craygJust another Moral Fibre Magazine weblog

Fatherhood. It’s something that I’ve always wanted to be. A father. I’m great with kids, I’m super patient, I always find the best toys, I can change wee-wee nappies and I know people that are willing to change the poo ones. There is just one huge obstacle standing in the way of me experiencing daddy-bliss. A woman. Well, more accurately, the lack thereof. I suppose I could go on the tedious mission of meeting someone, pretending to like her and then lie about the condom breaking, but that sounds so deceitful and time-consuming. Emphasis on the word time-consuming. My birthday is in a few weeks time, I ain’t gettin’ any younger. So, what can I do?

Option one is adoption. I’ve already looked into this and there are quite a few good programs out there. The thought of grabbing some random kid out of a life of despair and hopelessness and introducing him to a new kind of despair and hopelessness seems appealing.

But then I see myself in the mirror. The piercing blue eyes, the gorgeous blonde locks, the strong jaw-line, the sensual lips. Man, I can’t let these good genetics just go to waste. I need to get this DNA into somethin’. I need an ovary to smoosh my little swimmers in to. I need : A DONOR!

So, if you feel you are a potential donor, go and read this : http://www.eggdonationsouthafrica.co.za/donors.asp. It will tell you all you need to know to become the mother of my child. A child that will be a god among men. A hero. A legend. And if it’s a girl it will be pretty. Like me. If you like what you read, then get in touch for an interview.

*uglies need not apply

** please embed your youtube video of yourself by adding the url of the youtube as follows:

*** copy the video url e.g http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Od4_L35hUTo and paste it into the comment form below addin a ‘v’ after the http:// like so: httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0d4….

(once again, uglies don’t bother)

**** This is for real, no sex is involved (unless you like the doctor or summin’, but don’t tell me about it)

***** Seriously, uglies… no. Just go. Now.

****** You will need a womb for this. You cannot do this without a womb. You cannot hatch a baby from your ass. Many have tried, all have failed.

I remember a time when I was innocent. I was in the flower of my youth, about to bloom into an existence filled with endless possibility. The world was my oyster and nothing stood in my way. I saw only the good in people, never the bad. I didn’t believe in evil. Then things changed. I saw the dark side. I saw a side of humanity that should never be seen. That’s right. I went to the company Christmas party.

As a result of my experiences I have created this simple guide to surviving the company Christmas party with ones dignity intact. All you need is one roll of duct tape.

1) Do not take your pants off

This is a golden rule. Pants removal is a bad thing. Public pants removal is worse. Public pants removal with a photographer present may result in death of any chance you may have had of breeding. Unfortunately, alcohol is often quite a persuasive mistress in this matter. Before the party, duct tape your pants to your torso. Avoid taping over your nipples.

2) Do not wave your arms in the air like you don’t care

I realize that the urge to do this can be overwhelming. As soon as you do this the dignity police will arrest you and lock you up with Tiger Woods and Julius Malema. This is not advisable. Once again, duct tape to the rescue. Carefully paste one strip of duct tape under each armpit. Any sudden arm movements will result in removal of large amounts of skin and armpit hair. The ultimate deterrent to any Will Smith-like behavior.

3) Do not “Bump ‘n Grind” your co-workers

The music is pumping, you’ve been socially lubricated, and suddenly Betty from accounts starts looking mighty fine. The urge to do some ‘dirty dancing’ is becoming stronger and stronger by the second. She looks pretty sweet in her granny sweater and size 50 floral tent. Duct tape is your mighty protector here. As soon as you feel the “Bump ‘n Grind” urge, throw the duct tape at Betty. Then run.

4) Do not party with the bad man

Well, you’re on your own here. Nothing I can do for you. Not even duct tape can save you.

There you have it, how to survive a Christmas party using only duct tape and your wits. You’ll mostly be relying on the duct tape though.

Do you use Twitter? Do you follow your friends on Twitter? Do you regret following your friends on Twitter? If the answer to all of these questions is yes, then you are left with a huge moral dilema.

Do you  :

a) Stop using Twitter. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. It’s a good thing because while you’re doing amazing things like your laundry you won’t be constantly thinking “I have to Tweet this!”

It’s a bad thing because you’ll be missing out on everyone else’s laundry tweets.

b) Unfollow your “friend”. Once again, a double-edged sword of pain. The positive is that you won’t have to read a retarded tweet ever again. The bad side is that you’ll have to face the risk that they’ll find out you unfollowed them. That means you could lose your “friend” (not a big loss). It will however, count against you when you apply for your Care bear badge of friendship. No smiley face for you, you worthless sack of crap.

It’s a no-win situation. I’ve created a special picture to illustrate how I feel about these people. I hope you agree.

