker. (Yes, you read right – 9!) And I caught her smoking with her friends in the park. What did I say? “I’m so gonna tell mom and dad!” Guess what she did?

She forced me to take one puff of a cigarette. One small little puff that made me puke my lungs out. I was still busy being sick all over the park and all I could hear was her laughing and shouting, “You can’t do anything now because I’ll tell mom and dad that you smoked as well!” Dammit. I was so stupid.

She used to rip me off as well. Trading my silver money for a gold money. She just polished her pieces of copper and “traded” it for my money that was “so worth so much less”. I could have been a millionaire by now if I didn’t trade my 50c for a 1c. Dammit. Again.

And she used to play “horsey” with me. Let me explain. She’ll come in and say, “Let’s play horsey. You are the horse and I am the cowboy. And then we’ll swap.” Guess what. We never swapped. I was always the horse and then she always had an excuse for why she could not be the horse. She fell off the horse and hurt her back. She had homework to do. Yeah right! I never got the chance to be the cowboy.

Or when we were on long trips and stuck in the back of the car. She used to tease me endlessly. She always told me that I was adopted and that my real name was Sareltjie Visser. Just a stupid common name in South Africa. And she would not stop until I cried and my parent threatened her with death.

My sister. Hell on two legs. There are so many stories I can tell you about her but some might still land her in jail. I know no one else who can touch what she has done and still remain more or less sane and stay out of jail. No one. Tell me your best story and I promise you I can tell you an even better one about my sister.

I promise you each and every single story is true. Not a single little detail is exaggerated. She was the worse of the worse. And she taught me everything I needed to know.

She taught me to always try things at least once. And never do it or taste it again if you don’t like it. I don’t like Brussels sprouts.

And she taught me the most important principle of them all…

Never back down. Never ever fucking back down. That’s what she taught me. To never back down when you know you are right. And to never back down when you see something is wrong.

Maybe that is why I am the Angry African. Still pissed after all these years.

I like my sister. She might have been a nightmare and the naughtiest kid to have walked this earth, but she is my sister. My effing crazy, mad, weird, delinquent and “special needs” sister called Marlize.

I love her very much. And I miss her very much.

She is special. She is crazy. She is full of shit. And she makes me laugh and love. She is my sister. And I couldn’t be happier.

Thanks sis. You have given me memories I will never forget. Even if I still wake up screaming at night. It was worth it. I love you.

Your proud brother who managed to survive your best shots.

Sareltjie Visser

 myfirstjointmr51

(Note: Sis, can you send a few tarts and some biltong this way? Oh, I mean the tarts you bake and not your friends…)

cherry

This will be short…

I was on a new business pitch with our team this week. Or as we call it in “agency speak” – new biz. Down in New York. It was fun. Great company. But more importantly, an absolutely great team from our side. It’s always fun going with our team. I always laugh my ass off at the craziness going on once they get started. I wish you could meet the people I work with. Just an absolutely brilliant bunch of people. Not only do they know their shit, but they are some of the funniest and most dedicated people you will ever meet. They want to change the world, but they want to have fun doing it.

Let me you give an idea of how close we all are. We always say that we know you can do the job once we ask you to come in for a “chat”. But the biggest thing for us is whether you can handle being part of us. Passion, humor and just generally great people – fitting in with our culture is most likely the single most important reason for our success. We work closely together and you need to laugh and poke fun or else you will never make it here. Really, I have never experienced it anywhere else where I have worked. Every place had a great work ethic and did the work because we want to change the world. But over here we want to have fun as well. Not fake fun – real fun where you can speak your mind and tell a joke at the same time. Argh! I can’t even explain it to you. Just trust me – it’s a fun place to be in so many ways.

And it start at the top. We have one crazy CEO. I’ll tell you about him at some other time. But let me just say that when I was still talking to them about joining “the firm” he first took me to a fancy restaurant for a steak and right after that took me to a real bar where all the local Red Sox fans hang out. And some of the stories he told me and words he used made me realize this is one weirdly excellent and different place. And our Chair(wo)man. She started this place. She is the guru in my line of work. She did this when everyone else was still picking their noses. And you know what? You wouldn’t know it if you met her. So many gurus have big heads and are full of themselves, but not our guru. She’ll pop in and just have a chat about my kids or politics or whatever. And we all argue like hell. We are strong willed people who want to make a difference. But we respect and like each other. From every single level. That’s our crazy gang over here.

But back to my story…

So we were all in a cab heading back to the airport on our way home. Laughing and joking. And Mrs T told us that our first meeting with this potential client was the first new business pitch for one of our gang members. Let’s just call her “Jess” for now. So Mrs T said that right after that first meeting Jess told her this – the best one-liner I have heard in a very, very long time… If not ever.

