Professional Male Athletes Doing What Professional Male Athletes Do Is Apparently Newsworthy


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:

  1. Fistorius is born in 1986 with some weird-ass birth defect and his legs were amputated below the knee.
  2. A natural meathead, Fistorius participates in all that is sport at school.
  3. A serious knee injury (yes, he has knees asshole!) forces Fistorius to leave behind sports like rugby and take up running.
  4. Fistorius becomes a professional juiced douche.
  5. Fistorius dates blonde highlight enthusiast, Reeva Speenkamp (speen is Afrikaans for cow-tits).
  6. Blonde highlight enthusiast, Reeva Speenkamp, gives Fistorius some sass.
  7. Fistorius does to Speenkamp what professional juicers do to lippy hoes.
  8. When asked what the fuck happened by the police, Fistorius said “uuuuh…dunno”.
  9. 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:

fistorius 4 fistorius 3 fistorius 2 fistorius 1



Your Cock Ring Metaphor Is About 19 Months Behind Schedule UK!


If this bitch rant is anything to go by, then the world is about 19 months behind the international trend-setters that is the Rainbow Nation!  The BBC reports that this past weekend saw the launch of an anti-homophobia in sport campaign in the UK.  The campaign, Right Behind Gay Footballers (#rbgf), is being run by Stonewall (@StonewallUK) and involves footballers wearing rainbow laces on their boots and wrists (and cocks?) to support the closet cases among them. Apparently Stonewall supports UK athletes coming out of the closet land-sliding out of the closet and getting up to this kind of buffoonery.

Although this is a noble cause, and although I definitely support professional athletes loving on the peen, this campaign is over a year behind South Africa. I am of course referring to the Blue Bulls who have been donning their glorious fuchsia jerseys since last year February. No, the switch from blue to labia-minora-pink was not in support of breast cancer research and it was not for raising awareness about domestic abuse.  The Blue Bulls’ flip-flop on the colour wheel was not even a PR campaign for one of their main sponsors (Puma). No, the Blue Bulls obviously decided to publicly start supporting the gays (OBVEE).

I guess better late than never hey…but I still think our candy-floss and bubblegum barf jerseys are prettier than the UK’s cock rings wrist strings…



Fuck Syria, IRB Reffing Requires Serious International Military Attention


I’m not even being sarcastic with that headline.  When a whore makes my Bissie sad, then the claws come out! Our nation’s fallen idol sported his glorious jheri curl for a mere 32 minutes at Auckland’s Eden Park today before getting his second yellow card and being sent to the sin-bin during the clash between South Africa and New Zealand. During this time Bismarck managed to score the South African side a try and also take out the New Zealand fly-half. (No Bissie! Not Dan Carter’s face, PLEASE!)

I  may not be a Supersport-level Rugby ninja, but what I do know is Twatter, and mine is BLOWING UP with hoes across the globe telling Romain Poite to eat shit and die after Bissie’s (apparently) cuntroversial yellow cards – arguably resulting in the Boks defeat.  I had to search really hard on the internet to make any sense of this mess and found that this is not the first time bitches have lost their SHIT over a French ref’s shitty skills on the whistle. Apparently being refereed by a French ref is like receiving unsolicited anal…and NO ONE should be putting it in my Bissie’s bottie without him nodding tearfully and spreading those muscular hairy thighs personally. NO ONE!  I retract my previous statement about Jub Jub’s infernal legal representative Rudi Krause being the reincarnation of Lucifer, because it is obvious that ROMAIN POITE is!

Some are saying that Bismarck’s first yellow card was deserved and some are not, but EVERYONE is saying that the second one was bullshit.  I didn’t know this, but one yellow card and shantay, you stay, but two, and it’s sashay away. All I know is that we lost and my Bissie is sad…and that makes me sad too. So in solidarity, I will call all my squirrel friends over so we can take a group shower while we sulk and stomp our feet “sexily”. Note: We will be attempting this “sexy stomping” but I doubt it will look anything like the Boks’ attempts to out Haka the All Blacks.


Etzebeth Cleared To Play Again, But Can He Toyi Toyi?


So if you read my shit regularly (a rhetorical if, of course you do!) then you might recall me mouth-queefing about rugby monolith Eben Etzebeth’s nose, throat and then entire gorgeous 20 meter long hard body getting cleared to play the Wallabies last week after a long battle with a snotty nose.  Well, the Boks won the game against Australia and this weekend they take on the All Blacks. Before you international dial the International Criminal Court from whatever hippy haven you fight world racism from, All Blacks is rugby code for the New Zealand national rugby team.  Now, I’m not going to say too much else on the matter (basically because I know nothing about rugby other than that I want to fuck the players), I’m just going to let the bubbling cauldron of deprived sex-acts you call your brain play another little ball game with the following: See the image of the Aussie player with the Maori tats above? (that’s Aussie player Daniel Conn- BITCH, I knows my naked rugby player pics!) Recall the latent images of Eben Etzebeth from last week? Yes, yes your body is now ready. Take them and consider the following:

Kaptein Kortbroek, from, seem to be of the opinion that in comparison to the hard on-inducing Haka, our rip-off of the Mexican (Hispanic? Cholo?) “Olé-Olé-Olé, we are the champs…“, comes across about as intimidating as a Jurie Els headshot (assuming you are NOT 12 years old of course).  Kaptein suggests that the Boks have the potential to pull off a convincing “South African Haka” which should incorporate gumboot dancing, Zulu war cries and the music from this complete tragedy of a TV ad for Grundfos Pumps featuring Bismarck du Plessis (Warning: You are going to watch this video on repeat for about two hours because it is FUCKING HILARIOUS).

