Jogging is really needed, but don’t do it. It’s a trap.

Jogging is a very big part of my life. I don’t care how many believe me or not. The fact is, jogging is a very big part of my life and I take it really serious. In fact I do more jogging than I take selfies, which is just to show you how much I value my jogging routines. It is even a pity that some people would choose to stay home and not join me on my jogging moments. If anybody out there is to say jogging keep him or her in shape, it is definitely me.

So how did I become such a huge fan of jogging besides other forms of routines that can keep someone healthy?

Well, it is very simple, after a good September in Walvis Bay, I took up swimming, I had a favorite spot at the famous Wambo beach. It was not for long however that a seal started swimming at my favorite spot and him being obviously dominant and having more rights of ownership for perhaps the whole Atlantic Ocean, I am the one who had to relocate. Sad enough then, I did not find enough fun and satisfaction at my next spot which was infested with stupid Jelly Fish and Sea weed. Every time I went swimming there, I either had to surface in a fine sea weed camouflage form or speed out because some jelly fish hugged my leg or stomach and that thing is really itchy.

 So that was it, no more swimming. At least not as a routine. I had to find another hobby or sort of health check strategy so I signed up for gym membership. Now this was great. I mean, after having to shun speculations that I do go to the gym already or tone my body in some mysterious way, finally I had a concrete reason as to why I have such a body to die for. Seriously, if a girl does not like my body, there is something wrong with her. I have the body to last millenniums. I am handsome. I have this nice toned chest that says, “Hey, when are you taking the attention off me? I’m in the spotlight here bro” Lol, okay just messing with ya’ll.

The gym went well though until I realized that it is slowly and secretly making a tiny hole in my budget and it is munching away too much than I first anticipated. I mean, it was all about the monthly payment first but it was not long before I started to feel the need to ask for my one dollar change from the cab guy or else I am calling the cops. Ow, by the way guys, the Taxi fares are still at 9N$ in Walvis bay ya’ll, I mean even after 00:00, you still just pay 9 flippen Dollars bruuh. Okay, then there was the constant need to have an energy drink and the cheapest ones happened to be expensive too as per my budget’s definition of energy drink allowance. Then there was the rather unexpected expenditures on the gear. Wow, just a pair of trainers with no brand or the Chinese “Adibas” cost like enough money to take me to SA, get robbed at the airport, buy a BMW330i on the streets and teleport out at the border by “leasing” some of my funds to the tax officers and still have enough left to post my land affirmation letter to WHK even if I live in Walvis Bay.

 So that’s it, swimming, gym… two really nice routines all gone to waste because the circumstances could not allow me just that feeling that says, “Hey I am in this, I feel it. I’m part of it like JFK in the history books”. That feeling was just not there, I mean, it was almost like something kept telling me, “Dude, that is just not part of you”

Sad enough or perhaps it is indeed a good act of faith, I always believe the little voice in me. I was not going to be boring though that I just come home and sleep like a baby Kangaroo in its Mums pouch or some hobo who sleeps all winter and wake up in summer to eat the whole forest and its ladybirds. Seriously, somebody list all those animals out there who sleep all winter and do nothing constructive apart from lose so much weight and get attention from those pathetic scientists. I had to be a responsible human being, one who is conscious of his health and his Ow My Laawwwd Body to die for.

 

So I googled, “What is that one routine that keep one in shape and bring so much fun to a boring lifestyle in Walvis bay?”

 

Here is what google brought up for me.

1.    Bodybuilding.com – Baby Bumps and barbells: How to stay fit.

2.    One of these five women is 26, another is 56 and one is Kate Moss…so

3.    Being fit without letting food and exercise control you.

 

Okay, seriously, Google is on some sort of drug. My question was very clear. Was that supposed to bring me hope in striking a good routine?? The first point really, who mentioned babies and bumps? Plus body building is what am trying to get away from here, it is not body building, how I saw it is going to a building to be in the company of nude people and women trying to look like men and at the end of a 30 day cycle, you are required to willingly get just a little more broke.

