So yesterday I got home, walked outside to feed the dogs, took one look at our grass outside and wanted to just burst into tears!

You see, we moved into our brand new house and were left with a beautiful garden, and now after getting two hulking Boerbul / Ridgeback puppies, who are 7 months but act like 2-year old terrorists, our garden /grass now looks like shit!

Seriously I don’t know what is in their pee, but it must be like some form of hydrochloric acid, the ones you see in the movies where those guys are wearing hazmat suits and then the acid messes on them and you see them banging on glass while they beg you to “Just let us out for Gods sake mannnnnnnnnn!” while their faces melt off, you know the one?

Well yes, that is what my dogs are wee’ing all over the grass.  And they do it in the same fucking place all the time, so now my garden looks like a Twister mat with all these polka dots of dead grass everywhere! The one section is even starting to resemble a smiley face!

When I walk out and see the dead grass I get angry and then they run up to it, tongues wagging out and give you that “Look-what-we-made-you-mom” face that makes me feel bad about strangling them.  Fuck!

Stop fucking up my garden! And why must you eat everything, and dig holes to China! Seriously, what are you trying to findddddddddddddddddd!

We buy these brats a gazillion toys to amuse them during the day, you literally cannot take a step in our garden without stepping on something squeaky or spikey or some sort of rope attached to a cows hoof  that threatens to wrap itself around your legs and fling you into the pool when you walk past it (the dead cows revenge for stealing his shoes maybe?) so why oh whyyyyyyy do they act like they have nothing to amuse them and rip our plants / grass to shreds?

…and then there was that disgusting fly catching bag thing we put up in the tree to prevent the flies from bugging our “poor little babies” while they run around and play all day (translate into “fuck up our shit”) which they pulled down (because they’re the size of  small horses now and can jump really mofo-high) onto themselves which just meant that coming home after work I had 2 pooches who smelt like a rotting whale carcass jump on me to give me loves… thanks.  I think.  No I take it back.  No thanks.  You stink.  Fuck.

Anyhoo.  Love them to bits and this whole story above was a lot of digression into my actual tale about coming home and seeing the manky long grass that’s half dead yesterday.

So I pulled out the lawn mower in a fit of fury! Screw you grass, I will make you my bitch! And mowed the lawn, IN MY WORK CLOTHES!

Dalekins came home and steered clear of me.  Partly because he came out to see my mowing aforementioned lawn in my work clothes, swatting at mozzies,  mumbling about “me having to sort shit” and “killing the dogs” and “fuck you grass” and “all my princess dreams have come true” with sweat pouring off me (very sexy) and a face like thunder.

It was AWESOME! When I was done I pulled my top over my head and ran around the garden like I’d just scored a goal.

So I’d like my honorary penis now please.  No I won’t use it.  It will go in a jar on the shelf, next to my honorary ball sack.

This is when they were still tiny.  And well behaved.  How can you not love those faces!

Happy New Year by the way!!!

So South Africa is finally getting a Porn channel. You have to buy a special decoder and smartcard to be able to have access to it, and the authorities in South Africa can apparently do nothing about it because the channel gets broadcast outside of South Africa.

This issue seems to be pissing off a lot of South Africans and I just don’t understand the mass horror over this issue.

Some comments from the News24 thread:

“When SA has the highest rate of rape and sexual violence ..and they consider this?????????? Who ever came up with this idea shud be shot in cold blood.”  (Bad Porn!! Murder is ok though?)

“Christians, we need to PRAY real HARD, march against such evilness and Cry that God may touch the hearts of these perveted minds…the world is getting more and more rotten – that means our GREAT struggle continues….”

Yoyoyo. This is going to ruin the beautiful South Africa. Guys we have to agree that we aint Americans,BRITISH OR EUROPEANS. (What? We’re not open minded?)

Da day of judgement is here ppl souls have been sold to da devil (Ahhh so TODAY is the rapture… again.  Really?  Really really?)

