Archive for October, 2011


Warning: Very, Very, Very Funny Shit

jonlajoieIt’s always a gamble posting shit on your site that you have a sinking feeling EVERYONE’S already seen, but when said shit makes you cry you’re laughing so hard, you take that risk, especially on a Monday when your readers need a good laugh.

So forgive me if you’ve already heard of my new buddy Jon La Joie, but his videos are fucking brilliant! I’m gonna ease you guys into this with two of his music videos (one of which has had over 47 MILLION views, what a legend!) and then an infomercial so funny it made my balls hurt.



Moving right along, here’s my new favourite song:



“I can’t shove my fist in your childhood dreams” – beautiful. And lastly, here’s that infomercial I mentioned:



You should check this guy’s site out, it’s like something Monty Python puked out.

Too awesome Winking smile



Pappas Got A Brand New Tang

Tomato badge artworkI had this buddy way back who was a serious doff ou, in fact, that’s what we used to call him – doffo.

Anyway, doffo made it his mission to create the HOTTEST chilli sauce known to man and, having tasted it, I can honestly say that he achieved that mission and the results nearly killed me.

Nandos, being the clever ous they are, realise there are millions of people like me who don’t like sauce so hot is can strip paint.

Which is why they’ve decided to drop it like it’s not-hot by introducing a new flavour of rad – Tangy Tomato.

So what are we dealing with here? Well, to put it in a simple sentence, we’re talking sun-ripened tomatoes plus a touch of aromatic basil and a splash of balsamic vinegar – WINNING! All nom, and no burn.

Tangy Tomato ( is the choice for chicken lovers who prefer a less intense Peri-Peri experience without having to endure the customary hand-stands-in-the-shower that follow an intense Peri experience. So, if you can’t stand the heat, get into a Nando’s kitchen.

Why tomatoes? That’s easy; they’re only the most radass fruit on the planet. The Spanish have even dedicated an entire festival to pelting one another with tomatoes, smooshing them in the streets and getting completely out of hand.



Not sure what’s more awesome – the copious amounts of tomato smooshed everywhere or the Boswill-Wilkie soundtrack.

Good times Winking smile

So anyway, to launch Tangy Tomato Nandos shot this ad which features two of my favourite things – Portuguese people and blowing shit up:



There you have it. Nine out of nine people love the new Tangy Tomato flavour so go get your Tang on, try it out and lemme know if it blows your mind with awesome.

Have a killer weekend party people Winking smile



Kings Of Leon Melt Faces In Cape Town

26102011430“If it bleeds, it leads,” is generally accepted as the first rule of journalism, which is why I should have been sceptical right from the outset when I heard that Kings Of Leon were cocky, arrogant arseholes who were known to give the middle finger to crowds who don’t hang onto every note the band plays.

Their performance last night in Cape Town was anything but cocky and arrogant, which proves that either the rumours were a load of utter shite, or the band were suitably impressed by their reception last night when they took to the stage and melted our faces off.

I was lucky enough to have been given VIP passes by the kind folks at Nokia, but even better than that was the fact that I also bagged one of 20 VIP parking tickets that were randomly put into the 200 media packs they handed out.

It’s the only way to go, seriously. J-Rab and I drove right INTO THE STADIUM after passing through security checks that were so intense, at one of them they unleashed a sniffer dog on us to make sure we weren’t packing any bombs to blow the place up (luckily I’m saving the bomb for when Maroon 5 come to play so I was safe).

Once inside we hopped in the lift, shot up to the fifth floor and sauntered into the Nokia suite where, like a typical blogger, I immediately started abusing the free drinks and taking pictures of the food.



We managed to catch the end of Shadowclub’s set which I was really impressed with. It’s a bit sad the stadium was basically empty at that stage because the guys put on a great show and played some killer blues/rock in the Strokes / Wolfmother / Black Rebel Motorcycle Club vein that would have gotten the crowd pretty pumped if there was one.

What quickly became apparent though was that while the Nokia lounge was seriously p1mping, it was pretty far away from the stage, and even with my camera on full zoom, this is what everything looked like:



A plan would have to be made… but not before another few rounds of drinks / bowls of biltong.

The Black Hotels followed Shadowclub and played a decent set, but sadly we missed quite a big chunk of it thanks to the varied distractions of the VIP lounge (whisky).