 

The second one, I am not so sure and I wouldn’t think anyone cares how old the women are. And then so what if the other one is Kate Moss? Doesn’t she have an age??

 

The third and the last I even read cause I was already fed up is just as dumb as the first two and probably the rest if I read on. No wait, this was an insult actually, now remember I am not trying to starve myself, I am just trying to keep in shape and hey it is not an exercise, not really, it is just a routine to say hey, I am gonna have something that aids me on getting and staying into shape. And nobody said food is controlling me, I control the food already, I buy it, cook it, take photos of it and eat it up. It is that simple, I did not ask for complications, I asked for a routine, now google, if you don’t want to help, you should have just said it. -_-

 

So that’s it, I failed at trying to come up with a routine but the next morning, it all changed… There I was, walking to work and there it was. The revelation, the vision… The answer google failed to give me. I saw a man. He was jogging!! I felt my whole life change. I felt my heartbeat rise to the excitement and I felt my whole body already getting into shape. That was it, problem solved, now all I had to do was set the time and decide where to jog to… I mean I didn’t have to think of what anymore, I just had to think, how and when. Bingo, jackpot. I have a routine now and you can kiss my tiny ass. It is free, it is freedom baby.

 

 

 

So I started planning. I needed a few things to be in order just to make sure that this routine pays off just the way I want it to. I wanted it to be a lifetime thing and as I write this, I still do it so my plans worked quite well. First thing I needed to do was find a jogging buddy. I didn’t have to know this person by name and their age was not at all important, neither whether it’s a guy or a girl. Only requirement I had was that, this jogging buddy must be chubby. See, this is not discrimination; this is making sure I get a buddy who is really into this whole “losing weight” thing. Somebody who will jiggle it all up to town and back, somebody who will be visible even when we jog in foggy weather, Someone who if we later changed to a marathon challenge, I’d beat him down hours flat and really, I mean, who doesn’t want to jog next to a chubby guy who would think somebody else jog better than him?? Those guys are cool. They are like the real jogging justice. But, sad enough, I did not get the right candidate for this one.

 

Next on the planning checklist was to get a route. This was easy. It was a walk in the park? Where else, I mean, it is either the beach or the road that leads to town passed Nampost and KFC, then, it ends at Debonairs Pizza. Now, the last two places I mentioned seriously had nothing to do with me deciding where to jog, they just happened to be in my route and apparently this was not so much of a good idea but just because people decided to build them in my route does not mean I was going to change my plans at all.

 

So there it was, I had my route and then the last thing, I had to find myself a jogging outfit. Something that, my jogging hour should be able to identify me with. This is what makes my jogging stand out because when I leave home to go jog, I am a champion.  I am a role model to kids out there. I am at the focus of my own dreams. Okay the last sentence makes no sense. :/

I am like Leonardo Da Vinci in his primes when I jog. I need to stand out in my mirror, I need to have something that speaks confidence. Something that speaks a serious lifestyle like;

“Hey I wear a suit on Mondays to Fridays, tracksuits on Saturdays and another distinct suit on Sunday but each and every evening, I wear this jogging attire because I my friend, I am very serious with my health especially that I have a body to die for that I need to take care of for generations to see, now if you can please get out of my way, I’d be so damn pleased, thank you, Stefan, nice to meet you”

 

What best can I make of such expectations then? Not easy but I believe I edged it close to perfection; I got me a Red and Green pair of jogging shorts and a matching pair of knee length socks. See, I don’t like things that are not complemented so I got me a nice vest with a huge Pumpkin drawn on it and a Bandana to keep the sweat off my face. So is the clothing inventory complete Champ? Yes, it is complete sir. Now, time for the real thing, jogging.

 

After work, I am often already exhausted so the last thing I want is to just drop my projects home and head off for jogging. Remember I said, jogging is a very important part of my life, it is almost as important as my surname because with it I can be found if am lost. Seasonal buddies, if you know what I mean. So, I get home and take a shower. After that, I watch videos of the greatest Marathon gurus of all time. I mean who else can these be if not the slender and mysterious guys from Kenya? Those little humans with bony faces and rib cages to assist in Mathematics can run long distances, like once they apparently did run from Cairo to Cape Town at a constant pace. I swear in 1565, we all took sledges and horses from West Africa but those guys must have jogged their way through Africa already. I am not hating on them, obviously not, I mean if am to get Robbed in South Africa, I will beg for money to take a bus to Kenya, change my citizenship to being Kenyan just so I run my way back to Namibia like a real champion.