“I just popped my new biz cherry”.

Yeah. We all pissed ourselves laughing. Our CEO was in the cab. And he egged me on to put this on the blog. As if I needed any encouragement…

Jess, thanks for that – And congratulations on getting engaged. I hope it had nothing to do with you and the cherry popping…

Seriously though, may your love be as strong and full and perfect as what I have with my lovely suffering wife…

831307315_44f2935b6a

I was thirty by the time I saw and felt snow for the first time. It was lovely. I never imagined it to be so white. And so quiet. Just beautiful.

We were visiting our great friends in Luxembourg. And Mr H drove us all the way up to the highest point to let us play in the snow. We found one little spot of snow and had a huge snow fight. Me and the missus. What a day it was. (Oh and N, his wife, was on her last days of pregnancy and he got into so much crap for being home late. But that is another story for another day.)

I remember the next time I saw snow – me and my lovely suffering wife sitting on a train coming from Brussels to Luxembourg on my birthday a year later and watching the snow from our window. We just stared at the beauty of it. Everywhere this beautiful white blanker covered the world. The train had to stop for a few minutes and we just sat there staring at the snow out on the farm lands of Belgium. Not a worry in the world. I love snow. Ever since I saw it the first time.

I never understood snow when I was little. All the Christmas cards had these pictures of this old dude with a long beard handing out presents. I always wondered why the hell was he in snow? It does snow in Christmas time. Not down South where I stayed. It’s beach weather baby! And why the heck is he white? Fat chance that the only dude in Africa handing out presents would be white. Never got it. Snow during Christmas. Imagine that.

Mr H from Luxembourg emailed us this really funny story a few days after they landed over there. The South African experience of snow the first season. We laughed at how funny it was. Now I am not so sure. I can feel the cold creeping into my bones. My African bones. These bones are made for weather above 15 degrees. Celsius. Around 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Anything below that and I move 1 mile per hour slower for every degree that it drops.

I still love snow. Just love it. But the cold weather. Man, that gets to me. Need a huge fire to walk with me.

Anyway, about that letter Mr H emailed us. I thought it would be very appropriate to share a version I found online. You know, before the snow starts falling again. I tweaked it a bit…

Snow, lovely bloody snow…

December 8: It started to snow. The first snow of the season and our first ever snow together. The wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven, clinging to the trees and covering the grounds. It looked like a picture painter in heaven. So romantic we cuddled up the whole evening.

December 9: We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering the landscape, what a beautiful sight. Every tree and shrub covered with a beautiful white mantel. Can there be a more lovely place in the whole world? Moving here was the best idea I’ve ever had! Shoveled snow for the first time in my life and I loved it! I did both our driveway and the sidewalks, and even the neighbors place. This afternoon a snow plough came along and accidentally covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway with the snow from the street. The driver smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back, and got to shovel again. What a perfect life!

December 11: The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment! My neighbor tells me not to worry- we’ll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we’ll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I’ll never want to see snow again. I don’t think that’s possible. Bob is such a nice man, I’m glad he’s our neighbor.

December 13: Snow, lovely snow! It snowed another 8 inches last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snow plough came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn’t realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I’ll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn’t huff and puff so.

December 14: 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4X4. Bought snow tires for the wife’s car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that’s silly. We aren’t in Alaska, after all.

December 15: Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell and had to pay $145 to a chiropractor. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel, but nothing was broken. More snow and ice expected.

December 16: Still way below freezing and frigging cold. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should’ve bought a wood stove, but won’t admit it to her. God I hate it when she’s right. I can’t believe I’m freezing to death in my own living room. Tried to keep from freezing to death with the candles and a kerosene heater. Heater tipped over and nearly burned the house down. I managed to put the flames out but suffered second degree burns on my hand and lost all my eyelashes and eyebrows. Car slid on ice on way to emergency room and was totaled. Had another 8 inches of the white crap last night. Both vehicles covered in salt and crud. More shoveling in store for me. That goddamn snow plough came by and buried me again.

December 19: -15 degrees outside. Not a tree or shrub on our property that hasn’t been damaged by the bloody snow. Electricity’s back on, but had another 14 inches of the damn stuff last night. More *&$^%# shoveling! Took all day. The damn snow plough came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but they said they’re too busy playing hockey. I think they’re lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they’re out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they’re lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he’s lying.

December 21: Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it’s so cold, it probably won’t melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob who has a plough on his truck for the rest of the winter, but he says he’s too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 22: Only 2 inches of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she, nuts?!! Why didn’t she tell me to do that a month ago? She says she did but I think she’s lying.

