NINJA MAN AND SIZZLA..LOVE THIS STAGE SHOW
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
LITERARY RETURN
Oh how they shunned your dear fellow narrator...ive been chewed and spat out like a suppository in a German womans ass. But like all things which come from the mouth like words, i managed to survive. And so i sit before you once again, humbled, my tail never between my legs becasue my tail and ears were docked as a young man, i was supposed to be a blue blood.
and so...here's a little story wrote a while ago...not my best work, but not worst either.
Beverlea
A short story by: Montle Moorosi
My girlfriend is trying to kill me, well, I don’t even know if she’s my girlfriend really, she lives 2 minutes away from me with her parents in the home that they’re renting that is 4 houses away from the house that they’re renovating which they hope to move into once they pay off the bank, their daughters varsity and school tuitions, their heamorraghing extended family and of course my girlfriends R20 000, of which R7000 is mine. Last week the sheriff reposessed their treadmill and some furniture and I’m supposed to be sad even though my balls are swollen and look like dead foetouses from Avartar. I only see my “girlfriend” twice a week and this time together is usually spent chaperoning each other on our mundane errands like going for haircuts, paying parking tickets and never having sex or even making out for longer than 15 seconds.
“Maybe God taking away their wealth is his judgement on their frugal ways?’ I said to myself while suddenly feeling myself getting aroused as I page through a book about child birth with graphic black and photos from the seventies of really big wet and fat vaginas with what I assume are children’s heads popping out of them. The good and wise Lord struck down the tower of Babylon with his Zeus like cock and balls because the whores were not clean and they had no understanding of customer service and we cant forget about how our almighty Jesus Christ cursed the tax men out of his citadels because they forgot that pimps aren’t supposed to pay taxes or sleep with each others wives. And who am I to question the word and actions of the Lord? God is Good, God is great. My hand slips and my mind wanders to endless plains of wet grass, fresh mango tree’ sweating and mulatto women with soaking wet pussies and mouths as my four walls unfold in front of me and become vast white beaches and my hell becomes a rack of ribs served with a ice cold blow job from Mary Magdelene with a mouth full of cocaine and Cognac.
“Hello? Can I come in?” I place my bible on my lap and cross my legs.
“Yes, come in”
“did you check the newspapers today for jobs?”
“yes mother, there was nothing much, only something for the municipal which I’ve already applied for. But I also found a new interesting passage in Corinthians about striving for one’s dreams in the face of insurmountable terror, its very interesting, I’ll give it to you to read once I’m done re writing it onto my chart of inspiration so I can ponder its greatness and the Lords wisdom over and over again, PRAISE HIM, PRAISE HIM LORD!”
“Okay, just keep at it, job searching is a job itself you know, because the lord say’s ‘he who hath giveth and taketh the bread, is a man who hath suffered beyond a mule and a quarry of dolomite’.
“YES! YES MOTHER PREACH! EH HEH! PRAISE HIM! EH HEH! MY LORD ” I say to her as I stand up and sort of half jump whilst frantically searching for my hankerchief so I can either wipe my brow or swipe the sky in elation of God knows what.
“ok, well dinner is ready, your father made Curry. And go and get your clean clothes from the laundry room when you’re done eating, and if that wet back burnt or shrunk any of your shirts again you come and tell me and I’ll fire her quicker than she can say home affairs.”
“Of course mother, with Gods grace you can do it”
I get on my knees and pray for forgiveness for having distastefull thoughts about half breed women and our mother Mary. “Actions speak louder than thoughts and my actions are righteous but my mind wanders like the lost black sheep in the city of Sodom waiting to be raped by an Australian… but Lord please forgive my right hand, for it does not know what it does, they forced my hand Lord. They forced my hand !”.
Another pleasure dead is another dog wasted on the highways trying to get back home after chasing a bitch on heat. As the world gradually dwindles its support of my need for the small things which keep me happy like worshiping the Lord, playing my accordion and getting the odd blow job here and there I start to wonder if maybe the Lord confused my birth and accidentally cursed me to this life of mediocrity by swapping my life with Ray maccauly’s during his divine and intricate process of creation. Maybe I should buy a hamster? But they piss too much and that combined with old wood shavings wouldn’t make my mother too happy…I could get a corn snake and hide it in my sock drawer but then people would think my allegiance is to Lucifer, but then again maybe all these kaffirs would finally leave me alone and I can finally be a man respected for the fear he instills in men and the semen he injects in women. David Koresh, Barrack Obama, Eugene Terreblanche were all men of God with great followings, and maybe I too will have women at my feet and they will feed me grapes with their pussy lips and spit wine into my ass and I will shit it right back out into their mouths and watch them become intoxicated of my soul. I will be a real God and they just don’t make them like that anymore for some reason.