 

Okay, back to my preparations See, the idea is to get in the jogging mood you know; the idea is to have that energy, to generate it without taking in so much calories. I believe jogging needs someone with the jogging X-Factor and it very much is dependent on the kind of outfit you have on. After all, you wouldn’t want to go jogging in Spandex jeans or some long dresses. Not even in Egypt do they do that.

 

So I put on my gear and put on my jogging face. I need to have on a face that says, hey, I am going to hunt down Vladimir Putin. I leave home just trotting like a horse, I mean it is more like I need to warm up first. The corner at the street end always seems to twist an energy bar in me and energize my whole body. I suddenly turn my face up and gear up into a gallop. At this point, my lungs and liver are already under repair, all the tiny fat granules that scavenged and hoisted on them like real bad parasites.

 

On a rate of ten, my jogging is at four and a half here. I am like almost in cruising speed. There are often kids playing soccer in this street and I just feel so sad for them. I mean if only they knew how big of a mistake that is. Kids should be taught in school that jogging is the future of all Therapies. I don’t even know why their parents seem to not know that just around the corner lives a Jogging revolutionary. It is such a pity. So what do I do? I jog past them, I mean after all if they would one day also join me, they should make up their minds; it is not my job to make such decisions for them.

 

I plug in my ear phones and go in a really rhythmical jogging pattern; this is when the real good feeling kicks in. I feel in control of my health, I feel really good. I feel like my whole health state on a scale and it checks out with what the doctor recommends. This is life. No one and nothing can beat this feeling and the good part about it, no one can stop me. I am like Spartacus. Ten minutes in it and I really hyped up for it now, there is no turning back, I am already almost half way to the destination point, town. I am panting like a wild dog and trotting on like a beaver. I am King of the Pedestrian’s lane here. I have not skipped a song yet, that means I am not at all bored in this race-of-fitness. I turn in and out of streets, winding my way through groups of pathetic overweight humans who probably have their wardrobes full of shorts and socks capable of becoming the greatest jogging uniforms ever. I see a lot of ladies in Jump Suits, now that is a nice jogging outfit, I mean, jogging is more like just making a series of thousands small jumps in 20 minutes.

 

By the time I get to the corner of the last street, I am in full flight. I also have my eyes on the halfway point. This gives me great hope for even my next jogging hour. It is never longer than 30 minutes before I reach the ultimate destination point. So I jog till the stop sign and turn back. I do not at all stop to catch a breath, no. Ever seen those Kenyan guys taking a breath? of course not. Real champions do not stop to take a breath. I am Jogging Material baby. I am the Jogging Master.

 

And here I go again, my return home. Two minutes in the second phase of my jogging hour and I notice a rather weird place on my left. It is a really cheeky restaurant and it reads, Pakistani Kebab House. Now, this is quite a huge clique for me because I have something against the Pakistani history. Hey, do not hold this against me I said history so, not the people and no the present, it is the history. And by the way it should not be surprising because I equally have something against all history that involves men in long dresses and a long beard, that image is scary. But, there is the word kebab. Now those who do not know what kebab are, it is a sort burger called a Doner Kebab in some parts of or rather all parts of Europe and the Asian states. I had it a gazillion times in Europe. It is really nice and it is in my opinion, irresistible. It is a wrap of bread with meat and vegetables stuffed in it.

 

What can a human being do in this situation? Continue jogging? No, I am not some supernatural being who can switch off his cravings for nice food, I am not an alien, I am human. If any of you reading this disagrees and argues that a normal human being can in fact continue jogging, then I don’t care, you all can have your humanic reasons to yourself and if you are going to cast me out, I don’t care either. I cannot just jog past a kebab place; it was made for opportunists like me. People who are willing to grow the food and beverage industry and keep it afloat of all mega companies like iPhone and Microsoft. And who even said I had rules on my jogging routines? I never said it, Santa never said it. The Kenyan guys never said it either. after all they are the artists of this kind of thing.