Unfortunately when it came to the SA bands, they were given such limited stage time that it felt like they were over before they’d really begun. On the plus side, their sound was surprisingly good and for once it didn’t sound like they were playing through rusty tin cans.

By the time Die Heuwels Fantasties took to the stage, the place was starting to really fill out and energy levels in the crowd were rising fast. Die Heuwels played like seasoned stadium veterans, but it wasn’t until Jack Parow joined them onstage for “Die Vraagstuk” that the crowd really started going batshit crazy.

From there on in, the night belonged to Kings Of Leon and I for one was truly blown away by their performance which, coming from a cynical basterd like myself, is saying a lot.



I started following KOL when Because Of The Times dropped and within weeks of getting my filthy mitts on that album, picked up Youth And Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak. 

For me, the material in those three albums is some of the band’s best to date, which was why I fucking loved their set last night.

Sure, they played the four tracks that make up the entire catalogue most South Africans know (ie. “Sex On Fire”, “Use Somebody”, “Radioactive” and “Pyro”), but they also played at least 7 or 8 tracks from Because Of The Times and some classics like “Molly’s Chambers” and “Taper Jeans Girl” from their first two albums.

It was a nod to their die-hard fans to remind us that before they exploded into the mainstream with Only By The Night KOL was our band, not 5FM’s, and the music they wrote was the soundtrack to our lives that we heard at random house parties and played on epic road trips.



I know I sound like a typical music snob saying it, but there’s a very close connection you feel to a band before they get picked up by the mainstream that is never quite the same after their material gets blasted on high rotation on every radio and TV station known to man.

And don’t even get me started on remixes. I’ve heard “Sex On Fire” remixed so many times I start twitching involuntarily whenever I hear that song butchered on another “doef doef” beat.

In a sentence, I loved KOL’s performance last night because it made me remember why I used to love this band and judging from how fucking nuts the crowd went, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of the people there last night go out and buy their first three albums.



Also, Nathan Followill is a fucking SICK drummer. If you’re going to watch them in Joburg, keep an eye on that man, he’s truly amazing to watch live – he pounds the living shit out of his skins, it’s beautiful.

Joburg, prepare yourselves for a concert you won’t soon forget, but take my advice and go out there and get their first three albums because listening to those songs live is nothing short of breath-taking.

Big up to Nokia for hooking a brother up. I love your work guys, after the concert we partied at the VIP lounge until they turned the lights on and then J-Rab asked if she could have the flowers and kind folks at Nokia were like “Sure, go wild.”



But most importantly – Kings Of Leon, thank you for an amazing show, you made a believer out of this cynical music snob and for the two hours you were onstage, became our band again Winking smile



SlickTigers Movie Debut

IMG01469-20110813-0434A couple weeks back I posted this super cryptic post about the barbaric practise of “bear baiting” which used to take place in London in the 16th and 17th centuries in a place called the Beargarden.

Well, this Saturday we’re bringing the Beargarden back in the form of a short horror movie featuring your buddy ol’ pal Slicky-T.

So what I’m gonna do is show you the trailer for said horror movie.

But before you get all tetchy, lemme diffuse that little time-bomb by saying YES, I realise I’m basically not in the trailer at all, but I assure you I am in the actual movie.



Spooky, nè? Ja, this movie’s gonna make you okes KAK your broeke!

Actually, I have no idea what it’s gonna make you okes do as I haven’t seen the final version. The  writer / director / producer didn’t want any of us to see the final version until it’s on the big screen.

So here’s the dealy-o if you wanna come watch your Tiger-friend acting like a crazed, blood-soaked fucking maniac:

Date: Saturday 29 October
Time: 18h00 (starts at 18h15)
Place: Labia Theatre (68 Orange Street, Gardens, Cape Town, ZA)
Cost: Tickets are R30 each

They’re gonna be showing a shite-load of short horror movies that indie writers and directors from USA, Spain, Brazil, Finland, France and South Africa have shot. Each film is about 5 – 10 mins, so it should be pretty fucking wild.

Afterwards we’re going to celebrate my acting debut by getting completely out of hand probably somewhere on Long Street where I’ll be signing autographed pictures of my victims:




See you crazy cats there!



That Intangible Moment…

BonIver_11394When you’re holding onto each note so hard, the knuckles of your soul are white.

And every reckless thing inside you is tearing in a different direction and every direction feels like a place you’re been waiting your whole life to find.

The song he’s strumming hums in your bones, stirring something that you’ve let sleep for too long and you don’t have to look at the people around you to know they’re waking up too.

