If you think about it there are a lot of things you can do if you only have one arm. You can pick your nose successfully, you can punch someone just as long as they drop and stay down. If they get up you can hail a cab with one hand and get the hell out of there. You can direct traffic at your local intersection as long as your uncle owns a panel beating shop. Foreplay with Siamese twins joined at the hip could take some time but maybe you have some leave due.

You could also conduct the Viennese Symphony with only half the orchestra playing and you would also be in great demand at Heathrow Airport parking the new Airbus A380. You could be the guy in white overhauls wearing cool sun glasses listening to U 2 on his headphones with a table tennis bat in each hand. That would be cool but a one handed airport parking technician would look like a table tennis instructor on crack? Not a good job for a person with one arm.

Don’t feel like a social outcast if you only have one arm, many famous people throughout history only used one arm, even if they had two. Napoleon always kept his left arm tucked under his tunic, God knows what he was doing but he smiled a lot. It is recorded that during one of his most famous battles he was asked ‘Where are your armies? Napoleon replied cutely ‘At the end of my sleevies’

Another ‘one armed bandit’ was Adolf Hitler who won the Nobel prize for inventing the famous march called the goose step. He also created the straight arm salute and was renowned for simultaneously kicking both legs up into the air during the goose step, often falling on his Auschwitz, breaking his 2nd Reich and severely bruising his 3rd.

Nero another ‘one arm bandit’ was the first Roman to take Viagra and wore flowing robes with no underwear (the gold encrusted sandals were always a dead give a way) Nero was bi-sexual (if he couldn’t get it he would buy it) and was so overwhelmed by the reaction of the blue pill that Rome burnt down while he was fiddling. After the fire at a meeting of the Senate Nero was instructed by his elders to get a grip on himself and he replied with Latin sub titles ‘Helloooo – that’s what caused the fire darling’.

Another famous leader who only uses one hand is Robert Mugabe. The infamous slow exterminator of the Zimbabwean people – Mugabe makes Adolf Hitler look like Mary Poppins. As you are aware in March this year he lost an election to the MDC and it took his regime so long to fiddle the ballot that by the time some of the results were announced most of the voters had died of old age.
Mugabe, an exponent of peaceful democratic change realized he was losing the election and announced to the world that Zimbabwe would ignore the opposition completely, because it was a load of contrived, colonial, western bollocks, spearheaded by Gordon Brown and George Bush.
Democratic change is what Bob is all about and to make sure this process is adhered to, he has announced that his people will go to the polls every two weeks until they learnt how to get it right.
At one stage during the run off ZANU PF authorities monitoring the process decided to bring in 82 of Robert’s wives to bolster the vote, it is not common knowledge that one of bob’s wives is President Thabo Mbeki’s sister in law which explains the holding of hands – if you get my drift?

The United Nations were abhorred by Mugabe’s actions and summoned its members to an emergency meeting in Geneva where they all nodded off for the week. However, on the last day of the summit someone popped a paper packet startling the members into temporary consciousness – in the confusion they approved a $12 billion loan to Osama bin Laden’s flying academy in Pakistan – a much better cause than Mugabe would you agree?.

In the meantime Morgan Tsvangeri fearing for his life booked in at the Dutch Embassy B&B in Harare, gate crashing a cheese sampling party by accident. The blue cheese was so good Morgan decided to stay on and the Dutch Ambassador agreed on condition that he did a cholesterol test in the morning.
Zimbabwean police arrested Tendai Biti at his home after discovering posters of Robert Mugabe in his toilet. ‘Wipe that smile off his face’ the arresting officer was heard to utter as they marched him away. Two hours later he was found guilty of treason and sentenced to death. If the power is restored in time and the police have enough petrol to get him to the electric chair he will be executed before the 5th presidential run off scheduled for mid September.
It is also rumoured that President Bush is sending the CIA into Zimbabwe to build small oil dams in the rural areas. But, Bill there is no oil in Zimbabwe? – you might be asking. This is correct but remember if the USA can hide enough oil around the country this would provide them with a good enough reason to invade Zimbabwe and overthrow the Mugabe regime on the pretense of finding ‘Depots of Mass Distribution’

Tapes released to the press a couple of days ago revealed a recording of a discussion between Tsvangeri and Tendai Biti over dinner, as the waiter placed the food on the table Tsvangeri said ‘I hate Mugabe’ and Tendai replied ‘Well just eat the potatoes and beans’
So you see, throughout our history people have been using one hand with startling results and recently president Mugabe has been added to the international hall of fame.

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I woke up in the middle of a gun battle last night, my lounge was filled with screaming and yelping Apache Indians, burning arrows swished above my head and twanged into the furniture around me. I was terrified as I tried to figure out what was happening through the smoke and fire. I got a glimpse of a burning wagon train surrounded by whooping warriors.
True to the that period, all Apache horses had legs of different lengths, the left front and back leg was six inches shorter than the right front and back leg allowing them to attack a wagon train in a circle with no difficulty. You’ve seen it in all the movies, some Apaches would attack the train from a right to left direction and some from left to right, which lead to many head on collisions, not without fatalities.