 

Ok I am sorry it is this long... :(

 

So I go in the restaurant and first thing I see is a guy eating a Doner Kebab!

 

“Stefan, turn back, go back to your jogging routine this is not a good idea Stefan please turn back and walk away from this place” says the tiny cute voice in my heart.

 

“No! Why do you always want to control me? When will I have to make my own decisions? I am doing so much for you every single day and just once I walk into a restaurant you tell me to turn back? What are you? Some sort of therapist? I am trying to investigate the existence of good food in Walvis Bay here, so shut up and sit in your corner. I carry you in my heart, and no, do not even think about it you are not going anywhere. You know all my dirty little secrets. Like that one time when I was 13, I took my Mum’s cologne and gifted it to my girlfriend. Omg why am I even saying it to you, you know it already you tiny animal!!”

 

So I fume and burn. I stand there all stoned up and my face goes all red to the sight and smell of the majestic Doner Kebab. I can’t believe I jogged past this place and haven’t at all noticed it! I can’t believe that jogging, which was supposed to keep me fit and happy allowed me to jog past such a nice needed place. I knew it was a bad idea, it always been a bad one I guess. No wonder the kids in the street were just playing football and school doesn’t really encourage jogging. I do not need such routines that take away my friends and my chance to have nice food, what was I thinking of?? I start to shake and blink like a desert lizard. I begin to feel like I almost destroyed my whole life with a routine that is responsible for disappointing Europeans, Americans and Asians in each and every Marathon event. We all know that where Kenyans are, not a single non-Kenyan competitor walks away with a gold medal. Rumors have it that once in an “All Chinese Marathon” in Beijing, a really black, tall and slender (typical shape) guy won the Marathon and not surprisingly enough, he was from Kenya. And he didn’t even run the marathon, he came for Holidays, happened to walk in the same road where the marathon was taking place and he just won the race. Just like that, the Gurus hit again. I am proud to be African right now; these guys have the potential to one day lay their golden medals from Cairo to Orandjemund, not South Africa as they may end up going missing, just like that.

 

I gained my energy back, just enough to drag myself to the nearest table and stretch out to get my hands on the menu. I was so tired, the evil jogging took all my energy and probably reserved it for some hobo out there to come and steal more away. I tok the menu in my hands and there it was on the front cover page. I mean where else would it be if it is the grand slam of food? If a Doner was human, it would probably be me. I mean, I am handsome and smart. I have such a nice body that I feel so scared whenever I take my shirt off in public, I have fear of cameras. My signature has evolved into an autograph. I have a childhood career running and I am a certified labor law specialist and I will soon wake up from this dream when my best friend Houlashi reads this and try to argue me down on it. Lol, okay, on a serious note, it is impossible to resist a Doner Kebab. My eyes were full of tears, I felt so betrayed for half the jogging time I took.

 

Sometimes life is really bad, it allows certain routines to just destroy us. That is how jogging almost destroyed me too and I hope my kids will love football, selfies, travelling, Maths and a lot of French fries. I want them to love such stuff just as much as I love Mum, she has always been there for me and I feel honored when she say that all the troubles she went through, she always had me and my siblings at heart. We all need such mothers and not to say Fathers are bad, my dad has never really inspired me and he never took time to just be there for me but it is nothing that makes me sad anymore, it is my time to show him love. We are all humans and forgiveness is and will remain the ultimate form of love.