Stop being so fucking judgmental people. People are commenting about praying for our souls, South Africa will be in ruin, Our children’s souls will be lost, God help us all, rape and sexual violence will increase.

What the fu…?

If you don’t like it, don’t buy the fucking decoder. If I buy it, please don’t feel the need to pray for my salvation.

If you’re worried about your children being ruined, then maybe you should be practicing some active parenting.  Yes I know, now you will have to stop just plonking your kid down infront of the tv.

Each to his own.

Unless you can hear my nekkid wrestling midgets from next door, it’s not really bothering YOU is it?

Your thoughts?

So I have been sitting here staring into space thinking about important things like if a toasted ham and cheese got into a fight with a buffalo wing, who would win.  Frankly that is tough question, and not one I’d feel comfortable with laying a bet on.  Hot cheese VS the pointy elbows (??) of a chicken wing. It’s just unfathomable.

And now I’m hungry… *sigh*

Anyhoo, I couldn’t think of anything useful to write today. So why write anything at all you ask? Well… You not the boss of me kaaaaaaaaaay! Ok no wait you kind of are, come bacccccck!

So I thought what could be a better thing to write on but the 5 reasons why Justin Biebers vagina is bigger than mine.

Yes I am sad to say that I did Google this for about 5 minutes some solid research on this topic and can therefore be seen as the leading expert on all things pertaining to Justin Bieber’s giant vagina. But don’t panic, I have had a good “Jik” bath and my eyes have finally stopped stinging, so I am good to go, and can share this useful information with you.

1)      His middle name is Drew. I know right? That’s what your parents do when you are graced with a hermaphrodite baby and are not sure whether the winky or the cookie is going to be more dominant, so you give it 2 names.  Unfortunately they chose the winky name first, and it’s too late to change it now.

MY middle name is Billy-Jean.  How cool am I? I am the only person that is technically allowed to do that WHOOP WHOOP sound that chicks do when an awesome song comes on at a club because clearly this song was written for me.

2)      His favourite drink is Vitamin Water. What the fu…? Mine is Klippies when Im in a fighting mood, wine when I’m trying to be pretentious and Caramel vodka when I want to sleep under a table.

The fact that he is a child still is just no fucking excuse I’m sorry. You’re a tweeny celeb, you should atleast have injected heroin straight into your eyeball by now and buried 2 hookers.

Big vaginaaaaaaaaaaa *whispers*

3)      His favourite word is “shawty”! Bitch – you are 5 foot 3 (that’s a midget to us in the NEW WORLD using the metric system) I will fuck your shit up.  I could use your head to rest my beer on little munchkin. (Actually I have no idea how tall 5 foot 3 is, cause I’m a size 7 so my 5 foot 3 might be bigger than yours?)

4)      He does that stupid hair flick CONSTANTLY! Stop doing that!! Unless you have Tourettes, (in which case I apologise) if it’s irritating you that much put it up with a banana clip or some shit!

My hair is always up or out of my face because if it’s in my face, I’ll CUT you!!!

5)      Fuck I’m running out of reasons here. Oh wait.

So my mummy is a HUGE Vampire fan. I suspect latent “daddy issues” might be the cause but I am not clever enough to put the psychological explanation of this together so please don’t over think my reasoning.

Besides, my mummy never met her dad, he passed away while she was in the womb so this could not possibly explain her “daddy issues” or how in the hell I tied that up with her love for all things dead and sparkly.  Haaaaaaa bet you all feel bad for laughing at my mums love of vampires now huh!

Don’t laugh at my mom – I’ll cut you!

Yes.  This post IS going to bounce all over the show because I have just had my first hit of caffeine in months and my brain is pinging around in my head like a pinball. No jokes about my brain being the SIZE of a pinball thankyouverymuch!

Anyhoo, where was I…

Ah yes.  Twilight!

