An Beautiful Poem. In honour of Horrorfest ‘09.

“Bite Me (The Rabies Song)”

(With apologies to Flight of the Conchords.)

Come on if you think you're hard enough.

“How much is that doggie in the window?”

It’s free.

It’s got rabies.

It bit me.

Now I’ve got rabies.

If you come into my shop I’ll bite you and give you rabies.

So come into my shop if you want to get rabies.

Come on if you think you’re hard enough.

Free rabies with every dog.

It’s a once in a lifetime offer.

 

Man, I’ve got a headache.

Say, could you hand me that tall glass of water?

I’m getting kinda thirsty in here.

And while I’m foaming at the mouth, would you

Hand me that razor on the desk?

No sense in wasting good foam.

And if you keep annoying me, I could slit my wrists.

My god you’re annoying.

If I could still move my arm I’d come over there and slap you.

Wait, does my arm look hairy to you?

It wasn’t this hairy this morning.

My palms weren’t so hairy this morning, either.

Hmmm. Maybe my parents were right.

Perhaps I’m turning into a werewolf.

If I were a werewolf, I’d come over there and slap you.

I can’t believe I got rabies working in a pet store.

I can’t believe I’m still working in a pet store.

It was supposed to be a summer job.

Say, is it getting hot in here?

God, I could really use a drink about now.

Could you pass me another glass of water?

There’s no more water?

Damn. Just my luck.

You want to give me a what?

You want to give me a shot?

Sorry, I don’t drink spirits.

Say, you wouldn’t have any rabies shots?

I dunno – vodka, Tabasco and a lime wedge, I guess.

Ha ha.

Wait, no, not frothy enough.

Let’s see.

Something with egg white.

Beer is pretty frothy…

Don’t you have any beer?

Nevermind, I brought my own froth.

Who knew rabies gives good head?

Er, wait, no, I don’t think I’ll drink that.

Is that Tabasco?

Only, it looks like diarrhoea.

I don’t think I’ll have that drink now.

What’s this? You think I’ve got en… syphilitis?

And my dog … my dog has it too?

You’re saying my dog has syphilis?

God, who gave my dog syphilis?

Someone fucked my dog, and now my dog has fucking syphilis.

You people make me sick!

Oh wait, what’s that?

You mean I’ve got … inflammation of the brain?

That’s a relief.

It explains the talking groundhog, at least.

Ha ha, just kidding. Nothing explains a groundhog that’s as big as a house.

It’s not just my brain that is swelling…

It’s all getting a bit hard to swallow.

But who’s gonna take care of my dog now?

Oh, he’s stopped spasming.

Twenty minutes ago he was humping my leg.

Then he got rabies and died.

My dog got rabies from humping my leg.

What the fuck is up with that?

Come into my shop and hump my leg if you want to get rabies.

Or you can come over here and bite me.

Yeah.

Talking to the Dead (Beat)

Remember that guy on TV, used to have a show on SABC3 where he pretends to commune with one of the guest’s dead relatives/friends/pets? Ever wonder what happened to him? (Except, you know, going into the interminable rerun loop that local TV loves so much.)

No doubt you’ve been lying awake nights, wishing, praying, and sobbing for an answer. Well, wonder no more. Due to the kind of snafu perpetuated daily by the postal service, we accidentally received a transcript of the last (unaired) show.

It starts with the host already annoyed. According to a note attached to the transcript, ratings were down, he’d just been served with divorce papers, he’d lost money on a large investment, his bank loan had been denied, and his sponsors were about to repossess his teeth.

Read it and weep, lovers of quality television. If only the cowards in TV Land had had the guts to show this life-changing episode.

Making me cross all over

LONG CREDIT SEQUENCE: over soft focus shots of the host looking pensive, the ANNOUNCER describes the life of a kid who talks to imaginary people, is picked on by others, and then grows up to annoy the whole planet.

Title Card: SPONSORED BY THE ZUCCHINI BROS., CHICAGO

FADE IN:

From left, THE GHOST WHISPERER walks onto center stage to the sound of SCATTERED APPLAUSE. Impatient, he stands in front of TONIGHT’S AUDIENCE and waits for the FOUR SYCOPHANTS HIRED BY THE STUDIO to stop applauding like idiots. After a beat, he waves them to silence.

