Saturday, February 17, 2007


Couldn’t believe how disappointed I was yesterday when told I shouldn’t be training every single day, as it does more harm than good. For ten days now, I’m been pumping it like Zola Budd before a Bloemfontein barefoot run-off.
Consecutively. Now I find myself with all this pent up sweat.

You know what I did? I hauled out the bunny hutch from our garden and converted it into an even bigger home for my [now sizeable] rat Chad Jean-Gilles. I made him tunnels, swings and all sorts of shit to dangle from. It’s a pad worthy of mention in MTV’s Cribs. In fact, I wouldn’t mind living in it myself.

First, I sprayed the said hutch, in my clam diggers with the hosepipe.

There were probably twenty black widow spiders crawling over the thing, spreading their poisonous germinating spider sacs from thick webs. I Handy Andyed it, and with a broom, tried to flick them away. But the fuckers refused to die, being immortal venomous things, one can’t be too surprised.

I should know. One nearly killed me when I was twelve.
So you will understand my contempt for the arachnid with the red spot on its bulging, poison-filled belly.
I rolled on one in my sleep back in ’93. The creature bit me about an inch above my poenbelt.
Twelve ‘o clock. As the crow flies.
If that’s not just pure, unadulterated bad luck, the bite started to emerge as a large crater – so large and so painful, I couldn’t sit up. I had to lie on my back for three days, while excruciating headaches and vomiting added predictable flair to the ordeal. It was fairly disgusting.

So you’ll get a vivid picture then, of the bitch in apartment # 7253, wielding a consistently-flowing garden hose, in clam diggers and a t-shirt that says ‘I Should Have My Own TV Show’, and like a mad woman, aqua-blasting the vermin abode and all the arachnids therein while whooping in hedonistic glee and imagining she’s actually holding a fully-loaded machine gun loaded with spider ammo.

Then worrying later, while lying in the dark – vulnerable and without handy night vision goggles - that they all may suddenly come alive again, in a Revenge of the Spiders jaunt.
Rope in all the spiders of the neighbourhood and descend on the sleeping lass to use their greedy mandibles as they only know how.

This would later be a film based on a true story.


Revolving Credit said...

Hmmm...poison poen??

PS. Does spider stomping count as exercise?

kyknoord said...

I'd be worried if I was you. Actually, if I was you, I'd probably stay at home all day and play with my breasts... where was I? Oh yes, spiders don't bark at all. That's pretty fucking terrifying, don't you think?

Peas on Toast said...

Rev - absolutely. But stomping them means I'd actually have to touch them. And I wouldn't have been able to derive pleasure from the hose. (ha ha)

Kyk - Barking spiders would make them less poisonous, I'm telling you. Personification.

Daedalus said...

Arachnophobia Ertjie?
Check this big boy I snapped a while back - be sure to remember that he is sitting on a standard brick for scale:

Antoine said...

Kill dose red spotted crunchers!!

cos they really make you scream when you see them in the bath

Pete said...

Okay, even reading about spiders flipping freaks me out! They can eat you alive, I read that somewhere.

Apart from the fact that I am now paranoid and keep looking under my chair for an eight legged freak, good post:)

Third World Ant said...

I'm praying that when the fuckers come back to seek revenge, they get the right bedroom in apartment #7253! *shivers*

Peas on Toast said...

D-Guy - will do.

Antoine - in the bath? Holy fuck, I'd die before the scream escaped my lips...

Pete - you do that too? Check under your chair for them?

The Ant - I've made a mental note to seal all the windows closed. We may need aircon, but I'm not taking any chances.

Pete said...

Dude you have no idea how scared i am of those buggers. *ANY* of them. I check my chair here in the sticks every morning...

Urk said...

seal the windows? then there's no escape for you. passers-by will be shocked to observe the fingernail scratches and blood on the inside of the window pane...

Peas on Toast said...

