So your boss wants to know 7 things about South Africa, but is completely too afraid to ask.
And we’re talking relevant questions by the water-cooler in case he looks stupid or worse. Like bankruptcy, divorce and gout.
Don’t fret though, here’s a fantastic list of alternative facts about South Africa you can pass along to your employer in the form of an anonymous Post-It note sitting underneath his mouse. Keep Reading
I’ve been thinking about all the internet junk we leave behind and how it amounts to digital pollution.
It’s like the garbage bags that float in the ocean or the space debris that orbits our planet. We create and leave behind so many email addresses, dating profiles and competition entries.
You know that every time you create a fake Facebook account to stalk your ex, someone out there has to switch on a server? A server that requires electricity, air conditioning and extra RAM, just because you need to see how happier she is without you?
We also forget the other possibility that with all this information we keep feeding into this beast could fill it up. What if one day we’re all signing up to a new form of social media and the Internet sends us all a message that says “insufficient space.”
And in voice we’ll all yell, “Awww fuck,” in so many languages.
Tomorrow I wouldn’t mug you for your car, I’d mug you for your email address. The government will send out messages, “please delete your unwanted Twitter accounts. For only 1 Gig free, you can provide an African child with an untapped source of self-esteem issues, and the opportunity to achieve unsustainable relationships…online.”
Ok, so it’s not quite possible for the Internet to fill up. But what if the Cloud acts exactly like a Cloud? When it gets heavy with water, it begins to rain. What will The Cloud do? Will my computer burst open and out will Coe this huge avalanche of cat videos, blog posts and dick pics hitting you in the face?
My question is would you prefer a big picture of a dickpic hitting you in the face, or a picture of a huge dick hitting you in the face?
Casey Affleck has been slammed in the media and social commentary for winning an Oscar award, since he’s been accused of alleged sexually harassment by two employees.
He was accused of sexual harassment. Allegedly. Not proven or convicted.
In this post my girlfriend sent me by Sady Doyle, this voice of reason hosted by feminist-brandishing magazine Elle condones that “if the allegations are true, more and more women will be forced to work with Affleck despite the danger he poses to their physical safety and mental health“.
So she pre-empts with confirming that nobody has proven the allegations, but leads further with warning women off him regardless.
That is the male equivalent of slut-shaming and therefore sexist. Well done.
For those who argue that it isn’t the same thing…you’re right, men don’t suffer from slut-shaming, we’re applauded for being promiscuous. But women hardly suffer from being labelled “sexual harassers” either, and it happens to men too.
While women are being automatically derided as victims, men are automatically labelled as predators. Society says so, surely it must be true?
I’ve been accused of emotional abuse, a form of sexual harassment, by an ex-girlfriend recently. She posted on our comedian channels and on her own Facebook page that I was narcissistic, controlling and a sociopath.
I know I’m not any of those things, and I even showed these to my loving partner prior to the initial birth of our relationship. So far, things are completely strong between us and she finds me nothing but understanding and caring.
And, of course, nothing come of it since I’m not a celebrity winning awards or being celebrated for my first ever major accomplishment. No profit from it, I’m afraid, sorry.
Still, if I was, this would cloud it and show up to ruin the party. Even if it did reach anywhere, it would be with the comedy community, the people who provide me with the opportunities to perform as a comedian talking crap on stage about the “last 10% of my own fucks to give” or “my girlfriend starting playing my Xbox.”
So far though, it hasn’t. Everyone knew her and had their own opinion, and most of it wasn’t favourable. None of it came from me as I enjoyed her company and was sad she ended our relationship.
But to then, 2 years later, begin a slur-ranting phase about me without proof or provocation, it amounts to slander.
With Affleck’s case, it’s about two women that accuse him of making their working lives hell, and he eventually settled out of court. Mind you, Sady does bring up many proven examples (Mel Gibson, Roman Polanski, where’s Chris Brown), but argues his conviction without the facts being proven.
Here’s where I’d write Sady’s line a little more accurately.
If the allegations were proven to be true, Casey Affleck should pay restitution financially, therapy and rehabilitation, and even jailtime. He should also return his award as it was gained on the backs of those that suffered under him.
If the allegations were proven to be false however, we should forgive him and apologise to him for slandering his name after having worked so hard to achieve one of Hollywood’s highest awards.
Meanwhile, we will never know until the next time it MAY happen.
