Archive for the 'Good Times' Category


The Tiger Hits The Boileroom, Mayhem Ensues

WP_20140813_012 It takes a special kind of maniac to decide to strike out alone to a place he’s never been, drink with total strangers in the middle of the week and rock out to bands he only discovered a month ago.

Conventional wisdom would say rather stay at home, put the kettle on and watch Friends reruns but there’s only so much Earl Grey and David Schwimmer a man can take before he loses his fucking mind.

Bands In Town ( mailed me to say DZ Deathray were playing at the Boileroom in Guildford, so I got on the nearest train and, like a creepy public masturbator, went to go lurk at the bar alone.

Thing is though, two beers down the line I’d already befriended the bar people and Will the Sound Guy and while I was chatting to them this legend of a man by the name of Chris straight up invited me to join him and his buddies at their table outside.

How fucking friendly is that?! In an instant I changed from “Lone Guy Who Could Be An Axe Murderer” to “Guy At A Bar With Some Mates… Who Could Be An Axe Murderer”.

The first band up were Bypolar, a three-piece from Surrey who delivered an impressive performance. Frontman and guitarist Ben Lopez took to their setlist like a loose propeller, tearing through a formidable catalogue of post-grunge / hardcore punk / metal tracks like it was nobody’s business.



The man has a great voice and belts out an impressive gravel-toned roar reminiscent of Shaun Morgan from Seether. Drummer Chris Pattison is no slouch either and, together with bassist Steve Pool, builds a rock-solid rhythm section on top of which Lopez delivers his sucker-punch hooks and face-melting solos.

Here’s a recent video the guys shot for the track “Due” to give you a taste of what Bypolar’s serving up:



They ended their set with an insane cover of “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” which simultaneously blew me away and reminded me of just how many powerchords bands in the 90s used to pack into their songs.

I caught up with Ben after the band played and talked shit with him for awhile. He’s a stand up guy, ended up buying me tequila and shooting the breeze about the band and the scene in London.

Word to the wise – keep your eyes peeled for this band. Support them when they gig, give them a listen here ( and follow them on Facebook here.

After Bypolar finished up I grabbed another beer and talked so much shit with my newfound friends that I missed the second band completely, what a dick.

But there wasn’t a way in fuck I was going to miss DZ Deathray. You have to understand how insane these guys are. Take Death From Above 1979, throw in some Blood Red Shoes and add a heavy dose of sheer originality and explosive energy and you’ve got DZ Deathray.

Here, watch this video for their track “Less Out Of Sync”, I’ll let the music speak for itself:



Unfuckingbelievable right?!

To say that DZ Deathray came, saw, and annihilated EVERYTHING would be an understatement. By the second track (which happened to be “Less Out Of Sync” if I remember correctly), a mosh pit had already broken out and guys were losing their fucking minds.



On stage, guitarist and vocalist Shane Parsons wields his axe like a fifth limb, somehow managing to deliver a damn-near perfect performance despite the fact that he’s ricocheting around the stage like a piece of goddamn shrapnel.

Add drummer Simon Ridley’s shotgun-blast bass kicks and tight fills and it’s no wonder the guys in the pit were trying to murder one another.

The guys played an amazing set, building up to my personal favourite, “Gina Works At Hearts”.



Good luck getting that hook out. It felt good to lose my shit completely when the guys launched into that track. Dig those lyrics as well “I can’t buy her dead eyes and her wasted smile”.

There’s a real depth to DZ Deathray’s songwriting, they can do punch-your-teeth out thrash pop / post-punk just as well as they can do more introspective, shoe-gazing tracks like “Northern Lights”.

I caught up with both Simon and Shane over the course of the night and chatted a bit about their upcoming album launch for Black Rats, their second studio album following their 2012 debut Bloodstreams. Really cool guys, surprisingly chilled considering how manic they are onstage.



Simon’s sister Katie actually directed “Less Out Of Sync”, which I was mad impressed by. That is one talented family, no lies.

