Posts Tagged ‘beelzebub


Conversation With Beelzebub

A few weeks back I got up on my high horse and pranced around the place (one of my favourite pastimes) because the Chairlady of our Body Corporate is Satan.



You can read all about it in this post right here, but basically Beelzebub and her Minions Of Darkness were pissing on my battery because they issued this snotty letter telling us we weren’t allowed to use the pool in the complex without filling in this whole roster thing because someone kept pulling the creepy out the pool and leaving it in the sun to shrivel up and die.

I was really keen to take drastic action and fill the pool with cement and made a list of actions of all this crazy stuff and asked you, my friends, what you thought I should do.

“Kidnap the creepy!” you all shouted, pitchforks raised, “that’ll teach her! The power of Christ COMPELS you! The power of Christ COMPELS you!”

In the end I elected to do nothing though. Passive resistance is still resistance right? Yeah, I showed her.

Then on Wednesday we arrive home and the minute I drive into our complex, I notice that something is wrong, but I just can’t quite put my finger on it…

“Something is wrong…” I muttered to J-Rab as we drove in, “but… I just can’t quite-”

“Are you blind?”


“Half the trees in the complex have been cut down!”

“Holy fucking hell! I think you just may be onto something there…”

“Wonderful. It looks like we live in Brixton now.”



What’s worse is the Syringa tree in our garden courtyard has been butchered by the chainsaw-wielding maniacs who pass as ‘landscape architects’ these days. All they left was the centre trunk, which means the neighbours across the courtyard now have a clear view directly into our bedroom and because of this there are now 3 videos of us on Redtube that I sure as hell didn’t put there!

Ok, maybe the one… but definitely NOT the other two!

And so, last night I came home after gym, showered, put on my best wife beater, crossed the River Styx and walked right into the jaws of hell.

It’s exactly like they describe it in this long and convoluted novel I read once called The Bibel (or something similar). It hones of sulphur, there are creepy demon-things everywhere with red leathery skin jabbing these wretched-looking motherfuckers with spears and pitchforks and flames! Fuck me running, there’s flames EVERYWHERE!

And there, sitting on a throne of skulls, was Beelzebub…



“Hullo,” I said.

“Hi. How are you?” she replied.

“I’m well and yourself?” I shot back, confident and ready to attack.

“I’ve been better actually. I’m not happy with the job the garden service did.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m here to give you a piece of my m- wait, what?”

“This garden service we hired, they cut back far too much in a lot of areas around the complex, but what can you do? We got three different quotes from garden services, the cheapest one coming in at R10,000 and for that amount of money, we told them to make sure that we aren’t going to have to call them back in six months time to do it all again, because we just can’t afford it. I’ve already had to raise the levy to cover the costs of hiring them, not to mention the costs of the creepy, which has been destroyed thanks to the kids in this complex, who go to the pool area unsupervised by their parents and run riot all over the place! I just don’t know. I’m leaving here soon so it won’t be my problem anymore, I’m tired of dealing with all the issues this place has. I’m tired of being the dragon.”

“Just back the fuck up there for a second, what is this bullshit?” (I didn’t actually say this, but let’s just go with it for the sake of making me badass. Remember, I WAS wearing a wife beater and I HAD just come from gym) “You’re not allowed to be human! You’re the evil lady who shits us out when we pack the flat like a sardine tin with all my buddies and proceed to drink our body weight with music blaring until the sun rises! Which reminds me, we’re having another party on Saturday, so yeah, um, can we use the pool area?”


“I’ve got the R250 you need for a deposit…”

“Oh, that’s more of a formality than anything else, just please leave the pool area like you found it.”

“No! You WILL take my R250!”

“Well, if you insist.”


“Thank you.”


“I won’t be here because I’m flying to London on Saturday night, but you can collect the deposit from iplqpo3is1n74m3 (don’t remember the dude’s name) at no. 19 on Sunday.”

Flying… to London… Saturday night… These words echoed like a death row pardon in my head.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking B1?

I sure as FUCK am B2!

Let’s get fucking wizasted!




I stayed for another 15 minutes talking to ol’ Beelz and came away with a different point of view. In this life, you gotta give people their 15 minutes, I’m usually pretty good at this, but my encounter with Beelz last night reminded me that I do still slip up from time to time.