THE GHOST WHISPERER:
(visibly annoyed)
Right. I’m getting a name. Gene – Geoff -
Geoffrey – George – Georgina – Genevieve -
Geppetto – Germaine?

(Sensing he’s losing the audience, he changes tack)
Gerry – Gerald – Geraldine – JAMES?
Jane – Janice – Jamal – Jason – Jasper – Jade?
Joan – Joni – Jameson – Jared – Jacob – Jaden -
Jarvis – Janet – Joshua – Joss – Josephine – Jo-Ann?
Joanna? Jocelyn? Jacosta? Jordan? Joy? Joyce?
Julia? Juliet? Julie? Juno? Justine? Jean-Paul? Jesus!
Jeremy? Jimbo? Ginseng? Joachim? Joel? Jules? Julius?

(desperate now)
Justus? Jethro! Jillian!? Jennifer!?! Jim? Joe?
Jehoshaphat? Joseph? JOHN?

No one has put their hands up yet.

THE GHOST WHISPERER:
(apoplectic)
Oh, give me a break! ONE of you inbred bastards
must know SOMEBODY named John!

(Beat.)

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:
Well, my husband is called John…

The Ghost Whisperer turns to her, gawping.

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:
… But he’s not dead, he’s sitting right here.

She points to a BURLEY REDNECK, sitting on her left.

JOHN:
(grumpily)
I didn’t even want to come here in the first place.
I hate this [CENSORED] show.

THE GHOST WHISPERER:
Fine.

The host takes out a gun and SHOOTS JOHN, then turns back to the female audience member.

THE GHOST WHISPERER:
John says hi.

John, dying in his chair, gasps for breath.

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:
But he’s not dead yet!

The Ghost Whisperer raises the gun again and shoots John TWO MORE TIMES.

THE GHOST WHISPERER:
John says thanks a lot, you stupid bitch.
Now shut the hell up.

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:
(sobbing with joy)
That’s my Johnny!

In the back row, an INBRED REDNECK kid wearing a checked shirt, baseball cap and overalls raises his hand shyly.

KID IN CHECKERED SHIRT:
Um. My cousin Jay died just last week…

The Ghost Whisperer looks at the Redneck contemptuously, then unloads the rest of the bullets in his head.

ANNOUNCER:
Join us next week for more…

The host turns the gun towards the camera, somewhere off to the left, empties the rest of his gun, and the screen goes blank.

Title card: “The End.”

Election ‘09: YTAH weighs in

Once upon a time, an upcoming election was both a daunting prospect and a moral imperative. Which party should you vote for? Which set of politicians had South Africa’s interests most at heart? Where would they lead our country, and who would benefit and who would suffer?

A Letter of Resignation

To my boss

Regarding our amiable conversation this morning. I believe you mentioned that I arrived late. Oh, was I late this morning? Thank you for letting me know! Gosh, you’re useful. A talking human clock. So that’s why you get the big money. You can tell what the time is and when I arrive? How very informative. Thanks – thank you for telling me that I was late, as opposed to being on time, or early, or in outer space. Wow. The summit of human accomplishment, you are. Your logic circuits alone must weigh a ton. (Pity the wiring’s a bit rusty, but I suppose disuse will do that.)

REVIEW: FRIDAY THE 13TH [2009]

[4 out of 10.]

From the same team who brought you the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre comes the 12th, rather pedestrian installment of the Jason franchise. For anyone who hasn’t seen the original film, a belated spoiler warning – albeit one that should have come from the filmmakers themselves. The new remake/reboot begins with a tedious prologue that gives away the ending of the original film, so if you never got around to watching it and you want to leave that option open, you should perhaps show up 5 minutes late.

Not that anything in this film would make you want to watch another one, except perhaps to wash the distaste out of your mouth. The film starts with a group of college kids on a trip into the forest to find a weed plantation of camping trips past. Being a Jason film, they set up camp near Crystal Lake and in so doing disturb the peace-loving ways of Jason, he of the hockey mask and machete, so don’t get too attached to them.

CRIME: Legalize it and it will go away.

Mary Wanna, ek het jou lief.

