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When Casper goes kakie, don’t go

10 Sep

One of the unwritten rules of being regarded a proper Afrikaner is that you do not dare enjoy the comedy of Casper de Vries. It’s not hard to understand why – the guy’s material is not exactly classy. Sex, toilets, vaginas and new ways to use the word “f*k”. That’s what Casper’s all about.

Thus – me admitting right now that I liked the guy enough to spend good money on his latest show is embarrassing. I say “liked” because the show ruined him for me. And I’m admitting my status as a former fan so you don’t make the same mistake.

Attention: Fellow closeted toilet humour fans – don’t waste your time on the comedian’s first English show, Casper goes kakie.

Why? The second language thing makes for a second-rate performance – Casper goes kakie is nowhere near the blush-a-minute standard of his former work.

This is how you'll feel during the show

This is how you’ll feel during the show

Don’t buy a ticket unless:

• You want to hear the same old jokes – but badly translated. The birth video joke was unfunny to start with. Having to sit through it in stunted English is close to unbearable. (If you don’t know it, it’s all about a tannie stumbling upon her neighbours watching their daughter’s birth and mistaking the footage for Fear Factor. Like I said – Casper likes making fun of vaginas.)

• You would find a mini lecture on the world’s greatest atheists entertaining – Casper forgets that the audience is there to laugh, and spends a good 10 minutes giving us examples of inspirational atheists. Dude, we get that you have issues with your lack of faith – don’t take it out on paying fans.

• You think paying to watch someone demonstrate just how bad their English vocabulary is, is money well spent.

Casper goes kakie is disjointed.One gets the strong impression that the comedian is simply making things up as he goes along – telling random old jokes, showing less than entertaining childhood photos, literally losing his train of thought on several occasions and blaming it on the fact that he is continuously translating from Afrikaans.

During our show, at least 20 people got up and left in not-so-offensive parts – they left because they were bored.

If you were thinking of getting tickets, don’t bother.

The show would have been more aptly titled if the last two letters were omitted.


Grumpy humour: A top 10

20 Feb

I’m a sucker for grumpy humour. Where most people stopped watching My Family when Nick disappeared, I happily carry on watching because of my favourite character – the universally disliked Ben Harper – is still there. A grumpy old dentist who basically hates his life and everything in it, he’s TV’s ultimate grumpy old man.

But this post is not about Ben Harper – it’s about a book that reads as if it was written by him: Is it just me, or is everything shit?

Ben Harper - the grumpiest, funniest bugger on TV

Ben Harper – the grumpiest, funniest bugger on TV

This book is not to be found on any current best seller list, and is probably not even easily available at the shops anymore. I found it at an Exclusive Books sale years ago, and rediscovered it this week.

Almost 300 pages of pure disgruntledness about, well, everything.It’s fabulous when you just hate the world and all its Polyannas. (It’s also the sort of thing the Erasmus and Snyman cousins find hilarious – so here’s to Carli, me, Iranda, Caroline and Lara. I’m not sure why we have such a sick sense of humour, but I love it.)

Allow me to share my personal Top 10 entries:

1. Unnecessary Greeting Cards

“For my wife…On Mother’s Day.” Such messages are presumably intended to carry the subtext “For my wife on Mother’s Day, because, as you know, I tend to think of you as my mother.”

“Congratulations on your divorce!” Presumably comes with the message: “Roses are red / Violets are blue / You didn’t get the house / But you did get the canoe!”

“Congratulations on your teeth whitening!”

2. The Markets’ Reaction

Whenever a new terrorist catastrophe hits a major Western city, the first thought on every citizen’s mind is: Hmm, I wonder how my shares are doing. Oh, that’s right, I don’t have any. Still, I wonder how other people’s shares are doing… This is why, after the 7/7 bombings, news networks speedily escorted viewers away from the sites of the atrocities and toward the City of London to discover how “the markets” might be affected. And what did our correspondents tell us? Stocks remained “resilient.” Thank G*d.

Rich douche

Rich douche

(As a personal side note – I’m writing this in a coffee shop in Johannesburg. Often work from here. Table next to me has 3 typical “big city” JHB idiots who probably DO consider the markets’ reaction before anything else. Don’t expect any less from people who spend coffee with friends bragging about their stock portfolios and bank balances. Groan.)

3. Paying off your mortgage in 2 years

Top tip to save money to do this: Kill yourself.