Apaches were renowned for dropping out of ‘horse whispering’ college and would shout at their horses at the top of their voices trying to draw their attention to the fact they were riding in a circle. After a lengthy attack the warriors would become dizzy, lose their balance and fall off their horses, much to the delight of the cowboys who thought they’d shot them.
It is a known fact that Apache Indians were either gay or cross-dressed on the weekends. They wore very bad make up and outrageous hairdos, some of the very butch numbers wore calfskin minis for God sake, would you believe?.

The young Apache braves rode their squaws bareback until 1720 when the Chief Mangus Coloradus suggested they ride the horses bareback as well. He called a meeting. ‘It is written in the wind’ he said, addressing 500 young Apache braves at a ‘Cowboy –On -The-Spit‘ barbecue.
‘One day when the night hawke and silver deer cross babbling brook – there will come a big burning and swelling of your munga blatcha. This evil spirit is white man’s disease – many will die. When rabbit and tortoise run behind sun to start a family, great medicine Chief Chihuhahuha will bring mongoose foot to rub against munga blatcha. If it does not fall off after the first moon passes the buck – evil spirit will go’ he pauses to adjust his headdress ‘but at all times, you must be brave’.
‘We are brave’ 500 shouted in unison.
‘Don’t get f&%## smart with chief’ he mumbled as he rode off dragging his wives behind him.
The war cry of the Apache Indian was a chilling sound to any frontier man– it made even the toughest adventurer’s blood run cold.
There were two types of war cry, a high pitched yell for the younger warrior and a much deeper ominous gurgling whoop for the older Apaches.
Many historians believe this whoop was tribal and was handed down by their ancestors but the records prove this to be untrue – riding without a saddle was the cause.
The older Apaches would sit on their testicles releasing a blood curdling scream that echoed across the Savanna – enough to instill the fear of the Lord into anyone’s heart.
The life of a frontier pioneer was a daunting one. For months on end they would forge a trail across inhospitable uncharted territory, facing hazard after hazard on a daily basis, according to the records they would give birth, kill Indians, cook up baked beans, rotate blow jobs, milk cows, breast feed, swat flies, bury the departed, organize young women for peaceful gang bangs, dunk bread rolls in the heads of Lepers, dance in freshly slaughtered grizzly bear skins – and all of this without taking a bath.

For you folks who didn’t know, General Custer was a famous singer song writer around the period of 1735 and wrote a famous song called ‘The Ballad Of Rancid Crotch’ it was a big hit and reached number 5 on the Little Big Horn top twenty. The lyrics described the anguish and human trauma that existed amongst the unwashed frontier people and the unfortunate Apache tribes situated down wind.

Now wait for it – listen up here! Not even the New York Times has this information.
Subject to popular belief, Apache Indians at the time were not politically driven, they were not anti-white, and were not protesting about losing their land, it was simply the smell of the approaching cowboys that drove them crazy, they were in a frenzy, some being forced to hang Buffalo turds in their Wigwams, as air fresheners. So desperate were they that many warriors placed bay leaves under each armpit, so they would smell like Minestrone soup.
It was hectic. Try to imagine the abject horror of smelling a bunch of cowboys that have been on the trail for five years, without a bath – shoooot you’d also want to burn them.

The only option left open to the Apaches was to declare war on cowboys and destroy all the wagon trains.
Tensions rose, more and more pioneers where attacked and killed, some of them permanently. Sadly on a wagon train in the spring of 1736 Marshall Wyatt Baxter and his wife Juliet were overcome by a swarm of deadly genital fruit flies emanating from her philopian tubes which lead to their demise. Juliet the poor soul had not had a bath since they embarked on the trail 5 years earlier – although she regularly gave birth to twins she would, without fail spread maple syrup over her pubic area once every fortnight to disguise her weeping foot rot. Alas, Hank Marshall was buried on a rocky rattle snake infested outcrop next to his beloved wife.
As a last minute request from the dying Juliet they were buried back to back in separate graves because of Hanks debilitating halitosis and galloping anal thrush.

The sad part of my story is, for generations we blamed the Apaches.

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I guess about five years ago a whole bunch of people at NASA (short for Never Ask Someone Anything) decided to take a strange looking radio controlled children’s toy they’d invented down to the local school as an experiment to attract, and test the abilities of children suffering from the ‘short attention span’ syndrome common to all. The people from NASA were scientists, they were employed to turn children’s games and fantasies into reality.
The bullet-proof vest of the Principal Hymie Goldstein glowed in the late afternoon sun as he delivered the opening speech to welcome NASA. With thunderous applause from teachers and pupils, the test flight began.

