Late 20s: Binge Drinking Peter Pans & Weathered Tinkerbells

Late twenties

I don't like saying the words.

Conjures up thoughts of retired boy band members trying to hold onto fans who have now acquired a more astute glutan free way of wasting their time.

"When I was your age, your father and I already had a house, we were paying off a bond and sending your ass to school."

8 years of tertiary education, two degrees and 2 years of articles. Where is the millions? I was told their would be millions here.

Remember when it was impossible to get inside Springboks on a Thursday night?

Carrying and dragging friends out at 10 so that our last minute Guest Lists would not have been procured in vein. Searching for fimiliar faces in queues just so that we could score those high heel clad chicks before they fell off the speakers.

It was a Thursday evening and I happened to be drawing cash in Claremont. Next to me were a few giggling tweens taking selfies at the ATM, their high pitched voices and ethused demeanour angered me. Their short skirts barely covered their ass and goodness gracious, selfies at a ATM ? That's so unsafe.

It was within that moment that I realised I was now... Old as Fuck.

Those girls were probably 19. The age we were....8 years ago...just looking at them felt illegal.

I don't know about you but I remember those uncles who would come over on Friday nights. Talking about the good old days while making a rawkus and drinking brandy with their fat boeps hanging over their shorts.

I look at my Facebook feed and all I see is a whole new generation of uncles. Those Peter Pans who never quite got enough Likes on that bottle of brandy. Calling themselves by nicknames and referring to the "squad" in a series of misguided hashtags. What exactly are we celebrating every weekend?

Loading up with bottles of booze to clubs was normal 7 years ago, we'd be there with three cars of people, because going out with less than 20 people was unheard of.

It's understandable lads.

The friend who was sleeping under a washing line is now married.

The girl who slept around is now Saved

The exes are married/divorced (I'm sure we could have warned them)

The stoners are employed

and the employed are now stoners

Perhaps you should have taken that chicks number? Or maybe torturing our bodies was not the best of ideas. But oh man, there are stories. Stories I should write one day.

Alas, those women we admired are now just as old as us. Remember that wild lil Tinkerbell who flashed her tits to the crowd for tickets to 50 Cent. I heard she's not looking so good anymore, who knew our parents were right when they told us to wear sunscreen. I guess the sun just shines brighter on those trance kids.

We can only now hope for the best, so my fellow late 20 something year olds:

1) Stop sending requests to your Worldventures kak. It's a scam

2) Don't drink at staff functions

3) Those posers are not going to be your baby's daddy. Look after your kid, #instaTit pics are not going to put food on the table

4) Tinkerbells, you're newly single, doesn't mean every guy wants you. No need to post "I don't need a man,I'm a independent snowflake quotes" every 10 minutes

5) Peter Pans, she's newly single...message her

6) Start a savings/investment account

7) Stop smoking...cheap cigarettes

8) Wear sunscreen.

@Capebandit

Sending Nudes Will Save the World. This is how..

Dear ladies, the plight of the world as you know it now hinges on your ability to send a nudie pic from your device to another without disrupting the entire economy as every warm blooded male, armed with a fully charged phone, now discreetly abandons all worldly responsibility in favour of a quite bathroom stall.

Every relationship is said to reach certain key milestones, aaah the first date, the first inside joke stealthily delivered in the presence of the mutual third wheel, the first late night beach adventure where both of you are stranded as a result of someone (not me) leaving the car lights on. Like, listen now, lets be honest with one another for a moment, as guys we are pretty much biologically programmed to develop a life of self-fulfillment,  love, happiness and boobs. So when the request of whether we would like to receive a picture of our significant other in all kinds of compromising positions finds its way onto our mobile device. The reply "Yes" is sent without much thought being given to the rather unpleasant situation which you will now find yourself in.

The conversation would usually go as follows...

"Hey baby, I have a surprise for you..."

[image downloading.......]

[open/save]

[save]

[open]

"You didn't save the pic hey?"

