Our glorious Rainbow Nation, filled to the brim with an eclectic melting pot of kif okes, sweet babes and vuil naais. But there isn’t one singular collective that encompasses all and sundry; for instance I can smell a Joburger from twenty paces, and its not just due to the mandatory 2 cans of Axe body spray that is applied before having dinner in a shopping mall, theres just something about people from all 5 corners of the country that resonates. For a guy who has been thrust into Mzansi magic since birth, there is a definite twang about people from different phone codes, and while Im probably only going to need “911” once half the steroided Stellenboschians have had their morning litre bottle of Klippies and then read this, its still vital that foreigners know what theyre getting into before they visit the doldrums of the new South Africa.
“Chill man, everythings irie, lemme quickly adjust my suspenders on my skinny jeans and I’ll serve you your Jack Black within the next 20 minutes…promise” – That’s your standard reply from one of the 800 000 former advertising students who are actually just too cool for the industry and are taking some time out, working at a Long Street Bar to really “Find themselves”. Inevitably they go on to do a photography course, followed by starting a fashion label, all the while insisting that the smell of reefer promulgating the air is helping the flow of creativity. Just a pity about the fucking dedication. It is like the mountain enforces Einstein’s theory that time is relative, but its not, and you need to stop asking for an extension on your deadline. If its not chilled out film students over-pondering irrelevant philosophy then its, well… sweaty gays. Order a hot dog at 4am at BP at Somerset road, make sure you acquire the “extra saucy” option. Better yet, try it in leather pants. Ive got fifty bucks that says you wont make it to your car without at least 4 of the most fabulously divine he-shes begging for “just a little bit of help changing my tyre in a dark alley”. Capetonians are too relaxed, focus too much on midweek partying and designing flyers for upcoming gigs and need to get a real life, where they aren’t 35 and still taking acid at a bush rave and calling it spiritual.
“Yussis boet, cant believe this whey protein doesn’t come in more than a 20kg tub”. Personally I don’t know how the majority of Vaalies don’t stare at themselves in the mirror and burst into tears. Word of advice, if you have taken so much muscle builder that you can actually see veins in your forehead, you need to eat some broccoli and take a long introspective walk in a garden maze of some kind. They say the economic hub of the southern tip is high energy, fast paced professionalism. True, but the over abundance of aggression, throughout the economic and social spectrum, is enough to make Ghandi take up arms. If fully grown straight men had a championship to see who could wear the tightest fitting t shirt emblazoned with diamante sequins and tiger prints, then Joeys would account for the 1st 2nd and 3rd teams. I have to wonder if they watch Jersey Shore episodes and have a brainwave of summer fashion. Fair enough though, I would probably also be a muscle bound rogue if I had a 5 in 4 chance of being raped every day. The crime rages to a point where no one walks along the streets. A good idea of a night out features extensive tours of elaborate shopping malls, where a first-class view is considered to be the people at the other end of the courtyard youre sitting in, or the giant neon “Sports Scene” above the shop adjacent. Joburgers: Chill out, smoke a joint, and stop fucking invading Plett to catch a glimpse of what the ocean really looks like in December.
I hate three things in life: The idea that Julius might one day be president, people who wear socks in sandals, and a Sharks supporter trying to blame the ref when they lose another crunch match. I have tuned the okes from Joeys about aggression, but try wearing a Province shirt to a Saturday Night at Joe Cool’s after a Sharks loss and there will be gang rape. Its definitely a sign of the times when boardshorts and flippies are acceptable attire in a nightclub. Wipe the humidity out your ears and have maybe a little more to show for 200 years of existence than Shaun Pollock and the highest case of domestic abuse in the country. But leader Jacob hails from this section of jungle. So ya… ummm… there’s that. Way to go. By far the sweetest accent on the planet, the cacophony of a Durbanite bears remnants to a deaf Jamaican on ketamine – “So way kiff bro”. If its not roadside rickshaws its an Indian burning rubber in a modded out ’95 Astra that will get you. Durban poison wasn’t always a weed, in the 70’s it was used by the Apartheid government to nuke all traces of “kiff okes” and sweet “chicks”. They tried to survive, but all you see now are mutated rejects grovelling around a Toxic wasteland. Shame, at least they can claim Stefan Terrblanche. Kif.
See Im half unsure whether I should back away from lambasting farm people like this. “Friendly, Warm and Welcoming” translates into 17th century Stellenboschian dialect as “ a soft poesklap”. More adept at drinking beer, then say… tying your shoes. They have literally tried to get weapons fighting into a local farm church’s charity parade. Masquerading as a varsity town its a place where debauchery and indeed farmyard sodomy reigns supreme. Nestled in the mountains away from the bustle of Cape Town and the ethical obligations of civilized society, The Bosch is a homeland to post-pubescent study-nuts who never want to grow old: A Boere Neverland if you will. And while it might only house these academics for a few years, as they swiftly move to greener pastures, the impact upon them will last a lifetime. If the B Com Marketing degree you got from Maties doesn’t find you a treasure trove of work, feel safe in the notion that theres always your uncle’s sheep pleasuring business up the road. Long live the Dutchmen.
So you see, everyones a cunt in SA. If you haven’t been mentioned in this article then that is proof that youre even more of a cunt then most. The nice part is that occasionally we all come together in some thunder ball of genetically modified bullshit and we have this multi cultural unique world of intrigue and coloureds train surfing. If you can stand aside and just appreciate them all for the own tangible differences, then we’re the “Oh my god it’s a double Rainbow” Nation. The regular Rainbow nation, but on drugs and shit.
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