There was a buzz of anticipation as technicians attended to final details – then without warning the Phoenix suddenly rose and hovered above the classroom.
The children were overwhelmed by this radio controlled electric chair that zoomed around the room, hovering over teachers and pupils alike. There was an incredible re-action from the kids, they laughed uncontrollably – in sheer delight.

Caught up in the moment, some of the 8 year old kids stabbed their friends, others read ‘The Secret And The Law Of Attraction’ and some opened fire with shotguns and Magnums. One particular kid who looked like a miniature George Bush fired a cluster bomb at the space probe in his excitement. It hit Aghmat Faarood a history teacher and free lance pedophile in the groin and fortunately failed to go off.
Aghmat in excruciating pain clutching his testicles and surrounding rancid accessories, moaned and screamed so loud that people for miles around closed their shops and went to prayers.
NASA felt the event was a howling success and their 250 members decided to build a bigger and better flying electric chair called the Phoenix Mars Probe.
Within a week an urgent meeting was called at NASA to discuss the budget for the development of the project. Because of the $422 million budget restraint there were heated discussions on where to send the probe once completed.

One scientist suggested they send it under the cover of darkness into Lancaster County Pennsylvania and scare the crap out of the Amish Community, another thought it would be a good idea to hover over Neverland and spy on Michael Jackson – a suggestion rejected by everyone. The Phoenix would not be able to operate in a room with Michael and 26 children.

Another scientist Harriet ‘who’s your daddy’ Fenwick, NASA’s leading late night proctologist suggested an after midnight ‘dial a probe’ service for prostrate sufferers. After a lengthy debate, it was rejected – based on his current police record.

Jacques Delwin a French scientist who published the best seller ‘How to Implode Your Colon on the Late Night Underground’ suggested that the probe should hover over starving people around the entire world firing Bananas down their throats, with our advanced technology we could feed millions and millions of people on our planet.
Jacques was immediately escorted into the garden and executed.

Finally the vote was unanimous – let’s send the Phoenix to Mars – why? – just because we can.
Our beloved planet has always been host to UFO visits, and this brings me to my next point. Please pay attention here folks.
The Aliens have been visiting us for decades, with sightings from all around the world. Over the years the credibility of the people who have seen UFO’s has varied between farm workers, shepherds, accountants, quantity surveyors, unmarried Catholic mothers, priests, and airline pilots – all your typical ‘run of the mill’ members of our society.
Some folks however, like Jimi Hendrix Janis Joplin, River Phoenix and Jim Morrison saw UFO’s frequently. Presently folks like Keith Richards, and Ozzie Osborne (to mention a few) are seeing UFO’s on an hourly basis.

I believe Alien Pilots are either dumb or blonde.
Why do they plan their sightings in the most remote areas?
Why don’t they land at Disney World or in the middle of 42nd Street N Y? – maybe on the San Francisco Bridge?

Come down and say hello guys!

I can understand why they won’t refuel on earth, at $137 a barrel – get a life.
Another important factor is they can’t pop in and buy a pair of Dolce & Cabana sunglasses because the three protruding eyes is a problem.

On a sighting in Alabama, late one night, a mother ship that lost its way landed in a cornfield opposite a gas station. The Martians approached a petrol pump and asked directions. After a couple of minutes they received no answers and decided to move on.. Martian Fred said to Martian George: ‘Never trust an earthling with his penis in his ear’

UFO’s have been sighted by space shuttle astronauts, but who in their right mind would believe someone who’s just taken a dump in his space suit?
They’ve hovered over London, they’ve visited South Africa – but where and who are they?
Okay, my big question is why are the best sightings of Aliens and UFO’s over redneck towns that have a population of 20 married couples? (10 of them being brother and sister). I just don’t get it.

With a $422 million capital injection from NASA the Phoenix Mars space probe was developed and finally left earth on its 78 million kilometer journey. It took years to get to the stormy planet, about the same time it takes to get from London to Brighton by car.
On the 23rd May 2008 it touched down on the Mars surface after a textbook landing. Now don’t let me burst your bubble, what has not been released to the international press is – the Phoenix landed on a giant turd with French fries next to a McDonalds wrapper.

GODDAM IT! THESE REDNECKS ARE EVERYWHERE!

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After posting my last blog on Xenophobia I was pretty exhausted and poured myself a drink. I thought it was a good opportunity to chill out and watch the news – that’s when the trouble started.
I was half asleep and found myself channel hopping from one news cast to the next. I saw vague pictures in and out of focus before my eyes, faces talking to me in distorted images Dr Phil leaned into my lounge asking me ‘What do you do when you’re driving and you’re confronted by a drunk driver? With my mind reeling I thought to myself, well let’s get him out from behind the wheel, take his car keys away and because of our caring community spirit, let’s take him down to the local bar and get him to buy us a round – suddenly Oprah tapped my shoulder ‘Bill what would you do if your daughter weighed 400lbs?’ In my drowsiness I replied ‘If she gets in an elevator with Pavarotti I’m not getting in with the two of them.” And then from nowhere Robert Mugabe appeared before me looking thin and emancipated wearing his most modest shirt, it’s the green one with photographs of himself on back and front. ‘I’ve had diarrhea for two weeks I think I’m melting’ he taunted me waving a Paris Hilton blow up doll. ‘I love this kind of chick’ he uttered ‘they help inflation and I’m taking her to the run-off election party’.