"Nope...of course not:)"

"Now send me a pic"

"A pic...of what?"

"Of you"

"Ummm....ok....just give me a moment"

[end chat]

[delete contact]

[block contact]

"Did you get it?"

"Hello?"

"Hellooooo?"

There is no politically correct way to say that us guys are pretty much useless when it comes to sending pictures that will ignite the fire in your loins. The female form is pure art, art which transcends all consciousness, and when captured in a photograph, the pure essence of femininity becomes immortalized in the hearts and minds of those lucky bastards who chose to click "Open Image". 

Don't Try, Be

In attempting to conjure up the perfect image, we have lost sight of the what it means to be completely kaalgat. When people first began to roam the earth we basked in the glory of our nakedness. The right angles, lighting or let alone camera filters where the furthest thing from our minds. Focusing on anything other than surviving would wipe us out of the gene pool. We were men, doing what men did, hunting, doing badass caveman shit and waving our prehistoric members around to all those who would come in our way.

The female gender embraced their femeninity and were empowered enough to forgo their loincloths, not for the mere enjoyment of their ill informed male counterparts, but to illustrate that they were powerful and able to take the lead in lighting the way on uncharted maps by shining their...... beacons of glory. 

As time progressed, we became soft, and looked to run down and oppress the female gender as we got lost in the catchy tunes of boy bands and silky smooth linens.

As men, we can either embrace the sometimes painful truth of reality or we can decide to live out our existence under the blissful ignorance of illusion. The current juncture comprises of two key options.

1) Not sending a Nudie back

Should you elect to diss-empower your significant other by denying her of the opportunity of basking in your manly manliness, you will be spitting in the face of all those who have stood before you. The heroes of years gone by who stood naked before pervy sculptors who chizled their micro-penises into marble and time, for all eternity.

2) Sending a Nudie back

Once you have come to terms with the fact that your junk will be sent through cyberspace and splashed all over the screen of the recipient, you can now move onto the next phase of your journey. You will need to develop the very best pose which will illustrate your inner caveman. If done correctly, the representation of your inner caveman will arose millennia of pent up sexual energy in your partner.

In closing I would like to introduce to you...

Cavemanning 

The "I Just Invented Fire" pose

The "This Caves Too Cold To Sleep In Alone" pose

The "Soaring Pterodactyl" pose

The sending of nudies could just well save the world from impending doom. As the influx of women receiving less than desirable images will only lead to a rapid reduction of reproduction rates and global population figures will deteriorate into nothingness. Cavemanning is the only way to counter such calamity.

As for the all the ladies, if you need a second opinion regarding your pics, be sure to send it to....

@CapeBandit

How to be a Crazy Motherf*cking Ex

I'm so glad that you could take a few moments out of your day of checking which facebook posts your ex has 'liked'. We're on this journey together and I think there are some things we need to learn before the sheriff of the court issues a restraining order with our names on it.  So the bridge has been burnt, the contacts deleted, Whatsapp profile blocked and the She Devils bestie hates your guts.  If you're a chemically balanced and emotionally mature individual, this post might not be for you, and that's probably why your ex isn't for you either, you boring stiff. Now grab a seat and your dignity as we embark on exactly what needs to be done in order to classify yourself and a Boni-fide Creepy Off The Hinges Crazy Motherfucking Ex.

Now before I start I would just like to pay tribute to the last 34 bottles of Merlot, without whom I would not have been able to paint the town, my shirts, my best friends car and every Cape Town pavement a wonderful shade of red.

Right now, she's not thinking about you. She's already telling her friends about this amazing "new friend" who really listens and understands her. Of course you've already met him. He was that nice guy who just happened to be there whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on...what a good bloke.

I don't doubt that there have been other guys in your ex's life who have really made an impression. Do you really want to be the forgettable ex who just faded into his own passive aggressive world of Uct Confessions style misery?

