HELEN ZILLE WAS A WELDER
How can someone respect something that is intellectually, physically and emotionally unequal? Respect is reserved for people like Winston Churchill, John Smit, Barry Sheen or a man that can drink a case of beer in a day. Funny there is no woman on that list, which is because I cannot think of any. Helen Zille may be the one keeping the Africans off Clifton Beach, but your not about to wrestle this bear under the covers are you?
They have always been some what of a confusing commodity in my life. It does seem that when you getting it, you are in fact bored with it. Yes I do understand their role in breeding but other than that I just do not see their purpose, besides the standard domestic responsibilities. And how many times when you are in the mood does she have one of these pathetic excuses; “I am not in the mood”. “Stop waving that gun in my face”,”I can’t breath”, “If your going to do this, please wear a condom” and it just kills your mood.
There is not one thing in a productive or purposeful sense that they can do better than their male counter parts. Even simple everyday tasks we do better, like drinking and not crying.
This is why I have always preferred beer, sport and male company then that to time with a woman. I am not gay; it is just that intellectually they do not interest me enough to warrant spending time with them beyond the physical act. I enjoy fucking them. If you use the term making love, I think you should slap yourself in the face. First of all it makes no sense; love is something you can’t make, a bicycle is something you can. I love alcohol, sport and violence. I tolerate woman because I understand the need for some men to carry on their gene and I do mean their gene.
Thunderous diesel dykes or liberal cat owners have been saying with the sperm bank men will soon be replaced. I say excuse me cupcake, but with washing machines, microwaves, stoves, dishwashers and waffle makers, we have been well on the way to replacing you for years.
In fact in an article released by the Vatican this week, they claim that the washing machine is the greatest contributor to the emancipation of woman. I could not agree more with “the power”. What I do not agree with is the emancipation itself. A washing machine is a luxury and not a birth right to a female. I think its time to bring back the washing board and send them down to the river. I have approached Chris Brown about a life guard position. He seemed interested.
I think men should have the write to brand their lesser halves, like they do with cattle. This has various benefits.
a) It is more cost effective than a ring.
b) She can’t just take it off and fuck the neighbour.
c) It could be laced with some fluorescent pigment, so it’s easier to get her out the cupboard when there is a power failure and you need her to go start the generator in the rain.
d) It would fucking hurt
e) We can monitor breeding stocks more efficiently
I would personally like to brand Comrad Zuma’s initials “JZ” right on to the forehead of Charlize Theron.
The brand can take the form of anything the male likes, his initials, favorite beer, coat of arms. The brand of beer could get tricky though as many males out there enjoy the same tipple, this would not bother the Stella drinkers out there though, as the wives faces would probably be so swollen they wouldn’t know which one was there’s in any case.
We are looking into a blow torch and branding iron kit available for purchase on the site. I will let you know how the development progresses. That’s all from me.
Sheldon
Out of the wilderness:
The lore of Running
Masturbation. Just thought I’d set the tone for my first b wing blog entry. I feel honoured to be amongst such dysfunctional individuals such as yourselves. I wish to prove myself as a worthy member of the brotherhood.
So let’s kick things off; when I think of running I think of an engaged tone coming up over the phone. Running is anything but sublime. However, their is nothing more beautiful then watching a woman run. Those gazelle like legs trip and fumble over each other as they attempt to attain full stride. The praying mantis style appears to spin out control at peak sprint, and slowly starts resembling a Down’s syndrome running the hurdles more than anything else. This is another issue worthy of ridicule but not today….
The object of ridicule in this instance is not the Two Oceans half marathon, but its contenders. For starters, only the has-been athlete takes on the half distance. The “I used to play seconds in Matric” kind of athlete. I believe the emphasis of the Two Oceans this year is conflict resolution. Some run for charity, some lost bets, others were drunk during the conception of such an idea ……the end result is the same. The half marathon provides an adult a legitimate opportunity to sweat precious narcotics and lager out of the system. So hats off to the wannabe athlete, you’re cheap, look like shit…but hell there is nothing better than watching pure misery crossing the finish line. No, seriously, the half marathon delivers definitive results where alcohol, fisticuffs and verbal abuse have failed.
On that note, consider the challenge formally raised; Flatout and donkey (aka swan daddy, aka hound dog) will be going toe to toe in a battle royale. The rumble in the jungle takes place over 21km during the 2009 Two Oceans half marathon. If you don’t have front row seats for this, you’re an idiot…pack beers and deck chairs…I’ll see you at the finish line…It’s bound to be a blood bath.
Rhino
COMRAD ZUMA
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