Excuse me, waiter? There's a unicycle in my chicken...

For those of you who have been to Bangkok and revelled in it's insanity, you'll completely understand this story.To those of you who have not yet experienced the madness that Bangkok has to offer, allow me to enlighten you briefly and put this story into context so that it makes sense. Bangkok is insane. It is really one of the craziest places I have ever experienced. It has every kind of transport on the road that you can imagine. 1 wheel, 2 wheels, 3 wheels, sometimes 4. The people are crazy. And their pets are even crazier. Never before had I ever seen a dog wearing dungarees and booties and sunglasses. But that's just the sort of place this is. And if you stop and stare for too long, you will more than likely get hit by one of the afore mentioned modes of transport. So, to sum it up. It's crazy, and nothing is as simple as it seems.

Last week Kyle and I were invited to attend a collegue's birthday dinner at the "Flying chicken" restaurant. Thinking that the name was just another poorly translated title, we accepted. We arrived at this restaurant a little bit earlier than everybody else, as usual, and scoped the place out. It looked like quite a snazzy place...but only if you didn't count the poor soul on the karaoke stage producing some of the vilest notes I'd ever heard, with a dead pan expression on her soul less face. (I thought karaoke was supposed to be fun?!) On closer inspection of our surroundings, we noticed what looked like a stage with a couple of ramps on either end in the middle of the restaurant. There was a catapult at the one end. Quite a grand one too, I might add. It looked like something from an 18th century war museum. Still, we thought nothing of this, as Thai people are, at times, unbearably strange and inexplicable. 

We browsed the extensive menu at our leisure, making sure we drank lots of beer in the mean time. Kyle and I ordered the "fly chicken", a baby chicken, to share. Little did we know what became of ordering the "fly chicken".... As our food began arriving, a man made his way up to the podium and began ringing a bell. Obviously this attracted our attention away from the terrible vocals on the karaoke stage. That, and the man walking around making chicken noises into a microphone with a rubber chicken.

The man at the podium rang the bell like there was no tomorrow, at the same time loading what appeared to be a cooked chicken into the catapult...are we worried yet? What came next blew my mind. It seemed that the ringing bell attracted a teenager on a unicycle who came speeding up the ramp and up onto the podium (I repeat: on a unicycle.)He was dressed very strangely and his head gear consisted of a helmet with a large spike at the top of it. As the unicyclist got closer to the catapult, it was let off and the chicken went flying through the air...and landed straight on this kid's head!!!!! I could not believe my eyes!!! Was this why it was called "fly chicken"? I believe so! More! We wanted more!! Somewhat of a spectacle followed this mad chicken flying act: this young boy continued to do tricks on his unicycle, going up and down the ramp and jumping from beam to beam like something out of Takeshi's castle. He also showed off some more of his catching skills by catching an array of items, flying from the catapult, on his head. He started big, obviously with the flying chicken, and continued to get smaller until he was literally catching what looked like a single grape on the spoke on his head. It was unreal. Such talent. Well, until he had to catch our chicken. That didn't fly too well. He missed and our chicken lay shattered on the floor. We then had to wait while they quickly cooked up another one and gave it another go. It was ok, at least there was some decent entertainment going on. The chicken was delicious, by the way.

The fact that this restaurant is clearly run by a lunatic is not the point, the point is that, at some stage, someone created this restaurant. It's been running for 27 years. That means that there has been a fair share of madmen riding up that ramp and catching those flying chickens. At some stage, someone thought to themself: "I am going to open a restaurant. It will serve every type of Thai food you can imagine. But I need a gimmick...hmmm....What shall it be? I know! I have a friend in the circus who can ride a unicycle who can catch things on his head! Perhaps I can train him to catch chickens on his head! And I have another friend who fought in the Roman war who is particularly handy with a catapult, so he shall be hired too! My restaurant will serve flying chickens caught by a daredevil! It will be amazing! And I will throw in a karaoke bar to ensure that all Asian people come to my fine restaurant." I can only assume that this is the way that this restaurant came about.