 

Alright enough with my peace philosophies! I will never match the great Mahatma Gandhi. I quickly made an order and when the Doner arrived, I felt my whole happiness bar rise above its thresholds, I felt great excitement. I felt so much peace, enough to unite South and North Sudan. I felt like Santa was actually real and he was somewhere in that Pakistani restaurant, watching me through his mysterious specs. So forget it all folks, I have a new hobby. A new routine that can not be matched. Not by swimming, not by going to the gym and definetly not by the notorious jogging. This is the greatest routine besides the non-debatable selfie photo shoots. This is the routine to last me ages, the routine to guide generations through trials, the routine that will live in the history books after the stupid dieticians write long pathetic patents on it. This routine is called, “The Doner Diet” It is the substitution of Pizza to many. All civilized nations eat Doners people, remember it comes in assorted flavours and those who are in Walvis Bay, please visit the Pakistani restaurant in town and make yourself feel at home because there aren’t real Pakistani people on site.

So I sat and had my Doner, another one and a third to take home and also take Pictures to post on Instagram. Yaaayyy, I even took a cab back home baby. I was obviously not going to jog back home now am I? I have a Doner in my hand and I am stuffed up with bread and veggies. Such days, I hope to be able to teleport to this place in the future because taking a taxi can be slow too.

 

And last and definitely a very important take away point, do not order your Doner “Hot”, these folks have a soft spot for chilli and you may end up blaming me for your “bathroom horrors”. When you still think you need to blame me though, better be really prepared because I recently did my certificate in labour law and you need to prove me guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Only then you will take me down. I am Stef, it was nice to have you in my world. Cheers!

New year celebrations, I was a Champion.

How many of you have ever celebrated New Year’s out of town at a village or farm? Or maybe you were in town but you had to stand somewhere to look at fireworks from the neighbour’s or from the next street? I did! As a matter of fact, I have never set off fireworks myself, one I never bought any. Two, even if I bought them, I’d probably still give them to someone to set them off so I stand far and see them better. My family and I celebrated all our New Year’s Day at the village, 3km out of Oshakati.

It was probably always the best part of the year. It was the fireworks, the food, the excitement and one thing that really almost changed my life and that’s what I want to tell you about. The DRUMMING!!!! If any of ya’ll remember waking before 00:00 to find your best stick or piece of metal to continuously and rebelliously hit on a metal drum to celebrate the New Year, you and I share a very special part of memories.

It is still a very common form of celebration. If you have those 1000 litre drums in your house, you probably remember looking at it on the 30^th December and going like “in exactly 24 hours, I am hitting the hell out of you sucker”

My sister and I would collect all the big metal drums in the house and place them somewhere, and then we’d get some real bad ass sticks or metal rods. It was like building a Noise and Fun plant. Mum would take some of her useful drums and buckets and deplete our pile but in no time, we will have it all heaped up again. We worked hard like ants. We would then stay up the 31^st December and wait for 00:00 and when the hour strikes, it is party time baby. It’s a rumble. No one is even worrying about how loud the drums are or who is being disturbed, after all, the whole village is drumming away the old year like a real rock band.

As for me, I got used to it though, eventually, I did not even have to make any effort to raise my arms, it all happened like I was a tiny drumming robot and I sure loved it. I had the energy and the will. The worse feeling was when you sleep and wake up in the morning, having missed the whole drumming moment and knowing its only coming up again in 365 days. :D

I am young, I have all the energy and it is meaningful, it is exciting, I don’t even understand the kids who don’t beat drums during this very special night. Dradadadadad bong bong bong!!!! Beat the goddamn drums kiddo you are a superhero, yaaaayyyy, bong bong bong bong!! I was almost like a drumming spider, all 8 legs at work hitting the drums like it’s a military band.

I’d often get up like 5 minutes to midnight and go like, “Alright it’s that time of the year again, yeah baby we are doing this thing. I am going out there to beat those drums and look at the fireworks. It is so awesome, yeah”, pom pom pom pom!! At that point, I have one drum and my stick, rhythmically drumming away the old year to welcome the new one and simply be in the vibe.

So at first it was really exciting but things changed as I grew up. I grew a little used to the whole drum thing and I guess it was the whole thing of, I’ve done this uncountable times and the government has banned the excess use of fireworks and float flames. So I’d be like, “… but yeah, it’s a good day, lets hit the drums like good citizens of the free Namibia. Bong bong bong, alright guys am off to bed, see ya tomorrow. Happy new year’s again people.”