So I book tickets for a few of us ladies to go and watch the latest Twilight – Breaking Dawn.  Yes I am vaguely embarrassed by this admission.  But then I think of Jacob’s 8-pack and I get over it.  But then I start to feel slightly like a peadophile.  Damn you Hollywood!! *shakes fist*

*phones sister*

Me: So I’ve booked us tickets to go watch Twilight

Sisterkins: Oh fuck no! I am NOT watching that shit!

Me: But mom wants to! (see how I lay the blame on mum)

Sisterkins: Fine, but you’re buying me TWO boxes of popcorn!

Me: What the fu…? Since when do we resort to extortion? What are we, the Gambino family? You be careful now missy, I have an Italian surname now, I can take you!

Sisterkins: AND I am NOT sitting next to mom!

Me: Why not?

Sisterkins: Because she makes that disgusting “sssssssssssssssssssssthhhhhhhhhhhhh” noise every time she sees one of those stupid sparkly vampires take their shirt off.  It grosses me out!

Me: FINE! (Now I’m feeling nauseas because I’m imagining my mother and Edward in a tryst! Eeeergh dead puppies dead puppies!)

What a load of poop! I was fine until these wolves started talking to each other with their minds – while growling.  Really?  I can’t even do that pat your head while rubbing your stomach thing, but these beasts, who don’t even have opposable thumbs, can growl and be telepathic all at the same time?

Em… it is telepathic when you speak with your mind eh? Or is it when you set shit on fire with your mind, I can’t remember. Or is that Pyrotechnics?  Fuck… they both have a “T” in okay!

And Why God why does Bella ALWAYS look so pained… she’s walking down the aisle biting her lip like she’s holding in a huge fart!  The whole time while she was doing her “walk down”, I was thinking, just let it go lady for fuck sakes… blame it on the dog! (Twilight – Breaking Wind.  Is that too lame? I can never tell!)

The only pleasure I got from this whole exercise was looking over at my mom every now and again (because yes, I too didn’t want to sit next to her and listen to her grossy gross sexy times noises every time she saw Edward or Jacob) and seeing the huge smile on her face because SHE absolutely loved it!

Love you mummy, even though you drag your daughters with you to what can be deemed as porn in your mind.  You do realize that the one is dead and the other, an animal, and I am almost sure that is illegal in most countries!

Disclaimer: This post is completely arb, read at your own peril.

Dalekins: Why do you ALWAYS give me the Pear and current fruit bar?

Me: Because you like pears and currents and I don’t?

Dalekins: I heard you say just last night how much you love pears!

Me: You sir are a liar, I do not like pears and currents are like raisins and raisins are from the devils bum so I would never say that.

Dalekins: Luckily I recorded the conversation!

Me: You record our conversations?

Dalekins: Oh yes, for these exact arguments when I need proof?

Me: Proof of what?

Dalekins: That you love pears!

Me: I do NOT love pears.

Dalekins: But you said….! I’ll send you the recording!

Me: *waits for recording*

*listens*

Dalekins in creepy high-pitched-been-kicked-in-the-nuts-voice: “Hi I’m Tash and I just luuuurve pears so very much!”

*goes back to Dalekins voice*

Dalekins: Oh isn’t that lovely, you can have the pear fruit bars then!

*Recording finishes*

Dalekins: And yet!! There it is again! In MY lunchbox, the flipping pear fruit bar!!

Me: *confused face* For the  love of all things ungrateful!!  I would never say that number one because I don’t fucking LOVE pears, and you make me sound like a drag queen who’s tucked his junk in between his legs! So screw it, from now on you’re getting dry mouldy bread crusts in your lunchbox!!”

Dalekins: Fine! But who doesn’t love pears! Is it because you hate the Cape?

Me: Wha…?

So Dalekins and I were wondering around the shops the other day when I saw this in a pet shop window:

Now, I don’t want to point out the obvious here but why the HELL would anyone want to buy their dog a bed that looks like a giant VAGINA?

It’s not good to teach animals that this is what a nice warm comfy bed looks like!! What if you fall asleep after a drunken night of debauchery and just happen to fall asleep with your legs a little open and with no knickers on.  There’s nothing worse than waking up and seeing only the tail end of your Shnauzer sticking out of under your jammies people!!