On most days when I’m not reading the bible or selling counterfeight cigarettes to cane cutter shop owners I like to listen to country and western music and take long walks in the park, I also like to take flu medication to numb the pain in my heart and of course the shame of masturbating up to 5 times a day on a regular basis to black porn which I think I kind of hate but I still watch anyway because I’m too broke to download my own porn so I’m just sort of stuck with what I steal from my Zimbabwean and Zambian friends who aren’t really my friends. Yes I really do have a girlfriend and Her name is Leandre, but everyone calls her Lea, but what everyone does not know is that Lee and her winging vagina are in cahoots with each other to ruin my life.
Leandre came back to South Africa 3 years ago after living in Germany and working first as a line worker in donut factory, she made the holes in the donuts in a assembly line full or polish and Armeninan women and then within a year she became a a music video director and she returned to South Africa with a splendid portfolio of films, a list of famous men she’d fucked she’d written at the back of a New Young Pony Club flyer and a German accent, yes she picked up a German accent. I actually always admired her for that, even though she once cheated on me with a homeless man who dressed up in what they call “street wear” and had a tattoo’s of Chinese shit on him. But I always admired a German accent on a Congolese woman.
We once to hartebeespoort for a weekend, it was here that I first heard her and her vagina conversing together while she thought I was passed out from drinking too much wine and eating too much wild game meat. In my short spell of sleep I dreamnt I took Lauren Beukes out for a veggie burger at Royale and then i took her to the offices of One small Seed and fucked her on the floor with everyone watching and cheering on as she screamt “ Don’t cum inside of me !”.
“eehhhh…I’m sick, I cant do it my love” I thought that lord of the rings was playing on the television, but it was clearly two voices coming from the bathroom.
“But were on holiday, I want to please him”
“tell him were bleeding my precious, and tell him that were feeling gassy from the game meat…stick your fingers deeper, it wont come out if you keep pussy footing like that”
“I wish he would just rape me and get it done with”
“But my precious, were bleeding, rapists don’t go for bleeders.”
Then a drum started playing alongside some African chants that went something like “ jhoo bhoo bhoo eh!”, I check the television to see whether Lady Smith Black Mambazo are on Vh1 but its still an episode of Mythbusters where theyre trying to prove whether “pulling out” can actually prevent pregnancy or not.
“Who were you talking to on the phone last night?” I asked her the next morning in a brain thumping haze of a hangover, “nobody, you’re insane, you drink too much”. I was vomiting.
“So who was playing the bongos then? I didn’t see anyone wearing sandals around here”
“You’re stupid”.
“How’s about a hand job then?”
Beverly has been missing for 5 months, she disappeared right after she sent a flurry of crude messages to her best friends Lee and housmate Frederick, a Congolosese sculptor who takes too much anti-depressents and generally has a great way of “killing the vibe” with his long sullen face, musty under arms and inexplicable mop of hair on his head. Bev is a sexy mulatto with a high IQ and a wallet to match, she’s the type of woman whom you’d eat a three course meal in front of while she takes a big old smelly beer shit, wipe her ass for her and then bite off her dingle berries with your teeth as a digestif.
Lee and Bev had become friends under some strange incestual circumstances which are common place when livivng in cape Town. Apart from their love for Keith Harring, Mint Granita’s, white wine and Johnny Depp’s performance in Whats eating Gilbert grape? lee and bev didn’t have much in common except that they had slept with the same famous men and somewhere along the line they were like “fuck it, let dead dogs die with their jizz and lets be friends”, but then somewhere along the line Bev eventually got fed up with Lee and her vagina always talking foul about her and never really being around to console her vagina when it started talking crazy things to her and she didn’t know anything about such a tiresome situation. Beverly drove an old grey Ferrari from the 80’s, she never refurbished it, everyone wanted to fuck her or love her, even the fags did, and then she sent some text messages along the lines of “ eat my poo and die” to everyone in her phone book except for me and then she died and reappeared five months later. God is great, his power is divine, Lazarus, Jesus and Beverley.