So yeah, what you need to do now is have a listen to Black Rats here, follow DZ Deathray here and get your ass to The Shackwell Arms on Monday night (18th Aug) for the official album launch because it’s going to be shit-your-pants mad.

All-in-all, I had the best night. Telling Schwimmer to get fucked and throwing the Earl Grey down the sink was the best move I could have made.

Shout out to Soundguy Will for giving me a ride back home. Next time I swing by the Boileroom, first round’s on me big guy!

Tiger out.



Twickenham Charna

1661321099 Day 1 in London. J-Rab, The Cub and I shuffle exhausted through Border Control and 40 minutes later finally present our passports and are granted access to the United Kingdom.

At that exact point we should have stopped for a family selfy. I can see the shot so clearly in my head, J-Rab and I tired but happy and The Cub cute as hell but probably looking the wrong way.

Moments later J-Rab’s cousin who stays in Twickenham met us and took us through to his place where I spent the last night with my girls. It’s weird. The whole thing feels like a long, long time ago.

After we got settled and showered, we passed out for what felt like the longest time only to wake up and find the light totally unchanged.

That happens here in summer when it’s grey from horizon sto horizon. From about 8am through till 6 or 7pm the light stays exactly the same, diffused through a veil of grey. It was grey like that for almost an entire week after I landed.

Not long after we woke up, we started making preparations for the annual street party that happened to be going down on that same night, which was how I found myself 9 635 kms from home on a Saturday afternoon drinking Carlsberg and sawing wood to start a fire for a braai.



Not long after I got a seriously dangerous-looking fire going, the street party slowly came to life with kids screaming and laughing and throwing water balloons at one another and parents drinking and watching over the fruit of their loins with glazed contentment.

A couple of Carlsbergs and jugs of Pimms later, I took a walk up the road with J-Rab’s cousin to meet with a friend of his. When I got there I perked up immediately because I realised everyone braaing at the house we ended up at were South African!

It had only been 1 day, but the feeling of reassurance I got from hearing other South African accents was significant.

“You guys from South Africa? Me Too!” I said.

“Oh hi,” one of them replied.

“Wow, I can’t believe you guys live on the same street as [J-Rab’s cousin], what are the chances?!”

“Ha ha. Yeah…”

“Anyway, how long have you guys been here for?”

“About 12 or 13 years I think?”

“Shit, that’s a long-ass time. So I’m guessing things must be working out pretty well for you then?”

“Yeah. ‘Spose so. It’s not South Africa, but yeah…”

“Huh…” I said, the smile slowly fading from my face. Something was weird about this situation. I didn’t realise it at the time because I was fresh off the boat, but London is fucking riddled with Saffas.



Conservative figures estimate there are roughly 250 000 Saffas in London, but I’ve read other figures that go as high as 490 000. Running into other Saffas is a pretty regular occurrence, especially in Twickenham, which is why the Saffas at the braai I met were almost completely not phased at meeting me.

Well that and the fact that they were probably the most lifeless people I’ve met since getting off the boat.

They had that look about them that wild animals get when they’ve been in captivity just long enough to realise that this is it, they’re never getting out, and in that moment their spirit cracks clean in half and they schloomf down on their crappy couches in front of their gigantic flat screen TVs to permanently check out of life.

Then I met the Twickenham Charna.

This guy, Jesus Christ. I know you can already see him in your mind – ruddy complexion, freckles, touch of the ginger in him, the kind of dry, chapped lips cricketers get, wrap-around sunnies, surf-brand T-shirt, baggy cargo shorts and Haviana slops.



This guy isn’t interested in any fucking thing you have to say about anything. At best he’s just waiting impatiently for his turn to talk and impress you with the eyeball-gougingly boring opinions about absolutely fuck all.

These types are the fucking worst. Ask them what they think about London and they’ll basically tell you it’s shit, but they won’t come right out and say it because it begs the question, “Well then, why the fuck are you here?” to which, if they were being 100% honest, they would answer, “Um… I don’t know.”

Maybe they were once as excited and electrified by this city as I am, which kinda scares me because if that’s the case then what the fuck happened to these poor sons of bitches?