Poor show pet store poor show.

P.S. If your vagina DID in fact look like a clowns pocket, this is what it would look like.

What is it about the anonymity of being behind a computer or cellphone that seems to give people the balls to be complete dicks to one another?

Consider your working environment for a minute.  Surely in your career you have at some stage received an email, probably from someone who sits on another floor, or a couple of offices down from you tearing you a new asshole because of something they have imagined you to have done or not done.

What’s happened to professionalism?

Instead of “Dear Madam, you have regrettable forgotten to give me your report blah blah” No, no, people now think it’s more appropriate to send you an email saying “You stupid ingrate, you have forgotten that report that I should have been doing myself but decided to delegate to you rather because I’d rather be embroiled in an exciting game of mine sweeper whilst scratching my hairy arse, and now I don’t have it, now what? Idiot, you should go get yourself a job in McDonalds, I hope you get hit by a bus!!”

Hmmm, maybe a bit of overkill on the example there. If not, wow, what company are you working for?!

Again, no one would ever send me an email like that because I will fucking cut you! I live by Jailhouse rules! I’ll shank you with my toothbrush and stab your report on the bristly side!

So imagine my pleasure at receiving a complaint saying my agents are unhelpful, incompetent and lazy. Neither which is true mind you, they’re the hardest working people I know and if any one deems this untrue please see above statement about jail house rules.

Soap on a Rope at dawn!!

And if it would please my company (which it won’t and I’d get my arse fired) I’d happily send back a reply:

Dear Sir /Madam

Thank you for your complaint. After a lengthy investigation I find your accusation to be untrue. I also think you’re a  bit of a turd. So kindly

Always be polite, or atleast ensure that you’re writing cheques that your face can cash!

I was feeling a little low yesterday. Partly due to the fact that the pump up hydraulic thingy on my chair was at it’s all time low, and I was way too lazy and it was way too hot to reach my hand down to pump my chair back up to a respectable boobs-no-longer-resting-on-your-desk height, and also partly due to the fact that I haven’t mentioned the word “bum” in a post since the 80’s (…well since 2 days ago).

But by Thors nutsack, the angels (Dalekins) smiled down upon me and sent me a news story this morning about a Croatian guy who has been arrested for seeking medical attention after getting an 11cm anti-aircraft shell stuck up his butt during a sex game, after clearly hoping to get “blown” to bits (sorry – that was lame – no it wasn’t – it was brilliant – mwahahahaha)

That just cracks me up! (<– Gerrit, “crack”..? Kekeke I keel me) *duh duh doooosh* (That’s a drum roll by the way, because I am funny as poop!)

Now what happened to a good ol’ game of snakes and ladders! Or a bit of “naked-and-covered-in-Vaseline” Twister if you’re feeling a little frisky eh? EH?

Ok wait, to be fair, playing Twister covered in Vaseline might just end you up in the emergency room with a torn arse.  Slippery little suckers we become when doing ‘The dog eating a crane” yoga pose on a lubricated piece of plastic. Don’t try this at home kids. As a matter of fact kids why would you even CONSIDER this game, seriously?  This is not an age appropriate toy! This is for Adults! Run off and go shoplift something!

Sakessss… the youth of today.

Anyhoo… digress.

So because I know you’re terribly bored and need some cheering up on this Friday, I have put together a collage of arses for you ! I know, I know, I am awesome like that, and as soon as I can convince PayPal to allow people to pay me in Possums (because they are fuck off cool) I will let you know and you can pay me back!

This guys colon clearly has a fantastic idea!! (Ye me too, how about next time you don’t go shoving a light-bulb up our butt!)

Mannnn, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall with this phone call!

Douchebag: Hi, is this Joe’s Locksmiths?

Joe: It is indeed young man, how may I help?

Douchebag: I’ve locked myself out of my house and need my key retrieved.

Joe: No problem, where are your keys currently. I need to know what tools to bring with.

