Crazy Shit


On Tuesday 19 February, in Johannesburg, Gauteng, South Africa, a really, really, really nasty person stole a little of my soul.

My BELL helmet, which was locked to the side of my bike, was horrifically (I could only imagine) hacked at and cut through the straps… and stolen.

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A helmet no more. I swear I saw traces of little helmet blood. Sniff!

The thief was even so bold as to leave some cut marks on my bike, as an ever-reminding scar as to what he/she did to me. It hurts. A lot.

So here is where I turn to you, the ever-awesomely-amazing people of the Internet. Help me find this no-good dirty rotten machete-weilding thief, and let’s bring the ol’ helmet home..

If you see this helmet on a bike rider, in a pawn shop, on the side of the road crying for a safe return home, please let me know. I would never ask you to take the law into your own hands (so no hero moves) but please, if you have any information comment on this post or send me a tweet – @donpackett – I would be extremely grateful.

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Happier times: The day it arrived from the USA. Sniff!

As far as I know, it’s the only one of it’s kind in the country (or at least in Jozi), so I’m hoping that with the collective eyes of all of us, we can get that sweet, innocent helmet back home.

If you’ve ever lost anything dear to you, you’ll know how I feel.

Thank you so much.

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Update:

Neither of these worked. After following instructions to the letter, and burping up some mad-tasting pill remnants that I can only imagine poisoned my body to no end, my skin stayed its natural light-skinned self, and Trev is still balding at a rate only a mother could lie about loving. He didn’t even fetch a stick when we threw it! So sad.

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Background:

I have a sneaky suspicion that, somewhere through my lineage, someone banged Frosty the Snowman and left me, at the end of the line, with predominantly pale skin. Tanning isn’t easy for me, ‘cos I either burn if I don’t use sunblock, or I use sunblock and I get no colour at all. It’s a lose-lose, really.

Trev, on the other hand, has his own burden to bear. The male members of his family have a, for lack of a euphemism, balding problem. Trev is 25 and losing the hair on his pip at a rate of knots. Not cool. Background over.

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So this is what we decided to do:

Simply put, we’re going to pop pills, every day, to see who has more luck with the wonders of modern science in the pursuit to rectify his own specific handicap. Trev is taking 1x Bob Martin Condition tablet a day (for large breed dogs, he’s a big unit) to hopefully work towards a naturally shiny and healthy coat. I’ll be taking 4x Biogen Sunless Tan tablets to get that bronze continental look and hopefully work towards changing my name to Salvador the Spanish Lover with a penchant for performing the Pasodoble at the slightest opportunity.

Who wins? Mostly, the pill manufacturers. Who wins between Trev and I? The first one to get noticeable results, or the last one to either turn orange or have an uncontrollable urge to chase a frisbee.

Awesome.

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South Africa’s most audacious television personality, Gary the Tooth Fairy, is spreading his wings into new territories. For the first time in the history of the National Grahamstown Arts Festival – and local entertainment, for that matter – a mystical phenomenon will be performing on stage in his very own, unique live comedy show.

Gary the Tooth Fairy will be sharing his distinctive magical view on the world with audiences at the St. Andrew’s Hall in Grahamstown, daily from 22 June until 2 July.

M-Net viewers have seen the master illusionist, who unsurprisingly is the local individual with the most fans on Facebook (90 000), walk on water, communicate with birds and do all things fantastic to steal the limelight away from the country’s number one general entertainment channel.

Gary’s show will be gutsy, daring and different, with all the ingredients to boost his cult status. But will he take a dig at the broadcaster? Will the phenomenon in the tutu-shaped pantaloon pant peel back mysteries like why the Tokoloshe still owes him money and what the real colour of Santa Claus’ suit is. What is his comedy show all about?

All Gary the Tooth Fairy wants to – and can – reveal at this stage is “that … uhm … it’s a masterpiece … it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to laugh your molars out … if you miss it, you will want to rip your wings off … It’s CLEVA.”

The show is directed by veteran comedian Rob van Vuuren, produced by Whacked Entertainment Management and sponsored by M-Net. Tickets are available at Computicket.

Watch the TV promo here.

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Spotted at OR Tambo.

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“While the 4 little piggies were engrossed in foosball, the big bad wolf huffed and puffed and blew down the plane.”

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People always tell me I’m one of the most sharing people they know. I share my lunch, my dreams, my toothbrush and my bed. So it’s fitting that I share yet another stand-up comedy gig of mine right here on Jo’blog. Awesome.

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Thicker sliced bread. I’ll explain.

newsliced-bread.gifJust to set the scene: Every morning after gym I devour a can of tuna, 3 boiled eggs and a slice of toast. I buy Albany ‘Best of both’, just to kid myself into believing it is in fact healthier than white bread. Let me live in this delusion. Thanks.

This morning, while cutting my toast into fingers to dip into the soft boiled eggs (yes, I still do that) I noticed that the slice was thicker than usual. I don’t know how I came to that, maybe I have a toast-thickness gift. Anyway, so I have a look at the bag of bread and realise that all the slices are in fact thicker than normal, which leads me to one observation: Sneaky Albanians.

Albany are smart. Here’s why:

- You buy a loaf of bread on size, not slices

- It takes 2 slices to make a sandwich

- Fewer slices in a bag means fewer sandwiches

- You buy more bread to make more sandwiches

Simple.

It reminds me of the story of the cleaning lady at a toothpaste company who suggested to make the hole bigger in order for consumers to use more, which means sell more. Dentists prescribe using a pea-sized amount, but we all know, because the adverts show us, that a line across the brush is where it’s at.