It’s a song so familiar it lost its meaning a lifetime ago, but the way he plays it tonight, raw and unrepentant, naked and without shame, is so real it makes the life you thought you knew a lie.

So you let it all go, it’s just weight brother, you let it all go, you let it all go.



Music will save us. Anyone who tells you otherwise has forgotten what we are.

A haphazard collection of sinews and minerals, cells and molecules, moving, dancing, swirling in the ebb and flow and waiting for that intangible moment when…



The Muizenberg Kite Festival: Average

128947679338947406Not too sure what I expected to find when we drove through to the kite festival happening in Muizenberg last weekend, but I guess a lot of kites would definitely have been at the top of my list.

Instead, what we found were a lot of people milling around who seemed a lot more interested in queuing for caravan food than they were in watching kites fly.

And who can blame them? After the age of 7, kites are kinda meh. You watch them zipping around in the sky and you think “that’s nice” and you carry on with your life.

So, in no particular order, here are some pics of the kites we saw on Saturday so you can also say “hm” and carry on with your life, safe in the knowledge that you missed absolutely nothing.






Right after that we found a festival of another kind entirely just around the corner, and this one had German beer by the goddamn BOAT LOAD!

I love you The Brass Bell.



So the day wasn’t a total waste. At least I think it wasn’t a total waste…? Things got a little blurry from that point on and then I woke up on Sunday to find this picture on my phone:



Good times I tell ya, good times…

Stay tuned later this week though, cause not only am I rocking out at Kings Of Leon on Wednesday, but I have some pretty exciting news about a film project I may or may not have acted in as a crazed, psychopathic FUCKING MANIAC!

So yeah. Don’t be a stranger Winking smile



The Fatimah Post!

WXW_5696So I work with this little badass called Fatimah and guys, this is going to blow your fucking mind, but it’s her birthday today!

Too fucking crazy hey?!? Feels like just the other day we were all celebrating Fatimah’s sweet sixteen, sippin’ on a Creme Soda and rocking out to the Backstreet Boys, and now here we are, ten years later, raging alcoholics listening to Katy Perry.

I’m sorry. I don’t really know where that last sentence came from. Or this post really. All I know is that Fati said if I dedicated this to her she’d pay me double the going rate of R2500 that I usually charge for posts.

So come with me. Hold my hand. Ow, not so tight. Ok, that’s better. Jesus you’re sweaty.

Come with me on a photo journey of a good friend of mine who is also a damn fine pool player, has a winning smile and can actually make me laugh out loud which is rare cause girls (generally) aren’t very funny (except for J-Rab. She wins the awesome sense of humour competition hands down).

Something I think I should just say up front about Fatimah is that she is totally nuts for house music which I told her was utter crap one day, because house music sounds like a fucking dishwasher of endless loops. Then she said that white people need deep lyrics and all that other shit because we don’t like dancing (?).

So yeah, here she is dancing:



You should also know that while she has a tough-as-nails-take-no-shit-from-nobody exterior, sometimes she is vulnerable and feels afraid.

Like when she’s on busses. She doesn’t like busses.



But she’s also her own lady y’know? She’s very independent that way, she doesn’t give a fuck about what the masses do or say, they can get bent. Like when everyone decides to be retarded in a picture and point at nothing, she’ll just be like, “Bitch please.”



She also has an alter ego, but guys, please let’s just keep this a secret between you, me and the entire internet ok? If this shit get’s out there her family will be in danger and shit, ok?

Ok. So she likes to masquerade as B.E.E girl, fighter of corporate injustice and valiant defender of the previously disadvantaged with her trusty sidekick, Blonde Girl.



And just to prove she’s a bit of a jester from time to time and enjoys a lark, a great big lark in the courtyard of the king to see how he takes it, here’s a picture of Fati. Dressed as a jester.



And that brings us to the end of the Fatimah post. I hope you think she’s as rad as I do because she really is a total little badass who is also quite a belter and has me in stiches most days.

Happy birthday Fati! Winking smile

Have a killer weekend guys, be safe and remember, when faced with two evils, always go for the one you haven’t tried before.



Human Centipede 2 trailer. Yuk.

Human-Centipede-2-04So get this.

Tom Six, the writer and director of what is widely regarded as one of the worst films ever made, The Human Centipede, has decide to shit out a sequel, The Human Centipede Part 2 (Full Sequence).