Being a Crazy Motherfucking Ex doesn't just happen over night. It takes months of practice. Just like any professional athlete you need to prepare your heart,mind and soul for the ultimate showdown. In order for you to do that I have prepared a list of tracks which will put you in just the right emotional state...

1) Lana Del Rey- Young and Beautiful
2) Bruno Mars- It will rain
3) Cee-lo Green- no1s gonna love you
4) Rihanna- Stay
5) Adele- Someone like you
6) Enrique Iglasias- Addicted
7) The Killers- Be still
8) Oasis- Wonderwall
9) Taylor Swift-  A Thousand Years
10) Evanescence- My Immortal

Ok, I'm not even ashamed that it took me less than 3 seconds to compile that list.

We are now ready to claim our rightful titles on every service providers 'Blocked List'.

Don't let go. Ever

The vital thread that keeps all the craziness locked in is the inability to accept things as they are. Moving on is not recommended, shame on you for even thinking of ever being with anyone else. If you have any of her clothes, I wouldn't recommend building a shrine in her honour. Shrines take up too much space anyway. I have however been told that voodoo dolls and muti works wonders if you've managed to salvage a few strands of her hair.

Remember all those pics and messages you deleted? Ha, oh you say you deleted them, but we both know that you saved and backed it all up on your laptop in a folder called "Exam Prep".  Now get them all out and start reading, remembering and re-living all those magical moments that you thought were going to last "5ever". 

Feels good doesn't it?

Space- don't give it

Now this part requires a tiny bit of monetary investment. The last thing you want to discover is that you've run out of airtime just before launching into your bombardment of needy and insecure messages. The Crazy Motherfucking Ex does not follow usual sms and call etiquette. Calling someone at 4am is totally insane, however if you just happen to be following a Tokyo time zone schedule, its totally acceptable. Now the sms's and calls do not need to have any sort of justifiable purpose. All that matters is that you are able to focus your emotional turmoil towards another individual.

Texts:

You may now be wondering as to the structure and content of the messages you'll be sending. Research indicates that the following format is preferred by 9/10 Crazy Motherfucking Ex's;

Intro- hey baby/kitten/hun/snowpuff/sugarcake (whatever lameass nickname you called her). This will highly annoy her as your supplication will be seen as a method of repressing the true gravity of the situation you are currently facing.

1st paragraph- describe your current emotional state.

2nd Paragraph- apologize for hurting her and being such a dick, tell her she was right about everything and that you regret every moment you fell short of her dreams.

3rd Paragraph- tell her that you understand that she needs her space

Conclusion- wish her all the best

Now you may be thinking..."Aaaaw, that is such a...........normal message". You are correct. The only difference is that a "reasonable person" would have cut his losses after the first message'. Not a Crazy Motherfucking Ex, as its common knowledge that women love receiving heart wrenching text in rapid succession of each other. 

 "The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." George Bernard Shaw

What happens if she doesn't respond after you've sent 36 messages???

Simple






...........She obviously wants you to keep trying.


Blame everyone but yourself

Deny, deny, deny.

That's right, the world needs to take responsibility for all the pain you have been subjected to. Project every ounce of anger towards any inconsequential event no matter how unrelated and irrelevant it may be. All the people who have been there to help you, push them away. They warned you from the beginning, but listening to the concerns of others is not a trait commonly shared by Crazy Motherfucking Ex's. So when you're thinking of implementing a grand display of public affection, its probably a spendid idea.

No need for eating and sleeping, stalking is the only form of nourishment you'll need

Oh, the sweet days of staying up all night chatting to the Angel Goddess (now She Devil). Those days are GONE, you now have so much free time to catch up on what really matters........ stalking her every move. Since your ass has been blocked on pretty much every social media platform, having a mutual friend on hand to share his/her login details could help you on your quest to stalk and map out her every known movement.

