06 May 2007
Coffee Muggged, WTF.
Least it be said that I don't appreciate the Faulkner/Hemmingway of the blogosphere:
I love to read when he writes.
I love his acid and kemo sabe wit.
But when his daid his daid.
He is the first living person on my blogroll.
I click on his site every fucking day, to see that he likes wally mart coffee mugs????
Fuck you can read that on my blog.
Koffie Huis het vandag hulle mooooooiste koppies aan ons voorgestel!!
OMG I'm gonna faint, they are so cute, yet they suggest a 3way ala Extraordinaire, without sweat, that's just cool and you know it, or do you, assholes?
I would give all the boils on my ass to be able to write like Vman.
Sadly as he is not writing , just filling space, at this stage, I will have to tell you in my own(ed) way a story of my Dad.
My dad was a Civil/Electrical/Mining engineer with a chip on his shoulder, and he was farming at that stage.
Location: Somewhere in the Rustenburg area.
Oom Duimpie, (Tom Thumb), a giant of a man, 6' 4" in height, 300 lbs, with only nominal fat.
My Dad: (Boshoff), 5' 10", 150 lbs, with a bit of fat.
Oom Koot Viljoen, a neighbouring farmer, and most probably related to both, it was a small world then.
Background: Duimpie rented some tobacco drying ovens from Dad and the time he had rented them for was finished.
A messenger from my Dad on horseback arrived at Duimpie's to enquire about the time when the ovens would be vacated. He was horsewhipped and sent back on foot, the horse being kept back as it was to good a horse for a black man to ride on.
The end of this story was related to me by Oom Koot Viljoen, and I will tell it like it was told to me.
KV: Like I said, I was visiting Duimpie and we were having a drink on the stoep (patio/veranda), and he was telling me how he taught a lesson to a heathen earlier that afternoon when we heard this horse coming at a full stretched gallop down his road.
We both stopped talking and listened to this insane rider risking life and limb at such a pace.
KK: And then Oom Koot?
KV: Man, this horse and rider came charging like the Boere did at Majuba, and when he pulled up it was so harsh that the poor horse was sitting on his haunches, in a cloud of dust.
At first we did not recognize the man, but he was scrawny and small.
Then he stepped out of the dust and we saw that it was Boshoff, and with every deliberate step he took he grew taller.
He came so fast that Duimpie was still struggling to get out of his chair.
In a flash Boshoff had Duimpie almost hanging by the scruff of his neck, I swear to God he had him in his one hand and his feet just touched the ground.
He then slapped him with the other hand, right on his ear, and back handed him on the other ear with the return swipe.
This was repeated about six times.
Then Duimpie came to his senses and stood up, and raised that big paw of his to strike back.
Boshoff kneed him in the groin and as he doubled up he met the other Boshoff knee in the eat and drink.
Out for the count, and about six teeth in the driveway.
Eff man that was wild, I just shrank back in my chair as I still owed your Dad fifty rand that he lent me that last December.
KK: Liewe Hemel Oom Koot, what happened then?
KV: Tant Sannie, Oom Duimpie's wife came out with some tea and cookies, and after she surveyed the carnage , she said, "Hallo Boshoff, I saw the beating that he gave your man, he deserved this, but he is still my man and if you ever come back here, I will shoot you and ask questions later.
B: Dankie Sannie, I'm going, Koot you must pay me tomorrow, bye.
Walk, trot, gallop.
Tant Sannie returned the other horse the next day and had tea with my Mother, (my Mother by then knew nothing of the scuffle).
Reply's at your blog.
That's a great story about your father, Kees.
Yeah...V-man's pretty useless these days. Now that his spamolator problem is solved, he has no excuses.