After receiving a mail from blogger Chris Holland I figured it would be a good idea to challenge all South African bloggers to contribute at least R100 to the tsunami disaster fund:

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(put this on your site)

That includes the rest of the Jo’bloggers BTW. I also see that Yummy Olivia, our fav exiled SA blogger, is calling for action too.

Dig deep kids…!

Update: More handy links over at the corner office

…I’d also be this arrogant:

Bastard…!

Update: Good grief, I didn’t realise it was a pre-requisite:

Sheesh save yourself the R10 and give this one a miss. This movie is quite simply an arrogant masturbation by director Oliver Stone. Every scene has been cut twice as long as is necessitated by the plot, which is at best sketchy (it’s more a series of short stories).

What makes this even more of a travesty is that the film actually has a lot of potential, it could have been a great 90-minutes, but at twice the length you’ll find your self checking your watch at regular intervals. The fight scenes are epic, and the birds-eye view of the battle for Babylon is outstanding. I also thought that the acting was convincing except for the glaring fact that a group of Irish actors, with accents to fit, have been used instead of Greeks. Is this some historical fact that I, in my ignorance, have missed?

Fortune favors the bored…!

I laughed until I cried.

Have a great Christmas y’all…!

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present one of the leaders of our great nation, Mr Charles Nquakula:

- applause-

(Ta rooibos)

Oh, so it’s our fault.

Sorry…!

Little black men for your dog to chew.

Comes complete with stereotypical big-ass lips, missing teeth, and a belly button you could dial a phone with. Crazy loco.

KKK outfit sold seperatley….!

It’s sobering seeing your entire life packaged neatly in little cardboard boxes.

Moving sucks…!

Happy New Car to me!

After a bit of peer pressure we decided that it was time for an upgrade…

Mile high club membership available, apply within…!

After much hinting I figured that you lads deserved a wee bit of poontang, so here you go:

These, by the way, are actual clients who posed for our blackboard (it gets redrawn every month, no money for guessing what’s on right now).

Our clients rock…!

Update: You were saying Aaron?

PS. the rest of the time I was taking the photos

D’ave and I, after battling four government institutions just to pay our traffic fines, found it all worth it when we spotted him. The most sneaky of all sneaks, and we found him, in Jo’burg nogal!

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to:

Mr Bean Laden

It could’ve been that we were tired, but this was the funniest thing ever. Seeing a Mini, after talking about the previous night’s Mr Bean episode, then seeing that it’s an Indian guy, putting two and two together.

We laughed, out loud, for a very long time.

D’ave and I decided it was time we abided by the law and set out to pay our outstanding traffic fines. Also, there were warrants of arrest on both our names for really old fines, so that was a little more of a boost to becoming model citizens again.

Randburg Traffic Department had moved, so we found it, across the street, and went inside.

“Where do we pay our fines, ma’am,” said D’ave politely to the slouching security guard.

“There,” said she, pointing to a short line behind her.

“And warrants of arrest? Where do we pay those? Someone said something about the Magistrates Court,” said D’ave, thinking he was on the right track.

“Behind the taxi rank,” she snapped.

“Excuse me, whereabouts?” I said, thinking she didn’t like D’ave much.

After much back and forth arms pointing in all directions our not-so-well-postured little friend took us outside and showed us where to go.

(I’m going to break this down into point form ‘cos it was a helluva long day with conversations extremely similar to this one.) Ok.

* We walked outside, about 1km, to the Court. They said they changed to the Criminal Court, we need to go back to where we came from.

* We went back, paid some fines, then were told we can’t pay our warrants, we need to go to Jo’burg town. Off we went.

* Driving around town, seemingly lost, we heard Daniel, our soon-to-be-new-favourite-car-guard, shout “Court!” We stopped, parked and were directed to the Magistrates Court.

* After much fuss we found the right room to go to. Waited almost an hour for our new lazy assistant to help us. He gave me a form to admit my guilt, then told D’ave he didn’t have any warrants on his name. Also, I couldn’t pay him, we had to go to the Traffic Department a few blocks down. Off we went.

* After following wrong directions from a not-so-bright security guard we found Loveday Traffic Department. Never before had I seen so many cops gathered in one place. I felt like a Jew with bells and christmas lights attached to me, walking into Hitler’s army’s year-end bash.

* We found the right building, joined the long line and waited. Surprisingly, this long line moved faster than all the others, and were in and out within half an hour. But what a day!

Now, after forking out R800, I’m fine and warrant-free. D’ave also spent 800 big ones, but he’s still got a R700 fine attached to his name. It expires in 2006, so that’s, as he says, “That lovely little window period they give you to get it all sorted.”

If they made paying your fines easier, we wouldn’t had to have spent almost an entire day getting it all done. If anyone’s listening, please, let’s get an easier way for us to pay our stupid fines.

I came across this gem the other day while shopping,

aniseed, in Afrikaans, is anys.

I laughed for like half an hour.

So we finally got off our arses and got our TV interview ready for your downloading and viewing pleasure.

It’s 22.6MB, which might suck for some of you, but when I asked Rich…! if he’d download a 22.6MB video of the Splattermail guys on TV, he said ‘yes’, so here it is.

Enjoy.

Shit, sometimes it’s like one step forward and two steps back in this place, how are we ever going to move on? David’s post based on this article highlighting Jon Qwelane’s blatant hatred and racism, really got my back up. You have to ask yourself, what happens if guys like this ever get the power?

Says Jon:

Fine, it’ll be one less racist prick to put up with then…!

(Don took the pic – y’know, in case you were wondering)

Heather from Creative Commons used us in her Christmas card, I giggled, lots.

Ho ho ho…!

I ranted about Sasol’s new history of rugby commercial before. But upon hearing how much it cost to produce; R7, 000 000.00 – I think I need to rant some more.

Seven million rand! Are you on acid? Surely there must be better ways to spend that much money with the purpose of building the Sasol brand through its rugby association. How about running this 70 times:

Rugby is a sport loved by all South Africans, and as such we at Sasol are proud that today we’re donating R100, 000.00 to rugby development at [insert new school/social centre/ rural sports club here each time].

Sasol, proud sponsors of the Springbok Rugby Team…

Today’s, and tomorrow’s

It’s not great, and John Woo probably wont direct it, but it would be a better way to spend R7m, and I promise, your brand would do okay too.

I’m not alone in my disdain, this guy doesn’t like it much either, although I’d suggest that he’s missing the point too, arguing the production quality, rather than the fact that there was a production at all.

When Sasol announced their sponsorship they had this to say:

If that’s the case, then you have failed, dismally. Sadly I can’t say the same for your agency, after all, they have a title to hang on to.

You’re just paying for it.

Suckers…!

To say the least, Calumn wasn’t the only one in the shit…!

Phixx, live in South Africa along with Danny K and Heinz Winkler. Surely this is the music event of the century.

From Musica:

I’m erect just thinking about it…!

Got up at 04h30, headed off to do a talk with Jonty Rhodes and Simon Woodroffe.

(boy band / blue steel look)

Signed autographs (really, WTF?)

Met some extremely sexy ladies, signed their thighs – some inner, some outer (sadly my idea, not theirs.)

Headed out to the deepest mine in the world. Went 3km’s underground, shared a bucket, packed like sardines with 25 guys (and 1 gal) getting pulled back to the surface – got very wet.

Went back to work.

The limo got delivered to the office with all the changes. Rad.

Developed a killer fucking headache.

Went home, sang Calumn to sleep.

Blogged this.

Slow day…!