In order to assert his dominance over the group, this fucking mouth-breathing, long-tom drinking Neanderthal then proceeds to spend the next 30 minutes telling us about the renovations he’s made to his house, like anyone actually gives a shit.

The level of detail he went into made me want calmly wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze until he turned purple.



It made me ashamed to be South African. These guys leave South Africa to come to London and live in places surrounded by other South Africans so they can have braais on the weekends, watch the rugby and talk about how kak London is compared to South Africa.

No. Please. I want you guys to shoot me if I ever get like that.

I came here to experience something different, something more. I came here to jump head-first into the fathomless depths of this city, dive deep, deep down and swim as far out of my comfort zone as possible to see if I can actually handle it.

I came here for an adventure goddamnit! Not to sit around moaning about London and hating life.

This city is a powerful beast. It can either squash you down until you’re a shadow of the person you were when you arrived or it can grow you into a magnificent version of yourself, able to think and move and interact at a level far above what South Africa could ever offer.

Don’t get me wrong though, I still love South Africa and I always will, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love London as well.

I hope I never lose the sense of wonder I have when I walk around this city, I hope I never take it for granted because when that day comes, it’s a short fall to wearing wrap-around sunnies and wanking in people’s faces about how clever I am for extending my back porch by 3.5m.





The Cub Speaks!

The CubI can’t say I’ve been having many great days this month (as you might have noticed by the lack of posts), but I had a great moment yesterday, one that has made everything else worth it.

I’ve been trying to get The Cub to say a particular word. I’ve been pretty tenacious about it – making sure I repeat it and point to what it describes at least 5 times a day.

I think about two weeks ago she figured out exactly what the word meant and why I want her to say it because every time I said it to her, she got this naughty little grin and immediately clammed up.

Then yesterday, during a break I was taking from work (yes, I was working on a Sunday) I was doing something in the bedroom, the late-afternoon light streaming into the flat and turning everything golden, when J-Rab walked in holding The Cub and told her to say the word.

I turned around expectantly like I always do, hoping that this would be the time, and in her tiny baby voice my little girl grinned and said:




Ain’t that wonder.




Pressure, fahk!

IMG_6488resizedHi boys and girls, how the hell are ya’ll doing? Hell’s teeth it’s been a long-ass time since I last posted and over the course of my self-imposed hiatus, my life has changed in every conceivable way.

As you all probably know from the last post, I am a dad. My Cub was born happy and healthy, is feeding well, sleeping well and doing everything a newborn should and I can’t tell you how great that feels.

HOWEVER, I now feel this added pressure to post something life-changingly epic on the site, a post that wrenches the heartstrings and leaves you with this “Phwoar! Holy shit, life is AWESOME!” kinda feeling.

So before expectations get completely out of control, lemme just say that this isn’t that post. This is just a post to say “Hiya! Wattup bitches!” and to tell you that things in Tigerland have never been better.



That other post where I try to communicate what the last week has been like and how incredible it feels to stare into your daughter’s fathomless blue eyes for the first time is on it’s way, don’t you worry.

But part of the reason I haven’t posted is because I wanted the very next thing I write to be that post and that’s just not gonna happen. That one’s going to need some time which I don’t have at the moment so in the meantime, here are a few things I’ve learned over the past week:



Other people’s babies are boring as hell, but your own is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen

This is the craziest thing. Until a week ago I thought that babies were pretty damn boring until they get to about 2 years old and start having rad nonsense conversations with you.

Then you have your own and spend hours at a time just watching her sleep. No shit. She’s hardly doing anything besides breathing and making the occasional funny sound / face in her sleep and I’m fucking riveted!


Babies are best burped in 4/4 time

True story. It also helps to make the first pat slightly harder than the other three so that you loosen the wind with three pats and then let ‘er rip with the last one.

