Five things they don’t tell you about life

We are evolved monkeys. We lost some of our hair; we developed an intricate language with which to misunderstand each other. But that’s all we are. We toil for seventy years so that we can spend a few years resting before we die, slowly pickling in our own juices and become more and more alienated from mainstream life.

There is no soul waiting room where we hang around before popping into a body.

And when exactly does the so-called soul enter the body anyway? Is it at the moment of birth, the moment of conception or somewhere in-between? Does it have to happen within a womb? What if we are conceived in a Styrofoam cup? What happens if the sperm is delivered via a spout other than the penis itself? What happens if the parents are of opposing faiths, which god gets to deposit the soul? Is the soul power with that little burrowing tadpole, the most blindly optimistic thing in our cold universe, or the turgid egg – waiting for the fastest, most aggressive sperm to wriggle and burrow through its membranes?

We don’t get told a bunch of things before we step through a door, suddenly forget everything and start pissing and shitting all over the place as our souls suddenly become babies. We have to figure it out as we go along. And it’s much like your father – fucking horrible.

But I’ve learnt some things along the way, and I would like to share them with you.

 

One: If you don’t ask, you won’t get.

There’s a reason the Bible says the meek shall inherit the earth. It’s so that the people at the top can ride you around like a little fleshy pink horse. If you need something, you gotta ask for it Mr Quiet. So the next time you’re on a date with a girl lean over and ask her: Can I put my sperm-depositor in your lovechute?

See what happens. You will be surprised.

 

Two: It’s hard work being a pervert

Sometimes you aren’t allowed to look at butts. Sometimes you have to try really hard not to. Sometimes the butts are not yours to look at

 

Three: Smile and the world smiles with you, shit your pants and you shit your pants alone

Don’t shit on your own doorstep before you get off the pot. The early bird gets out of the kitchen.

 

Four: Bacon is not that funny

It’s a breakfast meat. It’s elevation to some kind of magical thing is just dumb. Take the joke out the back and kill it with a brick. Don’t even bother burying it, just leave it out for the twin crows of zombies and ninjas to pick at the carcass. Then blow the whole garden up. Those jokes suck.

 

Five: The funniest things are those which aren’t funny

Slipping on a banana peel – not funny. Slipping on a banana peel and dying – much funnier. Slipping on a banana peel and setting in motion a series of events which lead you to travel back in time and kill your own grandparents – even better.

Take a look at these jokes.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Euripides.

Euripides who?

Euripides jeans, you menda deez jeans.

///

Knock knock.

Who’s there.

Gerald.

Gerald who?

Hello please I’m being eaten alive by a dickwolf.

 

I’m sure we can see which joke is funnier.

 

PSW Eindhoven

 

[Pic courtesy of Mike Burns]

Five things to make you not feel so awful

I’ve spent the majority of my life feeling awful. This was brought about by a number of factors, including but not limited to: Being born with one and a half legs, the inordinate size of my bonce, my body hair, the way my teeth are so close together and that time all the dogs died.

I was feeling awful this morning, and as I contemplated throwing the entire cup of hot coffee down my throat in the hopes that it would somehow burn through my oesophagus and provide me with a nifty food letterbox, I realised that I had to pull myself together, to shape up, to pull my socks up above my knees before I was in for the high jump into the dog’s breakfast.

So I thought of five things that could make life better. Five golden eggs, shat from the very cloaca of the golden goose herself, into the waiting nest of opportunity. And before I get sidetracked any further, let me present them to you like some kind of frittata of fun, filled with the cheese of happiness and the potatoes of positivity.

 

One: The UFO like sound you can make when you hum while you whistle

When I was a kid someone gave me this great book, which taught you how to make sound effects with your mouth. It came with a record to help you get an idea of what everything should sound like, which I listened to once before the record player stopped working.

I learnt one sound effect; the sound of an alien ship hovering over unsuspecting cows moments before mutilation. I have since used this sound to great effect. Not only does it irritate my sister endlessly, it also causes dogs to cock their heads and go: Hmmm? Hmmm? Hmmmmmm? Which is cute.