It was fun. And bizarre. And I chomped on a frog leg that was rather delicious yet quite bony. You should go there.Apparently they give patrons a chance to try their luck up on the podium, I didn't go though, I can't ride a unicycle. Or catch flying chickens on my head, for that matter.
I've been informed that there are a number of wierd and wonderful restaurants in the area, including one with waiters wearing traditional Chinese dress and roller blades. And a robot restaurant. I think I'll go there. Watch this space.

The Hangover.

Yesterday I awoke to a hangover that can only be described as a head splitting catastrophe. I was paralysed with fear. Fear of sitting up, in case my head actually fell off my shoulders and rolled onto the floor. Eventually my eyes managed to crack open and I could take in the scene that surrounded me. Where the hell was I? And why was there Thai money scattered all over the bed?  And why was there a bin next to me filled with a water gun, a full beer and a little bit of vomit? Was it my vomit? And why was there incredibly offensive "pop" music blasting into my ears at 10am? And why was I covered in what looked like a dry cement mix? And why, I asked myself upon closer inspection of my habitat, was I sleeping in what looked like a crack den where hobo's and injured animals go to die?

My head was going to explode and I had no idea where I was or why I was dying. So I did what any normal person with a hangover does: scream bloody murder and then go back to sleep. When I awoke for the second time, I reached for my camera (which had nestled itself in my neck) and began, with horror, to piece together the events of the previous night. 

It was all coming back to me. Kyle and I had decided to go and stay in Khao San rd, Bangkok's infamous backpacker paradise, for Songkran. Songkran is the Thai New Year festival. It is basically a massive water fight and street party that lasts for 3 days, otherwise known as the single most amazing experience of my life. We checked into Khao San Rainbow "hotel", if you can call it that, at about 5pm. Our "room" consisted of a soiled bed that was too big for the minute room where in which it was placed (or, simply, the room was too small), some kind of scent that we could not quite put our finger on, an unusual stain next to the bed, and a toilet that served as a toilet, basin and shower all at once. Don't ask. I can't explain. Our room was also conveniently placed right outside the most God awful karaoke bar that somehow was given the licence by some idiot to operate for 24 hours a day. So lovely. All of these factors appear to be the reason why we got so hideously drunk, obviously so that we could sleep in our room in peace with no worries of being stolen in the middle of the night and being sold to a company where there are many beds with unusual stains beside them...

Khao San road: the beginning of the end.

To avoid any contamination, we hastily unpacked and left. Armed with water guns, a pre made whisky mix and a very fashionable waterproof satchel, we made our way to join the festivities in Khao San rd. It was incredible. Such an amazing event: kids, adults, tweens and drunk tourists alike, all joining in the water fight and the carefree vibe. I saw things that I can't even begin to describe. Such as a troupe of lady boys performing a choreographed dance in the street whilst pouring water all over themselves. It honestly wasn't very different from Geri Halliwell's "It's raining men" music video. Except that Geri Halliwell is far less attractive when in the rain. 

You get the picture

The rest of the weekend is a blur of cocktail buckets, water fights and Indian food. Not to mention cockroaches and unidentifiable smells and stains. Dried vomit, it was, we discovered. The unusual stain I spoke of. We discovered this at the end of the weekend when Kyle fell asleep on the floor with his face way too close to the stain. Nice place. I strongly recommend you never go there. The hangover though. Phwoar. That was spectacular. Never in my life have I been so severely crippled and outplayed by such a demonic blend of whisky. Well played Bangkok, well played.

Why we're here

Just over a month ago my boyfriend and I landed in Bangkok, Thailand. I was so afraid that somewhere along the flight somebody would stuff my bag full of drugs and various other paraphernalia and I would be taken to some God awful prison where I would have to swap my bra's in exchange for cigarettes and sing really bad renditions of "Like a virgin". Thank God the airport was fairly uneventful, the whole time we were there I was waiting for sniffer dogs to come and sniff out my crotch and alert the police that I had drugs up there. Although I'm not sure how someone would manage to get them there without my knowledge...although I was knocked out for a good 6 hours thanks to these horrid sleeping pills that I took..anything could've happened then?!?! It obviously didn't though. Because we got out of the airport without any drama.

