Guess who’s back?

10 Jun

It ain’t Michael Jackson if that’s what you were thinking. Or that boyfriend that cheated on you, maxed out your credit cards and ran your dog over. Or your dignity. It’s me, your friendly neighbourhood…person. But boy, do I have a ton of stories to tell.

As you could probably tell, unless you’re as slow as half my grade, I haven’t been posting for a while. A long while. But I’ve had some life experiences and at 17, I’m ready to fill out my shoes as the next Oprah. Starting next Wednesday, I’ll be posting more funny stories from my life. And you will laugh. Or else. See you next Wednesday!

Goodier, Moi Mentil Mind

You Dhont know my situation

15 Jun

Three of the subjects I do at school are Maths, Physics and Accounting; I’m the typical jock. And how things went last term…they went. To start on a high positive note, I got a really good Maths mark, meaning I can essentially get automatic admission into university if I keep it up (that’s what he said). Last term, we also had parent teacher meetings that I didn’t go to, because I wasn’t invited. You know you’re super popular when you don’t get invitations for school events. But one of my classmates went and she said that her parents walked out pissed and wanting to drive-by my house, because for their entire meeting, my Maths teacher used my marks and I as reference for what they should aim for. It’s nice to have your teachers rave about you, but even I would kill myself if I was in my friend’s shoes. But still, though. Praise is praise.

Then comes Physics (ha, ha). I’m in the top Physics class, so my teacher expects high 90%s. Let’s call her Mrs Dhont. Usually, she explains Physics in fun ways, for example: 1) She explained uniform velocity by saying if a bird had diarrhea then the spaces between poos would be the same 2) She explained the dissolution process as a Romeo and Juliet love story with aliens. But the worst part of being in her class is that she reads out your assessment marks to the entire class and if you do poorly, she goes through your test with everyone and airs your laundry. Fun! So before we get our marks back, we hold a prayer circle and afterwards, there’s a psychologist available for those that get below 70%. Thankfully, I just made it.

Then there’s accounting. I think accounting is super fun. It’s like going to Disneyland and talking to the depressed staff that tell you to stay in school so you don’t end up like them. I usually do really well in accounting. Let’s call my accounting teacher Mr Osche. Last term, we did a practice test that I got 90 something on. And before he read my mark, he said, “Now you know that <insert my name> Is one if the stars of our class.”

“Like me, sir?” Asked a poor-performance student.
“No,” replied Sir, “you’re one of our disastars.”

And though we laughed, we definitely weren’t laughing when we got our real test results last term. I got a B-. Then he went around the class asking how much effort, out of ten, we’d put in. When he got to me, I burst out laughing and held up half a finger.

But this is nothing compared to what happens in Sweden. I sit next to someone in English who’s from there and she says that in Sweden, you need a college degree to be a waitress. They get paid 5000 Swedish Krona every month to go to university and they get paid to go to high school, so…
But it’s not like you need a qualification to tell people you don’t have their drink available or to spit into food.

Anyways.
Goodier, Moi Mentil Mind

One of the best nights of my life

9 Jan

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These holidays, my cousins came over and visited, and despite the beginning feels of anxiety, I really enjoyed their stay here.  Here’s a report (ha) of our adventures on one of the best nights of my life. It’s close to midnight, the day before they have to leave, and my older cousin and I are sitting in our bedroom watching television. There’s nothing of interest showing, so we finally turn to ETV and watch the movie showing there. Surprisingly, it’s serious and enthralling and humorous, all at the same time. But it finally goes to break. Then an advert comes on and says, “SMS ‘porn’ to 35050 to unwrap your Christmas present,” and we both burst out laughing. Later on, we’re watching a South African show, and I say, “Why is it that every South African show is set in a township?” “I don’t know, hey?” he replies. “I mean, what do foreigners think when they see one of these shows? That’s probably why they all think we’re starving Ethiopians and live in the wild,” and we both burst out laughing to the point of tears Afterwards, we’re watching another South African show called “Khumbulekhaya”, which is a show that reunites long lost family members with their families and they say, “If you have any information om these people, please contact this number. SMSes cost R1.50.” And he remarks, “Would you really spend that much on someone that you don’t know?” Then the presenter said, “Plaese stay on look out for so-and-so who disappeared from her homestead in 1971.” Needless to say, we burst out laughing. Thanks for reading! Goodier, Moi Mentil Mind P.S. Happy Birthday to my mother:)

Moosick: The Question

2 Jan

Moosik

Hoobligano Pepsis!