It was terrible, a horrific experience. I woke up and realized what my problem is – I have a phobia, and it’s a lot worse than a cold. Everywhere I go there is a television set looking at me, following my every move, in the local bar, in the super market, in my bedroom everywhere even on my mobile phone. It’s driving me crazy, I’m beside myself and no matter what I do, I cannot escape its gaze.
I immediately searched for Phobias on Wikipedia and was devastated by the severity of my condition – there was a list of at least 40 phobias available. I had an entire menu to choose from, it was ‘phobias to go, with fries’
Okay, after some extensive research what I did establish was, I was suffering from one of the most common phobias known to modern society. It’s called Telephobia. Now to you folks out there who might suffer from this debilitating disease I would like to warn you that some of the side effects of Telephobia are: A reluctance to play chess, a resistance to reading books, compulsive nose picking, having no conversation, getting no visitors, rushing foreplay in the ad breaks, not sending emails, trashing the lounge furniture during power cuts (we have them in South Africa) and in extreme cases having surgery to make your bladder capacity keep in line with the length of the commercial breaks.

You might not be aware of this but another phobias that’s out there is Shoephobia. This phobia is of pandemic proportion particularly amongst the Asian nations – they hate their shoes. They don’t mind wearing them around the streets and when they go shopping but whenever they can they leave them outside – they’re terrified of their shoes. I have a Chinese friend his name is Wong Shoo, he stalks around places of worship stealing shoes and burning them – some say he has lost his sole. A Doctor with very bad eyesight down the end of town treated Wong for yellow jaundice for two years until he realized he was Chinese.
Now if you’re cruising public toilets late at night and you meet a guy by accident in cubicle one and you beat him up and leave him for dead, you have a problem. If you catch your teenage son wearing his sisters clothes and he tells you it’s because he didn’t have time to pick up his laundry – and you go crazy, you have a problem, no you’re wrong, it’s not a George Michael Phobia – it’s called Homophobia. I find Homophobics interesting because they are capable of being extremely violent against gay people and I’m sure you’ve watched the news where you see shots of convicted homophobics with covered heads being escorted by the Police, have you noticed – why is it they’re usually 7 foot tall dudes built like football players? They make Mike Tyson look anorexic. Maybe you have to be big in cubicle one. I have a theory here folks. Homophobics who hit on gays and carry that kind of hatred, should take a careful look at themselves, they might just discover an itch of their own that has to be scratched. Check it out babe.

Okay here’s a great phobia, it’s a Hippopotomstrosesquipedaliophobia which is a fear of long words. I can see you falling about but it’s true. Hey, I have to go it’s almost news time, and I have to hide under the bed where they’ll never find me.

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If the late Shaka, the King of the Zulus could read the international headlines addressing the so called Xenophobic anarchy that is escalating across South Africa, I am pretty sure he would sit up in his grave, scratch his head and say ‘Eish – What a load of bollocks’

Now, for those of you who are not familiar with the term: ‘What A Load of Bollocks’ let me explain?
It is an old colonial expression that King Shaka was familiar with around the year 1830 as he rubbed shoulders with Dutch, French and British colonialists. One October evening in King Shaka’s honour, a huge cocktail party was organized at the British Embassy hosted by the British High Commissioner at the time, Sir Rupert Wanklott. VIP guests arrived in horse drawn elephants and diamond studded carriages. It was a gala affair of note. But to the embarrassment of Sir Rupert, King Shaka was denied entry to the state banquet because of his dress code and the additional 300 uninvited guests he brought with him.

An added problem was that Lady Phinella Wanklott loathed bare midriffs, people singing loud songs, over the top hair styles and beads that rattle around the ankles. Eventually, after sorting out the misunderstanding the party raved on through the night and a wonderful time was had by all.
A couple of days later King Shaka was invited to at an official God Save The Queen breakfast where Sir Rupert presented King Shaka with a gold embossed proposition from Her Majesty the Queen – in true British fashion it was attached to a slaughtered cow. Sir Rupert was convinced the Zulu King would accept it without hesitation. ‘King Shaka’ Sir Rupert announced ‘I bring a message from Her Majesty the Queen. ‘It is’ I quote’ time that we colonize your country so that you can enjoy the spoils of being part of the British Empire’
We have it on good authority that King Shaka stood up, drove a spear into the ground screaming ‘What a load of f#$@%^ bollocks’

Being a wild life adventurer, movie maker and an avid lover of Africa, I read the international press on a daily basis and less frequently watch the television news headlines on the BBC CNN and the rest. I see images of death and destruction and police violence – headlines flash across TV screens: ‘Stop the Anarchy’, ‘Death Toll Rises’ ‘Xenophobic Massacre’ ‘Where is the Army?’

