So Nick felt last week’s rant went so well he’d like to vent s’more. Take it away, Mr. Christowitz…
Hello everyone. I’m back. Last week’s column went well. I was only personally attacked by a few individuals. Guys, this shit isn’t serious. If you take my brain goo’s spillage seriously, it’s time for you to get a hobby. And no, smoking a dooby and vegetating, mouth agape, in front of your television doesn’t count. For the rest of you who read this for entertainment, here are a few more things that grate my tits.
White people crossing the road
If you live in Johannesburg, I’m sure you’ve witnessed this. The panic-stricken eyes darting from left to right. The awkward run-walk. The epic leap for the curb. It’s all just too ridiculous. The worst part is, I’m guilty of it and so are 60% of my friends… and that’s only because the other 40% of my friends are black. It’s time to change this. I’m sick of feeling like a fool. Cross the road with some fucking dignity from now on. Time it right, walk with confidence, and instantly win 100 street-cred points. It’s that easy. When you feel like you’ve got it down, you can start getting creative with it. Add a swagger limp if you like. Or do a little Michael Jackson twist just before you reach the curb. And if you’re not going to make a fucking effort just ask a street vendor to assist you across the road like an old lady.
*disclaimer: I will not be held liable for any headlines along these lines: “3 pedestrians dead. Witness claims they were moon-walking across Beyers Naude”.
Mall Dawdlers
If you know me well enough you’ll know that I always mean business. I eat fast. I smoke fast. I drink fast. I’m impatient with people. I’m impatient with myself. I’m blunt and to the point. I find it hard to relax. The list goes on. So you can only imagine my hatred for malls and the mall dawdler. Why in Christ’s name would you go to the mall and walk at snail’s pace?! It’s bad enough that, like most educated, semi-cultured people, I despise malls, but to have to put up with these people on top of that? Pure torture. If you’re old, crippled, demented, or a mouth-breather, you’re excused. But why any able-bodied and able-minded person finds the need to crawl through the miserable gauntlets of shops and shit restaurants is beyond me. Who cares if it’s your first time there and you don’t know where you’re going? Pretend like you do! That’s what I do! Just keep missioning. When you realize you’ve gone the wrong way, whip out your phone, pretend to read, then quickly turn and mission the other way. The only people who have any right to “ooh” and “aah” at every shopfront are people from the Karoo. Those poor bastards didn’t even know Mandela had been released until they heard he was in hospital a few months ago. For them, Sandton City is like motherflippen Nirvana.
Girls in high Heels. (who shouldn’t be in high heels)
Ok don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore a girl in heels, provided she can pull the whole look off. It gives most girls that extra bit of confidence to look in the mirror and say “fuck yeah! I look good tonight”. And I find that incredibly attractive. On the opposite end of the scale we have girls who really shouldn’t be wearing high heels. Look, I know I’m a scrawny guy, therefore I don’t wear vests. I have sticky-outty ears, therefore I don’t wear hats. It’s easy. I’m completely comfortable with all of this. I know my limits. But when I see a girl teetering around the club, perched atop a pair of heels that she knows she can’t pull off, let alone walk in, I’m left to wonder why some girls don’t know theirs. It is so easy to spot someone who isn’t comfortable in what they’re wearing, so why make yourself a target for judgmental people like me? And don’t give me this bullshit of “some girls don’t care what people think”. That’s utter crap! If she didn’t care what she looked like when she went out, then why would she be wearing heels? Certainly not for their comfort factor? So ladies, if you’re duck-footed like I am, please learn to walk straight before you give those leopard-print heels a go.
Bear Grylls haters
Let me start by saying Bear definitely does not require my protection from haters. The guy is so goddamn manly. He doesn’t give a crap. He was in the army. He broke his back when he fell out of a chopper. A year later he became the youngest man to scale Everest. He drinks his own piss. He eats bugs that would probably kill any of us. Pretty much the only thing I can criticize him on is his name, and that wasn’t even his choice… because if it was, his name would be Naturefucker McHardasnails. People seem to fault him on his show – Ultimate Survival – and I don’t get why. It’s not meant to be real. OBVIOUSLY there’s a fucking camera crew and director following him around and the route has been planned in advance… what are you?! Fucking 6-years-old? The show’s main aim (aside from making a gazzillion megadollars) is entertainment and education. Greenies also moan about how he constantly punches animals in the face. Listen, he’s out there killing the odd animal to “survive”. These are wild animals, not the caged and beaten crap we eat. These animals have had their fun frolicking through the meadows… until Bear catches up with them. And I guarantee you, if Bear hadn’t stomped on that bunny’s head, a hawk would have peeled its skin off 5 minutes later. Now, I’m one of those people who knows they wouldn’t fare well in the wild. In fact, I’ve come to terms with several imagined scenarios that involve me stranded in the desert or on an iceberg. And let me tell you, they basically all end in me just fapping until I wither away. But Bear has given me hope. So when that day comes, and I’m sitting on the crapper in the plane, and I can hear the chaos outside as we head towards the Andes like a fucking dart, I’ll find solace in the fact that I’ve watched enough Ultimate Survival to survive almost anywhere. Except the Sahara. I missed that episode. Damnit.
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That’s me. Done for now. My keyboard is on fire and It’s the weekend! I got some malls to storm through and some people to laugh at.