Archive for January, 2011


The Tiger And The Met

To put it in five words: the Met was fucking mindblowing

Sure, it was my first Met and yes, I was in the best marquee on the grounds so my perception is going to be biased, but good god. It was a killer party.

We got some great pics, but sadly I can’t pull them off J-Rab’s camera until tomorrow, so here’s what I pulled from my N8 in the meantime.



You had to be there. Seriously. The food, the marquees, the decor, the bars, the salons where you could get a foot massage or where girls could get their make-up redone and hair styled, it was all so slick and amazingly well executed.

If you sat anywhere for long enough, you’d see a cross section of TV presenters, models, actors, news crews, entertainment crews, sports celebrities and socialites in some of the craziest, sexiest outfits you ever saw, strutting like they were on a giant catwalk and the world was watching.

And then bam! Two people with horse heads pirouette into the crowd and ballroom dance randomly in what looks like a creepily well choreographed out-take from a nightmare sequence in Equus.



By the time the sun had set and Fedde Le Grand was punishing the decks, the evening had become one huge party. People danced, they laughed, they ducked off to eat piping hot, delicious oven baked slices of free pizza and drank J&B in every variation known to man.

I remember taking this pic right near the end of the night. It’s the only other one I have right now that came out well, but soon as I get J-Rab’s camera I’ll put up more.



Anyone else get anything sick from the day? Send in what you got to and I’ll put it up here and punt your awesomeness to the interwebs.

There was more, much more, but it’ll have to wait until later.



Do Fuck All Friday

As your lawyer, I strongly advise against doing anything productive today.

You’ve worked like a dog all week so give yourself a pat on the back, kick back and do absolutely nothing. I mean it’s Friday fer chrissake!

Plus, I’ll be working hard enough for the both of us today so don’t worry, if your boss kaks you out, just tell him SlickTiger has it covered and send him a link to this post.

And so, to begin the slacking, I present to you my good friend Michelle Baker.



What do you reckon? Five out of ten? Four? I think five is fair Winking smile

You can see more of Michelle over at Holy Taco, the perfect place to dick around, watch funny videos and begin what is going to be an awesome day doing jack shit.

Make me proud guys.

Have a killer weekend, see you at the Met.



Rock The Met Right

Without getting into too much detail, I’m working closely with the J&B Met this year which has been a mind-blowingly intense experience so yes, you can touch me and no, I don’t have free tickets for you.

This morning we were behind the scenes at the Expresso show that was being shot where something like 40 couples rocked up at 5 this morning dressed in their Met finery in the hope that they’d get chosen for automatic entry into both the main marquee and the Most Elegant Couple competition on the day.

If you’re headed to the Met and are wondering what the hell to wear, be cool. Your Tiger pal got a few pics of the couples this morning because I care about you and don’t want to have to call security because your meat dress is dripping.







So yeah, that’s the general vibe. What am I wearing you ask? Well the theme’s “larger than life” so I’ll be rocking the following:



Later party people.



New Categories!

Stop the press everyone. I’ve added new categories to the site.



Scroll down a little and cast a wary glance over to the right and you’ll see some intriguing shit indeed.

“Being Slick”? “Killer Posts”? “Tiger Guides”? “Satire, Irony And Vitriol”? “Events”? What the hell does it all mean?!

Stay calm. I don’t want you running off in a flat panic to go read some other douchebag site out there because your Tiger pal’s shaking things up a little. Here, hold my hand. It’s not what you think, let me explain.

“Being Slick” is a collection of random moments and memories from my life. I made this category because I like talking about myself.

“Killer Posts” are all my favourite pieces of writing I’ve banged out so far. Some of them got a buttload of hits like the one about kakking gym or some such nonsense.

“Tiger Guides” are the pieces where I give step by step advice on how to do stuff like raising baby humans and dealing with dick cupcakes. I made this category because I like telling people what to do.

“Satire, Irony And Vitriol” is where I go to vent. People love this shit because there’s no better way to unite people over the interwebs than to stage a public lynching. Fact.