As soon as we stepped out of the airport we were hit with the kind of heat that you can actually see. The kind of heat that blurs your vision and gives you diarrhoea. Our senses were also assaulted by all the people lighting up right outside the airport doors, standing next to all the non-smoking signs...this was something we were not quite used to, coming from New Zealand where the air is so clean and nutritious that you could actually live off a diet of air alone. We got into a taxi and gave him our friend's address. Problem 1: He had absolutely no idea what we were saying. Problem 2: He had absolutely no idea where this address was. Problem 3: He just started driving blindly, then stopped in the middle of the highway to make a phone call to find out where it was. Problem 4: There was a shit load of traffic. And it was 9:30pm. Problem 5: We thought we were going to die. Eventually we arrived, God knows how. After having aged about 25 years thanks to the taxi ride, we finally settled in. Little did I know that this experience was to confirm that this is the life in Bangkok. Taxi drivers that don't know how to drive/ know where anything is; a little bit of a language barrier; and a city so polluted that our skin would eventually develop a hard outer cuticle to protect us from damage.

Why? You ask. Why did we decide to move to a country where we cannot speak or read the language; where you have to throw your toilet paper in a bin after wiping your arse; where nobody understands you and everybody laughs at you whenever you do anything; where you have constant diarrhoea; where our neighbour drills holes in the wall at 2 am in the morning; where it's so fucking hot that you can't breathe and all your clothes are sweat stained in every single crease; where you constantly have to dodge excrement in the streets; where you have to walk really carefully around street dogs and avoid all eye contact so as not to become their lunch; where you thank God every time you get out of a taxi and you have somehow managed to survive the hellish ordeal; where you eat things which we think is something delicious but it turns out to be something not very delicious at all, like an organ of some sort; where I am absolutely clueless in the job I am supposed to be doing and should definitely not, under no circumstances be teaching morals to a bunch of very impressionable 5 and 6 year olds? WHY?

I will tell you why. Because each and every day here is an adventure. Because in certain aspects of this very dirty, overcrowded city, there are moments filled with such beauty that it gives you a lump in your throat. Because everyday I stop what I'm doing and think to myself, "Look where you are, look how far you have come". Because the food is so delicious and is so worth shitting my guts out on a regular basis. Because the taxi drivers love it when you try speak Thai to them, and I have realised that they don't have a death wish either, and so they're gonna try their hardest not to get in an accident. Because there is something new and different to do every single day. Because the culture is so rich and we have so much to learn. Because we have aircon. Because the Thai people are lovely and beautiful and happy. Because, although you're in a crazy city, you can walk around the corner and discover the most beautiful and tranquil temple. Because we want to be outside of our comfort zone. Because 5 and 6 year old Thai kids are unbelievably cute and clever. Because we want to be here, and we want to learn, and we want to experience something different that is going to change us every day. That is why we are here.

The irrelevance of celebrity fragrances

There is honestly nothing more useless than a celebrity fragrance. How these 'slebs manage to come up with the most ridiculous names for their fragrances I will never know.

•  Britney Spears has "Fantasy" and "Curious" which "represents the young woman who pushes boundaries and revels in adventure". Yes, I suppose Britney Spears is in fact a curious specimen, and very adventurous too, particularly with her lifestyle and hairstyle choices. 

That's pretty curious if you ask me...

• "True Star" by Beyonce sounds like an obscure petrol station that you only ever see in the furthest corner of the Earth, whose logo looks suspiciously like an Australian flag. Like some kind of station you find up in Mount Frere in the Eastern Cape that doesn't actually sell petrol, only an Americanised version called "gas".

• Sean John's scent is called "Unforgivable" and he personally selected the "combination of breathtaking, addictive and slightly dangerous essences". What do you suppose "dangerous essences" are? Diluted cyanide? Hydrochloric acid? Sounds great. I cant wait to spritz that on my skin.

• Justin Bieber's "Someday" makes me want to punch something in the balls. Someday what,Justin? Someday your voice will break? Someday you will be a man? Someday you'll get to wipe your own bum? Someday...He also has a new fragrance called "Girlfriend". I fail to belive that there is a more sexually confused teenager out there publicly going through puberty. Shame shame shame.