After years of drumming and cutting my sleep to 30 minutes or so, to make time for the celebrations, I got really tired and though I could not make it obvious so as to not send out negative vibes to the kids, I’d just get up and make one carefully exaggerated hit on the nearest metal piece. Just loud enough to have the kids realise am among them to celebrate. It got really boring, I wanted more, I wanted loud music and maybe we all dance or something. I could not introduce that though cause I was still also just a dreaming but still boring Monkey. I needed someone to launch it all but there was no one. No one could. 

I then grew so tired of the whole drum and in the end, I just decided to keep the original idea of letting the stick touch the drum, whatever way, just let it touch the drum and make that little sound. it is enough. Then you go back to bed and thank God for the new year but staying up drumming like a maniac was not fun anymore.

So after so many years of Bonking away the old years in style till I grew tired, I would have so wished to spend my New Years like this:

But no, I will go back to the originals, to the olden days where the drum and the stick are the real deal. I wish all my readers a very good festive season. I will probably pop up again before 2015 but for now, ya’ll have a good time with your families and loved ones. I will be somewhere chewing on some biltong and hoping that 2015 will be bigger and better. XOXO

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Being a serious adult is depressing

I am the guy society expect to soon become a serious adult. I am sorry; I can’t do all that at once. I need choices. Currently, the only time I get serious and really feel like an adult is when I go out which is weird, really weird because my friends think going out is fun but, I think going out really is a serious thing and you all need to take your going outs serious too. Everyone who takes going out as a fun thing is probably one of the teens who silently and unknowingly threaten to wipe out the entire teenhood on the face of the earth and replace it with serious young adults. When I go out, I want to feel like I am Denzel Washington and I am on a mission.

I was just listening to James Blunt’s song 1973 and I’m thinking, oh cool; he was really romantic, he could plan his routines well with probably a really gorgeous lady. He was seriously being a serious adult. I bet he had a Seriometer in his room that he measure himself with every morning just to see if he is serious enough to go out there and show the world what he is made of. Could I one day be a serious adult too? Or for once just be serious? No, I tried, I really did and it failed badly and I almost died in the process. Emotional death. Like Miley Cyrus.

One thing I take serious in life is minding my own business and choosing to not get serious when society thinks I need to. You see, I'll explain the evidence as to why it is highly important. I was seated in a Pakistani restaurant in Walvis Bay sipping on a coke while waiting for a Chicken Biryani. 

My whole day is going well so far and I really feel like I am finally the kind of adult I want to be. An adult who treats himself to good food, he checks his phone only once an hour and he nods and smiles to those he cross ways with. I mean, basic adult responsibilities that don't require effort. Not things like paying bills or going for parent meetings, no, thats being a serious adult and it is scary and lethal. You can die in those meetings or catch a cold standing in long bill queues. 

Even the online paying systems can't be trusted these days, you'll be opening up your emails to chat with your old time friends and here is spam emails, all sorts of shitty companies who just want our money apparently to cover our retirement plans and shit like that. That is exactly why Santa doesn't want to become real, because this world is full of other clowns already… okay, there I was with my arms folded waiting for my Biryani and... Bam, Three "kids" walk in, young boys perhaps 16 year olds. I looked down to see if they stole my phone yet. and no, there it was. My super awesome Sony M2. Thanks to Houlashi.

I looked up to again but, all I could see now was three "human beings" choosing hubly flavors and before I knew it, there they were, all up in smoke like its some tiny volcanic eruptions. Inhaling and exhaling like its a respiratory systems exam. I dropped my glass of coke and like a real adult, a serious one for that matter, I took a deep breath and wore my "I am a serious adult" face. I thought to myself, you need to tell them that smoking can destroy their lungs and cause severe teeth disorders and it will make them smell like they haven’t bathed in 87 years.