The premise in the first one is the kind of thing you hear murmured on the internet but never expect to actually get made.

A surgeon who specialises in separating Siamese Twins goes batshit crazy and decides to surgically attach three people ass-to-mouth to create, well, a human centipede.

The idea is unthinkably disgusting, but the execution was surprisingly tame considering how bad he could have made it. Not so with Full Sequence which, if early reviews are to be trusted, is brutal.

This time around, it ain’t a surgeon doing the work, it’s a crazed oompa loompa who, in an interesting meta textual move, is obsessed with the first Human Centipede movie and wants to create his very own centipede in his garage.

Check it:



Very clever Tom Six. Very clever.

Make your antagonist watch the first movie, digest it in his twisted mind and shit out his own version of the original, exactly like the second person in the centipede eats and digests the shit of the first.

What a splendid imagination our friend Tom Six has. What a creative fellow!

Well done Tom Six. You are officially one of the most fucked up people I could think of off the top of my head.



A Post For J-Rab

In another life, we caught moths together late one summer afternoon. The light slanted through the giant windows of the old manse I used to live in, catching tiny dust particles and turning them silver and gold, a haphazard universe only her and I could see.

She had this big glass jar with acetone-soaked cotton balls in it and every time we caught a moth, we’d carefully usher it into the jar and screw the lid back on. She’d put on a brave smile and try to ignore the muted tapping of the moths against the glass, but I could see it was getting to her.

She was catching them for an art project and I was helping her because though she didn’t realise it, she had caught me too.

I remember standing so close I could taste her, I could feel her scent sparking synapses like a lightning storm in my brain, triggering a dizzying rush of something so pure my heart started hammering like a maniac against a padded cell door.

In another life I remember driving with her to Kenton, my shitty golf packed like a sardine tin with all our friends, the Violent Femmes blasting over the speakers as we blazed through those pack-marked Eastern Cape roads singing, “I held her in my arms, I held her in my arms, I held her in my arms but it wasn’t you…”

We got hammered on the beach that day, splashing in the waves, building sand cities, getting good and wasted and laughing, always laughing. I never told her how badly I wished she was mine that day. Everything about her haunted me, her berry-brown skin, her flashing eyes, her floating hair.

I had to physically tear my eyes away from how goddamn gorgeous she looked in that bikini, an immaculate collection of curves, impossibly perfect in every way. The longer I stared the wilder my mind ran until there was nothing for me to do but throw myself headlong into the ocean in a futile effort to pull my shit back together.

How long did I carry that torch for her? That slow-burning flame that ignited the inferno that now burns like a sun inside us?

In one form or another I carried it from the moment we first met, first as blind passion, then as friendship, then as something deeper, something I kept hidden for a long time.

And then one night in the spring of 2007 I found myself at the airport, waiting to pick her up after nearly two and a half years of leaving varsity and moving a continent apart.

This old man was waiting next to me. I never told her about that old geezer. To be honest I never thought about him much until now. I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like, but I’d say he was in his sixties, he was waiting to pick up his son.

“Who are you here for?” he asked, “I’m guessing it’s your girlfriend?”

“What?” I said, caught completely off guard, “No, it’s just a friend. I mean, yes, she’s a girl, but she’s not my girlfriend, she’s just a girl friend I’ve known for a long time.”

“I see…”

“What made you think it’s a girlfriend?”

“You can hardly stand still! And you keep looking at the gate every time someone walks through it.”

“I do, don’t I?” I said and laughed. “I’m a bit nervous to see her, it’s been a long time. I’m kinda hoping she’s put on a lot of weight while she’s been over there.”

“Hahaha!” the old man chuckled, “That’s a strange thing to hope for.”

“There’s always been something between us, some kind of underlying tension. But until she left she was dating a good friend of mine, she dated him for nearly four years, so nothing ever happened between us and she lives in England now, so nothing can happen between us…”

“Hahaha, boy-o, you’re in trouble,” the old man said.

And right then as if on cue, she walked through the gates and my heart lurched against my ribcage, that old maniac had woken up again and was throwing himself, shoulder first with all his weight against that flimsy, splintered cell door.

“I think you’re right,” I mumbled back to him, utterly fixed on her.

She was every kind of beautiful in that moment.

I remember her in motion and just how close she was getting. And how every little thing anticipated her…

If it were a movie, I would have run up to her and lifted her off her feet in a big hug, twirling her around while the people gather there clapped and cheered.

