Leprachaun Sex

Another crazy letter from Sir, this one written to my uncle, the Baron, a couple of years ago.

 

Dear Baron,

‘Tis obligatory that I wish you and yours a good year, however, I must add quickly that I do not do so very eagerly. I only do so because of the hideous manner in which we are related, and marriage forces me to be “PC” to family.

I also wish to confirm that 10% of any winnings (lotto or other), and/or tax refunds and/or raffles you may enjoy are mine. I am entitled to this because there is somewhere an unwritten African law that says so and this argument of mine will hold up well in any self-respecting “Kangaroo Court”; failing to do so will cause me to become violent and I can do so in the single beat of a Cow Hide Drum. I can change from a docile Italian to a malicious Zulu Warrior with ease and I look menacing wearing my Gucci Leopard Skin and waving my Assegai like deranged Juventus fan.

I hear you asking “What has got into this little Italian Pr***?”..Well good man I shall tell you.

You Mr Baron are a sell-out. You come to our house in December (the 25th to be exact), donning Superga Sneakers (loafers, casual shoes) just a f****** fancy name for “tekkies” – not only did I find them very gay, I also found them very loud. Nooooooooogal they were the so-called “FLAG SHOES” representing the Italian flag…..Personally I think the “tekkie” looks like it kicked a menstruating woman in the front and got Butt f***** by a Leprachaun in the back.

Over and above this you feign to admire all things Italian, from their food to their cars, you purchasing the MiTo drives my point home quite nicely. To add fuel to this little fire you openly chastised me for wanting to own an Audi R8 and you gaaaaaned aan about how un-Italian I am, and that I am a traitor to my nation. But it is not this criticism that painted you a sell-out. It is the news that you have decided to go holiday in France.

Well knock me down with a plume. Why not Italy I ask, to savour proper food and not the cream riddled garlic-laced fancy named kak that the Phraanch call food. I mean this is a nation that eats amphibians’ limbs as a delicacy. In Italy we have true museums and art galleries, unlike the Upmarket Huguenots who needed to steal Leonardo’s Moaning Lisa, to attract dumb tourists like you are soon to be.

We have cars such as FERRARI, MASERATI, ALFA ROMEO and others. What do the Baguette Fuckers have….????

Me thinks that you are an Arty Farty French Gay wannabe, your dream is to drive a Citroen 2CV through “Gay Pari” with Edith Piaf blaring from its miserable speakers, all this with you wearing a Beret and smoking Gauloises (incidently made from fine, slightly dried French Donkey Excrement) and enjoying pretentious wine.

All Jokes aside I am a little green with envy and wish to forward a few pointers for your trip:

  • I am fully aware of your Aviophobia but I shall endeavour to be subtle. As we speak, 4 (four) A380 are grounded (viva the French viva). If I were you I would rather travel to Gauteng in your more trustworthy (Italian Built) MiTo where I could take you to Zoo Lake and kill two birds with one stone, namely you can bag a ladyboy in one of the toilets and secondly we can a set up some clever snares and catch a few “Paddas” which I will gladly braai for you in a delectable SEFRICAN Chutney Marinade and copious amounts of Aromat. And by golly with my finely honed catapult skills I can get us a lekker duck from the lake – that basted with a few brush strokes of Oros will be as good as any Duck L’orange the Eiffeltown has to offer.
  • Bring tons of Euros.
  • If the French do manage to get their sitting ducks off the ground and you do get to Paris I suggest you bring your own soap, as I am sure you know the French wash even less then the British.
  • Bring tons of €.
  • Do not sit next to men whose underwear auto-combusts.
  • Bring tons of €.
  • Do not sit next to men who look like they played a lot of Flight Simulator.
  • Bring tons of €.
  • Fly SAA. French Planes fall out of the sky like flying ants at dusk.
  • The best car rental to use in France is,…wait for it…………………is a company called ES CAR GO …………………….

 

The Birds and the Bytes

This week Sir’s sideplate of crazy is about a hard drive love story. My stepdaughter Snaphappy needed a new hard drive to save her extensive photo library before the imminent demise of her previous laptop, and dad duly shipped off a hard drive, and responded to her email about the much anticipated drive.