So this all makes me wonder if any other brands, particularly food, are using techniques like this in these hard times. Wouldn’t be surprised. Sneaky fuckers.

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John Vlismas is at it again.

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From the press release sent to the handsome young devils at Jo’blog:

John Vlismas’ new one-man show promises a twist like never before. Vlismas says that the show will be 70 mins of dark observation, outrageous opinion and thought-provoking belly laughter – all without the use of his signature foul language.

“I was challenged by someone that I couldn’t be funny without swearing. Obviously, I told him to *&(^& himself while his mother &*^% $&% the *^&^ of a sailor with her &^%%^ while the dockyard dog (*&^ his )(*&). But then I thought about it. How hard could it be to make a show just as challenging, just as dangerous and just as funny as I always want them to be without using all my favourite words? If Julius Malema can get where he is, and George Bush can score two terms, and Steve Hofmeyer can survive a suicide bombing by his own colon, why can’t I be “black and clean?”

For fans of the filth, Vlismas vows that they won’t even realise that it’s missing.

Be sure to book for this award-winning maniac’s new show, as Vlismas has asked management to keep the venues small and intimate, like his beloved Comedy Underground, the spiritual home of dark comedy in SA.

Awesome. We’re looking forward to this, as always.

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Recently I fulfilled one of (one of, I have many) life-long dreams to get on stage and do stand-up comedy. Turns out I’m not too shit at it, have done a couple more gigs since, and plan to do plenty more. Good times.

Here’s my latest vid, performed at Cool Runnings in Melville on 1 March 2009.

Check out my previous gigs and some other fun stuff on my YouTube channel here. Rad.

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244484908_f4aff0dd02_o.jpgTelana Simpson is one amazing woman. She started a project over 2 years ago to try trade office space, for one matchstick.

Eh? You may be asking yourself. Yup, that’s right, but not a direct trade. She’s trading up incrementally to finally get the offices she dreams of for her company, as well as contributing some space to mentoring a start-up entrepreneurial enterprise.

Her trades so far: One matchstick for a green ballpoint pen for a fluffy frog for 3 business books for 18 bottles of wine for a holiday in Utopia for 3 grand cash for a balloon safari with champagne breakfast for two.

If I’m not mistaken, right now she’s looking for an iPhone to trade for the balloon safari.

Any takers to fulfill this dream?

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Every Sunday night for the past seven years or so ‘Da Dungeon’ in Cool Runnings, Melville, has been host to the Comedy Underground, sponsored by John Vlismas and Whacked Management.

Last night I was fortunate/brave/stupid enough to actually deliver a 5-minute set, which was incredible. I booked myself in 3 weeks ago and was determined to make it as rad as possible.

Thanks to John and the guys at Whacked Management, all the other comedians (Darren, Kedibone, Etienne, Vittorio, Claudine, Dale and Kudo) and especially the awesome crowd for making my first gig such an awesome experience. I have to admit I reckon I did okay. I got lots of laughs, and ripped some people off, so that was cool. Next time, I imagine, I need to up my game to keep this ball rolling.

Catch the best end to a weekend at Cool Running in Melville, Sundays at 19h30. One day soon you might just see me back there.

Good times.

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Biral takes the edge off when you have quite a bit of stress, occasions like weddings, funerals, episodes of CSI:Miami. A mild tranquilizer, with the benefits of still being able to stand upright and think straight.

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Funny how the producer’s name sounds awfully similar to madhouse. Maybe they’re stronger than what people think.

And no, they’re not mine.

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…I don’t do shows like H2o:

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Another would be their site’s opening ani…!

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To make an incredibly long story short:

Yesterday armed gunmen walked into the office and stole our laptops, cameras and phones. When I wanted to get a SIM replacement, Vodacom’s system was down. Then half of Jo’burg was without power until the evening, so I had to wait ’til this morning to get my own number back.

Fuckers. All of them.

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Last Friday I was phoned and informed that the VW competition I entered into last year has drawn my name as a winner. The lady, Ntombi, asked me if I remember entering the competition.

For the life of me I couldn’t remember if I’d entered into something like this or not, because occasionally while reading a magazine, listening to the radio or watching TV, an SMS-to-enter competition might catch my attention and I’ll send one through forgetting about it a minute later. So I replied to the voice on the other line, ‘You know, if you’ve got my details, I probably did!’

Ntombi then told me that I was guaranteed to win a prize, and the prize giving was happening on Tuesday.

Now, most people have been scammed by this ‘buy timeshare to win’ crap, it was huge a while ago, and seemed to slow down, until now, I thought.

So, the blogger in me, and the fact that Jo’blog has been lacking in posts of late, decided to go through with it, with one quest in mind:

I would arrive, be told I had to do something first before I could get a stupid little prize, then go postal on anything and everything around me because I was told I was ‘guaranteed to win a prize’. Take names, take numbers, and post it all in a big fat rant for the world to see.

This is what happened:

I drove to Midrand. Parked my car at the specified address. Walked in. Gave my reference number. Was shown to a room. Entered the room. Chose 6 random numbers. Watched a lady spin a box with numbered balls. Was handed a voucher for a weekend away, here. Walked to my car. Drove home.

That simple. I have no idea how these people make their money. There were at least 5 different rooms with people walking in and out, doing exactly the same as I did. Bizarre.

Yes, they have my name and phone number. Yes, I know I’m going to get spam SMS’s from time to time. But come on, a free weekend away? Well worth the 10 seconds it takes to delete an SMS, or tell a telemarketer to fuck off.

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