Some people told me she commited suicide, and some said she got aids and went to Bali to go die silently by herself. I asked around the for the real facts and whether she’d left a will or not, but I heard nothing, and now here she was, standing right in front of me at some art fag party where I’m trying to sell some heavily cut mixture of kat, Omo and meth and hand out flyers for my church group next week.
Her vagina has clearly stopped talking her to because her yellow caramel Malay skin was glowing like she’d just had triplets or was fucked by a child soldier with a mans name as she stood there in a bubble dress that was slightly hiked up and showing off her new summer body and mind that just said “Like the burning bush in the dessert, I appear here only for you to show you the way of the Lord”.
“Hello Beverly, I see youre still alive and well…really well”
“Are you bummed?” She say’s with a flick of sass in her French manicured finger.
“No, I actually kind of missed you, I poured out some liquour for you”
“Were you hoping I was going to drown in heaven?” That’s why I always liked her, her love for death is equal to mine, she wants to go out in a hail of bullets with her parents watching while I suck on her clitoris and a high school marching band plays Pomp and Circumstance.
“Don’t be like that, you know I’ve always respected your disposition, we were supposed to be like Julius Ceasar and Cleopatra you and I.”
“You know I like you” she say’s with her legs slightly parted and her hands on her hips, her eyes starring intensely into mine while I shy away genuinely smitten and trying to hide the bulge exposed through my skinny jeans.
I then get a text message from Lee that reads “ I love you babe, good nite,x.o.” Does that mean she’s drinking Hennesey?
“Well Beverley, I heard you’re going to London, where would that leave me if you like me so much then?” I don’t know where I learnt to talk like this, usually I start off by telling women their turds smell great before I even get to eat their turds if I’m lucky.
“ you can marry me and come with me, we can travel all over Europe on a train and I’ll bring in the bacon while you do whatever it is you do”. I don’t know if that was an insult but I was still thoroughly aroused.
“Visas are just really hard” she said after some time.
“That’s Gods will baby, that’s God’s will…and with God’s grace…we can do it”.
“How’s Lea doing?”
“Lea’s dead baby, Lea’s dead”.
I never did get to go to London, my Visa application was rejected, but I did get to have sex with Beverly that night. Even though Beverly was cold and stiff and her neck smelt of formaldehyde she was still warm and accommodating even though she had sand in all her nine holes. I think we came at the same time but I’m not sure because I had to rush home not only because I heard the grounds keeper approaching but I also forgot to PVR Top Chef for my sister while she’s out of town on church business. Praise Jesus it feels good to get laid.
and so...here's a little story wrote a while ago...not my best work, but not worst either.
Beverlea
A short story by: Montle Moorosi
My girlfriend is trying to kill me, well, I don’t even know if she’s my girlfriend really, she lives 2 minutes away from me with her parents in the home that they’re renting that is 4 houses away from the house that they’re renovating which they hope to move into once they pay off the bank, their daughters varsity and school tuitions, their heamorraghing extended family and of course my girlfriends R20 000, of which R7000 is mine. Last week the sheriff reposessed their treadmill and some furniture and I’m supposed to be sad even though my balls are swollen and look like dead foetouses from Avartar. I only see my “girlfriend” twice a week and this time together is usually spent chaperoning each other on our mundane errands like going for haircuts, paying parking tickets and never having sex or even making out for longer than 15 seconds.
“Maybe God taking away their wealth is his judgement on their frugal ways?’ I said to myself while suddenly feeling myself getting aroused as I page through a book about child birth with graphic black and photos from the seventies of really big wet and fat vaginas with what I assume are children’s heads popping out of them. The good and wise Lord struck down the tower of Babylon with his Zeus like cock and balls because the whores were not clean and they had no understanding of customer service and we cant forget about how our almighty Jesus Christ cursed the tax men out of his citadels because they forgot that pimps aren’t supposed to pay taxes or sleep with each others wives. And who am I to question the word and actions of the Lord? God is Good, God is great. My hand slips and my mind wanders to endless plains of wet grass, fresh mango tree’ sweating and mulatto women with soaking wet pussies and mouths as my four walls unfold in front of me and become vast white beaches and my hell becomes a rack of ribs served with a ice cold blow job from Mary Magdelene with a mouth full of cocaine and Cognac.
“Hello? Can I come in?” I place my bible on my lap and cross my legs.
“Yes, come in”
“did you check the newspapers today for jobs?”