Poor kid. He doesn't have a clue what's going on.



• Antonio Banderas honestly has about 8 fragrances. Of which atleast 4 contain the word "seduction". "Blue Seduction" and "Seduction in black" to name but a few. Just how many colours of seduction could there be? I thought there was only one kind, but apparently if you are Spanish and slimy, you get the opportunity to seduce in every form and colour. I wonder if any of those fragrances contain a little chloroform to make the "seduction" that much easier...He also has a fragrance called "The Secret". What's the big secret Antonio? Will we find out in your next mysterious fragrance? Are all of his fragrances a set of sick clues leading us to a spot where women have been stolen and turned into guinea pigs for his perfumes? Testing the rate of successful "seduction"? I don't think I like that. Or him for that matter.

• My personal favourite though is Mariah Carey. Oh Mariah... When you think of any fragrance "created" by Mariah Carey, I'm sure all of you immediately think of a women prancing around a garden made of bubbles and rainbows in a pink bikini, and some sickly aroma floating around that is actually pink in colour. You can actually see the sickly pinkness of this fragrance. Well, if you thought this then you are 100% correct. Obviously. My favourite of her range is "Lollipop Bling". It really just ties up her persona does it not? It is described as "A playful and radiant fragrance combination of gourmet jelly beans and golden peony creates a flirty, fun experience". How old are you Mariah? Are you even allowed to sell perfume to confused little girls?  And just what the hell is "golden peony"? It sounds like polony. And if there is polony of any kind in that bottle she is hitting an entirely different target market to what I am sure she was aiming for... 



Next time someone should tell her to leave her toys at home.



A comprehensive guide to all that is crap: Part 4

I humbly apologise for the lack of a blog update in the last two months, but you cannot blame me as I have been very busy thinking up something crap beginning with a "Z". The English alphabet is far too long and extensive if you ask my expert opinion. So here it is, the final installment of "The comprehensive guide to all that is crap." Enjoy.

S: Stationary bike seats

Stationary bike seats are so crap. Probably the crappest of all that is crap. I fear that they will, ultimately, be the death of me. And my gooch. Since I started spinning classes I have had to make the difficult decision of choosing between a tighter backside, and bearing children. I suppose since that first day I mounted that cruel, hard seat, I waved goodbye to my unborn children and any chance of future happiness. Really though, my gooch will never be the same. I thought I would pass away in the 5th session that I attended, and so I announced to my boyfriend that I would never sit on a bike seat again, even getting to the point where I had decided that I would never teach my unborn children to ride a bike (that's if I could have children, given the damage that bike did). To which he gave a sly grin (some might call it a leer) and produced a "gel pack" bike seat cover that he explained slipped so smoothly over the bike seat and made it feel like I was sitting on a pillow that was made from 5000 thread count Egyptian cotton and stuffed with the finest, sweetest, softest thing you can imagine. I would like to say Ryan Gosling's face. But thats not for here... So I took it with me as I braved another spinning class, tucked under my arm discretely so that nobody thought I was a "nancy boy", and I have never looked back! It changed the stationary bike seat from a mortal enemy to a dear friend, and I can only suggest that you invest in the same to make your life that much more fantastic.

PS.  I sincerely do not understand how men cope with spinning classes, if anybody has any feedback on this, please contact me.

T: Toilet paper that is that little bit too far behind you.

I recently went to the toilet at a very fancy restaurant and was appalled at the state of the toilets! Not only did they have some kind of flusher technology that caused the toilet to flush when it detected movement in the bowl (which left me with urine and water splashing up on my behind in midstream, not to mention a mild chaffe that followed), but it also had the toilet roll dispenser placed just out of reach behind me. God that is so annoying. It was placed in a position that was about 5cm too far behind you, so that you physically had to turn around to reach it, and risk falling off the seat at the same time. Ghastly. I really hate that. It was like the person who fixed it to the wall had freakishly long ape arms which he swung behind him so easily to grab a couple squares of tp. What an asshole.