I agree with the King of the Zulus ‘What a load of bollocks’

This is a no brainer folks, the current outbreak of violence has very little to do with Xenophobia. For many years our beleaguered, under staffed, almost non existent police force has battled to cope with the huge increase in crime. These brave under-equipped law enforcement officers face heavily armed, murderous gangs every day of their lives – even gangs of up to 15 with military fire power. There are scary statistics that prove the South African Police force has one of the highest casualty rates in the world, and it is rising every day.

I feel the reality in South Africa is: Highly skilled criminal organizations have masterminded and networked a national crime rampage which allows them (under the guise of ‘why are the foreigners stealing our jobs’) to loot and steal from anybody regardless of where they come from.
Although the violence is mainly in the townships and squatter camps our people are being robbed assaulted and murdered by lawless killers– opportunists of death, capitalizing on Zimbabwe’s instability.
It is a known fact that countries north of South Africa like Malawi, Botswana, Zimbabwe and Zambia are hard working people and through the years this has created an underlying resentment amongst our people in South Africa. The fact is and we may not want hear it, many of our people are inherently lazy and do not want to work. The difference being, a South African makes demands – a foreigner works for the money.

Historically South Africa and Zimbabwe have been allies and close friends for a long time, though I do believe seeing television footage of Robert Mugabe and President Mbeki holding hands is pushing the envelope somewhat – maybe they should get a room.
In my humble opinion the bulk of the ‘anarchy’ is not politically motivated, it is the collapse of the law enforcement system – our cops are tired, they have been overrun by criminals with no help from the Government.
You have to understand South Africa is Africa, in every respect – without us there is very little left. We are the continent’s economic stabilizer and industrial power. Yes, we have a lame ineffectual president who should retire and open a launderette in East London.
And yes it has been proven in the courts that the politicians are corrupt as all hell – with the ANC government leading the field, and yes we have a government that will blame a tsunami or an earthquake on apartheid and the previous regime – which has really become boring.

What you read in the press is not what you get when you come to South Africa so if you want to experience the real truth come and visit our lovely land.

At the moment I’m sitting on the patio of a private game lodge overlooking a beautiful herd of Elephant at a watering hole, whilst sipping an exquisite glass of Rupert and Rothchild. To quote the King of The Zulus once again ‘Everything, apart from what I’m doing right at this moment is a load of bollocks’

Great Video from George Ayittey: Economist George Ayittey sees Africa’s future as a fight between Hippos — complacent, greedy bureaucrats wallowing in the muck — and Cheetahs, the fast-moving, entrepreneurial leaders and citizens who will rebuild Africa.

Why you should listen to him: Ghanaian economist George Ayittey was a voice in the wilderness for many years, crying out against the corruption and complacency that — more than any other factor, he believes — are the bedrock problems of many troubled Africa states. “We call our governments vampire states, which suck the economic vitality out of the people,” he says.

His influential book Africa Unchained has helped unleash a new wave of activism and optimism — especially in the African blogosphere, where his notion of cheetahs-versus-hippos has become a standard shorthand. The “Cheetah Generation,” he says, is a “new breed of Africans,” taking their futures into their own hands, instead of waiting for politicians to empower them. (He compares them to the previous “Hippo Generation,” who are lazily stuck complaining about colonialism, yet doing nothing to change the status quo.)

Ayittey is a Distinguished Economist in Residence at American University in Washington, DC.

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It was around the year 1900 that a wagon load of unwashed guys carrying picks and shovels arrived in Johannesburg. These were pretty rough guys, killers, who were notorious for raping cattle and stealing woman. I don’t think you need a description of the women that were available in a gold mining town around that period, but with a little imagination, I bet you can get a pretty good fix on it.

My Grand Mother Dulcie Rottfoot, at the tender age of 46 embarked on a solitary wild adventure trip to Johannesburg the City of Gold to seek out employment.
She was a tough cookie having braved the trek on her own, and it took her 2 years to get from Kimberley to Johannesburg, a distance of 200 miles. She walked most of the way. The trip was hell for Dulcie, along the way she was accosted almost hourly and with her bare hands had to fight off marauding Indians from the hotels of Kwa Zulu who tried to rape, pillage and burn the curries. After 3 turbulent divorces over a 24 hour period Dulcie Rottfoot finally settled in the City of Gold and turned her exceptional talents to the upliftment of the people – mainly the very rich. In order to raise desperately needed funds for the community, (and on the odd occasion for herself), people would gather in the Town square every Sunday morning after church. Dulcie would prepare her next fund raising surprise. One of her favourite events was throwing dwarfs at the Mayor. It was hugely popular with hordes of miners who attended in their thousands. Part of Dulcie’s mystique, hidden charm and latent sensuality was the fact that nobody ever knew what her next surprise would be.
While miners toiled under the city, Johannesburg was buzzing, liquor flowed, brass bands marched and food of every kind was in abundance. Believe it or not, one of the most popular culinary delights at the time was Frogs legs in garlic butter with lemon sauce and capers. A direct result of its popularity caused international conflict between the governments of South Africa and France. Ex patriot frogs were returning to France in wheelchairs. The dusty little town of Johannesburg was starting to blossom attracting more and more traders, entrepreneurs, murderers, gamblers, horse thieves and buttock fondlers.

