My interest in Oscar Fistorius pretty much end where his legs do, so you can imagine that I have no fucks to give about the international OUTRAGE his murder trial has brought about. I am quite astonished about the amount of attention this case is attracting. I mean seriously, a juiced-up professional athlete offing one of his side pieces and then denying all accountability is hardly something new or out of the ordinary. Still, this shit drags on and everyone from FAS face toddlers to chain-smoking grannies are sitting with their dinner on their laps GLUED to the screen.
For those of you who – like me – have been avoiding this story like a herp-ridden peen, allow me to give you an abridged version of this mess in chronological order:
- Fistorius is born in 1986 with some weird-ass birth defect and his legs were amputated below the knee.
- A natural meathead, Fistorius participates in all that is sport at school.
- A serious knee injury (yes, he has knees asshole!) forces Fistorius to leave behind sports like rugby and take up running.
- Fistorius becomes a professional juiced douche.
- Fistorius dates blonde highlight enthusiast, Reeva Speenkamp (speen is Afrikaans for cow-tits).
- Blonde highlight enthusiast, Reeva Speenkamp, gives Fistorius some sass.
- Fistorius does to Speenkamp what professional juicers do to lippy hoes.
- When asked what the fuck happened by the police, Fistorius said “uuuuh…dunno”.
- Fistorius brings the D-R-A-M-A by going full Linda Blair during the murder trial.
All the while, those following the trial are subjected to a translator that makes you want to borrow Fistorius’s blades to slice your own ears off. While this shit is going on and on and on, here is a reminder of the days when the only guns we were concerned about were the ones attached to his shoulders:
Since last night was Phuza Thursday, I only learned of this sad news this morning when I dragged my Tassenberg-soaked corpse back into bed after taking a hangover-shit at 6am and seeing 10 sms’s from my overseas side-pieces sending me their condolences, like I knew the guy personally. And yes, I have hoes in different area codes – I’m classy like that. Speaking of which, you can imagine how sad I am about Madiba’s passing since, as a white 90’s teen, he was the reason I was allowed to love on black dick in post-1994 South Africa.
WEEP Rainbow Nation, weep your fucking eyes out! Not for his passing (because let’s face it the guy was pretty old and probably sick as fuck about the Papz sticking a Nikon in his face every time he so much as sneezed), but for the tidal wave of sheer fuckery that is going to follow. First of all, the fucking haters are going to take to their Isuzu’s and congregate at the local Stadsaal to strategise (under the guidance of St Steve) about how to survive the Night of the Long Knives. My god! I’m still waiting for the phone call from my granny, warning me about the impending doom the blacks will bring upon us…or maybe she found out about my love of African Python and decided that how I live my life is the way I should die…
Secondly, that clanging you hear is the sound of gold diggers far and wide picking up their shovels and digging like that shit is their J-O-B! The image above is just one such example. You will have shameless whores like Pillsbury Malema taking credit for Madiba’s work and sacrifices left, right and centre. You’ll see international tricks coming out of the woodwork and sending us their condolences like they knew who the fuck Madiba or South Africa was before today (cut to David Cameron signing a book of condolence on BBC News – THE FUCK is a book of condolence??). Lastly, but by no means the least, can you imagine the phonebill MTN is going to send the Mandela family for all those call to the accountant? That shit won’t be Ayoba! The Jacksons better take note! Michael didn’t have no Nobel Peace Prize OR any honorary doctorates…ALL the claws (read: shovels) are coming out, because there is money to be MADE bitch!
Farewell Tata. I’m thankful you don’t have to witness this fucking mess.