This was the email received from Snaphappy enquiring about the hard drive she was patiently waiting for:

Sent: 09 May 2012 09:34
To: SIR
Subject: hard drive

Hey pops

What’s the story with that hard drive? Do you need it still? My computer is falling to pieces and it’s not even about getting a new one at this point as much as it is saving my pictures because as you know my current hard drive can only open on the almost broken computer.

Let me know? Otherwise I can back my stuff up on a friend’s hdrive in the meantime?

OH I love you!

And Sir’s response followed:

From: SIR
Sent: 09 May 2012 13:02
To: SNAPHAPPY
Subject: RE: hard drive reply

I have just re-read this email and realised you ACTUALLY want a story about “that” hard drive…oh ok I get it…..Here goes…

Once upon a time there was a Mommy Hard Drive and a Daddy Hard Drive and they were lonely and decided to make a little family. So Daddy Hard Drive took Mommy Hard Drive to the local Internet Cafe and got her truly sloshed and she didn’t give a damn about viruses either. However, they then went home and did the dirty, [you know all about the Birds and the Bits and the Bytes, don’t you?]

Anyway 15 teraflops later (average gestation period for small to medium removable drives), Mommy Hard Drive gave birth to twins, Derek and Dwight. (The hard drive in question is Derek). Unfortunately Dwight was like a mongoloid drive and did not go very far, only able to copy small of amounts of data, and even did that badly, so they killed him… But Derek was tested, passed and went on to an Incredible Connection, was moved from store to store and eventually was adopted by me.

He has been good to me and requires little or no attention.

Love and Kisses

Dad

An Accompanied Fart

Another of Sir’s demented E-mails, short and sweet – like Smarties.

A friend wrote and told him that she felt totally bereft since her youngest daughter also left home to venture into the big world of grownuppyness………..

From: SIR
Sent: 04 September 2012 05:28
Subject: RE: Bereft

Bereft? Now here is where I think English is a funny language – “bereft”; what the fuck kind of word is that? I’ll tell you what, in my small mind, a bereft is…….

BEREFT is, in reality, one of those farts you make and you are not quite sure if it had a “solid” companion – you know those Smartie sized turds that do sometimes accompany a fart…..

How to use “bereft” : “Fuck, I’m sure that was a bereft, where is the nearest toilet?”

Not lekker places to have a “bereft” include The Opera, or any public transport.

Why it’s cool to wear a skirt and no panties : A Bereft can happen, shoot straight to the floor, and you can totally deny ownership.

I wish I had better looking legs, I would wear a skirt more often just for the “bereft” issue….

Love and Kisses
Sir

The 3 P’s of Italian Culture

With month-end pressure at work, and the fact that we’re leaving for a one-week mini holiday tomorrow, I decided to just post one of Sir’s demented mails to prevent my blog from getting cobwebs…..

First, Sir received an email from ‘The Canadian’ about an article written on the hysterical 2012 boycott against Woolworths for their alleged racist employment policies:

Guess you guys living there are aware of the intensity of this boycott … are you all complying to it and not going to Woolies for your chicken or your cappucino fix?  Sitting on the other end of the world, I’m not sure what is really happening – but it does sound like a good ‘fight’ to fight from here … but what are your views?

Let me know … and say Hi while you’re at it!  Would be interesting to hear from you all …

THE CANADIAN.

To which Sir responded with his usual diplomatic flair:
Who has cappuccino at Woolworths, I ask with tears I my Navy Blue eyes? Shit my eyes are not really blue, so I will rephrase that. …with tears in my daughter’s navy blue eyes…..NO fuck why should she shed any tears at all because of Woolworths.

Fuck delete the first line altogether! I mean I could delete it myself, but I just don’t see the point, besides it’s my funny way of protesting. So there Mr Woolies take that…

I have two views on this all, and I would like to tell you that Woolies was selling Pasta at R16.00 a packet, so fuck the Capuccino and fuck the chicken – at that price I am in no way taking a stand against the hand the feeds me, so to speak.

