Archive for July, 2013


Rollin’ Boulders

how-to-avoid-traffic-jams-35319_2The alarm goes off, you get up, you shuffle off to have a piss, you summon the strength to go through the motions.

In the shower, sleep slides off you, swirls down the plughole. You like the water scalding hot, needles of fire burning into you. It’s good to be alive.

You make breakfast, you think about the day ahead.

Hopefully this action, thinking about the day ahead, fills you with purpose and makes you smile and think, “Cool. I got this. I can do this. Piece of cake.”

You get dressed, pick out something you feel good in, something you haven’t already worn to death. You gather your things, walk out to the car, maybe pause to look at the sky and remind yourself that no matter what happens, at the end of the day what you do or don’t do really means nothing in comparison to the vast expanse of everything stretching above you.

Hopefully you don’t think that though. That’s a dangerous way to think.

You hate the radio but you listen to it every morning. You wonder what happened to that guy who went to extremes burning MP3s to CD so he could avoid having to listen to the radio. It wouldn’t even have to be that drastic nowadays – a few MP3s on a flash stick would do the trick, but some strange part of you would rather listen in passive hatred than change the station.

At work you set your laptop up, make some coffee and kill the first half-hour on Facebook looking at your friends with their fiancés or their wives or their babies or their summer holidays in Europe. Half an hour can easily become an hour as you lose yourself in the minutia of other people’s lives.

You work, because that’s how life is. You tick the boxes, scratch things off the to-do list, move up the ladder, learn, grow, advance and work some more. You focus on the future, you set goals and work steadily at achieving them only to do it again and again.

And that’s great. You’re doing really well if you can get that right. You love what you do so it comes naturally. The other members of your team at work value your input, they’re glad to have you, when you walk into boardrooms, you command respect effortlessly and behind your back people whisper about how you’re the guy that’s going to make things happen.

You’re doing so well. Your family is proud of you. Things couldn’t have turned out better.

You’re doing so well. You play the game like it’s second nature, which is strange because there was a time when you swore you’d never be the exact person you are.

There was a time when you would go to ridiculous extremes not to have to listen to the radio.

But that’s just what they were, ridiculous extremes. You want to swim against the current your whole life, that’s fine, but you’re no salmon. Some people are, but not you. You’re a trout if I ever saw one.

The hours slide off the clock and before you know it you’re back in the gym change room, old-man dick everywhere you look. You get changed and throw everything you have into your routine.

“Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

At home you shower again and eat mainly protein for dinner – the more, the better. Maybe you work a bit or watch some TV, do whatever it is you do to unwind at the end of a satisfying day.

Or maybe you stare out the balcony window, look up at the night sky and wonder, like your father and his father and his father before him did, why you are here. Again. After so many other times, making the same goddamn mistakes you always do.

All this potential. All that blood spilled, all those sacrifices made for what?

Hopefully you don’t think like that.

It’s a dangerous way to think.



A Supercut Of Rémi Gaillard’s Best Pranks

RemiI tell ya, it takes big balls to do what Rémi Gaillard does. This French prankster worms his way onto all kinds of televised sporting events, gameshows and talkshows and causes total havoc.

I guess it’s also a sad indictment on security guards at these events because seriously, how the hell is he able to get onto the pitch / set time and time again and basically video bomb the shit out of that shit?

Maybe it’s a French thing, I dunno, but the results are pretty damn hilarious. Pay special attention to his phenomenal maths on the gameshow where he somehow gets into the audience and answers a question. Priceless.



The rugby one is also a classic. Proof that as long as you look the part and have the confidence to act the part, no one even raises an eyebrow.



Escape Monday: A River That Runs Along The Ocean Floor

4440978245_9cf047bdc9My favourite Escape Monday posts are the ones where I find places where unique climatic conditions create surreal environments like gigantic pink lakes and salt pans that turn into perfect mirrors.

Today’s Escape Monday post follows that convention. In Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula, there’s a place called Cenote Angelita which is a water-filled cave that has a river running along the ocean floor beneath it.

This is made possible by a thin layer of hydrogen sulphate which separates the freshwater at the top from the saltwater below, creating a truly surreal underwater environment, amplified by the effects of nitrogen narcosis you experience at that depth.

Check it:







Here’s a link to the photographer’s site who took all those pics if you’d like to see more of his work.

Otherwise, my work here is done.