Well, I haven’t posted in a while and it’s simply because I don’t love you people any more. Sometimes I wonder if I ever did love you. Truthfully though, I plan to have a bumper weekend, filled with interesting activities like classic car racing and chess-boxing. I can’t expect you to wait till then for a post, so instead I will tell you about the bad man.

There is a place inside your heart called the sanctum du sancti. This is where all your love and happiness is stored. Well, this bad man sold his sanctum du sancti to the devil for a bottle of whiskey. Not even the good kind of whiskey. No, this bad man opted for the crappy kind of whiskey. Do you know why? I’ll tell you, because he’s a bad man and also he hates all his friends and wants to give them poor quality whiskey. You know how your mother bakes cookies with love? This bad man bakes his cookies with glass and hatred. The glass is so that you can cut your mouth, the hatred is so you can get mouth herpes in your cuts. This man has built a special catapult in his yard so that he can shoot puppies at boeing 747’s. He always chuckles and says,”I hate puppies and aeroplanes.”

This man used to drive an MG, but he killed some school kids with it so he made up a story about how it’s gasket thingy broke. But it’s a lie. Bad men lie. This bad man keeps promising me T-shirts which he never gives me.

Where are my f***ing T-shirts Vince?

One of the greatest things in life is encountering my limitations as a human being. As you get older these limitations become more and more obvious. Most of them, I can accept. For instance, I suck at just about all sports involving a ball. I can accept that. I’m also dead afraid of heights. Perfectly fine. I drool a LOT when I sleep. Sometimes that’s fine, sometimes it isn’t. But what really grates my nun-chucks is the ROFLBot. Why can’t I come up with funny captions for the ROFLBot? I should be able to. I think I’m smart enough. Why can’t I do it? Why?

I spend hours staring at some daft image thinking of some witty way to caption it, but I just can’t think of anything. I feel like an impotent duck on a pond filled with other female ducks of suitable breeding age or something. It really irritates me. I get captioners block. Eventually I’ll just close the browser in anger. Then I’ll sit on my bed with tears streaming down my face, rocking back and forth till I fall asleep.

Oh, you think I’m weird? Well here’s my challenge to you : if you can come up with a witty caption for the ROFLBot, I’ll send you a lock of my hair. See you in hell Captain Captioner!

Picture it : You’re sitting on your couch watching your favourite show. Your mini-dog is playfully nibbling at your fingers. Life is sweet. After a final nip your mini-dog leaps from the couch. What is that in it’s mouth? It’s your middle finger. Well done on not feeding your dog for three days you lazy bastard.

Anyway, the above scenario is exactly what playing Bingo is like, except with a few key differences (there’s no mini-dog).

Here are the steps you need to take to get the full bingo experience :
1. Walk in and sit down. Try the smoking section if you’re a pro and you want the extra challenge of trying to see your bingo card through a haze of second hand smoke. Only do this if you have easy access to a post-bingo respirator.
2. Try and grab the attention of one of those people that walk from table to table selling bingo cards. Fail.
3. Sit through a ten minute bingo game without actually playing. Wonder how your life came to this.
4. Manage to buy a card for the next game. Mentally congratulate yourself.
5. Wait for them to read numbers off. Tick the numbers you have.
6. Repeat step 5 until your card is nearly all ticked off. Begin to feel excited.
7. Throw your bingo koki down on the table in exasperation when some old guy in the back shouts ‘Bingo!’ in the same voice as Homer Simpson’s dad. Wonder if he would survive in unarmed combat against a grizzly bear.
8. Repeat steps 2 through to 7 until you hate your life.

One thing I will say about these Bingo establishments : the milkshakes are awesome! Also there’s a lot of fun to be had by making slurpy sounds with your straw and watching the old folk give you filthy looks.

That’s all you need to have fun at bingo, an empty glass and a straw. Have fun kids!

I got bored and went through my spam mails again. Why do I do this to myself? Masochist.

Anyway, the latest gem is from a ‘John Wood’. His mail is long (so I won’t paste it here). I think he’s compensating. Apparently I have a rich uncle who died and all I have to do to claim millions and millions of dollars is send this Wood guy all my personal details. Instead, I sent him this :

Dear Mister Wood

Your mail is very long. I was reading it and thinking to myself, “This mail, it is long”.
Perhaps you need to work on the length of your mails. Perhaps using less words might make your mails shorter. Here is an example of what you could have written :

Dear awesome person
I bow to your superiority. I build shrines to you.
Much worshipful love
John

Instead you send me this very long mail about dead people and money. There is not one mention of my amazing ability to drink a litre of water without taking a breath. I am insulted.