Certain variables one could look at;

* Recently added friends
* Check-ins
* Statuses which she "likes"  on a regular and frequent basis
* Recent comments
* Updated Bio's
* Shorter skirts and lower cut tops in recently added photos
* Cross-referencing Thunda.com pics with the pics shown on her profile
* Recent mentions on Twitter
* Use of smileys such as ;) and :P
* Use of "xx" or heaven forbid "xxx"

During this time you may begin to feel that you are now experiencing a diminished appetite, this could be the result of your bodies natural reaction to emotional trauma....ooooor it could be your bodies way of decreasing your weight in order to decrease your alcohol tolerance, enabling you to reap the many benefits cheap wine whilst resembling the physique of a Somali pirate.

The Greatest Crazy Motherfucking Ex's of ALL TIME

Jay Gatsby

 Mark Zuckerburg

 Aladdin

 Key qualities that every Great Crazy Motherfucking Ex should exhibit:

* Have a predisposition of a pathological narcissist.

*  Idealize yourself and your significant other to an extreme degree.

* Your acquisition of tremendous wealth should be fueled by your insatiable obsession for the pursuit of a perfect yet unobtainable romance. 

* Feel entitled to have what you want just because you want it.

* Always justify your grandiosity as well as your exploitative and deceiving nature.

* Present a surface which is charming and engaging, and a subsurface of coldness and ruthlessness. 

* Illogically attempt to repeat the same experiences.

The greatest Crazy Motherfucking Ex's all share very similar stories and experiences. It can be seen that the narcissistic tendencies which they force upon the world has resulted in them becoming tremendously successful in various other avenues in life.

You have now spent a few minutes reading this post, during that time you could have sent at least another 24 messages. She probably waited at her phone in bated breath, hoping that your next batch of tears in the form of texts would fill the gaps in your character that would enable her to gracefully swim to your open arms.

So go forth and embrace your inner crazy, and if you're going to go down. 

Best go down in a Blaze of  Crazy Motherfucking Ex Glory!

@CapeBandit

The Greatest End Of The World Convo You Will Ever Read !

So last night I was minding my own business. You know, contemplating which stores I would loot if the world did come to an end. Suddenly, I received a very concerned message regarding my latest status update.

It went a lil something like this...

That is all.

@CapeBandit

Skyfall..Poofall. The Guy who shat his pants..on a date

                                                           Based on a True Story.

The parking lot was filled with the buzz of florescent lights. The digital watch on the dashboard, flickers the time, it reads 20: 50 pm. Young lovers stroll past the car oblivious to the impending doom which had almost been averted. Fixed eyes remained locked on the entrance of Cavendish Square. Although calm, his pounding heart reveals that the years of training had only left him ill prepared. His lower back still strained as a result of the trauma which it had been subjected to, he bites the pain to reach for his mobile phone. He manages to dial the number, it rings. Before passing out, he faintly utters his last words....."I just shat my pants".

2 Hours Earlier:

The sounds of iron hitting the ground, filled the chlorine tinged air of the Virgin Active gym. He had to push through his last set of bicep curls. A smile swept across his face as he caught the reflection of glimpses of other admiring gym goers. Tonight was the night he had been waiting for, all the hard work will finally be paying off, and blowing off some steam just before his big date was just what he needed. The flashing red light of his blackberry alerts him to the fact that he now needs to finish up his session. The need to look good far exceeded the risk of being late, and he continued his workout whilst tossing back a few more chocolate flavoured protein shakes.

1 Hour Earlier:

A new Cotton On v-neck had been the order of the day and a fitted jeans with new shoes had sealed the deal. Biceps were pumped, clothing looked sharp, and he was ready to go. A quick glance at the latest news had ensured that he had enough ammo to destroy any awkward silences. Motivational audio tapes played in the background and a new pine scented air freshener dangled from the rear view mirror as our hero made his way to the mall. He knew that his date had been dropped off and looked for the furthest parking bay available. This was done in the hope of ensuring maximum amount of hand holding and occasional boob grazes. 