This isn’t a case to defend Casey against the naysayers that believe he did it (and oh boy, they do), because I have no idea. No one has come forth with proof showing Casey saying those words or being a dickhead.
He probably is a dickhead. Most people are. But until we prove his sexual harassment, we have to defend his rights to freedom of expression as much as we should to every woman, every child and every man that walks amongst us. just as much as we expect everyone else to do the same for us.
As for my case, I know what emotional abuse is though, I suffered it recently and glad I came out of it, but to slander in public with no proof means nothing, especially from me.
No, I’m calling the pitchfork-wielding villagers out for getting their facts straight and promoting hysteria. You’re not fake news, you’re being Fox News. Stop it.
Whatsapp has come a long way from the days when the engineers that built it were denied a job at Facebook. Now, Jan Koum and Brian Acton are two happy men. With money.
Lots of it, in fact. Around $19 billion. For Whatsapp.
Well, no, since we’re so silly to think they’re both living Scrooge McDuck lives and jumping off a diving board into gold coins.
And now they’ve come up with a new feature stolen from someone who stole it from someone who thought it was a cool feature to attract teens with low esteem.
Whatsapp Status – a 24 hour content stream that lets you upload an image or video about anything and everything, and disappears the next day.
I mean why on Whatsapp, what is the point? On Snapchat, I could understand since its a instantaneous “here and gone”, pretty much the original thoughts that enter and leave young people’s minds right before they take a “serrrllffiiiieeee”.
And then it ventured onto Instagram, the grownup version, providing sexy people with the opportunity to show off their abs and butts without waiting for the tabloids to do so.
But it made sense there; Instagram is a public tool, allowing strangers to wangle into your storefront and stare blandly at the goods. And the platform, thanks to their algorithms that detected female nipples and overall genitalia, became as trusted a family social tool as Christmas dinner.
Whatsapp is reserved for your friends and family though, and your vanity is limited to the few that really care or technically don’t. So is this new feature an actually ploy to grab further users (they doubled they userbase in the past two years to around 1.2 billion) or trying to be relevant in a landscape with the “same old same old”?
The instant gratification of a few seconds of “status” still intrigues me, yet I have been unable to obtain a plausible reason why. I ask those around me why implementing a 5 second video of themselves giving the finger to the world would be so appealing, only to have generalised responses like, “bra, it’s cool, why be so uptight?”
Uptight? Is it me then? Am I turning into a fuddy-duddy, where “new things” upset the order of the universe? No, I’ve been a curmudgeon for so long I can criminalise a new flavour of chocolate ice-cream that appears in my supermarket shelf, so I haven’t changed.
I’m just not sure I’m happy with using data reminding my private list of contacts what mood I’m feeling. If I want to let someone know how I feel, I’ll send a wonderful voicenote akin to what Louis CK hates. “Heeeyyyyy bro, these chicken cheez whizzes are like…ammmaaarrzzzinnggg????”
What I really want to change though is my ringtone. Oh man, if only could I change my ringtone to something I can customise and create, I would be SOOO happy. So goddamn happy, I could scream.
I hate reflecting on the past. By that, I mean that I LOVE reflecting on the past, all the things I’ve done, the people I’ve met and the wonderful experiences I’ve enjoyed. And 2016 is no exception.
I don’t try to be too narcissistic. Yes, I own a blog, I’m a comedian and I’m the type to admit that I look at myself in every reflection I walk past in. You know, just in case I have a hair loose. But I don’t TRY to be TOO narcissistic.
It’s cathartic though when I look back at the moments of 2016 and appreciate what has happened. There were some huge changes, I mean big ones. And all for the better, I hope.
I do include events that weren’t part of my everyday life, like celebrity deaths. Government referendums. Oil price changes. You think it’s silly? Never, those shape our public conciousness and all the better for it, so why disregard them in our lives?
Here’s my list, have a good read:
I started my job in the advertising industry
I left an abusive relationship and found the best one ever.
It was a promising start for First Thursdays; deep within the bowels of Cape Town’s urban CBD centre, millennials meandered around, babbling in tongues of various languages, be it European, African or technological.
Me and everything that is good about my life walked around, and I was immediately reminded by Louis CK’s sketch about coffeeshop patrons with their sneery chat, “bleghbleghblegh I know bleghblegh Obama.” Keep Reading