“Events” is a tricky one. I could try to explain it to you, but seriously, it’s better if you experience this one yourselves.

I’ve only gone through about two thirds of the content on the site so far though, I’ve still got another 100 odd posts to sort through and recategorise so if you hit some of those categories RIGHT NOW you’ll dig up some way old stuffs from before you even knew this site existed.

I figured with Klapping Gym appearing in FHM it was high time I made the content on here more accessible. I was sitting with 218 posts in the “uncategorised” category, that’s a lot of rambling nonsense that I could be exposing random visitors to much like a homeless person in a trench coat flashing his junk at people in the street (and their children).

Good times I tell ya. Good times Winking smile



Everybody Buy The New FHM! Do It! Do It Now!

Sources tell me it hits shelves tomorrow and hoo-wee! It’s going to be a KILLER issue because why?

Because your Tiger pal’s in it Winking smile

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls – they ran with the “Klapping Gym Boet” piece, but they couldn’t use the awesome pics I did because some are low res and also FHM doesn’t have the rights to use them.

They used an illustrator instead who drew all these cartoony pictures to replace the originals. Does it work? Is it still as funny as the original?

You guys are going to have to be the judges here because honestly, I’ve read that piece so many times my eyes have started bleeding at the mere mention of it.



So yeah, hit CNA tomorrow buy the new FHM and let me know what you guys think. It has new material in there, two additional steps to klapping it that aren’t in the original piece and I had to tone down the swears a bit.

If you like it, do your ol’ tiger pal a favour and pop an email to FHM telling them it rocked and they should hire me.

Bada bing bada bang!

Group hug!





SlickTiger:2 Moving:0

Compared to the shenanigans of Part 1, Part 2 of our epic move from Stellenbosch to Cape Town was executed with military precision.

In one day we managed to move every remaining stick of furniture loaded in a solid brick of stuff on the back of the bakkie I was borrowing from a buddy of mine.

It was every Tetris player’s dream – a double bed, a fridge, a two seater couch, a TV cabinet and a table all stacked and packed so perfectly together you couldn’t even squeeze a hand between any of the gaps and that was before Captain Albatross got to work tying it all down.



I now know that J-Rab and my life can be packed up, uprooted and moved anywhere in 3 car loads and 2 bakkie loads as long as one of those bakkie loads looks like this:



And so, by 3 o’clock on Saturday afternoon there wasn’t so much as one toothpick of our stuff left in the shed which over the past year we’ve come to call home.

Funny how you can still feel nostalgic about leaving a place that drove you completely insane every second that you lived there. Our little wooden house had a certain charm to it and when all the animals living around us finally shut the hell up it was peaceful out there.

I got some great writing done there. Sundays would roll around and J-Rab would go off to work and I’d get up early, make myself some fresh coffee and wander out onto our balcony into the blue morning and soak up the vineyard and mountains surrounding us.

We walked out to the secret dam near our house for the last time before we left. Captain Albatross, J-Rab and I stood looking over the giant Lillie pads that dotted the surface of the dam and watched some ducks float on by while a Cormorant swooped silently overhead and way off in the distance a car glided past on the R44.

I asked the Captain to get a picture of J-Rab and I before we left.



And so we left Stellies and finally moved to the Mother City to start a new chapter in our lives. My morning commute has now gone from roughly an hour to 6 minutes and the flat we’ve moved into has actual cupboards! And a kitchen! And a spare bedroom! And no rats!

Life couldn’t be better Winking smile



When You Open The New Marie Claire You Immediately Crap Yourself

I’m seriously late jumping on this bandwagon, I know at least one other blogger (Brandslut) who’s already given the current Cell C ad in the February issue of Marie Claire a solid bollicking and she did that more than two weeks ago (great job by the way), but I just couldn’t resist.

The lowdown is that the new Marie Claire (and apparently the new Cosmo too) has a four page Cell C ad in the middle of it that is topping pretty much EVERYONE’S lists as the kakkest ad ever.

Four pages of our buddy Trev doing his retarded Cell C monkeyboy routine is bad enough, but the real kicker here is that the fucking ad speaks to you.