30 Minutes Earlier:

There she was; a name gasped in the night, the one last word of a dying man, but one word that tells a thousand stories, a woman, who left her mark on everyman she met, she had more to offer a man in a glance than most women give in a lifetime, she knew what she wanted, and wasn't too particular how she got it, loving her was like shaking hands with the devil, and our hero was under her spell.

The movie was about to start and there was no need to rush for seats, as bookings were already made in advance. An opportunity such as this was not to be squandered and nothing other than strategically placed Love Bird seats would suffice, the absence of the arm-rests once again ensured a maximum amount of hand holding and potential boob grazes.

15 Minutes Earlier: 

The occasionally locking of eyes during scenes had  been a definitive sign that this was set out to be a date like no other. One could only question whether they had actually paid for a 4D Movie, the  temperature began to increase and the ground started to rumble, there was something brewing deep inside our hero. Something beautiful was about to happen. Our heroes date was due to witness the birth of a 5kg chocolate flavoured protein baby. It felt as though a evil menace had placed a bomb on our heroes colon. It was set to blow at any moment.

5 Minutes Earlier:

Suddenly his training kicked in;

Observation:

The moments ticked away and it was only a matter of time before every man, woman and child in the movie theater would be covered in shit. He had to think quickly and this was no longer a time for thinking, but a time for acting. Before any actor can portray his character, he would need to grasp the severity of his external condition. Observation would be key, and after surveying the area. It had been noted that his dates popcorn had been running low. He grabbed the box whilst exclaiming that it was of utmost importance that it is to be filled. After a quizzical look, the alibi had succeeded. A new challenge had emerged. The wonderful Love Nest seats had been neatly tucked in the corner of the theater, and a varied number of innocent bystanders stood between his current location and the closest co-ordinates of the nearest toilet. A game of Russian Roulette was about to be played. If anything was to erupt, their lives would merely be classified as collateral damage. Each shimmy past a innocent cinema goer, brought a sigh of relief.


2.5 Minutes Earlier:


In a photo finish he makes his way to the bathroom. The pack of popcorn gets flung to one corner as he scrambles to undo the buckles of his pants. Just like the calm before the storm, the world falls silent. The sweet sounds of Michael Bolton resonates through the bathroom speakers and suddenly...nothing. Could this have been a false alarm? Was this all just another test by the agency?

Whilst in the bathroom. He thanks the Lord Jehovah all mighty, and thinks it strange how at moments of crisis one turns to pray for salvation.

He then stares at himself in the bathroom mirror after washing his hands. Flexes his biceps and makes his way back to the movie.

Just when his foot hit the second step of the bathroom exit. Satan came knocking, and the roars of the 5kg Protein Baby came back to life. The demon was to emerge from the pits of the abyss to encapsulate and engulf all those in its path. Such vigor could only be held captive by the sphincter of our heroes anus. As he staggered towards a nearby toilet booth, the psychological pain was subjected to further turmoil as there was no toilet paper in the booth. Tears made its way down his face...time stood still..the flowing of tears..was then met..by the release...of the 5KG PROTEIN BABY !!

Cotton-On Vneck, fitted jeans, socks, shoes, blackberry....parking ticket..

Nothing was spared.

Present time:

Sitting in the car.

Shellshock....

The sounds of screaming soccer moms flashes across the battered mind of our now defeated hero. For they, had been subjected to the sight of a shit covered arsehole galloping across the shimmering floors of Cavendish Square.

No memorials will be held, no songs will be sung. The 21-gun salute will be put to rest.

Only two thoughts now reside in our heroes mind;

1) Is his date still waiting for the popcorn?

and

2) Will this dangling pine covered air freshener be enough to camouflage the smell of defeat?

 The End

@CapeBandit

ANCYL Marches to Cape Town CBD..in Style!

Deputy  President of the ANCYL Ronald Lamola, announced that the league requires not only new leadership, but a new way to conduct effective marches.

The ANCYL aimed to cause a stir in the Cape Town CBD, and they did not disappoint as onlookers watched in complete amazement.