But no, I was not going to get that serious, instead, I closed my eyes and silently in my heart, I told myself like;

“Stef, minding your own business is a pretty serious thing and you need to constantly make sure you are doing just that. What if these three are just 37 year old dwarfs who are catching up on a good day after a very long time apart? What are you? Some sort of medical doctor? Are you saying people with height and growth disorders are not supposed to have the same rights like you now or what? Stop being such a nosy piece of garbage. You studied engineering not medical science and even if you did and you were Jason Statham in a superhero movie, you don’t have to play this role either. Now sip your coke and wait for your food”

I almost, almost just judged them. I almost stood up to them, then I realised how close I came to becoming a young serious adult. I realised how close I came to destroying my Teenhood. Old teenhood actually. I just don't want to be reffered to as an adult. 

After that, I started question myself a lot. Did I perhaps need to be a young serious adult and tell these fellows to drop the nozzle? After all, they paid for that thing. So...

I think it really usy hit me so hard how trying to be an adult can cause you a lot of worries.

At some point, I thought I was going to cry.

And I think I was just so horrible at being an adult. A seriously horrible fail.

I don't know from where but a wave of new hope hit me. Like a little tickle in my side, I suddenly realised that hey bro, you can do this, you can do away with this whole thing of trying so hard to be a serious adult. 

Almost like slow motion, I picked up my glass and gulped my coke up. I reached for my all time best asset, my #FeelGoodShades. I sat them on my fugly face and furnished out the most cunning smile like someone just announced my name in the top twn most handsome guys ever, I actually think top ten is too exxagerated, I am probably like in the top 5, realisticaly. If Only 5 people go in the contest. Including me.

 So to hell with being a serious adult suckas, Society can't expect me to solve problems it caused to the unaware fellows, I don't want heart attacks, Plus those three little guys really looked like dwarfs minutes after they got high. I have never seen kids sit around potential death threats like that.

Top 10 Facebook updates / posts that piss me off

I joined Facebook in 2010 after a long time of thinking and believing that those who use Facebook are simply boring people who don’t know any better thing to do than say a shitload of crap on or mysteriously become Philosophers. I have since witnessed evolution of humankind on Facebook. None of that actually really pissed me off until lately when a new wave of weird and often really annoying trends swept through this lovely Facebook generation. From meaningless slang to girls uploading duck faces.

1.     Woman crush Wednesday / Man crush Monday

I am not really a fan of modern flirting or this whole internet slang thing and I am especially really pissed off because English seem to be under a global douchebag slang disease. The biggest lately being this WCW and MCM thing. I thought it was cool, especially after someone texted me like; “you could be my MCM you know”, I was like, “Girl you make me weak”, you see, I’m like still in the vintage form of flirting which many find so boring but at least I don’t end up with a modern relationshit.

Few days later, I searched on the net, “what does MCM stand for?” 98% of the answers were from Tumbler, Internetslang.com and Urban dictionary and it is Man crush Monday. Give me a break, I have no problem with this really, it is just that maybe it must at least have a concrete meaning. I don’t even want to be referred to as a crush or crusher or something like that. Man what happened to names like Pumpkin, sweetheart and Prince Charming??

“Dear xyz, I take back my *thank you* from the MCM conversation we had last week, regards, Blue Short Pants”

2.     Windhoek here I come (or any other town)

What are you? Thor?? Oh wow we are excited; we are lined up along the main road to welcome you. Thank you so much for telling us that for the next 7 hours, your bum will be squashed on the bus. Okay nothing wrong with that but seriously; do you really have to let the whole world know that you are on your way to Windhoek? Ok then what? Why don’t you go to your music app, make a seven hour playlist and plug in your earphones? Next time you want to tell us you are on your way, stop making it look like you are JFK or some revolutionary superhero.

3.     Thanks for accepting my friend request

This is often more awkward than annoying. I mean alright cool, I know you are really this humble and Santastic individual but this kind of politeness is really annoying. What was I supposed to do? Say you welcome? Okay I will say welcome and paste a truckload of mind soothing emotions on your kindness, make it look like thanksgiving. No, I’ll pass.

4.     Welcome to my world

Oh wow, really? Welcome to my world? Alright, I was lost, I was on a different galaxy in some weird life and I needed a new world to live in, happens, it was my lucky day and you decided to give me a new one. What is the name? Shiarth?