“Welcome to the world of Cell C. The power is in your hands” it says, and you immediately crap yourself because what the hell just happened?!

Then the new Cell C jingle plays and sounds exactly like I imagine a jack-in-the-box would if it were underwater, or if you’d taken too much acid and KAPOW! the full effect is achieved.

About 3 seconds after being verbally assaulted by the ad I dropped everything I was doing, cancelled my Vodacom subscription and signed up with Cell C.

Right after that I ran to the nearest tattoo parlour and got the logo inked on my forehead, and as soon as I get home I’m gonna [change my pants and] get down and dirty with J-Rab so in nine months time I can name my first child “Cell” and 18 months after that, the second one “C”.

The advert was that powerful! Well done everyone involved!



All we can hope and pray for is that more magazines adopt this novel approach because it’s exactly what we all need in our lives – MORE advertising being shoved down our throats.

Cell C I can forgive. I never gave a shit about the brand so no love lost there. They thought they had a rad idea but it was kak. Too bad.

Marie Claire I can forgive as well. They need to sell advertising or the magazine shuts down, it’s a simple fact.

An advertiser comes to them and says, “Hey, we’ve got this great idea. In the next issue we want to include a four page advert that, when you open it, sends a signal to launch every nuclear missile the former USSR ever created, targeting every major city around the world.”

“Never!” the magazine replies, indignant, “We would never allow such an atrocity to be commited, not in our magazine!”

“We’ll pay you half a bar.”


But the person I really can’t forgive here, not for this, not for anything to do with the campaign, is good ol’ Trev.

Why dude, why?! You were a great comedian, one of the few South African comedians that cracked me up with pretty much every sentence you spoke and then you went out and agreed to all this and you know what I think every time I see at you now?

Whoosh. The sound of all your integrity and credibility leaving the building.




The Tiger’s Top 10 Albums of 2010

Yeah! Music stuffs! I used to post music stuffs all the time and the thing is I still post music stuffs, just not on this site, on If you go there right now you’ll see that I pretty much OWN that site content wise and it’s awesome!

If you want awesome content on your site too why the hell don’t you just mail me at, pay me a modest fee and prepare for your site views to hit the mother flippin’ ceiling yo!

I’m a gun for hire these days, which is the badass way of saying I’ll lick your balls for $5.

The Pulpmag gig helps me to pay the rent, but the diehard fans of this site get pissed off when I post my Pulpmag stuff here because I usually give the opening few paragraphs of a review and then make them hit Pulpmag for the rest.



But seriously. I think it’s time we moved past such petty grievances. This is 2011, clicking on a little link to take you to another page for content isn’t going to kill you.

Man up fer chrissake!

So check, check, check it out yo, here are my top ten albums for 2010 so you can laugh at my girly taste in music…


The Tiger’s Top 10 Albums of 2010




My Girlfriend Fell Down The Stairs

For real.

On Sunday night, J-Rab slipped on the top step of the wooden staircase and ended up scraping the shit out of her right arm as she caught the balustrade whilst landing squarely on her bum on the edge of one of the steps.

She also gave herself mild whiplash, bruised her left forearm and tore a lot of muscles in her side, so the poor girl is a bit of a mess.

What’s bad though is it happened really late on Sunday night so we ended up going to sleep at a ridiculous hour cause we stayed up while I bandaged her up and treated her scrapes. When we did eventually get to sleep, it wasn’t very restful because there was basically no way she could lie that didn’t hurt like shit.



I arrive at work on Monday tired and unshaven and so naturally when people asked me why I looked like hell I told them I didn’t get much sleep the night before because my girlfriend fell down the stairs.

Just pause I moment and read that sentence again.

Yeah. Now I’m one of those guys.

“Wow, how did your girlfriend get all those bruises dude?!”

“Um, she fell down the stairs.”

“Really? Oh well that settles it then. Fell down the stairs. Sure, that sounds legit… I’ll just be over here if you need me… calling the police…”

Luckily her clothing covers most of the bruises so you can’t really see them. Thank God for small miracles right? Hahhahaa… wait, that sounds bad too…

Let’s just end this post shall we?