Bars and Bordellos opened on every corner and by now Dulcie Rottfoot headed up all the entertainment for the town folk. She’d arrange cake baking classes, snake catching competitions for the children as well as public hangings every Wednesday around lunch time on the church steps. Alas, one morning in the early spring Dulcie Rottfoot collapsed from terminal Halitosis and died.
The gold rush had started and nothing could stop it.
Some of the most famous South African landmarks during the mid fifties were mountains of yellow sand (mine dumps) surrounding central Johannesburg. They were the remnants of the gold rush where over a period of 80 years, billions of tons of gold bearing rock were hauled to the surface until finally one day, under the city the machines shut down, the tunnels and caverns became still and there was no more gold to be mined.

About 3 years ago South Africa was awarded the 2010 Games and a major part of the planning strategy was to improve the transport system that had to move millions of foreign visitors around the country during the games and festivities.

Now please pay attention here. In order to improve a transport system you have to have a transport system to start with, this allows you to improve on it. Hello, spot the blooper! South Africa doesn’t have a transport system so how are we going to improve on it?
Anyway, a team of guys commissioned by the government and armed with laptops and hardhats came up with a brilliant rail system idea that would link the key cities in Gauteng for 2010 and beyond. It is called the Gautrain Project. The dream of having a real underground like New York or London was not possible in Johannesburg mainly because of the huge cost factor and the daunting logistics of building a rail network under the city – which is mined out and hollow.
Now let’s face it, the guys who mined the gold in those days were motivated forward planners because the last 80 years of mining under Johannesburg has provided us with a network of tunnels, tube stations and rail links that would put New York and London to shame.
A myriad of intertwined passages and tunnels with flashing lights, gleaming tracks and changing signals lead off in a clickity clack, clickity clack symphony deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. Rumour has it at the deepest station it is extremely hot.

So when you join us in 2010 and you buy a ticket for a trip on the Gautrain be careful, you might just travel to Australia.

This Video Is a EN Report On The Gautrain City Rail

Demolition in Braamfontein, Johannesburg to make way for the Gautrain

Digging the Foundations of the Gautrain

Gautrain Segment Erection

Gautrain Arials

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Making a television commercial is never easy; the transfer from the script to the moving image is a long, drawn-out journey with frustrations and insecurities locking onto you like refrigerator magnets.

Shooting on sets and film lots cuts a Director’s anxiety by about 50% because of the controlled environment, so with the support of a bunch of strong Assistant Directors, the Director can concentrate on getting the shot and ‘perfect’ performance. On ‘Action!’ everything hopefully happens as rehearsed: the traffic moves, the extras walk through frame, down the far end of the street people are buying newspapers, small children are playing, cops are directing traffic, the lead actors are giving a great performance – what a day it’s been. You’re happy and remember, ‘a happy Director is as rare as rocking horse doo-doo’.

Now, let’s do a simple comparison with what will double a Director’s anxiety, add a couple of notches to his blood pressure and increase his Jack Daniels consumption by at least 30%. ‘How do you achieve this Bill, I’ve always wanted my blood pressure up there’? I hear you mutter sarcastically.

It’s easy – film the same movie that you shot on the lot, in the middle of New York on a week day – Times Square or Wall Street should be fun. I have shot several movies in big cities and every one of them has been a nightmare in one way or another. Choreographing three blocks of a NY street – need I say more?

If you’ve got a good budget, you solve a lot of your problems with CG (Computer Graphics), where the software can change backgrounds and even people. They can multiply people or change the existing ones. Hey, do you remember the scene from the epic movie TROY where thousands of Roman soldiers march across the valley? Ooops, sorry to burst your bubble, the thousands of soldiers started with a couple of matchstick men and were duplicated by a computer genius in Hollywood. I don’t know about you, but the thought of that is similar to feeling bad breast implants. What happened to Roman Gladiators on mean looking Chariots charging at camera, with screaming Centurions falling off their horses clutching at spears lodged in their groin? Julius Caesar was also there throwing Christians to the lions. It was all live and real and actually more horrific than the CG version.

A couple of years ago, I did exactly what I promised myself I’d never do – I shot live on a Johannesburg street. It was a scene that involved a trained Zebra as the lead. The crew nicknamed him Zee (Zee for Zebra). Zee was a very sweet Zebra as Zebras go and a pretty good performer too (much like his trainer) and the action was simple. We were filming at a pedestrian crossing with stacks of cars and dozens of bored extras and Zee had to follow two dear elderly Ladies across the Zebra crossing onto the pavement. It was some obscure product which I cannot recall – in any case, the ladies had to turn around and react in amazement at a ‘live Zebra crossing’. I realize this is insanity folks, but try to keep up, this is what I do for a living.