I’ve also experimented with different beats from popular songs and found the beat from Blur’s “Song 2” to be pretty effective as well. Just stay away from any Slipknot, it won’t end well…



Baby shit doesn’t gross you out. In fact, in the beginning, it makes you happy

I never thought anyone’s shit would ever make me happy. There is nothing happy about shit – it smells awful and should be neatly and discreetly disposed of, never to be seen again.

BUT, when your baby shits you are genuinely happy because it means that everything is happening as it should. Sure, it smells a little rank and I’m pretty sure given time it will stop making me happy, but for the time being, the fact that my Cub’s digestive system is doing everything it should is a great sense of relief.




Holy mother of God, The Boobs. I’m a sceptical mofo – I hardly ever take anything people say at face value because what I quickly learned in life is that people LOVE exaggerating.

So whenever someone tells me how fucking insane something was, I dial it down a couple of notches mentally to get a closer approximation of what it was actually like.

So when people said, “J-Rab’s boobs are going to get MASSIVE when her milk comes in” I thought sure, they’ll probably get 5% bigger, max.

My God was I wrong. 5%? Try 35%! They looked and felt like flippin spanspek! I couldn’t decide if I was turned on or mortally terrified.

It calms down again after a day or two but when the milk first comes in, stand the hell back.



I’ll post more observations as they come to me, but in the meantime, I think it’s high time we returned to my usual posts of biting sarcasm, general internet weirdness and good times.

The deep stuff is coming though, give it a week tops Winking smile



Free Comic Book Day 2013 – A Whole Other Level Of WTF

FCBD1I’ve become a Free Comic Book Day regular over the past three years. It takes place on the first Saturday of May at Reader’s Den at Stadium On Main and holy shit it’s amazing.

You get different levels of comic book geeks. It probably starts with guys like me who’ve read a bit of this and that, like the medium and go out of curiosity and you get the types you’re about to see in this post.

Free Comic Book Day happens at comic book stores all over the world and is a way to create awareness around comic books and most importantly get people reading them, which I think is a worthy cause.

Like I said, this year was my third FCBD here in Cape Town, so I was used to the odd person rocking up dressed as Wolverine or some obscure anime character only a handful of people could probably identify, but this year people lost they damn MINDS!



If I could hazard a guess, I’d say there were probably 50 – 60 people dressed up in cosplay gear, it was flippin INSANE.

In terms of size, this year’s FCBD was easily twice as big as last year, which was great to see. I might not be as into comic books as some of the other guys there, but I still fully support them and agree that more people should be reading them.



The craziest thing about this year’s FCBD though was the fact that instead of tables and tables of discounted comic books and graphic novels being set up in the circular courtyard outside Reader’s Den like they’ve had the past two years, they cleared the space and used it as a stage for groups of extreme cosplay geeks to do dance routines (?).

How flippin weird is this shit:





At first I thought it was pretty cool. I mean it’s impressive (and a little bit sad) to see effort these people put into their costumes and dance routines, even though most of them will probably end up…



But then when I realised they’d included this at the expense of the aforementioned tables stacked with discounted graphic novels I was a bit miffed.

Because of this, the only way to lay your hands on a comic book or graphic novel was to either cue for your free comic book (a matter of about 15 minutes) or cue to get into Reader’s Den itself (a matter of about an hour and a half).

I’m not saying do away with the cosplay dancers, but next year they need to figure out a way that we can have both the tables and the dancers. I mean fuck it, let’s just combine the two and have table dancers!



Anyway, all in all it was still an awesome day and I got some killer pics like this one with my buddies Spiderman, Rorschach and Iron Man.



And the holy grail of geeky pics – Wonder Woman and Super Woman AT THE SAME TIME.



So definitely check out next year’s FCBD at Reader’s Den and put some thought into your radass costume and dance routine ok?

Great. Glad we had this chat.



The Kooks #5Gum Gonzo Experiment Pays Off

X457fTV_JmiRDfVt-lCFFRfH6iUUAwkzkcJ-nkYG9Ao,4qctKN-KXstYv0t6X1IU7jYSOBbDNRBBPehftsc1E20So as you guys know, week before last I gave away some tickets for The #5GumExperience Kooks show in Cape Town in the premise that whoever I gave them to would operate as a spy for SlickTiger Industries.