There’s no surer way to spend less than being dead. As a bonus, any insurance policies you hold will be paying out like a fruit machine with three triple bars on hold… Irony is free, so treat yourself to a highly poignant death by smashing your brains open against the window of your bank… Now, for insurance reasons, it needs to look like an accident. You’ll need a big run-up to get enough force to kill yourself, so start from the other side of the road while looking down the street and smiling and waving into the distance, as if you have just seen an old acquaintance and have become distracted. Just keep running until you hit the bank and hopefully die… Also remember, in the days leading up to killing yourself, that you can save money by not eating anything or turning on any lights.

4. Sex tips

Some people are so expert at sex that they become “sexperts”. Some of the most common sex tips include the following:

Breathe on each other. As one of you breathes in, the other breathes out, so you inhale each other’s breath. Breathing – it rocks!

Don’t underestimate the erotic power of the elbow. Find out what you can do with yours and before long your love buddy will be dragging you upstairs as soon as you walk in the door!



Lather up each other’s pubic regions with shampoo to make amusing shapes. Laughter is a great way of creating a sexy atmosphere!?!?

Stuff each other’s mouths full of cheese – then lick each other all over. You’ll be amazed at the new sensations you both experience!

5. Kitsch Knickknack shops

“Ooh”, people think, “a present shop. Maybe I can get a present in this shop for presents and thus satisfy my present-buying needs.” Then they go inside and remember it’s actually a festival of shit with price tags on. You can find:

George Bush fridge magnets – you can dress him up as either Shirley Temple or Wonder Woman

Numerous cards featuring a picture of a 1950s housewife and a rude slogan – something like, ON SUNDAYS, DOREEN ENJOYED NOTHING BETTER THAN A GOOD SPIT ROAST

1950's housewife

1950’s housewife

A monkey. With the head of a monkey.

Of course, no-one actually wants this crap. But they get it anyway…

6. Celebrity perfumes and product lines

Celebrity fragrances have rubbish names. There’s Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker; David Beckham’s Instinct; True Star Gold by Beyonce… Sean John’s scent is Unforgivable. By which we don’t mean that it’s unforgivable, although it probably is.

Pop sensation Usher has his own line of credit cards aimed at impressionable teenagers. Sort of like saying, “Hey kids, if you enjoyed my album Confessions, you’ll love a life of debt!”

7. Ads for credit cards

Your life is not exciting enough, quite simply, because you haven’t borrowed enough money. That much should be self-evident. Borrowing money may make you taller. You will have a nicer smile, and have read more books – while still finding time for that all-important Jet-skiing holiday.

8. Baby name books

Nobody has ever found a good name in a baby book because most of the entries are things like Hadrian, Dylis, Mortimer, and Binky. Oh yes, and Adolf.

The UK’s Collins Gem version genuinely point out that the name has never been popular and received a further setback with the rise of Adolf Hitler.

Setback? I’ll say.

9. Porsche SUV’s

Want an SUV so you can loom over other road users like the US Army? But also want something sporty to accelerate ludicrously away from the lights before suddenly braking at the next roundabout?

Then the Porsche Cayenne is the car for you: two utterly pointless vehicles in one. No-one likes you.

10. Yummy mommies

Don’t just lie there! It’s been two hours since you’ve given birth. Get on that treadmill now. Or you’re never going to “snap right back” by the end of the week. Society expects!

Naughty, naughty!

Naughty, naughty!

Also, if you don’t spend on your child in its first 3 months the same as a yearly wage, then your child will be ugly and stupid. And who wants that?


Absolutely loved this book – treat yourself and find it online. The authors are Steve Lowe, Alan McArthur and Brendan Hay.

Why it’s okay to snub the Oscar buzz and go romcom

12 Feb

With Oscar season well underway, I should be positively ashamed of my choice of film this past weekend. Did I go for Les Mis? No. Lincoln? No. Beasts of the Southern Wild? Hell, no. I ignored every single “worth-it” film, and bought tickets for Klein Karoo instead.

Screw that - I'm watching the romcom

Screw that – I’m watching the romcom

And you know what? I’m glad.

(To my foreign readers: The exotic sounding Klein Karoo is not the sort of artsy African film trying too hard to be too edgy. It’s not the sort of thing that will be mentioned in the same sentence as the word Cannes. It does not deal with the usual slit-my-wrist themes of poverty, oppression and hope symbolised by the rising African sun. It does not feature quotes by Nelson Mandela, though it does feature many smiling little black children. It’s a fun, formulaic Romantic comedy about two people who start out mildly annoyed with one another and end up falling in love. Films from Africa can be innocent and fun, too.)