You are right about one thing: my uncle in London was indeed an oil baron. He was also a vegetarian. I do not want this bunny money, so keep it. Are you a vegetarian? I bet you are. Your mail seemed like something a vegetarian would write. I bet you even munched on filthy carrots while you were typing. You’re nothing but a filthy carrot muncher.

Thank you for taking the time to write me a very long mail, carrot muncher.

regards
Awesome person

I have a two year old nephew. His name is Danny. My plan is to make him the coolest individual this planet has ever known. Even though he is only two, he already knows several phrases to assist him in becoming the coolest individual this planet has ever known.

Phrase 1 : Whatup?
This is not really a phrase. It’s a word loaded with meaning. Using this word you can immediately deduce the coolness of the person you are greeting. Should they reply with, “I’m good thanks and you?” then you need to go into level 3 dork alert. A good reaction is to punch them in the face.
If they reply with “Good, whatup with you?” it means they are cool, but you are the dominant cool. You can now extract information and money from this individual and feel no guilt. It serves them right.
If they reply with “Yo, I’m good, how you doin’?” it means they are equally cool. This is someone you can relate to. At this point you might want to do some kind of cool handshake to ensure that they are 100 percent cool and not just faking it (we’ll cover the handshakes in another post).
If they reply with “For shizzle my nizzle.” it means that you can kill this person. Not only are they using words that are stupid, they’re using their stupid words completely out of context. You might think death is a little harsh for this individual, but I’m telling you it’s not.

Danny is two years old and he has mastered the use of this word. You have no excuse.

Phase 2 : Awesome dude
Danny has mastered this phrase and uses it at appropriate times. When he sees a motorcycle or a helicopter, he says “Awesome dude”. This is the correct use of the phrase. When he is watching Disneys “Thats so Raven” (which my parents force him to watch against his will, it angers him so much but he is too small to punch them in their Disney-loving faces) he does not use this phrase. He is aware that Disney and anything they produce is not awesome. It is lame. When I am finished training Danny he will be the anti-Disney. He will lead an army against Disney and destroy their evilness. When he is standing over the lifeless corpse of Mickey Mouse, he will say the words, “Awesome dude.”

Danny, at the tender age of two, has mastered the use of this word. You have no excuse to behave like an idiot.

I would post a picture of Danny here, but normal camera technology cannot capture the coolness that he already embodies.

Yes, I use internet dating sites. It’s because I am bored. Boredom fills me. It permeates every pore in my body. So what do I do? I register on internet dating sites and talk to girls. Yes. I talk to girls. I know I shouldn’t. My mother always told me girls were bad, but my overwhelming desire to annoy the opposite sex with my pointless ramblings has forced me to ignore my mothers advice. I am on a path of self-destruction and there is no hope of return.

There is a huge problem though. My internet dating intentions are to alleviate boredom. I appear to be alone in this. Everyone I speak to wants to meet. In real life. As in they’ll be able to reach out and physically attack me should the need arise. I don’t like that idea. They also tend to ask really strange questions :
Girl : Do you like children?
Me : Yes, they’re small and it’s easy to take them down.

Girl : I’m just looking for true love.
Me : I found true love, but she’s out now so I can talk to you. Don’t message me after 5 please.

Girl : I meet so many jerks on here.
Me : Sorry I took so long to reply, my Dad was punching my Mom again but she kept running away so I had to hold her down for him, you were saying?

Girl : I see you like Three Doors Down.
Me : You can read.

Anyway. Today I close my internet dating accounts. While talking pointless crap to strangers has been fun, I feel that I’m being more than a little unfair. I prefer the mystery of meeting someone on Twitter. There are just too many weirdos out there.

I really think we need to come up with a new word for shopping. By we, I mean men. Shopping is not a manly word. When men go shopping, amazing things happen. Shopping (the word itself) is not amazing. Hence the new word I have devised for man-shopping is : manly-destructo-hunt-mission. It’s by no means a clumsy word. It’s a strong word. Filled with meaning and violence. Yes, violence. If shopping were up to men, we’d do it with guns.

To illustrate : my friend and I went manly-destructo-hunt-missioning today. We returned from our sortie with an assortment of classic dvd’s, 2 Xbox games and milk. Milk, which we will be using to destroy our enemies. Have you ever been killed by milk? No? Then don’t mess with me man, you WILL find out. The Xbox games are for mental training in our mission to be awesome manly men. The dvd’s are so we can learn from our manly mentors.

Unfortunately, men in modern society have been reduced to puppies. We ended playing the Xbox games and saying things like “oh goodness, look how nice they did the trees.” and “Wow, that is one sweaty soldier.”

The classic movies turned out to be about love and life in a world gone mad. We cried. We used the milk to make tea because we were feeling a little chillers in the late arvie. Emasculated. Pathetic. Tyler Durden would spit on us.