Two: You are going to have sex

If you haven’t had it yet, the chances are you will have it sometime soon. You, dear friend, will be dancing the horizontal dance, making the beast with two backs and doing the mattress mambo. You will literally be shaking downstairs hands with someone – stiff, penile finger in moist vaginal glove. Imagine that, you and a person being all naked together. Isn’t it incredible? There might be screaming, there might be wailing, there might even be a midget.

HA HA MIDGET SEX JOKES. OMG HAHA MIDGETS. MIDGET SEX JOKES ARE SO FUNNY.

Three: Email humour is on the decline

If we extend our sexual metaphor a little, if we rearrange our imagery pants to make way for this rather welcome intrusion, we can make an observation. We are in 2013, and in modern parlance we could say that we are now at the ‘just the tip’ stage of the year. Yes, dear friends, we will be balls-deep by December but for now we are just in the entrance hall, so to speak. Our fingers are on the nipples of the year as we tweak away and as the year’s nipples harden we notice a yelp of excitement from the year itself – email humour is finally on the way out, much like the lubricating secretions bursting forth from this very year’s lovechute.

Gone are the days when we receive idiotic jokes, typed out in 24-point Impact about the old man, his wife and the priest or PowerPoint presentations of non-funny jokes. PowerPoints – are you fucking kidding me? The last time PowerPoint was used for a joke was when someone at BlackBerry explained why they weren’t going to go for touch screens.

If you still receive jokes and glitter graphics and cute babies and puppies and entire .wmv files as attachments – tell your mom to stop emailing you.

Four: There’s a soccer player called Kaka

And no matter what he does, he always comes in at number two. And no one wants to shower with a Kaka on the floor. And whenever Kaka plays soccer, he always looks so flushed.

Poor Kaka.

Five: There is no five

Don’t expect me to solve your damn life for you. Life is mostly shitty, boring and painful. You should be grateful I gave you four things to make you happy.

 

Yours in heartburn,

PW

Five Ways to Cope With Stress

If you’ve been alive since you were born, the chances are you have experienced stress at some stage in your life. Perhaps your Uncle Bobo took you to the cart races when you really wanted to see the cliff diving. Perhaps your mother dressed you up as a full tea set and dunked rusks in your upturned mouth.

Whatever the case – no one really cares. Not even the people who say they do. Everyone is too busy thinking about themselves. Take my internal monologue for example:

I wonder what cats do when no one’s watching them… Boobs are great aren’t they … Tori Spelling is so uglyhot … People always tell me to have fun but I don’t know where to get it … Why do people care so much about cars … Thongs hey wow … I wonder what’s for lunch … I should mow the lawn when I get home … Imagine if you could see people naked at will … Imagine sticking your finger down between those two clammy moons, those twin fleshy orbs, those verdant turgid coconuts as the top of her ass sticks out … I wish Leslie Nielsen raised me as his own … Imagine having a boob that grew under the bed and you could just get down there and squeeze it whenever you wanted …

See?

That’s why you need to internalise and bottle up your stress or, if you’d rather not cry in the bathrooms during lunch like someone who has eye-diarrhoea, try out Headline Payoff’s Stress Relieving Techniques. Pronounced HuPSuRT.

 

One: Like, don’t let it get to you man.

Just think about how many colours there are in the world man. Like at least 200. That’s 200 reasons to be happy. All the way from like, a Rambunctious Red through to a Minty and Refreshing Green. Orange you glad you aren’t a dog?

Two: Count your blessings

Before they’ve hatched. Just remember that two eggs in your hand are better than one sausage in the bush. And just because you’re in a glass house doesn’t mean you don’t have the stones to take the dog’s breakfast that is your life and pull up your socks before you’re in for the high jump.

Three: Change your ‘tude dude

‘Imagine a surfing cat. He’s just chillin’. He’s carving up some gnarly waves and throwin’ up the horns to the bodacious babes on the beach. He’s wearing baggy surf shorts and his eight nipples are glistening saltily.

Once he’s in to shore, he’ll get onto his skateboard and go cruising through the streets as the sun goes down.