The rehearsals were perfect and I decided to get one in the can. Action! I shouted as the two old dears started to hobble across the street, followed by Zee. Suddenly the ladies stopped for no reason, forcing Zee to stop as well. He was now framed in extreme close-up. The Director of Photography, one of the most experienced wild adventure cinematographers, muttered to me quietly in his dry understated way : ‘He’s going to take a dump’.

I must make this quite clear, I am no expert on wild animal bowel movements, but I did observe his elevated tail as well a somewhat vague expression in his eyes…a distant look of anticipation. Before I could say Gerry Bruckheimer, Zee offloaded his cargo in front of camera.

I will never forget hearing one of the Zee-bespattered old ladies uttering, ‘What time is lunch?’

Hey, I’m off to take a shower.

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As a moviemaker and a wild adventurer, I have a creative perspective on things I see or put my mind to.

Take a look at the old Hollywood epics where most of the characters were typecast with no surprises. John Wayne (if anybody remembers him) could only be John Wayne in any part he played, so whether he was cast as the gunfighter, the undertaker, or the mayor of Dodge City, you had a pretty good idea of how he would look without much prompting. The same goes for the ‘Young Turks’ that fill our television and cinema screens today; Keanu Reeves as the matrix man has to be dressed in a black with a black flowing cloak because again, he is typecast for that particular part.

So my point is, what you see is what you get in Hollywood (I can hear you falling about in hysterics). Okay, I know a lot of you folks are thinking I should up the dosage but try to keep up here.

The visual image of an oil prospector was always typecast in the movies as an unshaven guy with a sweat stained safari hat who wore khaki shorts, drank a bottle of Jack and smoked 60 Camels a day. He was usually surrounded by a lot of equipment, even a cleft stick or two. It wasn’t possible to mistake him for the Village Priest. He was usually a loner with a hidden past, most probably three marriages, an only son on death row and a lesbian daughter with her own home for abused young girls. Prospecting for oil was his job – not his life. Not a lot depended on him finding oil, in those days it was an unpopular kind of hit and miss profession that not a lot of people wanted to do.

If perchance he struck oil (no pun intended) the oil would gush from the earth to the delight of everyone. Oil drenched crews filled 44 gallon drums that were sent off to a refinery and sold for the outrageous price of around a $1.00 a barrel. In those days oil was a kind of ‘take it or leave it’ commodity because of its easy availability. Keep the image of the prospector in your mind as we fast forward to 2008.

There are almost 70 million motor vehicles on this planet and the bulk of the oil reserves belong to, as Hollywood would say in movie terms, ‘the bad guys’. Suddenly, all the guys that John Wayne used to fight moved to the Middle East and it appears, took all the oil with them. Now, how’s this for a movie? Picture our prospector standing in the middle of Iraq sipping a Jack on the rocks as Bush, Blair and some other hangers-on countries arrive in all their glory. Our prospector watches in awe as the entourage of US and British soldiers and their shiny state-of-the-art equipment spread out across the horizon stop to ask directions ‘Which way is the oil?’

So Hollywood has arrived to take the oil that does not belong to them. I’m not a politician and don’t want go there right now but the point I’m trying make is, a commodity like oil should be available to everyone at an affordable price – although it is not a renewable energy resource, how can we possibly be paying $US125 a barrel on the international market?

Is it because the resources all belong to the so called ‘bad guys’ or is it because the powers that be have successfully started a global oil war with the philosophy of ‘if you won’t sell it to us fella – we’ll come and take it’. At the moment, with a lot of our world being in turmoil, this attitude leads to wonderful international relations as we’ve noticed. Then prey do tell why do Bush and Blair look like such nice guys when in fact they are ‘the bad guys’ in the scenario; neither of them look anything like the typecast Hollywood villain.

Closer to home, the price of petrol in South Africa is almost $1.43 (ZAR7.00 to $US1.00) a litre, with a promise of $2.00 a litre by the end of 2008. I can hear some folks saying:
‘He‘s bitching about $2.00 a litre while we’re paying xxx’. It doesn’t matter that you’re paying more or less than us; the point is we are all paying too much.

Nowadays when my lady feels the need to be pampered and asks me to take her somewhere expensive – I take her down to the local gas station…

There’s a lot be said for traveling by elephant.

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Making an Elephant soup to most vegetarians and Presbyterians is a horrific thought, until you address the fundamentals and of course, the real issues. Soup (from the Latin, domini, partus, dominus sloppis), was discovered a 1 000 years before elephants were invented. The Roman Emperor of that time, Angostino-Who’s-Your-Daddy Dickus (around 300 000 AD – come to think of it, it could been just after that, I would suspect around 300 000 AD and twenty minutes), anyway, played a major part in the evolution of Elephant Soup.