@CapeBandit

"Nice Girls"..The Mermaids of 2012, they will sing you a song & then eat your brains

It was a Thursday evening and the club was packed, the 2012 hail Mary of tracks aka YOLO was blasting through the speakers. A tear ran down my cheek, or that's what I thought it was. It was no tear, the saliva of a nearby barking chick found its way onto my face. Never mind a few shots of patron I needed a rabies shot from the closest SPCA. The worlds most passive aggressive demon eyes were about to be unleashed! Just then, this immaculately dressed anomaly floated past. She seemed unperturbed by any male advances as she made her way towards me. This was it, the hundreds of approaches Iv made was soon going to pay off. A gift to the most deserving student of the game. Obviously, she had seen my dilemma and was approaching to offer her bosom as salvation. Alas, I was standing in a walkway and it was no secret that she had to pass my way in order to get to the other side of the club. 

I noticed that she had been scouring the club in search of something. If it was elegant, sophisticated well mannered human beings she was looking for, it was my job to inform her that her search was in vein. As this strangely aristocratic specimen brushed up against me, the Shakespeare in me wanted to proclaim to her that "love hath made thee a tame snake". 

Luckily my better senses kicked in, as I turned around to question if she was lost. She responded by saying that she was looking for her friends. I did not know who her friends were but I proceeded to sarcastically inform her that they had left, and that they said she should sit and chat with me. We spoke of life's great trivialities and mysteries, before she floated off again I suggested that we exchange contact details and she obliged. 

The next day I had a Cheshire cat grin on my face as I have defeated the odds to actually come across a "Nice Girl" in the clubs. This was going to be the last Hoorah before I retire from the game. I was looking forward to updating my Blackberry status with Michael Bolton lyrics and avant-garde hipster profile pictures. Before any of this could come to fruition I had to send her a message which could get the ball rolling. So I opted to make some reference to the previous night. Her response was grammatically flawless and suspiciously polite. Compliments were noted by a gracious "Thank you." and it became apparent that I was dealing with a individual of exceptional pedigree. I whipped out my Oxford dictionary, tuxedo, top hat, cane and slave as my journey into the age of sophisticated High Tea's and croquet would soon begin. The mermaids song had been sung and I was hooked.

 

I was smitten, and the sweet trappings of friendliness had blinded me to the obvious doomed fate which awaited me...Queue the bagpipes... I had been seduced into limbo, more terrifying than Davy Jones Locker, a zone which could not be charted nor escaped...A zone known as the......  

Some of you might be wondering exactly what being a "Nice Girl" would entail. If you are reading this after stumbling out of some random guys bed, you might as well stop reading right now. 

The Quintessential Nice Girl is;

* Modest

* Elegant

* Respectful

* Meticulous

* Articulate

* Intelligent

* Dignified

I'm no Sherlock Holmes but I do believe that spells...M.E.R.M.A.I.D! Coincidence? I think not! 

Mermaids just like Nice Girls are mythical creatures who have escaped prying eyes for thousands of years. Many a man has embarked on great weekend adventures to have his name echoed for all eternity for accomplishing the unthinkable task of coming into contact with such a majestic enigma. Mermaids are known to sing enchanting songs to seduce their prey before devouring their brains. Sailors were weary of their existance for their true form was unknown to the common man.

I will now expose a interesting characteristic that many if not all Nice Girls/Mermaids have in common..

They usually only have one friend

If ever they are spotted, do not be fooled. They hunt in pairs and there's a very good chance that her friend will not be a Mermaid, more likely to take the form of a  Psychrolutes marcidus or Blobfish (inhibits deep sea waters and is rarely touched or seen by humans). So it is advised that your crewman keep a look out for Blobfish looking to destroy your game.

"You totally shouldn't be speaking to my friend right now" Blobfish

There is no hope for me, my fate has been sealed. You might still have a fighting chance. Sing songs of my plight and pass this message on to fallen comrades for their efforts would not have been in vein as....

@CapeBandit