A palm tree.’

Replay this scene in your head when you’re stressed and you’ll be chilled in no time.

Four: Get Assfirmations

Assfirmations are very similar to affirmations, except they are embossed onto plastic plates you sit on, bare-botty of course. Just sitting there for half an hour every morning with the words: I am one / With the world being imprinted on your left and right butt cheeks respectively can make you really feel… at one with the world.

There are a few other assfirmations you could consider:

I am worthy / Of a steak

I deserve the hair / Of Jon Bon Jovi

This one time / At band camp

Billy / Joel is super great, even when he gets older and a little heftier and much sweatier on stage because In The Middle Of The Night is such a great song not to mention Uptown Girl and some song about a piano or some shit.

(The previous assfirmation is only for people with one very large right butt cheek)

Five: Stop bitching

Just shut up. How many limbs do you have? Six? Congratulations – you’re a genetic freak and you should be thankful.

Oh, you have lobster claws? Guess who doesn’t need to buy can openers for the rest of their life? That’s a saving of at least R64.30 over your lifetime.

 

Yours ohming while listening to a Deepkak Chopra tape,

Pull Wart

 

The Five Types of Hangover.

If you’re someone who has a social life, the chances are you’ve over-imbibed at some stage in your life. And as varied as the world is, so are the hangovers we suffer as punishment for our late-night (and sometimes early morning if you have a problem) sins. While some people suffer hangovers that can be washed away with a simple shower, others suffer hangovers that manifest themselves as demons dancing across their skull, which nothing but a Neolithic trepanning can fix. While some need an oily breakfast to lubricate their roughened throats after a night out, some of us void our stomachs the next morning in a modern-day bloodletting offering to the porcelain gods of the netherworld. That being said, there are at least five types of hangover I have identified during my many days on this earth.

 

Type One: The Trojan Rat

You wake up after a night out. The birds are singing and you have an appetite. You want to phone your friends immediately to discuss the events of the night, and possibly make plans for a little boozy breakfast.

And then you sit up. And the room spins. And you think to yourself, ‘That’s strange – the earth usually doesn’t go that fast. Bizarro.’

And then you try standing up. And you stumble a little. But you’re fine. You can deal. You make plans with your friends and meet them for breakfast, but as soon as you sit down, it creeps up on you like Madonna’s dried out nipple, inching closer and closer to you in the dark corners of your brain. A little pink musk sweet that attaches to your cheek and burrows into your jawbone and crawls up into your temple, something that you do not want but you cannot avoid – the headache, oh – the headache. This is soon followed by the nausea and the self-loathing. And your happy little breakfast? It is shat on by the cawing, ghostly seagull of alcohol past.

 

Type Two: The Horror

Dearest readers and readettes, my name is Paul White (not by choice) and I suffer from big stinking, disgusting hangovers. They loom over me like great shaggy bears, breathing their foetid breath into my mouth as I gasp for air in the early hours of the morning. As I wake, as I forcibly tear my eyelids apart, they pounce – ne’er to let go.

With the full weight of a white-trash adult grizzly who likes to frequent the all-you-can-eat salmon buffet, they dig their claws into my back, rasping at my skin with the sandpaper pads of their feet. I feel sick. I vomit. I get a headache. And sometimes that carries on until I’ve slept again, banishing the bears back from whence they came.

If you suffer from hangovers like I do, I salute you for every beer you drink, for ‘tis a badge of courage to be sure.

 

Type Three: The Black Hole

When you’ve drunk three loaves of bread worth of beer the night before, the first thing you need the next morning is food. This usually takes the form of KFC or McDonalds and is sometimes provided to you by your drunk self, in the form of a half eaten burger, balanced ‘pon your chest throughout the entire night.

These hangovers are voracious and unstoppable; they cannot be sated with just any food. Only through the sheer nutrient density and weight of said sustenance, are you able to fill the well that has formed inside you, stretching down to the very centre of the earth, like a ladder down to hell.