The other day I was walking with one of my classmates to English class, and I said that I liked Avril Lavigne’s music, even now. The look on her face was similar to the look I would have gotten had I told her that I’d contracted AIDS by accident while I was trying to get gonorrhea instead (The symptoms can be shockingly similar). Or to the look I would get if I told her that I had both AIDS and Ebola (that’s a death sentence. You might as well just lay in bed and wait for it to come…). So I asked her what type of music she listened to. She said, “EDM, you know…that type of stuff.”

“You don’t qualify to judge my tastes in music when you listen to ‘doof, doof’ music,” I said as we walked into class.

“You listen to music?” said another classmate, staring into my eyes.

Oh…my…crack. (she might as well be on crack)

So I asked her why she’d say something like that  and she said that I don’t look like the type of person tha’ listens to music.?!?! I then spoke to other people and some of my teachers about this and they said the same thing. And then I asked my English teacher what type of music she listens to and she said, “The type that would raise the hairs on the back of your neck.” So when she turned her back, I crossed myself and said, “The power of Christ compels thee!”

Which leads us to…the question: Do I seem the type of person who doesn’t listen to music? If not, what sort of music do you think I listen to?

Goodier, Moi Mentil Mind

Dog darn it—continued

26 Dec

Dog Darn it, 2

Hoobligano pepsis!

Last week I promised to do something very important.

And, unlike so many other people, I tend to keep my promises (most of the time). So, as promised, here are the rest of the stories that Chad and Ryan told me.

Ryan recently played in a cricket match against a school in a bad area (what a horrible pattern). And in the middle of the cricket pitch was the gnarliest thorn bush you can imagine. It was the height of a tall table and, to make things worse, instead of painting the white line in front of the thorn bush, it was painted behind it. So Ryan had to bat in front of it, which resulted in him falling into the bush. Later on in the game, Ryan bowled a foul ball (or whatever they call it) but the ball flew past the midget batsman and hit the wicket. Of course they let the man continue playing. We lost the game.

At another cricket match, Chad was playing, like Ryan, in a bad neighbourhood. He says he saw a vagrant standing against a wall covered in graffiti by “The Rushians” (somebody didn’t pass third grade) at the edge of the pitch. But what was strange about this man was that he broke a beer bottle against the wall and began sharpening it. Right in the middle of the match. Then he broke another one and did the same. Since Chad was fielding, towards the end of the game, the ball rolled towards the man and landed right at his feet.

At another Cricket match, at our school this time, there was a lady who sat in one of the holes that housed our palm trees. Ryan noticed that throughout the match, she kept rocking back and forth, probably out of the nerves. And towards the end of the match she finally fell back, with her chair, into the hole, exposing her pudenda for the world to see. She dies. I joke.

On another day, though, Ryan was home alone with his sister and they were running low on supplies (ha, ha), so they had to restock thus they went to Woolworths or Spar. They arrive at the store and get all the items that they need. All of a sudden, two Rastafarians burst into the store and start singing at the top of their lungs. At the end of it, all they bought was a lemon. The store manager said to Ryan, “Oh, the come every night.” Later on that night, a man with lazy eyes ran into Ryan with his trolley to get to the till. When he got there, he began unpacking the contents of his trolley, like everyone else. But what was strange about this particular scenario was that there was no cashier working at his till…

Chad told me a story that involves one of his family members. His paternal grandpapa was driving past on of the most dangeroux places near the airport, when he was involved in an accident. People around the area contacted emergency services, and the ambulance made its way over to the scene. But when they got there, they found out that Chad’s grandpapa’s false teeth had been stolen.