I was looking for a gonzo-approach to the gig, someone who could slip under my skin and BE the Tiger for the night so they could tell us all about it because tragically, I couldn’t make it.

The girl who won the competition, Leah, stepped up to the plate and wrote the following review of the gig for her Tiger pal and took a whole bunch of pics as well which I’ve taken the liberty to caption below.

So with no further ado, I present to you the Kooks gig write up by Leah:




Everyone arrived at Maitland’s secondary school eager to know where the hell we were going. An incredible amount of buses were lined waiting to take everyone which happened to be just around the corner to an industrial area. I couldn’t sit still with anticipation!

An intense beginning if I ever read one. So far the story has it all – eagerness, anticipation, an incredible amount of busses, you name it. Which brings us to Part 2…




There were quite a few food stalls with a bit for everyone, I definitely went for the pizza which was yummy! Reasonably easy to get drinks because of the super long bar! There was only one ATM though so quite a long queue, I was glad I brought enough cash.

Good to know the logistics seemed to be in order, ka-pow! Sounds like it was way better than 2Door Cinema Club where I watched a man murder another with the sharpened end of a plastic spoon for a slice of pizza.




The best part of the evening was being at the front (even though it was to the side) and being able to see the Kooks! It was fantastic to see how much energy they had! Got the crowd into the mood although they didn’t have to.  Loved their accent as well 🙂 Just took a long time between the bands, but they did have a dj to fill in between.

The side-front is actually a tactic I often employ to get as far forward as possible, BUT once you’re up there, then you gotta head for dead centre. It’s the classic concert move – no one really minds if you’re coming from the side, but try pushing from the back and they will give you looks that could weld steel.




Beach Party and December Streets who played before were also pretty awesome as well; I actually want to get my hands on their music now!

So do I! In fact, I’m hitting Pirate Bay as I write this…




Just an absolutely fantastic evening all around super stoked I got to experience it! Thank you once again!

Only a pleasure! Here at Tiger Industries we are all about The Love – finding it, sharing it and making it.

Leah, from your write-up it sounds like a truly epic night, sorry I couldn’t be there to party up a storm with you guys, especially considering the effort you both went to to look the part (that Tiger onsie is literally the coolest fucking thing I have ever seen).

So there you have it folks. The Kooks came, they saw, they rocked their sexy accents and they blew ous the fuck AWAY!

Big up to #5Gum for hooking a brother up with the tickets – as always you guys KLAPPED a killer event, nice one.

Until next time!



The Heroes Of The Day

Metallica1Last night in the frontlines at the Bellville Velodrome, I fought a war. Powerchords thundered like mortar fire as thousands of us chanted the battlecries we knew so well in unison.

It was a beautiful thing to be a part of and I was in the thick of it, barely three metres from the front guardrail, close enough to feel the heat from the flames and smell the sulphur of the gunpowder.

And all the while the undisputed Gods of metal raged on, ripping their fretboards apart, kicking holes through the drumkit and feeding off the energy we threw at them like sweet nectar only to amplify it a thousand-fold and blast it right back at us.

Was the Metallica concert at the Velodrome last night awesome? Was it mind-blowing? Was it life-changing? Did it affirm what a fucking incredible band Metallica are and what an impossible act they are to follow? In a phrase I know James Hetfield himself would approve of, all I can say is FUCK YEAH.



I go to watch live bands for everything you don’t get on the album. I go for the energy they create onstage, I go to feel their presence, hear their banter and most importantly I go to try to understand what they are actually like as people because that’s the closest I know I’ll ever get to them.

The problem with approaching concerts in this way is I become hyper-critical of everything the band does. I go with huge expectations and in some instances I’m let down and what was once a favourite band gets thrown onto the gigantic trash heap of bands I used to like.

From the minute they got onstage last night until the minute they left to a deafening roar of applause, James, Lars, Kirk and Rob tore through a monster two and a half hour set of old and new material that left us so broken by the end they should have had wheelchairs ready to take us back to our cars.