I felt like going to the movies, but I did not feel like chomping down on an extra large popcorn combo while watching Anne Hathaway starve. I needed a feel-good chick flick, and Klein Karoo promised exactly that.

Not a face to enjoy your popcorn to...

Not a face to enjoy your popcorn to…

Plus, I loooove 7de Laan (foregin readers’ note: The greatest soapie of all time), and just had to see good old Annelie and San-Marie in action on the big screen. That girl who used to do work in the pet shop with the nerdy outfits and thick glasses is also in the movie – she looks equally freaky this time, but in a good way.

The plot is pretty predictable, but the movie is as good as any American romcom – if you like your fluff, you’ll like this.

The difference between Klein Karoo and your typical Yank romcom is the fact that the plot succeeds without having a character even show as much as cleavage. That’s right – a romcom that actually acknowledges that Love and Romance is not about sex and “looking hot”. Take ANY American romcom, and you’re pretty much guaranteed to see some first date sex and hear some tasteless sex jokes. If you’re watching a “more conservative” film, you’ll no doubt hear reference to that bizarre American belief that sex is due on date number three.

(Huh? Where does that belief come from? Is it really applied, or is it a Hollywood land thing? I’d appreciate if someone could answer…)

Scene from your typical American romcom. Shameful, I tell ya!

Scene from your typical American romcom. Shameful, I tell ya! 😛

Klein Karoo does not contain a single sex scene. The kisses are not of the bedroom-eyed, suggestive type. The outfits are stylish, but proper. As my gran would have said – dis nou ‘n mooi, skoon storie. (Translation: Now that’s a nice, clean story.)

I found it a refreshing movie – the sort of thing you can watch with your mother and not get uncomfortable.

Though the characters are without exception one dimensional, the film nonetheless succeeds in making the audience care about them. Plus, there’s plenty of (fully clothed) eye candy. The number one romcom rule is, after all, that the fall-in-lovers must be sexy.

Some eye candy for the ladies

Some eye candy for the ladies

It’s impossible to write even a sentence about the plot without giving it away, but no-one watches a movie like this to be intrigued. You watch it to smile. So, in a nutshell:

Boy gets dumped. Girl is engaged to an asshole. Boy meets girl. Girl dumps asshole. You know the rest…

Highly recommended viewing for women looking for something lighthearted. Remember to take your guy with – no better payback than a chick flick to get him back for dragging you to the latest, tasteless Leon Schuster fart comedy…

Now showing at a cinema near you :)

Now showing at a cinema near you 🙂

One day in the life of a Sandton housewife type

7 Feb

In a society of consumerist capitalists who define themselves by what they “do”, I did the unthinkable today – no work. In a way then, I guess I did nothing.

It was great.

As a small business owner, my days usually start with my Blackberry. I awaken from a fitful sleep, and start sorting through whatever nonsense landed in my inbox between 17:00 and 07:00. After a shower, I’m off to a day filled with contracts, emails, phone calls, interviews, issues and too much coffee. I usually don’t have breakfast, never take lunch breaks – why does anyone – you’re perfectly capable of having a sandwich in one hand and type with the other? – and rarely know what is happening in the news.

So, despite the big plans and the everyday obligations, I got to a point this morning that I needed to recharge. After the usual early morning Blackberry session, I just had my final in a long line of “fed up” moments, and decided to have a “Me-day”.

My life right now :(

My life right now 😦

This morning, I got to experience what life must be like as a Sandton housewife – I had a lengthy appointment at the hair salon, popped through to have some waxing done, and then read an up-my-own-ass eco-living magazine as I had my nails done.

It was great.

And man, was it needed! I didn’t realise just how run down I looked until my mother sat me down and sombrely told me that I had better stop wearing ponytails every day. She also said that I should get a bloody manicure, and that I shouldn’t be surprised if Andrew went to work and saw a younger, groomier girl whose roots don’t show and who walks comfortably in stilettos…

Apparently, I had allowed myself to look so shit that I was basically inviting my guy to cheat.

(In complete contrast to my mother’s theory, Andrew told me I looked beautiful despite my Carrie Bradshaw roots and unruly eyebrows. He’s amazing, and I am the luckiest woman alive. If I had to date me, I’d have left a long time ago.)

Awww - thanks, Andrew!

Awww – thanks, Andrew!