U: Unwelcome guests
There is always that friend that you have, that has another friend, who knows another friend, who always brings along his uncle. To your house. And he doesn't ever bring beers. And he never wants to leave. He just wants to sit on your couch until the early hours of the morning reminiscing in a creepy fashion about the way your friend's mom looked before she had kids and drinking all your booze. How does one get rid of an unwelcome guest? There really is no direct way!  Even if you are as direct as "Please leave now", they think you are being funny and coy and that, in fact, you are asking them to get you another drink, and help themself to one while they're there. Hate those unwelcome guests.

V: Vending machines
They are way too expensive. And no matter what you say, you have, at one point, witnessed your Fritos get stuck in the final coil of the dispenser and lost your temper in a way that caused a great embarassment to you and your loved ones.

W: Waiters with attitude

I have a healthy respect for waiters. I myself have waitered my fair share of tables and so I treat them well, and tip them how I see fit. Having said that, it really grates my tits when a waiter has attitude and does not stick to the wise old saying that "the customer is always right". I once encountered one of these waiters at a restaurant with my family. My sister ordered ribs, and I ordered a steak. When we received our food, I got ribs, as did my sister. Politely, I called the waiter over and said "I'm sorry sir, I didn't order ribs, I ordered a steak." To which I expected him to humbly apologise and bring me my real meal. I was completely taken aback when he hissed at me "No you didn't! You ordered ribs!" "Um, no I really didn't. I ordered the steak. I don't even like ribs." To which he replied, "You definately ordered the ribs. I don't care what you say." Okkaaay then....I politely asked to speak to the manager, to whom I retold the story. He obviously had a firm word with the waiter and told him to come back to apologise. He dragged his feet over to our table, sulking like a teenage bitch, and said "I apologise for speaking to you like that. Your meal will be on the house." I replied with a gratious "Thank you" and gave him a smile. That obviously pissed him off because he ended the conversation with "But I'm still right, you definately ordered the ribs", before he turned on his heel and stormed off. Thanks for ruining the entire evening bro, and possibly the rest of the year.

X: X-rated child pornstars
Has anybody ever watched "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding"? Refer to Part 3 if you have not. By Jove it is a sight to behold. I have never seen anything like it! Children as young as 8 years old getting spray tans, highlights in their hair, and wearing high heels. Im not even talking about the jelly-shoe type high heel. Im talking stilettos. Bloody Hell I didn't know where to look!! Apparently for special occasions (such as a Christening or a confirmation, where, if I am not mistaken, you are presented before the eyes of God) the Gypsies like to dress their offspring in gaudy crop tops and mini-skirts, or some kind of skin tight unitard with holes in all the wrong places. They then proceed to recreate the Christina Aguilera "Dirty" music video on the dance floor of the Church Hall which they have hired out. The Gypsies also claim that sex is not allowed before marriage. I find that extremely hard to believe whilst watching the baby prostitues gyrating before my eyes at the tender age of 6.

Y: YOLO

If there was ever an American turn of phrase that pissed me off the most, it is this one. YOLO. Apparently standing for You Only Live Once. I don't see the point of shortening that phrase to an annoying acronym. Unless you are taking your "only living once" so seriously that you do not, in fact, have enough time and or breathe to blurt out the entire phrase. Wow your life must be pretty darn exciting if you find yourself constantly on the edge shouting "YOLO!!!!!" Twitter has opened my eyes to this phenomenon, because just about every teen "humour" account turns very unhumourous when they start tweeting things like "hiring a stretch Hummer for my prom 'cos YOLO!!" or "Wearing these killer heels tonight 'cos YOLO!" or "drove over a cat today 'cos YOLO!!". Thank you for shouting that in my face, because, up until you shouted that in my face, I thought we lived twice. Or atleast 3 times. Really? I think you've had enough YOLO for one day. Time to go to sleep now cos YOLO. (honestly how ridiculous and incomplete does that sound? Go away annoying teenager.)