They played all the old classics I posted yesterday – “Sanitarium”, “Master Of Puppets” and “Seek And Destroy” (that was their last song and holy fucking shit did they do it justice, the mosh pit was so intense I’m surprised I got out alive) plus new material off Death Magnetic and they played it with a shitload of heart.

That’s the thing about last night’s performance, the entire band put everything into it. They sweated blood onstage, grinning from ear to ear throughout. Metallica are professionals and they love what they do and that’s what made last night for me.

If you think about it, they’ve probably played these songs a thousand times, a hundred thousand times, a thousand thousand times. I wouldn’t even want to hear a song as many times as they’ve played some of their songs and yet they had so much fun doing it, they put so much energy into the performance that all their stuff felt fresh, like it could have been written three months ago not thirty years ago.



And James’ onstage banter was awesome. He’s a showman, a true performer and for a guy in his fifties he’s in pretty amazing shape, they all are. Except maybe Lars… but when you see what that guy does behind a drumkit, it’s no wonder he looks a little haggard.

Normal drummers sit behind a kit, plying their trade, meat and potatoes stuff. Lars fucking climbs into his drum kit, he’s a fucking animal behind that thing, limbs flailing, tongue out, landing drum fills like machinegun fire. What a total fucking badass.



It was an incredible concert – everything from the staging to the lighting to the sound and even the logistics (parking was piss easy, there was no cue for Golden Circle, getting drinks was a matter of 15 mins at the most) were world class.

The only tragedy of the entire thing is that Metallica themselves will never read this post, as much as I wish they could, as much as I wish I could explain to them how much it meant to me, and everyone else at the Velodrome, that they put so much heart into their performance last night and cared enough about their fans all the way at the bottom of Africa to come down here and put on the show they did.

I might have had my doubts in the past, but after last night’s performance I can say with unwavering conviction that Metallica truly are the heroes of the day.



Monopoly Is For Assholes

MonopolyManOn Saturday morning I drank six cups of coffee as I sat writing the first chapter of the book that’s gonna make me a famous for something other than writing the SlickTiger Guide To Klapping Gym, Boet.

I got the entire chapter out, not quite the way I’d planned it but close enough, and afterward this weird feeling of satisfied detachment washed over me that I wasn’t expecting.

I was happy with what I’d written but I’d climbed so far into the world of my story that, as dramatic as it sounds, coming back to reality was difficult. It was in this detached state of mind that I decided it would be a good idea to buy a Monopoly board.

It’s probably been a good fifteen years or longer since I played Monopoly last, but it was fun back when we were kids right? Overcast winter days spent hiding under blankets playing marathon games of Monopoly and sipping hot chocolate, good times right?

So I convinced Graumpot and his lady that instead of J-Rab and I coming over to eat pizza and watch movies, we were going to come over and play Monopoly and it was going to be awesome just like when we were kids, KAPOW!



So we set everything up and started playing and very quickly two things became apparent: 1) This was hardly the thrill-a-minute game I remembered from my childhood and 2) I was basically the only person who remembered how to play.

Oh, another thing also became apparent – whoever designed the new South African version of Monopoly is very clearly retarded.

I mean how Blouberg Strand, Tygervalley and fucking Mitchell’s Plain can be worth more than Sandton, Randburg and Hyde Park is beyond me.

Also (spoiler alert) Boksburg, Soweto and Hillbrow are worth more that Plett, Knysna and Wilderness.



It took awhile for us to get things going but before I knew it I’d managed to buy up all the pink and yellow properties which I very quickly started building houses on.

Soon afterward the wheels started coming off. I had random properties that other people needed to start building houses. When asked how much I wanted for said properties, the only child in me (read: greedy little asshole) started rearing his greedy little asshole head.

“One thousand,” I firmly replied.

“What the fuck the property’s only worth 250!”

“One thousand,” I repeated unflinchingly. “If I give you this, you’ll start building houses and that will definitely come back to bite me in the ass.”