The woman lives by herself in that flat, she lost her husband a few years back. She told me he was a fit guy, kept himself in shape, exercised at least twice a week, played golf regularly, played squash every week, but he was diagnosed with cancer and 6 weeks later, he died.

So I’m writing this post to take back the shitty things I said about her and set the record straight. She’s not some demon, she’s not the devil incarnate, she’s just a lonely old woman who’s fed up with always having to be the bad guy.

Food for thought right there. C’mere. Hold my hand. Let’s sing Kum Ba Ya…

Tune in tomorrow for a rushed and largely incoherent post because tomorrow it’s FUCKING PARTAY TIME MUTHUFUKKAHS! In case you don’t already know, we’re blowing this grey and rainy city and heading down to Cape Town to start a new life, me and J-Rab, living on a wine farm and raising Cheetah Cubs, but more about that later 🙂

In the meantime you look after your sexy selves and have a killer weekend.

Your buddy ol’ pal



The Body Corporate Where I Live Are A Bunch Of Fascist Pigs

Fascism, my friends, did not come to an end with the defeat of the Axis Powers at the end of World War II, no. Like a cockroach after nuclear Armageddon, it has come crawling out of the gutters of history and  is alive and well and fucking thriving in the complex where I live.

I don’t remember when it all started because there’s a better than average chance that I was drunk at the time, but not long after moving into our complex in Craighall Park, we became aware of a menacing presence residing in the flat behind us in the form of the Chairlady of our Body Corporate, whose name shall remain anonymous (because fuck man, she scares me).

We’ll just call her Beelzebub, that means Satan.



In the two and a half years we’ve lived in our flat we’ve had various altercations with Beelzebub because like many people aged between 20 and 30, we like to party. We like to have friends over, we like listening to music, we like the occasional drinky-poo, is that a crime?

Apparently yes.

The best way I can explain everything that’s happened over the last two years in our flat would be by copy/pasting, this awesome summary of offences that Beelzebub sent our landlords near the end of last year:


Hi (name withheld),

I’m writing to you to request that you address the issue of noise disturbances with your current tenants.       I can’t recall exactly when you moved away from Braemore but at that time you let your unit to three, young men.      Shortly after they took occupation, I called on them & provided them with Braemore’s Conduct Rules which they acknowledged by signing my copy & I left another copy with them.      For the first few months, they were well behaved & didn’t create any disturbances.     However, their behaviour soon changed.    You will recall that I spoke to you about 18 months ago to complain about a party that they held in the flat, which was accompanied by music played at full volume & which continued throughout the night & into the early morning.    On that occasion, I went to unit 32 at around 4.30 in the morning to speak to the occupants about the noise disturbance.       The crowd in the flat were inebriated & I raised my complaint with two of your tenants, whom I recognised from when I delivered the Conduct Rules to them.    Unfortunately, and possibly due to their state of inebriation, they were argumentative & unapologetic.   One of them (The Glaze!) almost shoved his finger in my face.     They continued to disturb the peace on numerous occasions thereafter with noisy parties & often there would be upwards of 20 people in the unit.    Unfortunately, I didn’t keep a record of the dates & times but going, forward, I intend to keep a record of every incident.

Two of your three tenants have vacated unit 32 in this year, one of them is (The Glaze!).       Again, I haven’t kept a record of when they moved out, but we’ve had relative peace & quiet for the last few months, until this week on Wednesday & again last evening.  

Wednesday, 14 October

At around 10.30pm I went to speak to your tenants about a noise disturbance.   The front & kitchen doors were wide open & the sounds of their yelling & music could be heard from my flat, which is in the block behind them.  I was not confrontational at all, I simply asked them to keep the noise levels down & suggested that they close their kitchen door, which they did.   I mentioned to them that it was a week night & some of the residents have to get up early in the morning to get their places of business & it’s not acceptable that they should have their sleep disturbed by the inconsiderate behaviour of other occupants.

Friday, 16 October

Just before 11pm last evening, I was again forced to go & speak to your tenants about a noise disturbance.    There were three guys in the lounge & one of them was playing the guitar & singing (shouting?) at the top of his voice (Guitar Jon!).     I think what fuels these noise disturbances, is their intake of alcohol – from the perspective of my personal observation, it seemed that they weren’t exactly sober.    To their credit, I must say that they apologised & were quiet after that.