But anyway – being obsessed with work during the day and dog tired over weekends and evenings had a baaaad effect. I had left my hair to just grow out its natural, dull, mousey colour, and simply tied it in a bun (or the style my mother so despises, the humble ponytail) for way too long. My nails really did need a manicure. And working alone and from home on days where I don’t see clients and team members, I had developed a tendency to dress way too casually.

I needed my Sandton housewife day BADLY.

Though it was refreshing, and actually did succeed in clearing my head of all the trouble I’ve had of late, it reminded me of just how unfair it is to be female in this consumerist culture we live in.

Andrew went for a haircut the other day, and it was less than R200. I go, and it’s over a Grand. Andrew’s nails are considered ‘well groomed’ if he bites them regularly. Mine, if I get artificial who-knows-what bonded to them, and return for maintenance at least twice a month.

Then there’s the issue of wardrobe – men can wear T’s and jeans every day; women can’t. Men can have two pairs of shoes; women can’t. Men don’t need handbags, earrings, bangles, shawls, scarves, hair ribbons or rings; women do.

Shoe normality: Female mind

Shoe normality: Female mind

Shoe normality: Male mind

Shoe normality: Male mind

They also get by with a two-in-one shampoo and a bar of soap, while we need that amount of product times 22 for each and every body part.

Sucks, I tell you.

Still – despite the price of my day – so worth it :D.

Home sweat home

31 Dec
Happy home :)

Happy home 🙂

As I write this, it has been exactly 7 days since moving into my very first Grown-up place. No more parents or flat mates – just me, my man, our cat and our big-person responsibilities.

Moving in together is one of those things that sound crazy exciting but turns out to be crazy frustrating (and a hell of a lot of work) instead. Hence – 7 tips for 7 days for any of you considering shacking up:

1.     There’s no such thing as drama-free delivery

Delivery people just don’t care.

Don’t expect your address to be jotted down correctly. I know I have a Pretoria accent, but Millway road, Victory Park and Milly street, Victoria Park do NOT sound the same.

Following the umpteenth phone call and eureka moment of getting the place right, don’t bother being at home when your furniture is supposed to arrive. Instead, wait around aimlessly and then get a call from your front gate when you’re halfway to the South Coast.

When the furniture finally does arrive, know that there will be some problem. Granted, my sample is small, but I am yet to hear of someone who had a drama-free delivery.

Tip: Get a friggin bakkie and do it yourself.

2.     Earplugs may be a good investment

If a cat is joining you, be aware that the mandatory seven-days-indoors rule comes with A LOT of tantrums.

In our case, Mufasa was so vocally unimpressed about being kept indoors that we got him some tranquilizers. Nothing hectic – herbal crap that didn’t work anyway – but the fact that we were driven to find an emergency vet at midnight on Christmas may give you some indication of how desperate we were.

Tip: Earplugs. Or, in our case, a half-broken heater fan that drowned out the cattrum with an annoying ggggrrrrrr-whoosh -ketak-ketak-ketak noise somehow soothing to Andrew. 

3.     Prepare to catch Joneses fever

As a woman, there’s some sort of competitive nesting instinct that kicks in and goes on overdrive. All logic seems to go on mute and you start living in a fantasy of Coricraft this and Le Creuset that. Screw saving for that trip to Spain – you’d rather have a couch called “Afrique” and some bright orange cookware.

This instinct is especially pronounced when you start seeing friends’ homes that seem pretty much like they belong on Top Billing Junior. Designer homeware is the new it status symbol and it’s hard not to be caught up in the nonsense of it all.

Tip: Remember that your home is supposed to be nothing more and nothing less than your happy place. Designer whatevers don’t really play a role in that.

Bonus Tip (thanks, Dad): Never become indebted for the sake of status symbols. The flash wears off in one week flat, but the liability lingers on and on.

4.     Don’t forget the garden

Being completely unashamed of my obsession with my Mufasa, we set out to find a place that would suit him rather than us. This meant finding a (budget!) JHB garden big and wild enough for a critter used to having a whole farm as his kingdom.

We found such a place – and I dare say my little darling seems happy with what he’s explored so far – but are unfortunately taking over from tenants who clearly didn’t give a flying one. Mufasa may not mind the weeds, but I do. And let me tell you – spending whole days pulling out toddler-tall invader plants and forgetting your sunscreen leaves a NASTY burn. The discovery that nothing else will grow as the weed forest was covering building rubble from who-knows-when is even worse.

Tip: Pots, pots, pots – if the lease agreement stipulates that you “maintain” the garden in the same (yuck!) state that you found it, improve the look with something you can take with you.

