“Ja. Sometimes I feel pretty shit.
I’M SUPPOSED TO.
I’m manic major depressive for fuck’s sake.
What the shit do you think you’re going to do to fix that?
You are more likely to birth the child of Amazonian goddess befallen into your lap, you goddamn hero you.”
“Ja. Sometimes I feel pretty shit.
“I am so hungover.
The throbbing, angry punishment in my skull for all that tasty, tasty tequila and great wastage of money, fittingly matched the growing ache in my ‘art.”
“As time went on, and as my wonderful manager, Lloyd, is not always around to overhear someone calling me beautiful and sarcastically interject with, “Oh, Iola never gets that AT ALLLL”, I’ve come up with some pretty decent approaches:
“The hot waitress is off today. Wait for her. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
“I’m not allowed to prey on my customers, sorry.”
“I’m not gay.”
If they laugh, maybe you’ll get a tip. If they don’t, well, let’s hope their table leaves soon and you get a ten-seater with rich nuns with a penchant for alcohol, but Jesus is still bae. “
““I’m leaving for Cape Town on the 9th. Your place at 8?”
No. Nobody joined my parents and I for a steak and basmati dinner that night at 8.
This was one of the first messages I ever received on Tinder.
It was off to a great start.”
“My social life is like The Bachelorette. I often wonder if there are cameras cleverly hidden behind trees and in dark corners, live-streaming to some dingy website where my straight fans are vouching for the best-looking guy and the lesbigay community watches in excitement every time I meet the ex-ladyfriend.”
“Brother used to enjoy drinking so much that at one point, he opened the fridge to find it stark empty.
“We need more beer.”
I just wanted milk.”
“Let’s talk about me, like we always do.
I am a woman, after all. This is my favourite pastime.
After blogging for a year and a bit, I hit 4000 views. Because I am a nobody, I almost feel like a somebody.”
“I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m gonna lie.
I was the perfect child growing up.
Honesty is a virtue.
In my many phases, I attracted a fair amount of negative attention.
Actually, it was more like a year-long, annual monsoon.
First, I was an outspoken atheist.
Like most atheists at begin, I was arrogant, narcissistic and pompous.
YOU ARE ALL STUPID FOR BELIEVING IN GOD AND I AM SUPERIOR AND ENLIGHTENED”
“With shaky hands, Thor beckoned his best friend, Bhor.
“Our race dies, good man. I must mate with this hairy, humanoid woman yonder the lake. Generations from this moment, the blood of our forefathers will run strongly still between all corners of Earth.”
Off he went to bring the thunder.
Honey Boo Boo and the Biebs.”
” I don’t plan what I wear. I throw stuff on and decide whether to change or not by trying to label myself as others would when they see me.
Everybody does it. Oh, there goes the punk. He’s followed by the geek. The goth is close behind, and there comes the overly-dressed drama queen. The last guy fell behind because it’s noticeably harder to walk when you have that much swag.
I stood before the mirror, having changed out of ‘the emo kid’ outfit, and tried to stereotype myself. I frowned for a second, and then it came to me.
I was good to go.”
“I’m a student. I get 100 bucks a week, and when I draw it out, the ATM gives it to me in 20s – as if to keep me grounded.
“Man, you broke. Let me help you ration.”
I hate FNB. If they aren’t reminding me of how broke I am, they’re taking away my money. Every time I draw out I can buy one less cup of awful campus coffee.
The only time I ever rolled in the dough was when I tried to make roti off an internet recipe.”
“He opened up his notifications expectantly.
“Lola Whiteley posted on your timeline.”
He follows the link.
We’re a mixed race couple.
It was so romantic.”
“You, you little attention-seeking brat.
Sorry. That was condescending. Let me rephrase that.
YOU, YOU ATTENTION-SEEKING BRAT.
Nobody likes being called little.
Except rappers. Lil’ Jon, Lil’ Wayne, Lil’ Grown Man.
These people live life and the world is watching, yet they refuse to pick better names.”
“Every year, the usual influx of first years reinforces just how old I am.
I’m 21 this year. I should be married with my firstborn Seth and his pet puppy Cujo. As expected, Zuma has not responded to my proposal.
Who knew 8 wives were too much? Not me.”
“I nod curtly at the security guard that resembles Terrence Howard, and make my way to Science. I must have walked just a few feet before I heard that fateful call.
Who is this tall man? What language is this?
I look up. Oh, what a sight.
The way his large fake diamond earring contrasted with his skin on only one ear. The way his white shoes shone brighter than that expensive golden smile.”
““Ma’am, when I’m older, I would like to be a model.”
Yes, I spoke like that. Mother had a beautiful grasp of the English language and would be damned if her only daughter said “wanna”. The teacher laughed at me. The class laughed at me.
What? MOTHER SAID I’M BEAUTIFUL, DAMN IT.
Every day is a new betrayal. A child is beautiful to their parents, even if they have six toes on their right hand.
Anyway, I may take more selfies than a highschool girl and photomanipulate them to perfection, but as you may have guessed, I did not end up being a model.”
Detective Motlanthe and Detective Sisulu are hard at work tracking down serial killers, Jacob and Zuma. The two infamous murderers/rapists have been on the run for weeks, after almost being […]