“yes mother, there was nothing much, only something for the municipal which I’ve already applied for. But I also found a new interesting passage in Corinthians about striving for one’s dreams in the face of insurmountable terror, its very interesting, I’ll give it to you to read once I’m done re writing it onto my chart of inspiration so I can ponder its greatness and the Lords wisdom over and over again, PRAISE HIM, PRAISE HIM LORD!”
“Okay, just keep at it, job searching is a job itself you know, because the lord say’s ‘he who hath giveth and taketh the bread, is a man who hath suffered beyond a mule and a quarry of dolomite’.
“YES! YES MOTHER PREACH! EH HEH! PRAISE HIM! EH HEH! MY LORD ” I say to her as I stand up and sort of half jump whilst frantically searching for my hankerchief so I can either wipe my brow or swipe the sky in elation of God knows what.
“ok, well dinner is ready, your father made Curry. And go and get your clean clothes from the laundry room when you’re done eating, and if that wet back burnt or shrunk any of your shirts again you come and tell me and I’ll fire her quicker than she can say home affairs.”
“Of course mother, with Gods grace you can do it”
I get on my knees and pray for forgiveness for having distastefull thoughts about half breed women and our mother Mary. “Actions speak louder than thoughts and my actions are righteous but my mind wanders like the lost black sheep in the city of Sodom waiting to be raped by an Australian… but Lord please forgive my right hand, for it does not know what it does, they forced my hand Lord. They forced my hand !”.
Another pleasure dead is another dog wasted on the highways trying to get back home after chasing a bitch on heat. As the world gradually dwindles its support of my need for the small things which keep me happy like worshiping the Lord, playing my accordion and getting the odd blow job here and there I start to wonder if maybe the Lord confused my birth and accidentally cursed me to this life of mediocrity by swapping my life with Ray maccauly’s during his divine and intricate process of creation. Maybe I should buy a hamster? But they piss too much and that combined with old wood shavings wouldn’t make my mother too happy…I could get a corn snake and hide it in my sock drawer but then people would think my allegiance is to Lucifer, but then again maybe all these kaffirs would finally leave me alone and I can finally be a man respected for the fear he instills in men and the semen he injects in women. David Koresh, Barrack Obama, Eugene Terreblanche were all men of God with great followings, and maybe I too will have women at my feet and they will feed me grapes with their pussy lips and spit wine into my ass and I will shit it right back out into their mouths and watch them become intoxicated of my soul. I will be a real God and they just don’t make them like that anymore for some reason.
On most days when I’m not reading the bible or selling counterfeight cigarettes to cane cutter shop owners I like to listen to country and western music and take long walks in the park, I also like to take flu medication to numb the pain in my heart and of course the shame of masturbating up to 5 times a day on a regular basis to black porn which I think I kind of hate but I still watch anyway because I’m too broke to download my own porn so I’m just sort of stuck with what I steal from my Zimbabwean and Zambian friends who aren’t really my friends. Yes I really do have a girlfriend and Her name is Leandre, but everyone calls her Lea, but what everyone does not know is that Lee and her winging vagina are in cahoots with each other to ruin my life.
Leandre came back to South Africa 3 years ago after living in Germany and working first as a line worker in donut factory, she made the holes in the donuts in a assembly line full or polish and Armeninan women and then within a year she became a a music video director and she returned to South Africa with a splendid portfolio of films, a list of famous men she’d fucked she’d written at the back of a New Young Pony Club flyer and a German accent, yes she picked up a German accent. I actually always admired her for that, even though she once cheated on me with a homeless man who dressed up in what they call “street wear” and had a tattoo’s of Chinese shit on him. But I always admired a German accent on a Congolese woman.
We once to hartebeespoort for a weekend, it was here that I first heard her and her vagina conversing together while she thought I was passed out from drinking too much wine and eating too much wild game meat. In my short spell of sleep I dreamnt I took Lauren Beukes out for a veggie burger at Royale and then i took her to the offices of One small Seed and fucked her on the floor with everyone watching and cheering on as she screamt “ Don’t cum inside of me !”.
“eehhhh…I’m sick, I cant do it my love” I thought that lord of the rings was playing on the television, but it was clearly two voices coming from the bathroom.
“But were on holiday, I want to please him”
“tell him were bleeding my precious, and tell him that were feeling gassy from the game meat…stick your fingers deeper, it wont come out if you keep pussy footing like that”
“I wish he would just rape me and get it done with”
“But my precious, were bleeding, rapists don’t go for bleeders.”