Bonus Tip (thanks, Andrew): You’re a tenant. Rubble removal is expensive. Landscaping is expensive. Covering up the gross blue little wall thing at the edge of what used to be Weed Forest and is now Rubble Hill is expensive. Save the money for when you own a place and make that place amazing instead.

5.  Know he’s not always a gentleman (and love him anyway)

Unless you can laugh at this shirt in front of your boyfriend, you're not ready to move in

Unless you can laugh at this shirt in front of your boyfriend, you’re not ready to move in

Don’t move in unless you have already reached a level of comfort that my cousin Caroline classifies as “gross.”

Tip: Unless you have squeezed his zit, felt his fart and still found him the sexiest in the world, you’re not ready.

6. You’re allowed to get annoyed

Andrew has to deal with a disruptive insomniac who insists that he adopts her cat as his first born child. I must get used to sharing my house with an Xbox and a lot of complaints about “that cat” – a most annoying reference not only because Mufasa is perfect, but because he is not referred to as “our child”.

Furthermore, priorities clash BIG TIME. Where your guy wants to spend money on an extra bedroom TV, you’d prefer a nice painting.

Tip: Fighting is okay. Only way to suss out that difficult necessity that is Compromise.

Bonus Tip (learn from my mistake): Don’t arrive at home with 4 original paintings when you said you were only going out to get a small printed canvas from Mister Price. In my defense – the paintings were not that expensive considering that I got to support a local artist* and got stuff that go perfectly  with my theme.

7. Take a step back and be grateful

Two years ago, I never would have dared to imagine that I could be this blessed – all grown up, sharing a home with a man who loves me.

Tip (or personal reminder): Don’t take your relationship for granted – remember how you wanted to be loved, and now are loved 🙂.


*The artist I’m so chuffed with can be found on the grassy corner opposite St Mary’s in Waverley. He sells his art in the sunshine, and I noticed him over a year ago.

His work is mostly quintessential South African scenery – we have some lovely JHB skylines and a large canvas depicting a typical winelands town.

Prices range from R150 to R800 (which is friggin cheap, dear Andrew!), depending on the size of the canvas.

I didn’t catch his name, but noticed a cell number at the back of my winelands – if anyone is interested in contacting him, his number is 078 751 6814.


Our winelands painting

Our winelands painting

Oh my gosh – my cat’s a diva

31 Aug



                                                                                  Ridiculously cute – my little Diva


Mufasa got banned from a “pet spa” yesterday.

Before you judge me – he was just there to get a bath and summer shave. I’m not rich enough to send him for actual beauty treatments (and doubt that a place like that exists in the thriving Rich Man’s Land that is the East Rand).

The “Pet Spa” is just a fancy name for a grooming parlour –  a euphemism to make you feel like your poor cat is going in for a treat when it’s actually quite the opposite, and to make you feel less guilty about not just using our own bathtub.

                                                                   Pleeeeaaaase don’t take me to Pet Spa!


For those of you who don’t know Mufasa – or don’t know me because I talk about him incessantly – Mufasa is  one of the loves of my life. If there is such a thing as a pet soul mate, I’ve found him in this cheeky Persian critter. I could write for ages, but since this post is about his experience at the “spa”, I’ll keep it simple and say that you’ve never seen as small a cat with as big an ego.

I should have known that there was trouble when I called to make his booking – they knew him by name.

Pet Spa Tannie: “Mufaaaaasa?”

Me: “Yes. Can I bring him for a shave?”

Pet Spa Tannie: “Gulp… I suppose… Yes… He’s been getting quite feisty the last couple of times…But fine…bring him at 10:00.”

I didn’t think anything of it – of course he’s feisty. Always has been. Much as I love Persian cats, I do get the impression they resent not being “real” cats. If Mufasa is anything to go by, I think they’d much rather not have the characteristics us Cat People prize so highly.

How bizarre it must be in the Feline community to have so much hair that you have no hope of ever cleaning it in the conventional way, and have to rely on clumsy humans to do it for you?

I’d be feisty too if I had to regularly undergo the humiliation of a bath when everyone around me can just self-service and have it done in 5 minutes flat.

As far as I’m concerned, the clawing and screeching is a justified protest, and any “pet spa” worth its salt should have the necessary rubber gloves and ear plugs. Especially, I suppose, in an environment where the poor cat is likely the only of its kind – why do so many people prefer dogs? – and has to have its bath while 10 yapping yorkies look on in amusement while having their hair blow-waved.