Go get ‘em champ.



Friday LOLZ – Overcast, Shitty Day Edition

azbV1Dj_460sAs the title of this post suggests, today is a shitty, overcast day and there’s no other way to get through it than to just knuckle down and spend the next minute looking at this rad random shit I’ve found.

As usual, I’ve trawled the depth of the interwebs to find some truly bizarre shit to share with you guys and shine a little light before the weekend lands and melts our fucking FACES off with awesomeness.

It’s been a helluva week, one of those ones where at the end all you really want to is schlumf on the couch and veg out in front of the ol’ telly until your brain liquefies.

Dig it:














And my favourite one of all, which my man main Peggles shared with me and which was originally posted on 9Gag under the heading:





Have a killer weekend Party People, watch out for those liquefying cigars Winking smile



Desert Dreams

flagsI don’t know what it was that made me fall in love with the desert, or at least the idea of it because the closest I’ve come to experiencing it was staying at Matjiesfontein in the Karoo on road trips from Jozi to CT.

If I think back to my childhood, there’s nothing concrete there either – maybe some half-remembered movie scenes or vague, dusty dreams. The clink of spurs, the rolling tumbleweed, the blood-red sunsets.

Whatever it was, my obsession with desert rock has only made it stronger over the years. It was this shared love of that scene that sparked a connection between myself and Dan Nash who, as I write this, is living the dream.

His story is a pretty cool one. SA band Red Huxley were lucky enough to win a 5FM competition last year and subsequently got to meet the Eagles Of Death Metal backstage when they were in the country last year.

The guys got to talking with the band and were invited to this crazy little recording studio way out in the Californian Desert called Rancho De La Luna which is a legendary place in desert rock folklore.



Everyone from Eagles Of Death Metal themselves to my favourite band of all time, Queens Of The Stone Age to PJ Harvey and the Arctic Monkeys have recorded albums out there. It’s a kind of Mecca for bands that want to escape it all, soak up the solitude and untamed desert energy and just do what bands were born to do.

So Red Huxley created a Kickstarter campaign to raise enough money to fly over to the States and record their first album with the co-owner and founder of Rancho, Dave Catching, who has played in both Eagles Of Death Metal and QOTSA.

It’s not only a dream come true for Red Huxley, but it’s also a South African first (far as I know) so it carries national significance for each and every South African out there! Of course, the guys needed a coupla faithful scribes to make sure the interwebs could follow their exploits which is where Kim from Motion City Films and Dan come into it.

The guys have been gathering content and Dan’s been posting regular updates on the trip which you can check out on his site. So far, they’ve put out 5 videos of their trip which you can watch here.

They’re pretty cool, they give you a great idea of what the place is like, but what’s been really awesome to see are all the pics the guys have been taking, some of my favourites of which follow below:














What crazy place. I’m seriously interested to hear what Red Huxley’s album is going to sound like because holy shit, it looks like it’s been an insane ride.

I’ll get out there one day. It won’t be to live the rock n roll dream though, it will be with my daughter and J-Rab, cruising those dusty roads in a Cadillac like the guys managed to find, surrounded by “those on the fringes of the promised land, cut off from the American dream”.

One day Winking smile



Scientifically Accurate Ducktales Confirms That Ducks Are On A Whole Other Level Of Messed Up

Scientifically Accurate DucktailsYou guys remember the video I posted awhile back called “True Facts About Ducks?” If so, let me just apologise again for subjecting you to it because ducks, as it turns out, are very, very fucked up.

The guys who brought you “Scientifically Accurate Spiderman” must have watched “True Facts About Ducks” because everything you’re about to see in the following video is indeed true.

All I can say is thank Jeebers we all watched the normal version of Ducktales as children as opposed to the scientifically accurate version because if we’d been subjected to the latter, our fragile little minds would have been irreparably damaged.

Here’s the original theme song in case you don’t remember it:



And here’s the scientifically accurate version (WARNING: Don’t watch this if you are easily offended or still feeling sensitive after the recent FHM debacle):



Um… go science?



SlickTiger Watches The Worst Movie Ever Made, Loves Every Minute Of It

220px-Troll_2_posterRegular readers of this blog probably know by now that I have a weird bent for things that “normal” people probably find unbearably crappy and difficult to sit through.