Then a drum started playing alongside some African chants that went something like “ jhoo bhoo bhoo eh!”, I check the television to see whether Lady Smith Black Mambazo are on Vh1 but its still an episode of Mythbusters where theyre trying to prove whether “pulling out” can actually prevent pregnancy or not.
“Who were you talking to on the phone last night?” I asked her the next morning in a brain thumping haze of a hangover, “nobody, you’re insane, you drink too much”. I was vomiting.
“So who was playing the bongos then? I didn’t see anyone wearing sandals around here”
“You’re stupid”.
“How’s about a hand job then?”
Beverly has been missing for 5 months, she disappeared right after she sent a flurry of crude messages to her best friends Lee and housmate Frederick, a Congolosese sculptor who takes too much anti-depressents and generally has a great way of “killing the vibe” with his long sullen face, musty under arms and inexplicable mop of hair on his head. Bev is a sexy mulatto with a high IQ and a wallet to match, she’s the type of woman whom you’d eat a three course meal in front of while she takes a big old smelly beer shit, wipe her ass for her and then bite off her dingle berries with your teeth as a digestif.
Lee and Bev had become friends under some strange incestual circumstances which are common place when livivng in cape Town. Apart from their love for Keith Harring, Mint Granita’s, white wine and Johnny Depp’s performance in Whats eating Gilbert grape? lee and bev didn’t have much in common except that they had slept with the same famous men and somewhere along the line they were like “fuck it, let dead dogs die with their jizz and lets be friends”, but then somewhere along the line Bev eventually got fed up with Lee and her vagina always talking foul about her and never really being around to console her vagina when it started talking crazy things to her and she didn’t know anything about such a tiresome situation. Beverly drove an old grey Ferrari from the 80’s, she never refurbished it, everyone wanted to fuck her or love her, even the fags did, and then she sent some text messages along the lines of “ eat my poo and die” to everyone in her phone book except for me and then she died and reappeared five months later. God is great, his power is divine, Lazarus, Jesus and Beverley.
Some people told me she commited suicide, and some said she got aids and went to Bali to go die silently by herself. I asked around the for the real facts and whether she’d left a will or not, but I heard nothing, and now here she was, standing right in front of me at some art fag party where I’m trying to sell some heavily cut mixture of kat, Omo and meth and hand out flyers for my church group next week.
Her vagina has clearly stopped talking her to because her yellow caramel Malay skin was glowing like she’d just had triplets or was fucked by a child soldier with a mans name as she stood there in a bubble dress that was slightly hiked up and showing off her new summer body and mind that just said “Like the burning bush in the dessert, I appear here only for you to show you the way of the Lord”.
“Hello Beverly, I see youre still alive and well…really well”
“Are you bummed?” She say’s with a flick of sass in her French manicured finger.
“No, I actually kind of missed you, I poured out some liquour for you”
“Were you hoping I was going to drown in heaven?” That’s why I always liked her, her love for death is equal to mine, she wants to go out in a hail of bullets with her parents watching while I suck on her clitoris and a high school marching band plays Pomp and Circumstance.
“Don’t be like that, you know I’ve always respected your disposition, we were supposed to be like Julius Ceasar and Cleopatra you and I.”
“You know I like you” she say’s with her legs slightly parted and her hands on her hips, her eyes starring intensely into mine while I shy away genuinely smitten and trying to hide the bulge exposed through my skinny jeans.
I then get a text message from Lee that reads “ I love you babe, good nite,x.o.” Does that mean she’s drinking Hennesey?
“Well Beverley, I heard you’re going to London, where would that leave me if you like me so much then?” I don’t know where I learnt to talk like this, usually I start off by telling women their turds smell great before I even get to eat their turds if I’m lucky.
“ you can marry me and come with me, we can travel all over Europe on a train and I’ll bring in the bacon while you do whatever it is you do”. I don’t know if that was an insult but I was still thoroughly aroused.
“Visas are just really hard” she said after some time.
“That’s Gods will baby, that’s God’s will…and with God’s grace…we can do it”.
“How’s Lea doing?”
“Lea’s dead baby, Lea’s dead”.
I never did get to go to London, my Visa application was rejected, but I did get to have sex with Beverly that night. Even though Beverly was cold and stiff and her neck smelt of formaldehyde she was still warm and accommodating even though she had sand in all her nine holes. I think we came at the same time but I’m not sure because I had to rush home not only because I heard the grounds keeper approaching but I also forgot to PVR Top Chef for my sister while she’s out of town on church business. Praise Jesus it feels good to get laid.
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