Then Ryan told me a story about his 56 year old maid who has been working for Ryan’s family since his 20 year old sister was born. He says that she’s never going to leave, so he’s just waiting for her to die. She’s also afraid of heights, to the extent that she struggles to climb their staircase. And their staircase, for some odd reason, doesn’t have railings, so she goes down on all fours with a broom in hand and stuffs a dustpan into her bra and climbs the stairs with a broom. Ryan says that she once had to sell a memory card to buy a second hand memory card.

So there you go. I’ve kept some stories to myself, but if you want me to, I could persuade Ryan and Chad to let me publish more of their stories. Let me know in the comments.

Goodier, Moi Mentil Mind.

Dog Darn it!

19 Dec

Dog Darb it Hoobligano Pepsis! In Afrikaans class, I sit next to two of the funniest people on the planet: Chad Newman and Ryan Moore. And they’ve both told me some of the best true stories EVER! But before we begin, there might be some people out there that would be offended by the following content (weaklings(hisses)!), so here’s a warning I came up with when I should have been listening in English class and not wasting my parents’ hard-earned money. Warning:Viewing of the subsequent content is not advisable for those who are squeamish, impressionable, satanists, those with weak and/or infected (why?) or similar to any of the aforementioned parties. If you find the content offensive…deal with it.

There are so many of these stories, that I’ve had to split them between two posts. so check back in next week Friday to get the rest of them.

So in the first story, Chad told me about how his neighbour’s dog tried to jump over the fence between their houses. But, it had it’s leash on when it jumped, so the leash got caught in the fence and the dog ended up hanging itself (is that a world record?). I guess it was just having one of those dog days (ha-ha). To reply to his story, I said, “Well at least it didnt jump from afar and end up skewering itself.”

Although, that too would make for a cool story…(hint, hint)

Then a few days afterwards, Ryan told me a story about how he was cycling and went through this one really bad neighbourhood (Where your tyres are stolen as you drive), and he saw a dead horse lying on the side of the road. Its head had been run over and flattened so much its only discernible features were its teeth. But it gets worse… Besides the horse was a starved dog eating the horse! Talk about being eaten out.

Follow my blog and comment below about this post. And remember to check out the next half of this post next week Friday.

Goodier, Moi Mentil Mind

P.S. From here on forth, I do declare Tuesdays to be “Recycled Joke Mondays” as a tribute to my dear friend Ashleigh Simonis, and all my readers, who waited patiently for this post.

There once was a girl named Swi-Ming Pul

31 Oct

Swi ming

It turns out there actually is a girl named Swi-Ming Pul. First of all, she actually isn’t Asian, which was more of a shocker than a pop star wearing clothes. And secondly, she sounds like one of those oil spill cases (something spilled, but it definitely wasn’t oil…)

But onto more interesting news, I am facing one of the toughest times in my short life. Never has such hardship come my way. It’s so painful, I can’t bring myself to say it. But since I love my readership so much, I’ll do it anyway: we have an assessment for PT.

I know, it sounds worse than it actually is. What we have to do is doggy style paddle and freestyle in the pool. Well, yesterday, most of the girls didn’t bring their swimming costumes as well as some of the girls. All the girls claimed to be having their periods and some even offered to wipe their vaginas to prove their point. Our (fat) P.T. teacher had the audacity to ask if I was having my period as well. (the nerve)

I said no, of course, which prompted one of the other girls to ask why I wasn’t swimming then. So I said, “The fact that I’m black is excuse enough.”

For the rest of the period (haha), I sat next to Tare-Bear discussing how unfair it was that we were going to get marked more harshly than those that swam (the girls because of their periods, me because…just because). First of all, I go to school to learn and become a desk jockey, so what do I need health and fitness for? Secondly, we thought that you had to wear speedoes or a one-piece (depending on the form of your privates), but apparently that’s not true. So I said that I would be coming in burka next week. But if I wear one, I might even consider wearing it in public as a Halloween costume (as if!). I’d probably get skiff looks from everyone, especially the grannies. It seems everybody has Muslims pegged for terrorists. But to be fair, people everywhere have Muslims pegged for terrorists. And, as my priest once said, “Not all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslim.”

That’s coming from a (possibly paedophilic) man of God, so you know it’s true.

Stay on look out for the next post

Goodier,

Moi Mentil Mind.

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