There’s just something about B-grade that fascinates me. It’s probably a knee-jerk reaction to the over-polished, super-slick, too-cool-for-school mass media world we live in.

There are only so many over-stylised, photoshopped depictions of “reality” I can handle before I start to get bored to tears. Show me something real fer chrissake! Show me something flawed, something fucked up, something truly terrible. It was this desire that lead me to find out about and subsequently watch the worst movie ever made: TROLL 2.

Now, before I get started I think I need to qualify just how bad this movie is.



You get run-of-the-mill bad movies that suffer from giant plot flaws, logical inconsistencies, poor character development, shocking acting, weak cinematography, clichéd writing and crap directing. A “bad” movie usually suffers from two or three of these flaws at the very most.

It’s very rarely that a movie gets everything wrong and when that does happen the end result is basically unwatchable.

Troll 2 is guilty of the following sins (to name a few):

  • Not one cast member can act (with the possible exception of the “Crazy Store Owner” who, as it turns out, is actually crazy in real life so technically he was just being himself)
  • The story makes no sense whatsoever when held up to even the slightest scrutiny. That’s the story, the surface-level “John goes to x, does y, result: z”. Don’t get me started on the plot (ie. what’s happening under the hood of this filmic example of staggering ineptitude), because it bungles the deeper themes and ideas so spectacularly, there may as well not be any
  • Your 9 year-old niece could have shot it better blindfolded. Seriously.
  • The dialogue swings violently between clichés that are so overused they have no meaning and lines that no human being should be able to say in any situation with a straight face
  • The special effects truly are “special”. Picture dwarves running around in burlap sacks with immoveable rubber facemasks and about a swimming pool’s worth of green jelly / slime dumped liberally throughout the film and you sort of have an idea of just how bad the “effects” are
  • The soundtrack sounds like something the 80s puked out after a three week coke binge. Best moment: the shameless rip-off of “You Can Leave Your Hat On” during the movie’s one and only sex scene (SPOILER ALERT: It involves a corn cob and not in the way you, or anyone reading this, could ever imagine)



Those are just the sins that come to mind. Trust me, if given the chance to watch it again, I could probably find at least another five major flaws.

But to go back to my point, usually when a movie fails miserably at every conceivable facet of filmmaking the end result is unwatchable – THAT’S where Troll 2 is different.

Somewhere underneath the layers and layers of shit, this film has a lot of heart. It’s like that kid at school that had no friends, got picked on a bullied incessantly, failed every subject he ever took, was astoundingly goofy-looking and yet grew up to be a multi-gazillionaire and married a supermodel.



In fact, that’s a pretty apt summary of what happened to Troll 2.

The film was so bad it was released straight to VHS and aired only a handful of times on HBO before history relegated it to the bargain bin of the local Walmart to collect dust for 18 years.

Then, probably thanks to the internet, word started spreading about just how shit this movie is and something crazy started happening.

People started to love it. It is so bad, so unintentionally hilarious, that thousands of people all over the world started tracking down copies, sharing them with their friends, re-enacting the scenes, making their own fan memorabilia and hosting viewings in big cinemas across America.



Somehow the original star of Troll 2, Michael Stephenson (who was about 10 years old when they shot the movie) got wind of the cult status that the movie was getting and decided to film a documentary about it.

And so, two nights after J-Rab and I watched Troll 2, we got our hands on that documentary which was shot in 2009 and is called The Best Worst Movie.

In stark contrast to Troll 2, The Best Worst Movie is actually a brilliant production. It had us pissing ourselves laughing at the almost absurd comedy of errors that resulted in Troll 2 a movie that, believe it or not, doesn’t have a single troll or even a reference to a troll in it.



If you share the same twisted sense of humour that I do, I’d strongly recommend hittin up your nearest video store to see if they have either title. If they don’t just hit up The Bay, they have great copies of both Troll 2 and The Best Worst Movie.

Before I sign off though, here’s Holly (the sister’s) infamous dance scene from the movie followed by a classic example of the acting and dialogue that makes this film so awesomely shit:



It’s like watching the world’s worst school play.

Good times I tell ya. Good times Winking smile



Escape Monday: Hilariously Idiotic Inventions From THe Past

Bizarre-Inventions-Electric-Heat-Jacket-1You gotta take your hat off to inventors – those rare visionaries among us who identify a clear human need, find the perfect way to satisfy that need and in doing so, become filthy stinking rich.

