Once again the ever elusive, exclusive, enigmatic iBob was in to save the day yesterday and fix the computer!
The office was whipped into a fury as I ran in chewing gum, kicking ass and taking names! I stormed in and shouted at the top of my whisky strained voice:
” El santo des iBob?”
I had no idea what that meant, or even if it was a real language, but it sounded important and I knew people would take notice. I’m the boss after all. iBob sat up from his lair(iBob knows not the meaning of an “office”) and took in one last sip of his whisky. He dropped his cigarette on the shag pile carpet in the office, while the intern quickly put out the veld fire with a bucket of water. He turned to me, at which time his iPod belted out Bonnie Tylers “Total eclipse of the heart”
“Turn around …”
This man was good even if the song was not as hardcore as the situation demanded. Or as iBob’s reputation demands.
“Torreo rico el gringo?”
“Who you calling gringo? Fix el computero!”
iBob walked to me at a rapid pace and then just stopped on a dime. It was actually a R1 coin but it should have been a dime. He put his healing hand on my computer and the computers STD was cured.
Mine is still raging on and doctors are considering injecting me with nitrous oxide to drive the viruses out.
What I have just written is all a lie and I don’t know where I am. Seriously please stop sending the whisky. When stuff is free I cannot resist.
Seriously though iBob did a great job and I have now given him a pay rise. He now gets two cows a year and a 250ml bottle of DOT4 brake fluid.
Meanwhile I ride in the lap of luxury, sipping the finest cognac while my midget massages my strong back which is cut like a loaf of bread. Not to mention the cheese grater abs.
Look I’m totally losing it here. I spent some time at UCT today, attending a first year lecture in history. For absolutely no reason. I don’t even study but I scoped it out for an article I’m writing when I go to my next lecture. Next time though I’m plying myself with vodka and Red Bull, packing a camera and doing some old school journalism.
Totally illegal? Yes. Way fun? Yeah!
Look I don’t really care what I do around this city, I’m writings outlaw and I can get away with wearing a pink shirt, drinking Savanna while listening to “One night in Bangkok” by Murray Head and still be seen as a hardcore type who scores supermodels as easily as you pour a glass of water.
That reminds me I have to type an interview up.
What a mission! You know what? It’s for your benefit though that’s why I do it.
No jokes it’s 23:56 and I have been hammering the day HARD. At this point it’s important to let you know that I’m fine. I’m alone again but that’s alright. Just because I’m alone does not make me lonely. Like just because some people are rich it does not make them happy.
Look it would be nice if someone was staying over and all, but hey, being here is better than a kick in the teeth. I can kind of hear the ocean( I’m at the beach house tonight, away from my normal ‘hood, “The Bosch”) However the ocean noise is being drowned out at a rapid pace by this song “I just died in your ams tonight”
Good grief I lied back there.
I am lonely! This is playing out like a modern day tragedy. MacBeth had nothing on this story! Even Leo and that girl Kate from that paddle boat “Titanic” had nothing on this.
But I have some cool work coming up and when you people send me e-mails praising my witty rhyming styles and my total control of the english language, then I feel loved again.
Listen sweetheart take this whisky away, I’m trying to take my readers on some sort of guilt trip because sometimes I’m a perpetual liar.
I think I should sit the next couple of drinks out, Hunter.
Chat later
Hugs, kisses and all the rest(Oh and to the guys, a manly high five and a tequila)
Sean Lloyd
Editor
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