Whooosh! ..crackle ...pop

One day we're gonna get home and the whole bloody place is going to be burnt to the ground.

I just hate the fuckers that burn the veld just for the fuck of it. They have no fuckin comprehension of what disaster can be caused by a not-so-innocent match thrown into the veld. Especially at this time of the year, when the grass is drier than a spinster's fanny.

Twice now we've had veld fires bordering on our property, with the last one coming right up to the northern wall, and literally melting the bathroom windows. Okay, some plastic sheeting we use to cover a hole in the window, but nevertheless, what the fuck. It could easily have ignited the curtains inside, and laid everything we own to waste.

Some locals also use the grass for thatching, but do you think these brainless fuckin arsonists give a fuck that they're also putting their brothers out of work? I don't fuckin think so.

Let nature take care of business. If it's meant to burn it will burn. Otherwise keep your arsonist depravings for the braai, for fuck sakes.



Cheers!

Born to Porn

I read on a blog how this woman was getting worried about the amount of porn her boyfriend was watching. He’d be up in the early hours of the morning and late in the evening, while she was supposedly asleep, and surf porn sites. She wrote that he was virtually obsessed, and he would get defensive whenever she mentioned it to him.

After confronting him about it over a short period of time, he eventually ‘normalised’ until he no longer surfed porn sites at all. She was actually frightfully worried about his ‘deviant’ tendency, and asked fellow bloggers to comment on the subject. I’m not going to go into the comments, suffice to say that this blog server has an 80/20, female to male ratio of bloggers.

Personally I see no harm in people watching or reading Porn.
It is Porn, as seen from a female perspective, that I have a problem with. Some women feel the reason why their better half watches porn as an inadequacy on their part. Maybe I don’t give him what he wants; maybe he wants women with bigger breasts, or perhaps younger women. Blah de fuckin blah.

Whatever the reasons for their thinking, I’m going to tell you the secret, so the few women that actually read this fucked up blog can go home tonight, and relax, knowing that all is well with their hubbies, and that he’s not a deviant sexual predator, or kinky leather-and-bondage freak.

Apart from a small percentage of men whom enjoy sex of a ‘deviant’ nature or crave for “The kinkier the better” –pleasure zones, the majority of us just love woman, and everything they consist of. In flesh that is. I’m not going to elaborate on loving the spiritual and the mind and all that, as the sole purpose of this article is carnal.

Men love women. That is the crux of the matter. We love your bodies, with their small impurities, blemishes and shortcomings. After all, we are not perfect either, and not counting the ‘over-comb of the bald-spot’ bothering some men, we get along with our bodies quite well, and just wish that you would do the same. The reason we watch porn, is… yes you guessed it! There are naked women. Sometimes there are two or three, or even more together, but we don’t care. They’re women and they’re naked.

Since loosing my virginity at an early age, I’ve had the pleasures of an array of women. Some were stunning, some average. A few leaned towards plumb, and some were rather thin, but I enjoyed the sex with each and every one of them. Can they say the same about me? I would have difficulty believing that. Most of our inadequacies as men stem from the high expectations women have of us. Since childhood they’ve been under the spell of the “White Knight Syndrome”. Someday my knight in shining armour will come, etc, etc. Leaving us with a mountain to climb even before we attempt the first kiss.

It therefore goes without saying, that Porn is also a learning curb for us. It’s an easy stepping-stone, without the rejection and mood swings. I can say without a doubt in my mind, that porn has made me a more versatile lover, and will continue to help many a pimply, pubescent boy on his way to manhood.

Ease up a bit. Perverts may click on the photo

Keep your eyes on the back.

Some years back while checking my Boney before a Rally, I realised that the starter was stuffed, and that I would have to make other plans to get there. So I phoned around asking if anyone had space for a pillion and a sleeping bag. The only luck I had was in a car; with a chap I had made friends with at some biker jol.

He was a spindly fellow, with muscular dystrophy and a passion for talking. He has since passed away, and I mean no disrespect to him or his family in writing this.

As luck would have it, my best friend was also going in the same car, due to his Harley giving him uphill as well. So ‘John’ arrived promptly in morning with a jolly demeanour and a cubbyhole full of Mary Jane. I packed my stuff and off we went to collect my buddy. What was meant to be short drive became a bloody nightmare for me, and when we got to my friend’s house I was a wreck, man.

I’m just the worse kind of passenger. I’ve been in many accidents, and I therefore tend to be nervous as hell, especially in a car.
We picked my buddy up, and I asked if I could sit in the back. It was to get no better.

John had the annoying, and downright scary compulsion, of having to look at you while he was talking. Not so bad when you take the odd glimpse at your passenger, but when you look away from the road for sentences at a time, it becomes fuckin piss-in-the-pants goose fleshy. To make matters worse, he would do the same when talking to me. And I’m sitting in the back!

I asked him if he could please look in the mirror, if he absolutely had to look at me. He’d be okay for a minute or two, before resorting back to practically craning his neck to see me. To make matters worse he smoked Jay, while driving, so the more I ask him to chill out with the driving, the bigger joke it would become with him. Eventually I stripped my moer and asked him to pull over.

I walked around to his window and asked him to get out. He obliged, and I told him to get in the back. I drove the rest of the way and back after the Rally.

Thereafter, whenever John picked me up to go somewhere, he would get out of the car and let me drive. We became good friends and he was a great passenger; passing me a shorty, while I concentrated on the road.

Miss ya, buddy.