December 23: F&%^$ mother-*&@#% in white &^#%$ keeps on coming down. Have to put on all the clothes we own just to get to the *&#%$% in mail box. If I ever catch the son of a bitch that drives the snow plough, I’ll chew his chest off and rip out his heart. I think he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then comes down the street about 100 mph and buries the (*&$% driveway. Power still off and the toilet is frozen. Can’t piss or *%&%^# inside. Roof is starting to cave in.

December 24: 6 inches – Snow packed so hard by snow plough, I broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snow plough, I’ll drag him through the snow by his balls and beat him to *&%^$# death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then he comes down the street at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I’ve just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents, but I was too busy watching for the !@#$$%^%^^&& snow plough.

December 25: Merry Christmas my #%$&%! 20 more inches of the damn slop tonight – Snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God, I hate the snow! Then the snow plough driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the *&%^$ head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she’s a &^#% idiot. If I have to watch “It’s A Wonderful Life” one more time, I’m going to stuff her into the microwave.

December 26: Still snowed in. Why the *&%#$ hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She’s really getting on my #@$&% nerves.

December 27: Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze; plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him, he only charged me $1,400 to replace all my pipes.

December 28: Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. The BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29: 10 &^$%# more $#@#$ inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30: Roof caved in. 9 more ^%$&  inches of &#@$% snow and *&%#$ sleet and *(&%$ ice and goddamn knows what other kind of white ^%$# ^%$#@ fell last night. I wounded that &^%#$ snow plough dickhead with an ice axe, but the asshole got away. And now he is suing me for a million dollars, not only because of the beating I gave him, but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up his %$@#& ass. Wife left me. I think I’m going snow-blind. I can’t move my toes. My dick is almost frozen solid. Haven’t seen the sun in weeks. Wind chill factor is -33 degrees. More snow predicted – 12 more inches. &^%$@ white %@#*.

December 31: I set fire to what’s left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8: Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Wonder why they tied me to this bed?

 

Me at the wedding of my daughter. Many, many years from now.

Damn funny. Do you have an uncle or father like this? My deepest, deepest sympathy.

Note: This is an actual photo of Scienkoptic…

Hahaaaa! (Dr Evil laugh fading.) My latest vic.. I mean… friend who offered to give me their good name to play with. Of course I will make sure I take their name carefully in my two hands… And then I will crush it! I mean, I will respect their wishes and not make fun of them… Yeah, right… Like that is gonna happen! Sorry Cordie from Looking In The Mirror, you asked for it. People, meet Johanna Ma Klein (Joanna Mother Small – Johanna pronounced as Yo-Ha-Na). Or rather the female version of John McClane – the guy from Die Hard (In my language it means The Heart). She is tough. And rough. You don’t mess with her. Not if you love your teeth. You want to know how tough she is? I’ll give you a few…

She’s so tough when she gets into a cab and the cab driver asks where she is going she says, “None of your bloody business!!!”

She’s so tough she wasn’t breast fed as a baby, she went straight onto cappuccinos.

She’s so tough that when she was a baby she pushed her own pram.

She’s so tough that she never needs to brush her teeth, she just lets the toothbrush tremble in her mouth.

She’s so tough that when she eats Smarties, she eats the red ones first. (Smarties = M&M’s.)

She’s so tough that her answering machine doesn’t answer to anyone except her.

She’s so tough that when she goes to the beach she kicks sand in her own face.

She’s so tough she’s into Punk Yoga… That’s when you stand on somebody else’s head.

She’s so tough Vitamins take her.

She’s tougher than an English steak.

And this is a true story of our Johanna…

Three Englishmen were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new wives duties. Terry had married a woman from America, and bragged that he had told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning that needed to be done at their house. He said that it took a couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and the dishes were all washed and put away.

Jimmie had married a woman from Canada. He bragged that he had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes, and the cooking. He told them that the first day he didn’t see any results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married our South African girl Johanna. He boasted that he told her that her duties were to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn’t see anything, the second day he didn’t see anything, but by the third day most of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye. Enough to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher, and call a landscaper.

That’s our Johanna. Tough as nails… But don’t just believe me. Believe the photo evidence…

You think Johanna is just standing there right? Looks like she is waiting for a bus right? Wrong. She is just standing because she wants to stand. In broad daylight. It might look like it is evening but it isn’t. It is daytime. Because even the sun is sh*t scared of Souf Efrikan women like Johanna. And that isn’t just a normal street light. Oh no. It’s one of those fancy electric mosquito gadgets. The light attract mosquitoesand then zaps them. And it doubles up as a tanning salon for Johanna. Just look at the pose. That’s the Johanna tan-under-the-neck pose. She’s also waiting for dinner. The mosquitoes in Souf Efrika is so big that we eat them like chicken. Fried.