It was on a particular Sunday afternoon at the Colosseum in Rome that Emperor Angostino-Who’s-Your-Daddy Dickus, after a heavy drinking session of Antelope sweat and Gladiator Grunge, swallowed his wife by mistake to the roaring disgust and disappointment of the crowd. The main event, which was in full swing at the time, was halted immediately as a sign of respect for the Emperor’s wife, Queen Esperanza-Bring-It-Onnus.

By the grace of the Emperor, the lives of the 400 Irish Proctologists in the main arena were spared. The Emperor was pleased, as they could no longer point a finger. In no time at all, he was surrounded by hundreds of paparazzi and malaria carrying mosquitoes, as well as the odd horse and a V8 chariot. All the Gladiators’ horses smiled on cue and with the light of the arena reflecting in their teeth, the paparazzi flashed away – you must understand, there were no electronic flashes in those days. Each of the press had a horse, and at an unknown precise moment the horses would smile and they would snap their cameras with aplomb. It is a known fact that to this day you will notice horses smile consistently in anticipation of the paparazzi sneaking a shot.

Now, you might be thinking what the hell has all of this got to do with ‘How To Make an Elephant Soup’ and of course you’re quite correct – it has absolutely nothing to do with this rare and exotic dish. But in a strange way it has. Queen Esperanza-Bring-It-Onnus was a large lady, slightly smaller then Ireland but not as large as South America and on this day, was taken by surprise when her husband accidentally swallowed her; she was totally confused by the reversal of roles.

It was on the Tuesday morning of 300 001 AD just after breakfast that the Emperor, along with 50 000 elite highly trained Roman Catholics, declared war on a Jewish panel beater Hymie Smith, who led a humble life in the valley along with his three wives, 18 children and three Lamborghinis. Hymie was beside himself and could not believe that Emperor Dickus had betrayed him, especially after the very successful franchise he had started for him; a marketing concept that stretched across the entire Roman Empire. The campaign was designed for incontinent Gladiators. On either side of the Via Apia toll road, there were huge chiseled granite hoardings depicting Roman Chariots & Centurions covered in steam and water. The pay off line was: “IF YOUR CHARIOT IS PUMPING STEAM – YOU’VE GOT A HOLE IN YOUR GLADIATOR”

As the victorious 50 000 strong Roman army lead by Emperor Angostino Dickus marched into Pakistan, he realized they had missed a turning. The Emperor, amidst roars from the crowd, dismounted his stead and declared ‘I will make an Elephant Soup!’
So without further hesitation, his trusted Centurions brought him a huge bull Elephant and the Emperor was pleased. After 3 jovial hours of drinking and cleaning up, the Emperor and the Elephant toasted Rome. To the blare of a hundred trumpets the Centurion chefs wheeled in the biggest and most amazing minestrone soup with croutons, topped with mozzarella, which the Emperor served to the Elephant in the best silver of the time.

The Emperor had kept his word – he’d made an Elephant Soup.

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1. If you are planning to train a Rhinoceros you must be certain that it wants to be trained. Most Rhino’s won’t divulge their true feelings until you try to train them – and then it will be too late.

2. The African Rhino from the latin (askerladderless bumajaanie) is an incredibly shy animal and keeps much to itself. They spend their days walking across the vast plains of Africa ripping up trees, stomping on small animals, throwing monkeys and poohing a lot.

3. They don’t fly because of the size of their horns and of course their table manners. They are not very popular in business class even if they are white rhinos and have a lot of money.

4. If you do decide to fly with your Rhino always take a large Cuddles Rhino Diaper with you. They are quite pricy but are well worth the money. If you cannot afford the Cuddles Diaper you can purchase a small circus tent or marquee – but don’t take a chance without it.

5. Rhino’s do not eat everything, their man staple diet are tree branches, wally dolly fruit from the dingalanno tree ( mainly found in Botswana) old ladies and chartered accountants.

6. They do not touch alcohol unless they’re really pissed. Although not popular amongst Rhino’s, alcohol abuse is very noticeable. You will always notice a drunk Rhino by the colour of its horn – it becomes a bright red. Another sure sign is their backside protruding from the back of a Land Rover.

7. Under the influence Rhinos tend to charge a lot mainly on Diners or Visa, so keep their credit limit low.

8. Drunk Rhino’s have been known to throw up on their hoofs (only the front) so mopping up is tricky especially in business class – so my advice to you – avoid air travel.

9. From my experience the best way to train your Rhino is to approach it in stages.

10. Always wear clean underwear so you can check to see if you’re scared.

11. Always approach the animal slowly and with caution preferably in an armored vehicle.

12. In the likely event of your Rhino charging you, breath deeply, try to think of England and burst into song – be careful though, subject to common belief Rhino’s hate country music.

Video on How to Give a Rhino a Bath and a Mud Pack

Video Of Rhino’s In Kruger Park – Note the Sound of the Untamed Wild

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