What is more annoying about this is that this person will add you, then you accept and then they are all Hurrah on your wall like “Welcome to my world”. I get to feel like I am a complete lost soul that someone kind enough decided to give me a piece of their world on a social network. Man, welcome to Zuckerberg’s confused and hysterically hilarious social network.

5.     OMG Nice weather

Dear Facebook Weatherman,

Thank you. Thank you so much Weatherman. We are stuck in a cave and have no idea what is going on out there, we really need your inflow of weather updates. It must be raining candies or storming Punch out there, after all, the weather has got your jaws dropping like OMG. We look forward to more updates, tell us also when it is a baby making weather, it is really important.

Regards,

Family stuck in a cave

6.     Who is up? I am bored. (at 02h17)

Seriously? Like really, who is up? I have no problem with you lying down in the dark blinking and starring at your phone waiting for a text that says, “Ow hey am up, let us talk about Bats and the night sky or some BBA hotshots. I only have a problem with the logic behind this. If someone is up, they will answer yes if they are as bored as you are. If they are not, especially in my case at that time of the hour, I can’t reply, not even if I had the most severe sleeping disorder will I sleep-text and get it right.

Why don’t you start adding security guards and maybe guys from NASA? They’ll sure chat at that hour. And by the way this is how your text should read instead; “hey aliens and my insomnia team, I am still up, I am boring, somebody pass me a sleep shot please, LOL ROTFL, J :p Bleh Okay Peace out (y)”

7.     Replies on Girls photos

With this, I am often already under acute shock and pissed-off-state that I can only wish I did mind my business in the first place. The most shocking comments are often from the other girls, I mean I really like the “humour” and sisterhood but… Come on, just cause you and your buddy went through a lot together does not mean you need to deliver an OMG so cute text below the pic.

I have seen some comments that have you thinking it is Nicole Scherzinger but when the photo finally loads, I am just thinking oh boy, who painted this face? Did the kids play with the crayons again??? Girls with the tendency of complimenting each other’s beauty despite each other’s beauty really piss me off.

Then we have this Niggas commenting like “looking fine baby”, “Splendid”, “Give me your number”, “Gorgs”, “I love you” Okay am out, peace out niggas, this is total madness.

8.     HBD

It is my birthday; it marks a certain numbers of years for me, a milestone. It also means am coming closer to being old, slow, almost blind and deaf, I will eventually die. My life is both exciting and scary. Exactly the reason why I do not want boring, lazy and talk-shy humans who just post HBD on my timeline after a notification popped up like “hey, its Stef’s birthday”, why didn’t you just ignore?

Now I have to come to terms with an abbreviation on my timeline, this is not a graffiti wall, it is my timeline, it is my almost public diary and obituary too. If you don’t Have time or the words to wish me a decent happy birthday, keep scrolling, maybe find some Facebook adds to follow or this shitty candy crush… no, candy crush is cool… In a nutshell, just don’t post that shitty abbreviation on my timeline. I really hope Facebook will come up with a notification that pops up after you post some shitty stuff like “Your post has been identified as being inhumane and a threat to world’s peace, this is your last warning”

9.     Rest in Peace #Tears

Oh, I am touched; I am deeply touched you are crying so much you just had to hashtag it. I bet your phone is all soaked up. If I die, please show me some respect it and don’t exaggerate it this much. What is wrong with you people? I don’t even know who discovered this hashtag thing, it has been so misused. I hashtag useless stuff like #Hashtag or #Lol which apparently does not make sense but #tears?? Nxo, smh

10.  I thought of selfies but no ways, I love selfies and everyone who takes selfies… I love them so much I’d so much wish to take a selfie just before I die, I would call it, the farewell selfie. I really will take so many selfies in my bed every time I don’t feel well. I would like you guys to investigate the last selfie I take before I die so that one day it goes into a museum like “The last selfie”, just under my obituary.

Something like this. In your face suckas. Selfies are cool.

So that said, the last thing on Facebook that piss me off is:

People who hate selfies. 

You guys really creep me out I’d pass by your houses in a tank in case you want to attack me. I am not going to waste my energy and talk about you, instead, I am going to leave it here.