I’m attaching another copy of the Braemore Conduct Rules & specifically draw your attention to Conduct Rules 17 and 18.      Each one of your current tenants must sign the Conduct Rules, acknowledging that they understand the rules & are prepared to abide by them.     I must also point out that the other occupants in that block – from units 31 to 36, all fall into the age group 20 to 30 & none of them cause disturbances.    Therefore, if your tenants raise their youth in defence of their behaviour (as I suspect they will), you may just point this out to them.     If your tenants are unwilling to abide by the Conduct Rules, which are in place to ensure that the rights of other occupants are observed & respected, then perhaps they should consider living somewhere else.      

Kind regards,


What a load!

I know people that are a million times worse tenants than we are. I knew these guys back at varsity that lived in a digs aptly named ‘Mordor’, who threw a ‘bring something to burn’ house party at the end of our third year there and ho-lee fuckballs, you should have seen the resulting chaos.



Because a lot of the kids I was at varsity with had more money than they knew what to do with and were too lazy to sell their furniture at the end of the year, I watched in total disbelief as the following items were tossed into the bonfire they started on their lawn:

2 x wooden bedframes
1 x old queen sized mattress
2 x TVs
1 x CRT computer monitor
2 x vacuum cleaners
2 x single couches
1 x double couch
1 x wooden door (ripped off the hinges from a bedroom inside Mordor)
And my personal favourite:
1 x 2-man fibreglass canoe

The resulting ‘fire’ if it can be called that, was so unbelievably MASSIVE that it actually felt like a small sun had come blazing through the cosmos and crashed in the back lawn of Mordor. You could tell who was at the party the next day because their eyebrows and lashes were singed from the heat, I shit you not.



The fire melted the gutters off the roof, cracked every window down the one side of the house, and burst the piping coming out of the geyser.

Now THAT’S what I call disturbing the peace.

So anyway, I come home from work yesterday, and there’s a letter from the Body Corporate under our door expressing intense dismay because of the fact that some jerkwad keeps taking the creepy out the pool and leaving it disconnected in the sun.

Granted, that’s a pretty dumbass thing to do, but Beelzebub and her committee’s reaction is nothing short of completely retarded.

Did they send a letter to everyone asking them not to take the creepy out of the pool or further action will be taken? No, they didn’t do that. Instead they are now permanently locking the gate to the pool area and making everyone sign a register with the security guard at the front gate every time they want to take a dip in the pool.

Added to that, if you are caught tampering with the creepy in any way, they reserve the right to slap a R500 fine on your ass right there and then, no questions asked.



Those fascist fucks! THEM’S fightin’ words!

I can’t tell you how tempted I am to take drastic action in the face of this abhorrent abuse of our basic human rights to enjoy a dip in the pool on a hot summer’s day. What the fuck?! People have fought and died for the ideals of democracy and freedom, which are founded on the basic premise that we should have have some kind of influence, no matter how big or small, over the decisions that are made by the leaders of our country, our province and our body corporate.

So I need your help. Here is a list of all the actions I’ve thought of taking in the face of this blatant fascism, which one(s) should I do?

1. Fill the pool with cement. That’ll show those fuckers. I’ll sneak in at 3am with 10 bags of PPC and get pourin’, then NOBODY will EVER fuck with the creepy because well, they’ll need a jackhammer to get at it.

2. Kidnap the creepy and hold it for ransom. Another stroke of ironic genius. Also, I’ve always thought it would be rad to make one of those ransom notes out of cut out magazine letters whilst wearing rubber gloves in a dimly lit room. We’ll send the ransom note with a list of our demands and pics of the creepy lying naked and exposed in the midday sun. Evil, yes. Effective, you bet your ass.

3. Write a letter, copy it 40 times and slip under everyone’s door (except Beelzebub’s) giving detailed instructions, with illustrations, explaining how to safely climb OVER the 3ft gate that they’re planning on locking. To add insult to injury, the letter will also encourage everyone to swim naked. Let’s see them try and kick our asses out THEN.

4. Throw another party. You’re all invited.

The gauntlet has been thrown down people. I didn’t start this, THEY did, and unfortunately, they fucked with THE WRONG MEXICAN.



Hasta la victoria siempre!