Then there are those slightly less successful inventors who probably outnumber the successful ones by about 10 000 to one. They don’t become nearly as rich and famous because, well, their inventions are total shit.

Speaking of which, here are 15 idiotic inventions from the past that I dug up to help you guys escape Monday by laughing at other people’s dismal attempts to invent something life-changing.

Let’s start with swimming.





Let’s move into mobile audio technology shall we?












And lastly, one that I’m actually seriously thinking of buying…



Hope you enjoyed those inventions.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be in The Isolator Winking smile



Invent A Band Name, Win a Radass Pair Of Converse HighTops

converse-logoIt’s Friday thank Jeebers and to celebrate that fact and spread the word about the Converse Get Out Of The Garage campaign, I’m giving away a sick pair of hightops that I think you guys will dig.

Well, provided you are a man that has size 10 feet and lives in Cape Town. If you are a man who has size 10 feet and lives in Cape Town, give yourself a pat on the back and read on!

If you aren’t, you are still more than welcome to enter the competition, but just know that we’re playing for a brand new pair of Converse size 10 hightops for men okay? Okay. Let’s get started.

First off, here’s a pic of the grand prize:



Secondly, this giveaway is part of the Converse Get Out Of The Garage competition which launched recently for the second year running.

The competition is strictly for unsigned SA bands. If you are one, all you have to do to enter is upload your best track to Soundcloud, post it on Converse’s Facebook page before the 15th of August and cross your fingers and toes.

If your track gets chosen by judges Catherine Grenfell, Jon Savage and Reason for the final ten, your band will get a profile page with your band’s info and a “Vote” button on Converse’s FB page.

The band with the most votes from members of the public wins the grand prize (a slot at this year’s Rocking The Daisies music festival, a trip to perform at the iconic 100 Club in London and a chance to record at the Rubber Tracks studio in Brooklyn, New York).



So if you’re in an unsigned band, hit the Converse FB page and try your luck, what have you got to lose?

HOWEVER, if you’re just here for the free shoes, then here’s how to get them.

Write your ultimate band name in the comments section below and the one that either makes me chuckle or is undeniably cool / badass wins, easy as that.

I’ll announce the big winner on Monday, so you’ve got all weekend to enter. I’ll accept up to 3 different entries per person but no more so go and down an espresso or two, get the creative juices flowing and may the best make-believe band win!

Have a killer weekend Party People, see ya’ll same time same place next week Winking smile



The Tiger Hits Up Nothing But Trouble, Has Insane Night

1016737_584734421549850_1621447191_nSo last week I told you guys all about the Nothing But Trouble white collar boxing event that was going down at Sideshow on Saturday which promised to be the sickest night imaginable.

Combine a 1920s prohibition theme, badass amateur boxing, big ticket sponsors and the fact that my man Big City fought like a flippin’ CHAMPION and you have all the makings of a seriously killer time.

Also, don’t forget the whisky. Never forget the whisky. It flowed like sweet nectar and resulted in me getting home in the wee hours only to pull my weathered edition of William Blake’s Complete Works off the shelf and start reading The Proverbs Of Hell to J-Rab at 2am.

Because why? Because the Tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction motherfucker, and don’t you forget it!

So yeah. Things may have gotten a little weird at the end there, but it all started out innocently enough. To reconstruct the evening, here are the only images I’ve managed to track down. They’re packed to the max with branding (sorry about that) but I feel bad cropping it out so just bare with me.

The Beginning

The beginning of the night can be nervy. Especially when you’re hitting up a dress-up party because you never know if the people going got the message or not.

My main man Peggles just had a rad hat, whereas I’d gone full retard in a suit-and-tie, suspenders and shiny brothel creepers.

Thankfully as we arrived we were greeted by these brass band mofos klapping a little bit of swing and a whole buncha ous lingering by the downstairs bar dressed to the motherflippin nines.




I immediately relaxed, sauntered over to the bar and ordered an overpriced craft beer whilst Peggles surveyed his surroundings with a vague “shoulda suited up” look, but he’s not a man to sweat stuff like that.

Besides, the golden rule of dress-up is that there will ALWAYS be charnas who just plain didn’t get the message like nervous-looking-black-T-shirt-and-jeans guy:



But enough of that namby pamby bullshit. Who cares what anyone looked like, we were there to drink and watch ous MOER each other.