Instead I jumped out of the crowd, not realising that she hadn’t spotted me yet, and scared her shitless. We still laugh about it to this day.

That was four years ago, four years to the day that our lives collided in a moment that had been built up since we’d first met.

And later that night, when both of us had imagined for five years finally happened, entire city blocks were levelled in the resulting cataclysm. A tidal wave of pent-up energy rolled through the streets, tearing up the asphalt, rupturing water pipes and collapsing the concrete skyscrapers of Jozi like they were card towers in the wind.

If we knew on that day that this is how things would have worked out, if we had known what we were getting ourselves into, all the good times, all the laughter, all the passion, and all the bad times too, all the heartache, the hurt, the careless things that people in love do to one another, God knows why – if we had known all that back then would we still have embraced like we did in that airport? Would we still have gone home together and later that night, fallen so effortlessly, so completely into each other’s arms?

If I could do it all again, everything the same, would I?

Of course I would.

She’s the best thing that ever happened to me and I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, I still, to this day have no idea how I got so goddamned lucky.

Happy anniversary babe Winking smile

Your man,


Series Review: Sons Of Anarchy

Sons-Of-Anarchy“So what did you get up to last night dude?” Barbarian asked me around Saturday lunchtime.

“Not much man,” I replied, “just got drunk with J-Rab and watched Sons Of Anarchy.”

“What the hell is Sons Of Anarchy?”

“It’s a badass biker series we’ve gotten into recently, there are four seasons so far, the fourth one just started, I should give it to you, you’ll dig it.”

“I dunno man, bikers are a bit lame…”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess they are a bit lame…” I replied, because let’s face it, Barbarian had a point.

The idea of a gang of dirty men who wear matching leather jackets and ride around together getting into trouble with the law is a little cheesy, but Sons Of Anarchy throws some awesome curveballs and basing it all on a biker gang is actually a really solid foundation for a series.

The protagonist of the series, Jackson Teller (played by Charlie Hunnam, don’t worry, you probably won’t know him) is the Vice President of the motorcycle club Sons OF Anarchy that pretty much runs the fictitious town of “Charming”.



Local police have a long standing understanding with the club that the club keeps drugs and prostitution out of the town and the police turn a blind eye to the club’s gun running activities.

Of course, things start to slowly unravel when the ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms) sends a team of special agents to Charming to investigate the Sons, and what started out as a bit of a haphazard, disconnected plot starts to come together quickly in the final episodes of the first season for a season finale that punches you right in the gut.

The beauty of the series lies in the tension between Clay Morrow, the club’s stoic, often brutal President (played expertly by Ron Perlman) and Jackson Teller who, while he’s no stranger to kicking the shit out of anyone who fucks with him or the club, also has issues with the morally questionable decisions Morrow makes for the club.



Another huge drawcard for the series is Jackson’s mom, Gemma Teller Morrow (played by Katey Sagal. Remember her? She got famous playing Al Bundy’s wife Peggy in Married With Children) who single-handedly holds the entire club together by being a total badass.

She inadvertently provides a lot of hilarious moments in the series because she’s so goddamned hardcore she makes even some of the men in the series look like scared little girl scouts. She shoots straight and seldom misses, making her an easy character to like, once you get past her apparent bitchiness.



Sure, it has its short comings. The most obvious of which is the way the club constantly gets sent on little quests to get what they want and though the quests are largely successful, the Sons generally end up fucking up something else in the process, thus leaving them in a worse position they were in to start with.

It’s a pretty standard plot device, but Sons is guilty of doing it in almost every episode with the end result that the club slips further and further into the kak until what started as a pretty tame series escalates into tragedy by the end of the first season and then starts dialing that up even more in Season Two.

If you can get your hands on it, definitely watch it, I’m interested to hear if it grips you the same way it’s gripping J-rab and me. Oh and a word to the wise, when you first start watching the series, you’ll hear Sam Crow mentioned at least five times an episode, but you won’t have any idea who the fuck he is or what the fuck is going on.



It’s not Sam Crow, it’s SAMCRO (Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original). It’s the acronym everyone in the series uses for the club. That tiny little piece of information will make watching the series a SHITLOAD less confusing.

Big up to GPJtheODG for recommending Sons though. If anyone else out there is into a sick series at the moment, let me know, I actually prefer watching series to movies, I become way more invested in the characters and they are a lot more original than the shit that Hollywood is churning out these days.