Lots of people in this country complain about crime. But let’s face it: we actually like some of the crime. There is some crime, for example, that you only get around here. And yeah, I think that we ought to, you know, be proud of what we’ve achieved: we’ve given the world whole new kinds of crime – we’re famous for it. And that’s an amazing accomplishment, if you think about it. And I think about it a lot, especially when I’m enjoying some of the finest crime in the world.

Welcome to 2000-and-Why-Do-We-Give-A-Fuck.

2009 American Inauguration Special.

Welcome back fuckers, and say hello to the 21st of January 2009, the first day that the world woke up to an African-American running the White House. In my previous post, I mentioned Barack Obama’s election victory in the U.S. as, well, one of the positive changes we could look forward to in 2009. This was just over three weeks ago, when 2009 still seemed like such a promising year, full of potential and sweetness yet to be savoured.

But having been back at work for just over two weeks, I realize that my optimism may have been a tad premature.

Movies to Remember 2008 By

I’ve written a lot about movies this year, both for Africans and for other sites. I’ve attended film festival after interminable film festival, attended preview upon preview, and that’s apart from renting movies, watching TV series on DVD, and paying to see films on the big screen.

So you’d think I’d have an easy time deciding which films to recommend and which to deride, but the honest truth is that I can’t even remember most of them. Sure, there were some great films on circuit this year (or were there?), but frankly, who gives a shit? When Hollywood churns out innumerable multi-million dollar movies every month, with nary a break or a modicum of sense between them, it devalues the whole enterprise. Only more so if so much of the output is total dreck, like Love Guru or Meet Dave or The Mummy 3.

Instead, each new product begins to flow into itself and into the others, like the colours in a children’s water painting, and soon it all turns to muck. Which, frankly, is the point at which a soulless husk of stupidity like Beverly Hills Chihuahua can make it to the number one spot on the box office – not only Stateside, but also on our shores. My fellow Africans, I ask you: what the fucking fuck?

So rather than combing through the year’s release schedules, trying to find one worthwhile movie, I’ve simply thought long and hard (okay, 15 minutes) about the movie experiences that stick out in my memory.

Best of ‘08 : Putting the “Festive” back into “Festive Season”

A new fan of metal.

I’ve never been much of a metal fan, but I’ve been introduced to a wide selection over this last year, courtesy of the X-Fest and the HorrorFest, where I scored some nifty freebies by attending every goddamn screening possible. Thanks to said freebies, and lots of time spent hanging out with Pinvictor, I’ve discovered that I actually like metal – as long as it’s melodic. By the same token, I find that while I listen to both classical music and metal, I simply can’t abide it when they’re combined. Call it misplaced purism, but it bugs the shit out of me. Female vocals are okay, Midnattsol, but I draw the line at a full-on orchestra and operatic vocals (we’re looking at you, Nightwish and Hollenthon).

So counting down from 10, here is my list of the best new albums from 2008. I recommend you enqueue all of these albums and press Shuffle, for a DIY festive season mix that kicks the shit out of your average pop idol, waits for them to recover and then kicks the shit out of them again.

Can you believe this shit? Part II.

People come up with some pretty outlandish explanations to justify their actions and beliefs. Regardless of how illogical, distasteful, or ridiculous it may be, some jackass will try to sell you their particular brand of horseshit even as the SWAT vans pull up to the curb and helicopters begin to circle overhead.

Take religious people. Believers from various belief systems and denominations will happily insist that they possess incontrovertible, scientific proof of God’s existence. Of course, if you press them for more evidence than “aren’t flowers pretty” and “what are the odds” etc., you should be prepared for all kinds of outrageous rationalisations. Fortunately for you, we here at africans.co.za are logic fascists, and we’ve put together this handy “Fuck You Religious Whackos” guide, which we are giving you access to entirely free of charge.

“It came out of the sky!”

Believers – or as we like to call them around here, “fucktards” – may try to fob off the fundamental questions of existence with this old stand-by: “You can’t see the wind, but you can see its effect, right? Ja, well, God’s like that.” As if that explains anything. What does that even mean? God is hot air which rises, thereby creating a vacuum and pulling in cold air behind it? Why does that mean I’m not allowed to eat pork, or wear clothes of mixed fibres, or covet my neighbour’s ass? I mean, have you seen my neighbour’s ass? I’d tap that! And then I’d fuck it, but that’s just me.