“Dude, you’re the only one with houses on the board! If you don’t sell some of those other properties, none of us will be able to fucking play the game! I’ve already got the other two, just sell the last one to me for a decent price and stop being such a douche. Three fifty. C’mon.”

“One thousand,” I said, completely unwilling to negotiate with the terrorist forces that were threatening to usurp my game of Monopoly.



Not long after that, cash started rolling in thick and fast and I somehow managed to acquire the red properties as well which I also started developing hell for leather.

I’m not sure at which point I realised that I was the only person actually having fun but when that realisation dawned on me things got pretty damn awkies.

“Is anyone actually having fun playing this game?” I eventually blurted out, hoping beyond hope that someone else would say yes.

A resounding silence settled over the room, interrupted only by the distant sound of a lonely cricket grinding his legs together in a desperate attempt to get laid.

“Fuck,” I said. “How about I sell you guys some properties, special discount, nine hundred a pop!”

Once again, the lonely cricket.

“Christ, does anyone actually want to carry on playing?” I asked in exasperation.

“No,” Graum replied. “I mean, there’s no point dude. Even if you do sell us those properties, no one has any money to buy any houses on them cause we keep paying it all to YOU.”

“Huh,” I replied. “I guess that’s that then. Best R300 I ever spent…”



We packed up the board in awkward silence and then sat and stared at one another for a bit.

Luckily wine was at hand (though obviously J-Rab couldn’t indulge) and so things soon loosened up a little and an hour later Monopoly was just a distant, awkward memory.

I was so unsatisfied by the whole ordeal that I seriously considered trying to take the board back the next day and get a refund on the grounds that I had this false childhood memory that Monopoly is awesome when it’s actually a gigantic pile of shit game that is fun for no one.

The problem is there’s no way to fight back after a certain point in the game and that point comes frighteningly quickly.

If you don’t get a good haul in the initial land-grabbing phase, you’re fucked. And if you do get a good haul, you better be willing to make some deals you’ll probably regret later in the game or you risk going the SlickTiger route and crushing your opponents like ants two hours into the game.

The following day, J-Rab and I were bored and decided to play just the two of us and my God did the tables turn!



It was merciless. Actually no, I lie, it was merciFUL which made it worse because even though she was sharing her Free Parking jackpots with me and letting me off paying rent in some instances, she was still murdering the fuck out of me and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.

Suddenly childhood memories of overturned Monopoly boards, hurling those little metal pieces at my “friends” and screaming my very first swear words all came sharply into focus as I realised the undeniable truth that Monopoly is for assholes.

So the moral here is the next time one of your buddies decides to have a Monopoly evening to relive the nostalgia of youth, rather kick that fucking douchebag right in the shin as hard as you can and ask him, “Was that fun? No? Well neither the fuck is Monopoly.”

The End.



The Day It All Changed

summer1Back in December, J-Rab and I decided to try to go to the beach as much as humanly possible whenever the weather was calm and the skies were blue.

We’re both summer people, we love going to the beach with an umbrella and a good book, soaking up the sun for hours on end and when we’re feeling brave, bolting into the sea, diving under the waves and feeling the icy water hit us with defibrillator force.

The day it all changed was exactly like that. One minute we were totally care-free, dozing in the sun on Clifton 2nd beach, listening to the sound of people around us playing beach bat and ball while waves crashed on the shore and children screamed and laughed as their sandcastles came crashing down.

The next minute J-Rab was crashing down, sliding down the bedroom wall, her hands covering her mouth in shock as she said “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” over and over and over again.

It only took me a second to realise what had happened and another to join J-Rab in her slug-like descent of the bedroom wall while my heart pounded like a Slipknot drum-solo and the bottom of my stomach dropped fifty feet.

“Oh Christ,” I said.

If you’d told us two hours before that this is how our day was going to end, both of us would have burst out laughing.

As it was, I was already half-way out the door, hard drive in hand and en route to Barbarian’s house to get the final episodes of the last season of Survivor when J-Rab called me frantically from the bedroom.