 

Z: Z-list celebrities

I thought about it, and have come to the realisation that Z-list celebrities are among one of the worst races in the world. They think they are so clever and good looking, but, if they really were, they would not be on the Z-list of all producers. They think they're big shit cos they got caught driving without a seatbelt, or because they once played an honourary role on the cast of the cancelled romance series "Loving" in the late 90's. You remember Loving? The unoriginal theme song went like this: "L-O-V-I-N-G". What a piece of shit. Then when they don't get the attention they crave you find nude pictures of them in HEAT magazine that curiously "escaped" their private stash (God only knows how sordid their "stash" really is), or they bang some D-list celebrity, or all of them, and are caught red handed with cocaine messed all over their faces.

Exhibit A: ex-SABC presenter and has-been, Kuli Roberts. A small extract from the City Press about the attack on Kuli Roberts by Trevor Noah at the Steve Hofmeyer Roast gives insight to the sadness that is this sad Z-list celebrity, who is purely well known for being a skank and an idiot.

"McSlutty, I’m glad you’re sober enough to join us,” he said to her, before having a go at a controversial column on coloured women that saw Roberts fired from Sunday World last year.

After that, she was repeatedly lampooned for being a nymphomaniac, a cocaine junkie and an alcoholic, with multiple references to her vagina"

Shame...should've seen that one coming...

A comprehensive guide to all that is crap: Part 3

N: Nicki Minaj

• I don't quite know how I feel about Nicki Minaj. But I do know that she is stark raving mad. I don't understand the phenomenon of her at all. She dresses like a transvestite lunatic who lives in a cage that is suspended from the ceiling of a dance club, she "sings" like a 15 year old boy who has been sucking Helium from balloons at his little cousins birthday party. And the lyrics of her songs? They don't make any sense at all.
• Exhibit A: An extract from her song "Wuchoo know":

"It was a quarter passed 3 when I ran into rell

Didn't forget my keys cause my name ring bells

A lil white tee some addidas with the shells

Tun in the coup oh! shoot broke a nail

Let me let me think what I gotta gotta do

Should I get the black or the chrome 22

And if a bird try to get out of the cage

I bitch down new york times front page

I went to starbucks I wanted to get a frapo

Then had a snapple apple with the capo

That's fendi but that's irrelivent

Threw him a couple benjies now I'm da president

And I'm nicki and nicki so picky

Slick like ricky flow be so icky

Class is finished you'll be home bout 3

So all ya rap bitches what ya'll know bout me"

Just what the hell is going on there?! Nothing makes sense! Bloody hell it's like being stuck in the mind of a garden gnome on Tik. What is she going on about "That's fendi but that's irrelevant"? The whole bloody song is irrelevant!

• Exhibit B: Evidence of her madness:

 

O: Over sharing

• Everyone always has that friend that goes one step too far. And then Boom! You now know all about the connection between their anal fungus and that guy with Pink eye who sits at the back of the lecture hall muttering madly to himself. We do not want to know why you are sitting on a donut pillow. Nor do we want to know why you have developed a mysterious bald patch on the back of your head. We also don't want to know why you have a big black bag and a shovel with dried blood on it in the boot of your car. Just keep to yourself please.

P: Pub toilets

• I don't know what it is about pub toilets, but I have yet to find one where I would actually sit on the toilet seat. I can fully understand the state of toilets in night clubs, because people tend to get shit faced and throw up in the sink. Who can blame them? There's always a queue. But it's worse when the toilets are bad in a pub, because they serve food there! Surely there's a code of health which pubs need to adhere to to even be open? I don't know. I used to love pub grub. I really did. Particularly the pizza's they used to make at my old favourite haunt "Terrace". I loved them right up until the day I attended said pub on a busy night and I was sober. And I saw someone throw up in the pizza oven. True story. So I stopped eating there. I also stopped going there completely when I went to the toilet, busting for the loo, and was met by a girl taking a poo with the door wide open, and wiping her bottom with her hand. Not to mention the cleaning lady who was throwing up in the sink. When interviewed later the cleaning lady said "Eish, it was too much. I have seen some crazy things in these bathrooms, but this was just the worst. I could not keep my food down." I almost felt like I needed to call the police, or at least alert campus security. What kind of place had this turned into? 