Ok, I’ve set the scene. Now try to get through the game today without going to the bathroom at least five times to release the pressure caused by an image of Eben Etzebeth in gumboots, holding a Zulu spear, toyi-toying to this song and subsequently pouncing (or maybe just falling over?) onto a hot, naked, tatted Maori holding nothing but a golden ball in front of his golden balls…too much? Hey, I’m just trying to help. Let’s face it, anything is better than the mental (and soon to be very real) image of a fleet of giant white men trying on a traditional dance in front of millions. These are the same idiots that visibly mumble their way through the Nkosi Sikeleli part of Nkosi Sikeleli! i.e. OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM! That is the very essence of NO BITCH! Sigh, back to golden balls…



Zakumi: A Dream Shattered


And just like that Buffoona Buffoona flushed Zakumi’s only dream down the shitter. If anyone is looking for him, I read on MXit that he’s in a basement somewhere in Cape Town doing tik with the hoes from Takalani Sesame to try and numb the pain. Zakumi’s woes are completely justified as Buffoona dropped out of the running to compete at the 2014 Soccer World Cup this past weekend because they couldn’t beat Ethiopia.  I’m not sure how the scoring works (with soccer balls, I mean), but in some way South Africa had to beat Ethiopia – whether on the field or with points scored, I don’t know – and they didn’t.  Ethiopia? Ethi-FUCKING-opia?? Aren’t these ho’s being kept alive with nothing but bags of AIDS-porridge and tubes of Malaria vaccine? How the fuck do you lose to Ethiopia?!

The saddest part of this defeat is not that South Africa won’t be competing in the very global sporting event we hosted in 2010. The saddest part of this defeat is also not the fact that we will in all probability lose our beloved mascot Zakumi to a tik overdose. The saddest part about Bafana dropping out of the competition is the fact that Doughboy Malema now has something to mouth-queef about again.

There is no doubt that soccer in South Africa needs development at grassroots level like Julius needs a to have a stomach bypass, but having to listen to his verbal diarrhea about how all whites are racist and him being black jesus won’t do anything to improve the situation. For now, we should all focus our efforts to find the tik-den Zakumi is at and get him to Harmony House to dry out! Stat!


Etzebeth Cleared For Play – And Now, So Is My B-hole


South Africa faces Australia at Suncorp Stadium in Brisbane tonight (Australian time, so like two days ago for the rest of us) and luckily for all us bok-thirsty whores, Eben Etzebeth was cleared for action, allowing all of us to reach for the hand lotion with a sigh of relief. He had a bit of a snotty pussy this past week, but is ready to strut back onto the field swinging his enormous Donkey Kong arms and knock some Wallabies down.  Sport.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: What a fucking cushy job these athletes have! Who the fuck calls in sick and needs official approval before going back to work FOR THE FLU?! As a tax-paying (read: evading) South African I expect my national athletic representatives to get their ginormous biceps, glutes, delts, lats and quads out on that field exactly on cue! (tax money funds SARFU right?) The only reason I’m still allowed in my father’s house is because one, I agreed not to bring my rent boys in the front door where the neighbours can see, and two, I agreed to watch rugby with him at least when the Springboks play. If I’m forced to partake in this mind-numbing social convention then I AT LEAST want some material for the spank-bank. Etzebeth looks about as smart as a box of hair, but he sure does make my ‘giny tingle! You already do it for me, Eben, now do it for South Africa! Here are some more images of his delicious derp-face to get you through the match tonight while the real thing is buried neck deep in a pile of hairy, muscled thighs:

etzebeth2 etzebeth3 etzebeth4 etzebeth5


Rustenburg’s Newest Style Icon Is In Moscow Doing Her Bit For Her Country With A Pole

Sunette viljoen

Yes, I know I have expressed a dislike for sports journalism, but this absolutely requires a mention, if for nothing else than letting South Africa and the WORLD know that Jo’burg can just hand in its notice, because Rustenburg is now where South Africa’s new interior design capital is at! So much I need to know: I need to know at what branch of Ellerines or Bears I can get a couch like that (on lay-bye please, and yes, I’ll take the free presswood two-piece bedroom set too!). I also must know who stapled down that luxuriously mossy “shag rug” – and by “rug” I mean that teased nylon in Exorcist-green carpet on the floor. Did it come free with the couch and the bed set? Get me to Ellerines, stat! I’ve seen a carpet similar to this at the very exclusive Club Presley’s in our nation’s actual capital, Pretoria! Cigarettes don’t even scorch it and everything from vomit to Russia’s best vodka can rain down on it without even leaving a stain. That carpet just laughs at your drunk ass… pure class!

Not only is Sunette Viljoen the picture of elegant sophistication, posing in the front room of her parents’ Rustenburg home, she is also a hard working athlete who likes to see hard work pay off – so says Viljoen. Move over Madiba, and get this girl on a R20 note! News24 reports that this spear throwing glamazon progressed to the next round in her morning sessions at the IAAF World Championships in Moscow.  And yes I checked, this is not “another Moscow” this is indeed the Moscow in Russia… so keep those PINK trainers on gurrl, or I foresee some gulag time coming your way. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go google “Russia” “Olympics” “Gays” and “fuckery” and catch yourself the hell up!