Scribbles

1.           THINKING THAT ZIMBABWEAN MEN WHO GET RAPED ASKED FOR IT. Glad I got that one off my chest, and it’s true. Drive down any highway, Main Street, under any bridge, walk through any forest, go behind any building and you are bound to see at least 5 men urinating. You think the world is your urinal, whipping out your junk every opportunity you get and expect to get away with it. Just as you justify raping a child, woman, girl, baby. I to would justify raping any man who so carelessly displays his wares. If you don’t want it then keep your junk in your pants! 2.           HATING SOMETHING EVERYONE ELSE LOVES Let’s see, that would be puppies, cats, corn flakes, that stupid series 24 which translates to a total disregard of that famed agent Jack Bauer. Following that I hate crowds and small talk, yes even if you are my friend, either get to the poi...

Lately, our house has become rat infested. For me a rat infestation does not require a whole manger of them, it takes one. And this one has come into my home, eaten my food drank my water and drowned in the toilet bowl. This would have been a not so bad thing, if i hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night near bursting point, thinking to myself that maybe Michael Jackson’s urinary bag which spent many a night strapped to his business, since my business was about to happen all over my bedroom floor, to find it right there, mocking me. Here’s a picture of Michael Jackson. Now in my mad race to the toilet, which involved a heavy tugging, leg crossing, eye aerobics, and breath panting, arm wrestling and knee jerking fight to get to the toilet i never thought for one that i would find a rat floating belly up in my toilet bowl. I know I'm repeating myself. But there it was. Now, i have to tell you that i have a rat phobia. The sight of one petrif...

Article 4, and I found it refreshing to have someone who has been in the same room as a sex therapist and a porn star, blogging for this site. Here's N over at, well TWITTER   and as soon as I have the link to the show...yes video and all. I will post it.

There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered owls and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them. Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as "mother", although she didn't mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist. Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed. One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house. "But mother, won't this be stealing work from the unionized people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?" Red Riding Hood's mother assured her that she ...

The other day the accountant and I were engaged in a heated debate about the virtues of pink shirts. I was defending every man who had ever worn them and every man who ever would. He categorically called them faggots, and fairies. I was passionately bestowing virtues upon the colour when his phone rang. "Hello dear," He listened. "Honey can you call me back? I am in a very important meeting right now." it was He rung off and we continued. Just when i thought the light of understanding had gone off in his head, his phone rang again. It was his wife. What follows was a conversation that made me think that hiding all Facebook activity could go a long way in saving all happily married/daring/swinging couples. "Honey, i am still in that meeting call me back." "You are in a meeting?" He rolled his eyes and said yes. "You just commented on your ex-girlfriends status." "Well i got bored and i..." ...

                                      I am so gullible. As long as a ‘fact’ is written on paper I will believe it. The Da Vinci Code had me in a spiritual funk, Angels and Demons did nothing to pull me out. I fared better after reading the Bible.  I read that my name meant ‘black pearl’, I believed it. Which put in my quite a quandary when I was told that it meant to wound’. Now this caused quite a conundrum. 1.     Which version of my truth would I tell people? 2.     Did this mean that I would have to settle on one meaning when both could serve me so well? For that man I did not want to give a chance I would throw black pearl at him with a careless glass over my shoulder. Smile at him one last time and walk away. For the potential Mr. Right I would look deeply in his eyes and dare him ‘To wound.’ And depending on his...

This is the third instalment of my guest series and I must say this is my absolute favourite so far. It has all the fine things I am not brave enough to talk about, let alone blog. Thanks to Wadzie at...so far i only have her twitter page so go follow her here   . However feel free to visit her blog AND follow it here