Douchebag: Bring lube…. and a long tweezer.

Joe: If I had R5 for everytime someone said that to me!

Indiana Jones the intrepid explorer switched on his flashlight in the hopes of shedding some light on that awful smell in this dark tunnel.  Clearly something had died!

Way to recycle!!

This is NOT what your mother had in mind when she told you to pack your toys away!

This completes your arse collage!

Have an awesome Friday, and remember if you haven’t voted for me for the SA Blog Awards 2011 yet, you’ll be shagged by a rabid marsupial who will then kick you in the goons once done.

Hugs.

Great Odin’s sack!!! Someone needs to buy me one of these please please please!!!

I want the camo one! So I can lie around the house and drink wine shlushies and no one would find me!! It’s genius!!

And look Dalekins, here’s one for you too! 

I will get you a red one, because there’s shit to be done around the house and you need to be easy to spot, and who else do you expect to do it!!

I would, but I’m drinking wine slushies and Oh My fuck, I cant see my legs!!!

*shlurp shlurp*

Please donate to my “Onesie Fund”.  You know you can afford to NOT feed orphans this month – gruel is cheap!.  This is a much more important cause right now!

I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed it!

Isn’t it funny how we tend to change who we are when put in a situation where you feel completely out of your comfort zone?  Just me then? Really? So you’re always “true to yourself and would never shy away from showing the world the real you…” Well then… fuckyouverymuch. Lies all lies.

If I met the queen for example, I know for a fact that I would start talking slower and make a whole lot of effort to really articulate my words more.  This might be due to the fact that on a normal day people cannot understand me.  I have incredibly lazy English, and tend to mumble my sentences with no pauses in between.  No really, I sound like I’m talking through a Darth Vader Mask. Now as much as I would like to blame this on an underdeveloped jaw bone (because my parents clearly couldn’t bonk properly – let’s not even talk about my toes) or on the poor schooling system in South Africa, it has more to do with the fact that I’m just a lazy talker.

BUT with the queen, I’d be rocking the “spot on chaps” and the “good golly have you seen this divine china, isn’t it just darling?” *pinky up while drinking tea* and then I would go into the bathroom, steal her shampoo and take pictures of myself sitting on her toilet pretending to use her monogrammed hand towels to wipe my bum with. (Caption: Who’s your highness now bitchessssssssss!)

As a matter of fact!

But I digress.  Last night Dalekins and I went to a Whisky tasting.

I hate Whisky.  To me I wouldn’t know the difference if you put a glass of whisky and a glass of meths (lovingly filtered through some mouldy bread) in front of me and asked me which was the Whisky. (Dalekins, a judge would never give you grounds for a divorce on this.  Sorry buddy.)

BUT I am up for any new experience and happily toodled off expecting to feel like a complete twat not knowing a thing, surrounded by connoisseurs talking about distilleries and the grain of the barrels and how it heightens the flavours… blergh. *stabs myself in the eye*

So anyway I got there, sat at a beautifully done up swanky table and prepared to put on the act! I know what I’m doing here people! I LIVE, BREATH, DIE Whisky!

*picks up glass*

*swivels the golden liquid around*

*raises it to the light*

*brings it to my nose*

*sniff* (tries not to gag)

*takes a tiny sip*

*nods head all swarmy like*

Me: “Beautiful flavours, I wonder how long this has been in the barrel for, and clearly it’s been in a sherry cask for many years, I can just taste the dark chocolate”

When an amazing thing happens!

The swanky Whisky pro who has 25 years experience, a lovely Scottish accent who I assume is about to make us all feel like the great unwashed masses, walks up to us and says “People let’s not be pretentious about this, no need to tell me when you taste the whisky that to you, it smells like the oak pews in Saint Paul’s Cathedral and smells of Scottish virgins working the fields in the Highlands, if it smells like apples, just say it smells like apples!”

Me: “Oh thank fuck for that”

*undoes the top button of my pants to let my belly out* *slouch*

*knocks back the glass*

Me: Burp!