Send good vibes J-Rab’s way and pray she heals fast because at this rate, I’ll be in jail by the weekend.



SlickTiger:1 Moving:0

They say that moving is right up there with the most stressful things life can throw at you like losing a loved one or getting fired. They’re all supposed to be on the same level which I always thought was a little over dramatic.

I mean moving ain’t that bad right? Load up a bakkie with all your stuffs, drive from A to B, offload, rinse, repeat.



So Captain Albatross and myself borrowed a bakkie from a buddy on Saturday and got rolling.

We loaded up two couches, a bookshelf, the washing machine (FAHK those things are HEAVY!), a couple of boxes, a heater or two, and tied it all down so tight you could pluck the ropes like guitar strings.

We nailed the drive from Stellies into Vredehoek and everything was easy breezy. We get to the other side and started unloading stuff and taking it upstairs and even that was going well until we hit one major fucking snag.

My one couch is fucking HUGE.

It’s the Triple H of couches, nearly two and a half metres of soft, maroon leathery goodness that is the most comfortable basterd I’ve ever had the pleasure of passing out on. I mean, I’ve written some of my BEST posts lying utterly inert on that radass couch. Through the good times and the bad, that couch has always been there, it’s like a long, large maroon extension of myself.

(That’s what she said.)



Anyway, you think we could get that couch up the narrow, twisty stairwell leading up to our flat? Not a fucking chance. We wrestled that thing, we twisted it, we pushed it, we tried to walk it up the stairs one goddamn step at a time and eventually all we managed to do was wedge it in there so tight, we couldn’t get it out.

Which was when we came up with our killer idea of removing the sliding doors to our flat and hoisting the basterd up the balcony with ROPES!

I love rope. I’ve always loved rope. The old-school hemp kind is the best. Soon as I get my hands on that shit I just wanna lasso a fucking horse or climb a mountain or hang a guy. Ropes are the answer to EVERYTHING!



So we set the couch down the way it would normally sit, made two loops around each side of the couch, went upstairs and got hoisting.

CHRONIC fail. Don’t try that shit without gloves yo! What the hell were we thinking?! Also the couch kept twisting and turning and refusing to cooperate in any way, so we set it back down and had a beer.

Second time around we got the bright idea of standing the couch upright to do the hoisting and tying ropes around it like ribbon around a Christmas present. Right about then, the dude who lives downstairs arrived home and offered to help us, which I found pretty hilarious considering he looked like about 70 kgs of cookie dough and admitted to having just come back from Ratanga Junction where he smoked a joint and went on all the rides by himself.

We told him to go upstairs with J-Rab and to hoist for everything he was worth while we pushed from the bottom. At this stage, drenched in sweat and tired from taking all the other stuff up the stairs, I was pretty convinced the couch was going to kill us all. Soon as J-Rab and the Ratanga Junction Stoner yoinked it up, the weight would pull them off the balcony and they’d end up landing, couch and all, right on top of me and the Captain.

“RIP SlickTiger. His favourite couch killed him.”

All I remember after that was dicking around with the ropes, checking they were all alright before we commenced the yoinking and then BAM! the couch was halfway up the building and into the lounge!

I bolted upstairs, grabbed a hold and helped the Ratanga Junction Stoner and J-Rab get the rest of it in and stared in total amazement at the RJS who had basically single-handedly pulled our entire couch up a second story balcony and into the flat faster than I could blink.

“Babe,” I said triumphantly to J-Rab, “whatever that man is smoking, I want some.”



I tell ya, you haven’t lived until you can honestly say you’ve yoinked a couch up to a second story balcony with ROPES!

SlickTiger:1 Moving:0

Next week we haul the final load so that’s the bed, fridge, other couch and TV cabinet, so stay tuned for the next enthralling update because you know as well as I do that there’s nothing better to do on a Monday morning back at work than read stories involving stubborn couches, Ratanga Junction Stoners and ROPES! 😉