That was our plan for the night – make some supper, watch Survivor, curl up and drift off to sleep to the quiet hum of traffic on De Waal Drive.

But life, a sugar packet once told me, is what happens when you’re making other plans.

And life, as it turned out on that fateful day back in December, is exactly what had happened.

And no, it wasn’t like the movies, we didn’t jump up and down and scream like crazy people as the realisation washed over us. On the contrary, we remained slumped against the bedroom wall, mostly in silence, our thoughts racing as we tried to comprehend what had just happened.

I was the first one to start coming to my senses. I got up, poured myself a whisky and took this picture.

I think it aptly sums up exactly how I was feeling at that point:



Now it’s two months later and I’m writing this with a huge smile on my face because that overwhelming feeling of absolute soul-crushing terror has disappeared and in it’s place there is only joy and a sense of almost uncontainable excitement at what the future holds.

We went for the big scan yesterday, the one where they check for any defects that could indicate that something is wrong, but nothing was wrong, everything was perfect and healthy and strong.

I held J-Rab’s hand while my face lit up with this big, goofy grin from ear to ear as I stared in total bewilderment at what we today found out was our 13-week old daughter.

That’s right Party People.

Your Tiger Pal is gonna be a dad.

World, meet the heir to the throne.

We don’t have a name for her yet, but somehow SlickTigress seems fitting Winking smile



The times they are a changin’ folks.

And I have never felt more full of hope and wonder for what the future will bring.



Slicky-T And The Valentine’s Day Curse

cupid5afDo you guys remember Valentine’s Day back in highschool? I do! And that shit cracks me up every time because I NEVER got any fucking roses, chocolates or cards, I was that kid.

No wait, I did get the one rose once from a girl in matric, but otherwise the whole thing was a gigantic waste of time for me. I went in with low expectations and was never disappointed because I am cursed.

Valentine’s Day and I have never been friends. The best Valentine’s Day I spent was at The Doors in Joburg where they released a gigantic net of red and white balloons that the crowd obliterated with Rammstein blasting in the background.

I can count the number of romantic, candle-lit Valentine’s Days I’ve spent gazing lovingly into a girl’s eyes while a suitably cheesy song (cue Chris DeBurgh’s “Lady In Red”) plays in the background on one hand.

That was all before J-Rab and I started dating though. Now Valentine’s Day has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Now I have someone to share my contempt for it with!



Come October this year, J-Rab and I will have been dating for six years and you know how many Valentine’s Days we’ve spent together? Motherflippin’ TWO! Hahahaha!

First two years we were living in different continents (long story), the year after that J-Rab had just moved to Cape Town and I was still packing up the flat in Joburg, the next two were the ones we spent together and this year, she’s in the UK and I’m here.

The first one we actually spent together was awesome. We both felt so much pressure to make the best of it, our very first Valentine’s Day together that it flopped spectacularly and ended with both of us fully acknowledging that Valentine’s Day is a total load of shit.

“But it’s not about the flowers or the cards or the chocolates!” I hear you all say, “Don’t buy into the commercial bullshit, Valentine’s Day is about celebrating your love for one another!”



I get that all the time when I explain J-Rab and my total disinterest in Valentine’s Day but I just nod and smile.

Real love celebrates itself spontaneously and without restraints or expectations. It flows in abundance, never running dry, never relying on anything outside itself to fill itself. It is selfless and pure and is communicated in a language that is timeless, wordless and powerful enough to change the world.

Right back when J-Rab and I first started seeing one another I remember asking my old lady how the hell J-Rab and I were ever going to close the continental space between us, whether it was even worth trying.

My old lady said to me, “If it was meant to be, it will be. Love can move mountains” and God bless her, she was right.

Back then J-Rab would often joke that I was the best mistake she ever made.

So this one’s for you babe, Happy Valentine’s Day (um, probably just listen to the song and don’t watch the actual video because yeah, clearly Sheryl’s choreographer was sick that day…)



To love.

To the real deal Winking smile