Johanna lives in Domdonnersemansvallei (Menarestupidbecauseisaidosville.) Locally known as Shutyourpieholeville. Where woman are strong and men wear body armour.

Johanna doesn’t need a man to look after her. She doesn’t need a man to feed her. She looks after herself. And feeds herself. And here you can see her catching her dinner…

No, not fish. She catches trains for dinner. See those tracks behind her? That’s where she catches her prey… I mean food. Actually, this photo was taken from the last train a split second before she caught it. She’s got a neat trick. She acts as if she’s just fishing for some fish out on the sea to put the train at ease. And then when the train gets right behind her she swings that rod around and hooks the train. It’s stops dead in its tracks. She used to stop it with her bare hands but she got really annoyed when she kept on chipping her finger nails. So she just spun her own string from her chest hairs to hook and hold the train – The chest hairs of Souf Efrikan woman are stronger than gravity… And stronger than the will to live…

Souf Efrikan woman are also unbelievable entrepreneurs. And Johanna is the Bill Gates of them all. Or rather, Bill Gates is the Johanna of men worldwide. She can make anything into anything. Her latest business is “building” escalators. Well, she doesn’t really build them. She forced normal steps to turn themselves into escalators. By using her willpower. You can see it from this photo. She just grabs that railing and pulls herself and the steps higher up. And the steps starts moving all by themselves. And they dare not stop until she tells them to stop. That’s our Johanna… She turns steps into escalators. She once turned coal into diamonds by blowing it on it. And she gave Superman a wedgie…

Look, Johanna is so tough she believes that the only things that should be red are her toenails and the blood showing on her knuckles. Yeah, she is one tough cookie. She smokes Marlboro reds – Sort of. But she hated the red packets. It clashed with her ice-cool blue eyes. And her dress. So she made Marlboro make a special packet of her type of reds just for her. In blue. It is not sold over the counter. Because her smokes are banned in every country in this world. Even in smoke capitals like China, France and Russia. One whiff of her smokes can kill a bull from a 100 yards. They say that the Russians gave up the Eastern block when she sat on the Berlin Wall having a smoke. It has been declared a WMD in most countries. Even in North Korea. Dubya knows that she carries these WMD’s with her but he is too sh*t scared to do anything about it.

And that 2 finger salute? It’s saying, “Eim gonna get myshelf u man wif too balls enda kut dem out enda put dem in dese too plestik kups eye heve rite here”. (Accent included – I’m going to get myself a man with two balls and cut them out and put them in these two plastic cups I have right here.) Apparently, she is not into sweet talking much.

You ever wondered how tough Souf Efrikan woman “catch” a guy? This is how. You stalk them and then jump them from behind. Also known as a rugby tackle. This poor guy tried to run but no luck. When Johanna has her sights on a man… Okay, maybe sights isn’t the right word. She only uses that at what she calls the “breakup” – when she uses the telescope or “sight” on her gun. Let’s rather say that once she has her eye on a guy… No, wait. She only “eye” guys just before she hits them between the eyes. Mmm… When she wants to date a guy and not “take him out” in any other way than in a loving relationship, then she hunts him down the way a lion hunts her prey. And you know who wins that fight… Johanna has a much higher kill success rate than a lioness. But once she is in a “relationship”…

She is all loving. Hugs and kisses all around. Hum… Not to the guy! To her 6 cats and 2.3 dogs. The guy gets it Johanna style. You think this photo is all loving and stuff? Ha! Try again. She has him in her grip called the “Jaws of life”. There is no way of escaping from this. When Johanna’s hand locks over her palm like that nothing can break it. Unbreakable – Like a hyena’s jaw. You can try a crowbar. No luck. Not even a ton of dynamite will break that grip.

You want to know why she has him in this grip? Look at the clock. You see the time on it? Just past 12:15… No, not in the morning. In the afternoon. And he left at 12 to go and buy some milk and bread. He said he would be back by 12:15. Look at the time… And where is the milk and bread? Do you see any? DO YOU SEE ANY MISTA? Her head is tilted slightly back… Or drawn back. She is ready to give him a kiss. A Souf Efrikan kiss… A headbutt… On the bridge of his nose.

That’s our Johanna. She’s tough and rough. She’s a woman. She’s a Souf Efrikan. That’s a double whammy. Johanna, a Souf Efrikan woman. What did you expect?

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