Q: Queues

• Queues are so crap. Queues anywhere and everywhere are crap. Queues in Government institutions are the worst. There is always some asshole standing so closely behind you that you can feel his kneecaps digging into your hamstrings. And you can feel yourself catching whatever chest infection they may have because you are now breathing the same air. And there is always someone who farts in a queue. The worst is that you can't exclaim loudly and run dramatically from the room holding your nose, because then you will lose your place and have to go through the entire process all over again. Queues in bathrooms are also bad. Especially queues in places where everybody in the line has the potential to throw up on your back. I don't like it.

R: Rhythm method of contraception

• I don't care what any Catholic says. The rhythm method clearly does not work. Obviously, because you have 8 unplanned children.
• Please see the following extract from Wikipedia on the rhythm method of contraception:

"Failure rate:

One concern related to the use of calendar-based methods is their relatively high failure rate, compared to other methods of birth control. Even when used perfectly, calendar-based methods, especially the rhythm method, result in a high pregnancy rate among couples intending to avoid pregnancy. Of commonly known methods of birth control, only the cervical cap and contraceptive sponge have comparably high failure rates. This lower level of reliability of calendar-based methods is because their formulas make several assumptions that are not always true"

So there you have it. The only method that is more crap than the rhythm method is the cervical cap and the contraceptive sponge (whatever the hell that is). That's good to know.

A comprehensive guide to all that is crap: Part 2

G: Geriatric Drivers

• Wow, old people who drive can suck on monkey ball hairs. Their licences should be removed from their possession before they reach 60. Everybody knows that once you reach 60 you become a person of poor judgement, weak motor skills, little (or no) hearing ability, and of course, partially blind. Not to mention inconsiderate of other drivers on the road. Combine all of these lovely, timeless traits and you have a recipe for disaster and hit and runs. I got flipped off the other day by a grandpa driving a damn nice Volvo, who stole my parking space. He was clearly the one in the wrong, but, when I hooted in dismay at his old ass, he actually zapped me. It was so bloody rude I didn't know what to do. I just cried and drove away. Although it was rude, I suppose that when I am old, I will be just as rude. I actually can't wait to crash into young and inexperienced drivers and then claim insanity and Alzheimers when they try to press charges. I suppose I will flip people off as much as I like, because I am old, and because I can. Bitch.

Would you trust this man at the wheel? I think not...

H: Hair removal

• Hair removal of any kind is crap. Try the hair removal cream, you smell like you've just emerged from a sulphur experiment and your hair merely breaks off  for weeks, leaving your underwear looking like a wig. (it doesn't disappear, as they falsely claim, and so you tend to find it in the most bizarre places that you didn't expect) Try an epilator, and you are left with burn marks and a fear of anything battery powered. Try waxing and, well. The end is near. I went for a wax the other day, and halfway through making irrelevant small talk with the beautician about various other downstairs' that she waxed she pointed out to me "Um, you're reacting really badly to this treatment". "Oh, am I? Maybe it's because you just ripped out all of my pubic hair with hot wax?" What the beautician called a "mild reaction" turned out to be a very embarassing trip to the chemist, where on the way I tried to rub up against just about every sharp object I could find to ease the never ending itch that had seized my downstairs.(eg. chair backs, corners of tables, sharp wall corners, my car door, etc)

If Oprah doesn't trust it, neither should you...

I: Ill-mannered service staff

• I'm sorry, but if you are providing a service to someone, you should actually provide them with a service. And not a motive for murder. I, myself, am an ex-waitress, and so I deeply appreciate waitrons and treat all of them with the utmost respect. I visited a restaurant a couple years ago where the waiter brought me ribs, when I clearly ordered steak. "Um, I didn't order ribs, I  ordered the steak." "No you didn't, you ordered the ribs, I heard you." "Um, no, I really didn't, I don't even like ribs." "Well, you ordered them, so now you can eat them." "Excuse me? Can I please speak to your manager?" *Manager comes over, we complain, and he calls back waiter* "I apologise for bringing you the wrong meal." "That's ok, thank you for apologising." "But you seriously ordered the ribs, I don't care what you say." "Ok......" Not going back there again. Say goodbye to your 10%, asshole. You can go to hell, and take your damn ribs with you.