The answer to the question posed to you above is “zero“. Nul, unothing, lutó, FUCK ALL! And if you are wondering what a pre-cock is, well that is the part of the stomach that is so tightly toned that it forms two diagonal lines that lead right to a gentleman’s fuck-part. For educational purposes, the pre-cock looks like this:
Keeping with the theme of redundant social practices, the picture of Veet For Men spokesperson above was taken at the 2013 Mr South Africa pageant (sidenote: alwauys remember the crucial hashtags when posting whateverthefuck on Instagram, namely #classy #cool #swagger). Why is this even a thing? Are companies actually sponsoring this mess? You know an even is ghetto as FUCK when the main sponsor has their landline number ON the actual backdrop used by the press. Oh wait, I forgot, we are actually supporting this…oops. Well, carry on then. I just hope that Ream-me doesn’t cause too much of a disruption, because you know with his torso covered up in a black suit (and him being as tall as an Oompa Loompa) bitches are going to be tripping over him all fucking night. Best get your shirt off or wear some reflective tape around your head Reamz! xx
BREAKING NEWS: Emo Adam’s Inability To Distinguish Between A Tweet And A DM Causes A Major MTN Server MeltdownPosted: November 7, 2013
First off I have to say that I quite like Nataniël and I especially enjoy his coy you-might-know-steak-but-I-know-WORS-bitch face in this ad for Checkers.
I like Nataniël because I don’t feel my brain start to liquify at the mere thought of seeing him on TV – as I do with most South African celebrities (read: Juanita du Plessis). However, the article in Die Burger today, about the behind the scenes fuckery at the conjuring of this MESS, made me barf up pieces as big as the rump Gordon Ramsay is manhandling like the rump is still attached to the rentboy. Why, you ask? Well, it’s because the article is written in a way that makes it sound like Nataniël and Ramsay were eye-fucking and air-humping each other from across the room for the full 792 takes of this shit-show of an ad.
I don’t mind subtle innuendo intended for gutter-brained whores like myself, but when it involves this puss-filled ass-pimple I simply CAN’T. I didn’t think the UK could produce anything more vile than their last export to the USA, Simon That-Was-Just-Awful Cowell, but I was wrong! Times must be fucking TOUGH when our Lady of Wors agrees to work with this piece of Scottish trash. Ugh, and the way Die Burger makes it sound like GR was undressing Nataniël with his eyes while Nataniël was teasing GR in Afrikaans just made my stomach turn! Checkers should sue Die Burger’s ass for damages, because after reading this article the LAST thing you are going to think of doing is buy a big piece of meat when you see the ad. #VOM #Vegan.
Channel 24 reports that Xhosa princess, Jeanette Akua, moved through to the boot-camp round of X-Factor UK after wowing the “judges” with her rendition of Bon Iver’s Skinny Love. “Judge” usually refers to an individual with in-depth knowledge of something (i.e. a legal system, or a specific profession) who is able to make an informed decision. I therefore put (X-Factor) “judges” in quotations since I seriously doubt that Jeanette auditioned for a role of stripper, Auto-Tune enthusiast or plastic surgery addict. If you are thinking: “but there are four ‘judges’?”, you are right, but I don’t know who that Silver Meerkat is, nor do I know what he does. So basically I think calling those four clowns judges is pushing it a bit.
Despite the abysmal judging process, Jeanette made it through and hopefully her inclusion in the girl band
Stop, Drop and Bone Stop, Look and Listen wont cramp her style. I’m not an avid X-Factor watcher, but I’ve seen some of these British pram-face bitches on this show and I can only pray to the Ancestors that Jeanette gets some hoes HALF as talented as her in the group!
From everyone at Siesa Nyama, CONGRATS Jeanette! Break a leg (or a jaw, if necessary). We know you’ll make us proud!
I have seen into South Africa’s future and the future looks bright. Have you ever seen such raw talent? Such style?? Such grace??? Cancel Idols, because none of those hoes have got SHIT on Biggy+Mouse! Close all dental practices in the nation because teeth with which you can eat a mielie through a tennis racket is THE LOOK! And finally stop all production of new VW vehicles because you ain’t SHIT without a Golf2 GTI circa 1983!
Biggy+Mouse are not only trendsetters, they are PIONEERS! Who needs a video-ho oiled up and twerking in a bikini three sizes too small for her when you can have your hoes looking like the JUST stepped off an Ackermans shoot or like they just had Mouse’s snake in their mouse 5 minutes ago.
You don’t even have to understand Afrikaans to be able to appreciate this example of pure artistry. Big Sean and MC Hammer should not even THINK of suing for copyright infringement. If anything, Biggy+Mouse improved their respective songs by using the music in the TIGHTEST Afrikaans rap I have ever heard! Watch your back Jack Parow! Watch your back Snotkop! These boys are going to be BIG…well, bigger than they already are, that is…