The fights lasted three rounds each (2mins per round) and no official winner was declared at the end of that time. As they explained at the beginning, everyone was a winner for taking part and helping to raise money for the Dare To Share charity.

Obviously, if a fighter got knocked down or knocked out, then he / she had clearly lost, but otherwise it was left completely up to the crowd to decide on a winner.

First up were the girls KO Katie vs Angry Bird Soandso. I was pretty hopeless at catching any names of any fighters on the night and, as the whisky flowed, even managed to miss some fights completely, but the first one was pretty memorable.

To put it bluntly, it was the gutsiest brawl I’ve ever watched two women fight.



Both women came out guns blazing but even though Angry Bird Soandso had the height advantage, KO Katie lived up to her name and let loose a flurry of blows that were a testament to not only her natural born instinct to murder the shit out of shit, but also her impressive fitness.

Sure, she started to wind down in the third round, but there was no question in this Tiger’s mind as to who had been owned by who (whom?).



The Middle

Ok, I’m not going to lay any claims to being a credible source of information from from this point in the story on. I was a good couple of beers and whiskies in and my attention span was about 45 seconds long so I missed the fighters names and, after three fights, was starting to confuse one fight with the other.

The men were up next and I must say, I was well impressed with the level of skill these guys showed considering none of them had fought before and the fact that they’ve only been training for three months.



Fists flew, the crowd cheered like mad, a good couple of skull-rattling blows landed and the manic energy in the place increased with every fight.

Then came the half-time show which featured a belter with big feathery things dancing all sexy in the ring and further riling up the already boozed and severely riled-up crowd.



I do however remember Craig The Viking Stack and Fake-Tattoo guy’s fight after intermission, but only because shit got so dirty in their fight that they were basically tackling one another to the floor while the crowd roared for blood.



It was a pretty violent fight, hats off to both fighters for going into the ring with a lot of guts. Definitely rates up there as one of my favourite fights of the night.

BUT the best fight by a country mile was when my main man Mike Big City Bullard went up against Andrew Don’t-Remember-His-Rad-Nickname Wood.

It was the stuff fucking LEGENDS are made of. Round 1 both fighters came out swinging. Big City had the obvious size advantage and landed some fucking hard blows, but Don’t-Remember-His-Rad-Nickname wasn’t taking that shit lying down. The man was fit as hell and able to weather Big City’s blows into the second round when things took a bad turn for Big City.



Round 2 was a bloodbath. Don’t-Remember-His-Rad-Nickname came out fresh as a daisy. Big City on the other hand was starting to wear out.

Bar a few meaty hooks and jabs that he landed, Big City spent most of round 2 getting his ass handed to him and then took a suckerpunch right in the kisser after the bell had sounded for his trouble. In movies they call this “The Long Dark Night Of The Soul” – it’s when the hero reaches the point in the story when he’s completely fucked.

The bell sounded for round 3 and it looked like it was going to be more of the same. Big City caught some nasty blows and had to keep readjusting his head-guard so he could see what the fuck was going on. He was putting up a brave show, but the man was tired, another minute and it would be all over.

But Big City had other plans. After a standing count in which he truly looked as though he was ready to call it, he squared up and threw everything he had into a devastating left-right combo that dropped Don’t-Remember-His-Rad-Nickname like a sack of hammers.



The fight was nearly called off, but to his credit Don’t-Remember-His-Rad-Nickname got back up and saw it through to the end though the crowd had clearly already chosen a clear winner.

CORRECTION: The fight WAS called off, Big City knocked him down and they called it.

True guts, true glory. Big City let loose with the Noon Gun and that was all she wrote.

Sheer fucking poetry Winking smile

The End

The last fight of the night was a whole other level of barbarism. I have no idea who was up there, what their names were or even what my name was. All I know is there was blood and lots of it. The crowd lapped that shit up as things reached a fever pitch.

After the fighting, DJs tore up the decks and we got stuck into the sauce good and proper.

I vaguely remember a number of conversations that felt far more important than they probably were with a whole bunch of people I’d probably apologise to if I could remember who they were or what I’d said.



It was just a killer night. One of those rare occasions that lives up to and exceeds expectations on every level.

If this happens again my only advice is suit up and go. It’s an awesome idea and a guaranteed good time any way you look at it.

Kudos to everyone who made it happen and see ya’ll at the next one.