Pasta, Parmesan, Parma Ham, never ever fuck with those three things. Also, don’t fuck with the wife of very big dudes, it can be sore. Unless of course you can distract the bastard with a morsel of any of the Divine “P,s”…I strongly suggest a couple of slivers of Parmesan in a pocket can be a life saver. The Pasta (Spaghetti) can be a cool weapon, Rigatoni, not so much, unless you are fast and clever and can make a whistling sound with them (like blowing into a bottle), so it acts like a Police Whistle. It is obvious this should be a raw Rigatoni as a cooked one flops around a little like a spent penis…..and is hellish hard to blow into……(also like a spent penis).

Parma Ham is probably the kakkest weapon of the three but has other endearing qualities. Have you ever been at a Cocktail Party, a little drunk and slipped on a piece of Parma Ham the fell to the floor? I do not know why cartoonists use the old cliché “Man Slipped on a Banana Peel” thing, when Parma Ham is the obvious choice??

Also, reading the article below I do not know what this fuckwit means by saying “We are going to eat you for Breakfast??  I mean dude are you boycotting them or are you still going there to get those lekker free Range Eggs, that neither Pick and Pay nor Checkers seem to have?

Know what I can say…….., black, white or coloured, Woolworths trains their staff fucking well, and in my mind that is truly ’empowering people’………so if it is so easy, I would simply go into competition with them.

Just remember little things like Pasta price rule the world…..not this drivel…


L
ove and kisses
Sir

 


Wave to the Greek Friend

I have created this section to post random whackjob letters and emails written by Sir, which I’ve managed to save over the years. I’ll post something every week, time permitting.

The following is a letter Sir wrote to a Greek friend of his in 2008:

Hello,
My dear friend of Hellenic descent, I write to wish you a good 2008, where money of a serious currency finds you; sexually you find satisfaction like a goat shepherd with a large and willing herd, and healthwise you start to look like those happy fucking families in vitamin advertisements.

All that said and done, I am afraid some chastising is in order….. A few days ago I saw you and your father driving in that old Mercedes Sports car of yours that one only really sees old 60’s porn stars still driving, wearing bad sunglasses and a lot of gold. Of course, at first I was embarrassed and I  thought of ducking under my steering wheel to avoid eye contact but this would have been a silly move as avoiding the incautious manner our minibus mass transporters drive could also have been stupid.

So I decided to brave embarrassment and waved proudly at my old friend, who not only is deaf but evidently equally as blind. I did not notice you waving a white stick in front of your lame steed, so I surmise you drive with the trusted bump and avoid method.

I also sadly noticed (since watching CSI MIAMI and its spin offs I have developed a gift for picking up on detail) that your once jet black hair is splashed with a white grey, but I shall not comment further.

You were no doubt in deep conversation with old pops, presumably bitching in that hideous guttural language of yours about crime, Jacob, Thabo, and of course our good friends ESKOM. How I remember those days when we used to have braais at your place and the whole hairy-backed family would break out in hating our esteemed politicians and the countless criminals, your mother occasionally going off at a tangent and proudly showing her pace with Weber’s newest and latest spare part.

We, (my fine wife and I) also had the scourge touch us…. Carnivores as we are we decided to go have a bite at The Hindquarter in Craighall, and we sat down to order food and generally be merry, I went to the gents and donated some of my finest urine, shook the little man, washed diligently (hands), wrestled with the paper towel as the air drier was being held to ransom by ESKOM, and in my usual debonair way left the gents, walking into utter chaos.

One look at my wife I noticed something was amiss and also the subtle words of my lady..”GET THE FUCK DOWN SHIT IS HAPPENING HERE”, made me realize the situation was not exactly lending itself to culinary pleasantries. In my absence 4 or 5 armed Neanderthals came in, pistol-whipping staff and patrons taking bags, cell phones, jewellery etc, beating an elderly woman and fleeing, shooting at a car complete with two kids, thankfully missing.

As you can imagine this left us perturbed, my wife in particular, who is a quivering mass of nerves, which  in a strange way is quite funny because she is a little chubby and the quivering often makes me chortle which makes her furious. On the upside this shivering and quivering makes for very good sex, and thank God we have purchased a VIBROSHAPE BELT to counteract these movements for eating and other such activities.

However I do think we should actually meet soon, I swear to speak slowly and clearly, and am brushing up on my sign language.

I hope this email finds you well.

LOVE AND KISSES

SIR