Some people are more imaginative than others. Which is why you shouldnt clutch your dictionary so close to your chest, as it can slow the heart down from boredom. This, people, is the funnest thing since googling your own name. Here are a few priceless ones:

GINGERS
"People" with red hair, freckles and pale skin. Mostly subitudes to poke fun at if there is no one fat about. The hatred for Gingers started back in the 8th to 11th century when the Vikings went around all of europe kicking everyones arse. Due to them coming form Scandinavia where Gingers decent from and the fact that they were Ginger themselves (e.g. Eric the Red), everyone started to hate Gingers. This hatred made Gingers unattactive, which is why most of them hardley get any sex, (e.g. Queen Elizabeth I of England, the virgin queen). Interestly enough Eric the Red's son later went on to discover North America. So you fuckins yanks cant say nothing! Plus it is a fact that Gingers purchase over 70% of the sunblock market. In conclusion Gingers will be exstict in the next few centuries, some of you might think its too long or better later than never, but we should remember the positive of being ginger, ill leave you to try and work out some.

Bloke 1 "The sun, risin at this time"
Bloke 2"Nah, its just the Vikings in the distance coming to invade us"
Bloke 1 "Fucking Gingers"

WOOT

Before ALL of that, woot was a happy noise made by certain Monkees and Guinea Pigs when they are happy or content. Net nerds like to take credit for creating stuff that they only adopted. But I know better. I've heard those monkets. And they're happy. woot.

Kristy walks in the door from a long day of work and her Guinea Pig, thrilled to see her, asks "Woot? Woot woot? Woot."


COCKTAIL
1. The tail of a Cock, or Rooster.
Ex: So I was running, trying to catch that chicken, and I grabbed its cocktail and it turned around and pecked me.

AMERICA
The country everyone hates until they need food, military protections, etc.

Ah yes. A wonderful Saturday spent in the library wandering through the seemingly endless and uniform shelves...looking for something to clarify Sheila Cussons' poetry. At the moment its gotten to the point where I don't want to see another literary book or poetry anthology in my entire life. I am sick and tired of all this pretention...of people being hailed "the most influential poet" or "most prolific writer of their time" . I fail to see how one person could garner so much acclaim simply by writing something that, to the naked eye, seems pretty straight forward and uninteresting.

van Wyk Louw (who, we find out now, was a total player and cheated on his wife) (and he wasnt even that attractive) , Opperman and Jonker being the prime examples here. Jonker's poetry was lyrical, beautiful and at times sad. van Wyk Louw's was largely uninterpretable. Opperman refused to make use of poetic oddities, leaving it terribly plain. Im not saying they we'rent good writers. Im just saying that people are taking this poetry things wwaaayyy to seriously.

This reminds me of Zoolander, where they interview Hansel and he says "I like Sting. I don't listen to his music, but the fact that he's making it...i like that."

That's how I think of the poetic world. People love them because they're poets. Not because they move people with their poetry.

What are the odds that two pigeons ("kransduiwe" in this case) fly into your room and sit around waking you up with their incessant noise? Small, you'd say. You'd be wrong.

For the past 4 days these two pigeons have flown in at 7 in the morning, and sat on my cupboard or chair. Thus forcing me to vacate my wonderful warm bed (and interesting dreams) to shoo them. The truly weird thing is they fly up during the day and sit on my window sill outside to check whether the window is open (literally : they walk around to the window in question and then, if its closed, they fly away)

I have no idea what the hell is going on. Its not like there's any form of food in my room anyhow.
Maybe I should just give up, name them and let them be my pets. Or I could tell them that I want something more permanent with them. That should send 'em running for the hills :P

Hola Bloggerosos!

Ive been absent for long but its just because Stell Uni had holidays and the internet cafe (my second home) closed shop for some time. But like chunky cheap jewellery and Mariah Carey, im making a comeback. (Even tho some shiteous movie wasnt the reason for my downfall)

Anyhoo. After spending a few days in solitude , talking to my alternate personalities, Lola, Klaus M, and Dr Daisy, I decided it was time to take a well deserved break at some relatives' place in Cape Town. So Friday afternoon I heard that my cousin has (this year) gotten provincial for both cricket and rugby and he's 13 years old. Seeing that none of the girls in our family are very sporty (and we are ALOT of girls) , I guess its only fair that he be blessed with an overload.
Also heard that they had gotten a puppy!! Named Jonty. *sigh* Again, this sports-crazy family is a far cry from my loonybin tribe back in the good old E.P.

So I spent the better part of the weekend mothering the little runt, because as Tate can tell you (because I was frittering about the thing in texts to him) Im mad about it. I mean...look at this:


I rest my case.


I'll blog more often now. Hope youre all good! And I missed reading about all your adventures and philosophies :)