Calm before the claws


So anyway – apparently it took four grown men to hold Mufasa down for his bath, and the sounds he was making frightened the dogs. It also caused some people to hand over their pets with a marked expression of trepidation, and others to not hand them over at all.

Apparently having my little darling as a client is just not worth the injuries and lost business.

Funnily enough, I’m oddly proud of his behaviour and subsequent banning.

Mufasa may be a particularly small individual, but he has more balls and a bigger ego than anyone – cat or human – that I know.

Plus, he’s proven once again that he and I are soulmates – I too have been banned from a hairsalon for throwing a tantrum. In fact, in that very same road.




Like, oh my gawd, we’re in Af-ri-caaaah!

22 Aug


The (heavily photoshopped) cast

I used to pride myself on the fact that I lived in a place where the biggest homegrown trash on TV was 7de Laan.

Sadly for me, South Africa is now home to a show called Clifton Shores

 Judging by the name and the ridiculously beautiful people involved, Clifton Shores is another cousin in the ever-growing family of glammed-up “reality” shows. If Britain has The only way is Essex and the States have everyone from Kimora to the Kardashians, I suppose it was only a matter of time before the Golden Age of Stupid reached us.

For those of you who don’t listen to fluff shows like the Jacaranda drive, here’s the lowdown on Clifton Shores:

Four slutty American models-slash-actresses live it up in a Cape Town mansion trying to bed their playboy-slash-actor boss who happens to be a billionaire.

It’s not Clifton Shores, it’s Clifton’s whores!”

 Okay, that’s not quite what their official marketing material says, but that’s how it seems to me.

The official rap is that they’re four all-American girls here to work at an events company.

 I was going to write this post without actually watching the show – an intelligent sort-of feminist shouldn’t be caught dead watching this crap – but figured that I needed proper research, and thus watched the first episode.

 And man, am I glad. The show is even worse than I thought it would be.

Firstly, the viewer is expected to believe that the girls – laughably called Destiny, Katy, Kathy and, umm, something I can’t recall but am sure ends in “y” to go with the theme – were called up in America and told to come to Africa the very next day. Oh – and that they all just said yes, packed a bag (of couture) and got on the plane.

 If this was really reality, here’s how it would have gone down:

Quinton (the “billionaire”): “Hey, Sexy! I’m a billionaire from Africa. I like your tits. Come to Africa. Live in my mansion. Drink my fine wine. Hurry – you must be here tomorrow.”

 Real girl: “Fuck off and don’t call me again, you perv!”

Come to my mansion, foxy lady!

 But no – we’re expected to believe that they got a call, accepted everything good-willing, and just came here.

 Newsflash –  a show like this takes months to finalise cast and contracts. The viewer is not a fool – in the words of my sister, at least the Kardashians do fake reality realistically.

 Secondly, the girls are either genuinely shallow and stupid, or else edited to appear this way.

 Some paraphrased quotes from the show:

 When asked if it’s not gonna be difficult not to cheat on her boyfriend when living abroad:

 “Oh my gawd – I don’t know how I’m going to survive such a long time without making out with someone! The guys in South Africaaah have accents! That’s just so cute and just my thing.”

When driving through the Cape flats and seeing some goats:

 “Oh my gawd – are those their pets? Do they have to kill and eat them later coz they don’t have food? We should totally do charity while we’re here… I hope I get a big walk-in closet!”

 Another thing that irked me was how the “billionaire boss” – who looks about 30 and seriously did well for himself if he really is a billionaire and now stars in what will soon resemble Girls of the Playboy Mansion – is constantly shown arriving in his Ferrari/helicopter/whatever. Get over yourself.

Then there’s the website. Clearly assuming that people would just look at the pictures – your editor can really photoshop well! – the copy is shocking.

Just a sampler:

 She’s a free spirited Virgo who loves family, food, and most of all; tequila!

 Why is there a semicolon in front of Tequila??

He’s the CEO of both local and international companies such as telecom, mining, property development, boutique hotels, and entertainment.

Um – should the companies’ names not have been mentioned? Oh wait – since he’s probably an actor, that wouldn’t have worked… But still – grammatically, the sentence is pretty unsound which ever way you look at it…

 Much to my dismay, this show is actually exactly like 7de Laan. Undeniably bad, but undeniably addictive.

 Yes, folks – I’ll be tuning in next week Tuesday.

 In case you’re wondering – just so we can bad-mouth it – channel 123, 21:00.