 

Type Four: Chillin’ like a Villain

Coppin’ a feelin’. Playin’ guitar like Bob Dylan. These hangovers are reserved for the lucky among us. You awake feeling relaxed and ready to go – you have a shower, brush your teeth and spend the day in bed, watching TV and masturbating.

 

Type Five: The Desert

I suffer from these too. I fight off the bears and, stinking of their unwashed, matted fur I make my way to the closest trader. I lay my coin down on the rough-hewn wooden counter and shout, “Give me five of your greatest libations, good shopkeep! And pay homage to the gods of choice when you bring me back said draughts and cures! Let them be as varied as they are thirst quenching! Let their very liquidity make mud of the parched desert of my throat!”

This usually results in me questing homeward with litres and litres of liquids, often involving (but not limited to): Flavoured milk products, electrolyte replacing sports drinks, an assortment of sodas and two litres of the finest water money can buy.

But they don’t help.

 

Yours fighting the evil oni that is futsukayoi-san,

Poru Howaito.

Five Things About Growing Older in the Modern Era

So there I was, living my life, when death placed a bony hand on my shoulder and breathed his icy breath into my ear, as cold as Pluto’s heart. I asked him what the deal was, why he felt the need to interrupt my life-living, but he just handed me an ice-cream and disappeared like a ninja (he threw down a smoke bomb and then ran in the opposite direction). I wanted to follow him, but the ice cream was really quite nice and he made this funny clicking sound when he ran, like a million knuckles crashing into each other, which rather put me off.

The ice cream was rum and raisin (you didn’t think death was a vanilla man, did you?) and with each raisin that I came into contact with, I found some tips on the tip of my tongue. This is what they sound like, or rather, what they look like in the form of letters. You can always say them out loud if you like.

 

Raisin Number One: Growing old is always crap

Here’s a glob of glibness – The alternative to ageing is death. In one way, that’s true, and in another way it’s a bunch of shit. As an adjunct to this point – can’t Madonna just stay at home? All of her music videos are really nothing more than her cavorting around trying to show off how thin she manages to be at her age while shoving her vagina in your face. Oh yes, she makes music too. Sorry.

 

Raisin Number Two: Think of fun ways to represent your age

22 was a good age for me, two cricket teams worth of people. Now what am I? Three pairs of boxing gloves, a mole-snake, nine grapes, four ergonomic chairs, a pair of shoes, a bright orange cat and three used condoms? That, while interesting, is really not as organised as two soccer teams, or just the balls of one soccer team.

Rather be interesting than organised. Filing is for losers.

 

Raisin Number Three: Eat more fibre

As soon as that raisin touched my tongue, I swallowed it. For the fibre. In fact, the poor raisin barely got to finish the full stop at the end of the sentence. Rumours abound that John Wayne was carrying somewhere around twenty pounds of faecal matter in his colon at his death. To be honest, I don’t really care whether this is true or not, but either way – I’m sticking to my oats and raisins thank you very much.

Besides – no one likes people who are full of shit. This weak joke brings me to my next point, incidentally.

 

Raisin Number Four: Old people often suffer sense of humour failure as they age, don’t do that

Not only do they make weak jokes like the one I subjected you to, they also generally become boring and dour. Perhaps this is the toll of life’s weight – a lack of laughter and a look as if someone rubbed a bit of dog oopsie just under your nose. Yes, laughter is imperative. If we’re not having fun, we’re just having bum. In order to keep your sense of humour, the raisin also went on to suggest that you invest in a big red clown nose, the type that goes “honk honk” when you squeeze it, and a pair of rather large shoes. I noticed then that that particular raisin looked a little wrinkly, so I threw it on the ground. At that moment, it began to rain, re-hydrating the raisin – which became a prune. A rather sneaky move I must say, a prune masquerading as a raisin.

 

Raisin Number Five: In order to stay un-prune-like, one should refrain from expression. And sunlight

You may think that Nicole Kidman is naturally so smooth and taut, like there’s an invisible man pulling on her ponytail at all times, but in fact she manages to stay so youthful by never expressing any emotion. When her child was born, she simply nodded and thanked her lucky stars that it didn’t have to become a Scientologist. Therefore, if you want to stay looking spry, it is suggested that you never show any emotion at all. Here are some test statements. If any of them elicit an emotional response, you’re not trying hard enough.

