Tomorrow I shall flaunt my new gait, with pride; brought about by my now pendulous testicles.
I’ve definitely just earned my wet weather motorcycling badge.
Welcome to Cape Town, in winter; where the roads resemble rinks, your bike is sailed, rather than ridden and it is entirely possible to obtain your marine license whilst on wheels.
“The closer you are to death, the more alive you feel.”
This ad’ appeared in a 1960 motorcycling magazine…
I’m really confused. I have not the faintest idea what they’re marketing.
Old VWs have enriched every facet of my life. They’ve contributed meaningfully as transport, as social connectors, as educational instruments, as travel enablers and as accommodation, both at events & at the drive-in, to say the least.
Now I have discovered a new form in which their culture has come to assist me; as a cooking utensil.
My pan is rather warped, you see, which means that it both resists static placement and cooks woefully. However, with the nifty addition of a Beetle, both of these problems are overcome, stylishly & affordably.
This handy tip was brought to you by Extreme Bachelor; your online bacheloring guide.
Vrooom! Vroooooooom! Vroom! Vrrrroooom! Vvroommm! Vrooooom! Vrooom! Vrooooom! Vroom! Vrrrroooooom! Vvroooooommm! Vrooom! Vrooom! Vrooom! Vroom! Vrrrrooooom! Vvroommmm! Vroooomm! Vrooom! Vrooooooooom! Vroom! Vrrrroooom! Vvroommm! Vrrooomm! Vrooom! Vroooooooomm! Vroom! Vrrrroooom! Vvroommm! Vrooom! Vrooom! Vroooooom! Vroom! Vrrrroooom! Vvroommm! Vrooom! Vrooom! Vrooooooooom! Vroom! Vrrrroooom! Vvroommm! Vrooom! Vrooom! Vrooooom! Vroom! Vrrrroooom! Vvroommm! Vrooom! …
That is the minimum number of throttle blips needed to get in or out of a parking bay, by a Cape Town Hondnaai Tjooner with a kief cut-coil suspensie & groot poephol xzorst.
Life at Nic’s…
May I present, my (mal)nourishment store.
The Cream Soda bottle is water bottle #3.
Not shown, due to default reasons: Mrs. Ball’s chutney, salt, sugar, tea & rusks, i.e.: ‘the staple stable’.
…and all of those millions of women spend a fortune on fancy diets, trying to stay thin. Pshaw.
At first, there was Survivor. Then came Big Brother. Now, it’s time for… Extreme Bachelor.
Some people truly do lend credence to the argument for abstinence.
Is this a suitable retort for a slanderous bovine with a devious disposition?
“You, mad’am, should have been tied off and disposed of in a tissue, along with the garbage.”
I believe so.
People with progeny…
To avoid your spawn suffering the displeasure of being told, oft & repeatedly, to fornicate thineselves elsewhere, please ensure that the first word & phrase that they use, and understand, is:
2. Thank you.
To the rest, who have yet to comprehend the magnitudinous implications of these fundamental responses, sit and rotate, you rude halfwits.
I used to think that I was fairly smart, until I walked into a motorcycle store, looking for a helmet…
‘The Helmet Guy’ profiled me from two aisles away, declaring, confidently, that I was definitely (only) a Medium. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been daydreaming so much in class in my time at school…
The parallel conundrum in this equation was that I had recently bought a set of gloves, for which I’d been fitted with a pair labelled as ‘XL’.
It worries me so, in a philosophical manner, that I am so dimensionally-irrationally equipped in the bodily component spectrum.
My jacket is an XXXL, but the parachutist manner in which it envelopes my person whilst upon my motorised steed, calms and soothens my upset, greatly.
Given some further thought, my unmentionables are a ‘L’, my trousers are always half a foot too short, my shirts are sail-like in their span, in order to fit my neck suitably and I seem to wear a shoe size that has escaped the range of seemingly all known cobblers.
By all accounts, I should look like The Elephant Man.
Happily though, I can report that I look as ‘normal’ as anyone I’ve come across and at least several people and two delightful canines love me no end.
An unruly Std. 3. pupil has been reported as contravening the laws of decency in parliament.
Image courtesy of MG.co.za
Fear not though, for whilst from the outside, Nkandla, the nation of the state, and home to the harem, the public private pool, several goats, a number of pigs, some farm animals, illiteracy, abject poverty & a clearly backwards mentality, may point to the state of the nation as a dire one, it, like its more notable ancestor, the once-formidable Berghof — now a lovely forest, reclaimed by forces greater than it; where many animals romp freely, frolic gayly and piss knowingly — shall return from whence it came; the ground. With time & patience, comes a full bladder.