J: Just about everything sold at Verimark

• Verimark, the home of every crap thing in the universe. I don't know how much crapper you can really get than "the genie bra" or "the floor wiz" or "the fake hair piece that even your husband won't notice". Verimark hosts a range of contradicting products. For example, we have: "Gorilla steering wheel lock, NOTHING cuts through Gorilla" vs. "Shogun knives, cuts through ANYTHING!!" Really? Does it now? What about your famous "Gorilla steering wheel lock? Hey? I thought that was resistant to anything? Including your Shogun knives. Now what? Imagine there was a sudden influx of cars with gorilla gear locks which had been cut through by Shogun knives? What would you do then, Verimark? I suppose you would find yourself in somewhat of a pickle. Not only are their products contradictory and crap, so is their packaging. A friend of mine worked for them as a graphic designer and he said that whenever he tried to design some cool packaging for a product, a superior would say, "No, I don't like it, it needs more lumo pink and eighties font. Change it." He said it was the worst job ever.

K: Karaoke

• Wow. There is nothing I hate more in this world than karaoke. I have never felt more embarassed or uncomfortable, than with a mike in my one hand and my drink in the other. Karaoke is basically the source of the majority of my shortcomings in life. It is the reason I was kicked out of a "chinese men ONLY karaoke club", it was the reason why I threw up on a parking meter, and it was also the reason why my boyfriend swallowed a chicken wing whole, without chewing and recognizing a bone in the meat, and nearly choking to death. One night after a hot date with Kyle, I was feeling quite pissed, and so decided to call up Diana and Nats and arrange a second hot date for the evening. I told Kyle to come meet up with us later at Terrace. Little did I know, it was karaoke night, and I was feeling bold. I don't remember much of the night, but unfortunately there is photographic evidence of the ordeal.Kyle has claimed that, when he came to meet up with us, our trio was seen singing "If you wanna be my lover" by the Spice Girls, where Nats and Diana both have microphones, and I was singing loudly and proudly into my Hunters Dry bottle. Without even knowing that it was a drink. And not, in fact, a broken microphone. He told me that he left quietly and went home instead...

L: Left over coffee/ wine in cups/ glasses whilst washing dishes

• You know when you decide to tackle that load of dishes. No fear, just grease. You set out with such good intentions, get all that crockery squeaky clean and be able to see your reflection in the wine glasses. Well, your job is made impossible when every Tom, Dick and Harry decides to leave half of his wine/ coffee in his glass/ cup. Nice one, asshole. Could you really not have finished that? Thank you for making my life a misery. I can't just toss it into the water carelessly, now can I? So what do I do? Do I trundle outside and toss out the stagnant liquid into my garden when it could've gone into your mouth? Or do I contaminate all of my other dishes with your liquid filth? My day is ruined. There are starving kids in Africa, so come on now, finish your bloody drink so that I may avoid a heart attack due to stress.

M: My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding

• Gypsies are pretty crap. Have you ever watched "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding"? Bloody hell it is an international crisis in the making!! I'm not sure how it works...I always thought Gypsies were free spirits called "travellers". I thought I liked the idea of being a "traveller" once, until I was met with the horrific reality that is the life of a gypsy. It turns out that Gypsies are more than just "travellers" of land. They are travellers of much, much more. Apparently gypsies live in an irrelevant time where crushed velvet, tattoo chokers, and  LED-lit wedding dresses are the height of fashion. Lord save us from the Gypsies. It is not the brides on "My big fat Gypsy wedding" who are my primary concern, I am more worried about the prepubescent gypsy child-whores who dance around like a more crazed version of Britney Spears in the "I'm a slave 4 U" music video. On tik. We have something to worry about if these so called "travellers" are to interbreed. Many things to worry about in fact. Like the tragic epidemic that the gypsies call "bridesmaid dresses". By Jove. If, by some Godforsaken reason I were to ever befriend a Gypsy, I think that I would very hastily de-friend that Gypsy very quickly if I were a bridesmaid. Please see below:

Gypsy Children

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Turn into Gypsy Brides

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Who turn into Gypsy skanks with compulsory skank brigade. Not my pick for a bridesmaid dress, but hey, it's not my "special day".

Unbelievable.