 

–       Nelson Mandela, Jesus and Lady Di were just in a car accident, they drove into a truckload of puppies that were about to go the beach to gambol with the blind children. The blind children who had their limbs exploded in the Terror Attack on the kindergarten.

–       Your grandmother just blew up while making jam for her son who died in the Great War, saving his entire battalion by jumping on a hand grenade disguised as an organically grown orange, benefiting the farmers of the Kakado region. Poor Gran, she never got over his death.

–       Your father just admitted that he was proud of your life choices and that he felt like you were the best thing he ever participated in. Then he got shot. And you pissed on him.

 

Crying? Sniffling? You just aged twenty-three minutes. Whatever you do – don’t cry about your ageing, you’ll just make it worse.

Yours staying out of the sun, because if I get too tanned, my blemish stick won’t look right on my skin,

Paul White Esq.

 

 

 

Five ways to reinvigorate your relationship

If you’re single – good for you. I’m sure you go to the movies on your own and have feelings and take bubble baths and contemplate poetry and sit around next to windows staring out just waiting for a soul mate.

Hate to burst your perfect, ‘children holding hands and giving each other flowers in black and white and stealing kisses on stairways while dressed like adults’ bubble, but there are no such things as soul mates. There are only people who are willing to put up with your shit in return for you putting up with their shit. It doesn’t get better than that. There are no magical moments. There are only endless compromises and furtive fumblings beneath the duvet in winter that leave you feeling emptier than Kim Kardashian on a bad day.

But sure, if you’re just waiting for that person – go for it. They’ll make you whole. You can cook together. And then do the dishes and laugh as you tick oily dishwash foam on each other’s noses. And then as your laughter dies down and the light goes from your eyes, just remember it’s your duty to procreate. And stay together forever.

So. How do we hold back the boredom as it seeps under the door, threatening to float us away on beige waves? How do we stem the tides of tedium that threaten to drown us? We undertake the following five steps to keep ourselves sane and ensure that someone will put up with our shit going forward.

 

One: Fight More Often

It’s like a pressure cooker. Your relationship is the cheap, tough meat that you leave in there for hours. Sometimes you need to chew on it a bit, or add some spice. You know what I mean. Go wild.

 

Two: Pretend To Be Someone Else

Remember how your partner always wanted to hook up with your brother instead of you? Now is your chance to live that dream and ‘mix it up in the bedroom’. Practice Pietie’s limp (after the accident at the fish-packing factory) and dress up in his favourite overalls. Ideally, these overalls would have seen a full day’s wear so you can truly exude the essence of your brother.

 

Three: Find A Hobby To Share

Some couples exercise together in the hopes that they will still be vaguely attracted to each other and slightly less jiggly than normal. If that’s what you’re into – go ahead and chafe away. Some couples like to make it their hobby spread their love all over social media in annoying, sickly sweet waves. This is really just laughing in the face of death as He stares down at you unflinchingly, though – so be warned. Everything you love will be taken away from you, so laugh away and share plans online.

 

Four: See Less Of Each Other

They say absence makes the heart grew fonder, but they also say out of sight out of mind. Get yourself away from your partner so you can realise how much you need them. Once your individual personality has been entirely eroded to resemble not much more than a single grain of sand, you can no longer function without your partner. This is called attachment.

 

Five: Liven Up Your Sex Life

If you’re still having sex, that is a good start. Perhaps it’s time to try something new. There are very many sex moves out there, most involving other people – but here is one sure-fire Hp-approved sex move that will have you and your partner screaming: The Folding Crocodile – Staple lettuce to yourself so as to appear green, then get into the bath. Turn on just the hot water and let it scald your skin until you are entirely pink under the lettuce. When your partner rushes in to see why you are screaming, you jump out the bath and roll around on the floor, trying to bite his or her ankles. Then Whammo! Crazy monkey romance.

A sex bonanza every time.