Cry me a river. Boo hoo

I'm just gonna come right out and say it. I hate people who complain. I really don't dig it hey. Since I have moved to Bangkok, which is, in my opinion, one of the most fascinating and incredible cities on my list, I have met my fair share of complainers. I don't get it. You live in an amazing city where you are greeted with huge smiles and bizarre sights every day. You smell things and taste things that are unique to this insane place. And you also more than likely have one of the best jobs in the country that is strictly reserved for you.

 I don't mean your average social media addicts who feel the need to constantly broadcast how shit their life is with the usual "back to work, hating life right now" type of complaints. I'm talking big time complainers. The kind that makes your eyes bulge and your heart rate increase and your sweat glands over productive. I mean the types of complainers that should ideally work in the line of Customer complaints service, so that any customer that calls them looking for a good rant will be shut down quickly and efficiently and reminded that no matter how bad their problem is with the latest Kenwood toad-in-the-hole-maker, the person on the other end of the line definitely has bigger problems. And, to make matters worse,  probably does not have the luxury of the latest toad-in-the-hole-maker.

Every time I hear somebody starting to complain I wish to say this: "Effectively, you really have nothing to complain about. You are alive, are you not? You have probably eaten three meals today, if not more; you have a roof over your head, and you have family and friends who love you. Just what is so kak about that?

 If you don't like your job, get a new one. If you don't have enough time, stop watching TV. If you're unhappy in your relationship, break up. If you're bored with life, travel. If you're unhappy with your weight, exercise. If you don't have enough money, save. If you don't like your domestic worker because she shits in your toilet,swipes your grandmothers silver ware  and eats all your food, cut her down to only one day per week. (I wouldn't suggest firing her at this point, you may be opening an entirely different can of worms there..) But it's that simple. Life is simple. It doesn't ask much from us. What we do with what we are given is what counts.

 In the wise words of my homey Dr Seuss: "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go".

the man knows his stuff...

I'm not saying that you have to grin and bear it when there is a violent shit storm up ahead. I'm just saying that, sometimes, when things aren't absolutely super, just remember where you are. And what you are doing. And how beautiful everything is around you. And how lucky you are to be alive.
Now stop complaining.
That is all

Sweat yo tits off.

Walking through the streets of Bangkok the other night, a stranger who we had just met asked me politely, "So, do you, um, get accustomed to this heat?" Said stranger was sweating so much that every single item of clothing on his body had turned into a clingfilm-like material and I could see his nipples through his shirt. It appeared that he was in the beginning stages of slowly being suffocated to death by his very own clothes. This man was clearly in the early stages of imminent death and so there was not much I could do to save his life. I thought I may make his flight to the heavens slightly easier if I just lied to comfort him. "Yes", I said, "Of course you do." However, as I was saying these very words, the fringe that I had freshly cut moments before was stuck to my head so fast that I feared I would have to cut it again even shorter just to release it from my forehead. 

The truth is: No. You do not ever get accustomed to the heat. Unless you are asian, in which case I am sure that they are so advanced in their race that they have adapted into something that I can only imagine to be half human, a quarter camel and a quarter amphibian to be able to cope with the relentless heat. Whilst I lope around the streets looking like a pre-historic barbarian man-woman with my clothes stuck to my back and a constant wet patch on my arse, they waltz around looking cool as cucumbers. The closest they get to "glowing" is when they are 7 months pregnant in the middle of summer. Even then, they don't perspire, they merely have a fine sheen across their beautiful amphibian foreheads. It really is not fair. 

I really wish someone had forewarned me about these conditions before we embarked on this adventure. I'd heard that Thailand was hot, but this is just something else. It's the kind of heat that makes you want to vomit. It makes you want to rip off your clothes in the street and scream bloody murder at taxi's because they wont pick you up becase you're too sweaty and will undoubtedly ruin their suede seats with your foul perspiration. It makes you drench yourself, your jammies and your bedding before you close your eyes and drift off into another sweat filled nightmare. I wish I knew these things beforehand. This is some advice you may need when visiting Thailand: One may experience one or all of the following symptoms from the heat: an unsightly heat rash, constant slipping in and out of your shoes, fainting, diarrhoea (its from the heat, not the food), blurred vision, cutting off all of your hair, throwing away several items of soiled clothing, a drastic change in personality, multiple unscheduled visits into just about every 7/11 to experience their below zero aironditioning, and the hair of what can only be described as neanderthal. If you have not experienced any of these then you clearly have a built in aircon or you are, very likely, the hybrid blend of Asian that I mentioned before.

I am now at a point in my life where I find myself having the following thoughts: 
"I really want to buy that dress, but that arm pit looks a little bit too close for comfort". 
"I really want Kylie to come with me to the market, but we don't have anymore vaseline to soothe his chaffing thighs".
"I wish I hadn't cut my fringe in that desperate moment of heat absurdity."
"I feel so bad about what I said earlier when I was melting".
"I really want to go to Chatuchak but I cant go by myself because I'm scared I will faint and no one will be there to help me."
"How bad can sweat stains really be in grey?"

How I usually look at work...

It's bad. Having said that, I do feel that my electricity bill at the end of the month is by far my best investment, as it all goes toward air conditioning. When I get home from work, panting, sweaty and dishevelled, I whip off all my clothes, turn on my air con and remain in the starfish position until it gets dark outside. From then on, I try and move as little as possible with exerting the least amount of energy. I then think to myself "Hey, this heat isn't so bad." On the way to work the following morning, drenched in my own perspiration, I quietly punish myself with "You were wrong again, you fool. Stupid, stupid fool."

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...