Pete - I imagine your fear is as bad as mine with snakes. It'll keep people like us awake at night..*shudder*

Urk - wow...that's kinda disturbing. Best we leave the doors unsealed eh?

Urk said...


Crusoe said...

I hate to be the sensible one here, but if that bunny hutch was wooden then Chad has probably eaten his way through it already and found his way into your pants again!

Peas on Toast said...

Crusoe - nah, the thing is sturdier than a Greek shithouse. :)
Btw, what do you mean into my pants again? The time he chewed a hole into them right?

Revolving Credit said...

New pickup line:
'Is that a rat in your pants or are you just happy to see me?'

DaveRich said..., if the spiders were radioactive, you could have been a super hero!!

Hot Pink Flush said...

Oh jeez, Peas

Peas on Toast said...

Rev - Stop, stop you're turning me on.
(This is boychie we're talking about!)

DaveRich - I like were you're heading with this. It's very Twentieth Century Fox...

Peas on Toast said...

Hot Pink - I had serious trouble sleeping last night...

Revolving Credit said...

Rat in pants hey, just be carefull you don't get your nub nibbled!

Peas on Toast said...

That. Is. Disguting Revolting.
I'm guessing you watched Nip/Fuck on Tuesday?

Revolving Credit said...

DOn't watch much TV, naturally have twisted thoughts :)

DaveRich said...

Not much of a spider hater myself, but snakes are my phobia. YAah. Can't handle them.

Champagne Heathen said...

Black Widows never die. Not even with a bottle of Doom sprayed over them. And they are really really intelligent. You're screwed Peas. I'd even check my car if I was you.

And while you're in that car checking it...please could you just drive here and bring me a coke. Please.

Peaches said...

Completely justifiable (and rational)anti-arachnid style behaviour in my book!

ps: I find extra-strength Doom and so-heavy-you-can-barely-lift-them doorstops also work in combating unwanted poisonous 8 legged intruders.

Quite therapeutic actually.

Peas on Toast said...

Champs - well I drowned at least eight yesterday.
What I'm worried about is them rising from the dead. I've heard they do that a lot.

Peaches - If I wasn't such a wuss, I'd have done that. I was too scared to go near them as I thought they'd jump onto my face. :(

Crusoe said...

Of course I meant the time he crawled into your pants and ate them. Why - is there another time he got into your pants that we don't know about?

Champagne Heathen said...

That's cause they are sneaky buggers that pretend they are dead, so you turn your back, let down your guard AND THEN....

I am being serious about the coke though. Please?

Peas on Toast said...

Crusoe - no way man. :)

Champs - I have a better idea! Mr Delivery (011) 689 4553 for your area. :)

Good luck with the hangover though - min'es coming in 24 hours. I've been roped into a HYUGE one tonight....sigh.

Champagne Heathen said...

Really? They'd deliver one coke? Well, I might ask for a six pack. But That's BRILLIANT! Thank you genius Peas.

duke said...

Tangent: I think you will enjoy this Peas:

Peaches said...

Desperate times call for desperate and extreme measures when it comes to spider extermination. Sucking them up with the hoover oculd also work wonders.

Re: Hyuge night out tonight. 'Roped into' sounds alot like 'rubber arm was twisted'.

Champs: Mr Delivery will deliver anything.... Unfortunatly 'anything' doesnt extend to '1xhot strapping Mr Darcy type man with wet tshirt and six pack of coke'. And I know, cos I've asked :)

Insane Insomniac said...

OOOHH I know all about freakin; spider bites.
Caught a nice huge hairy spider in my bed while in Mozambique a few years ago. Let's just say afterwards, insomnia took on a whole new meaning!!
It was the size of my hand!

Urk said...

"sucking them up with a hoover" that why everyone always used to laugh and point and mouth the word hoover when pointing at my ex-girlfriend

C said...

PK...its supposed to be unlucky to kill spiders...go figure you had nightmares.

Peas on Toast said...

Champs - ...and a bag of chips baby. ;)

THanks Duke! :)

Peaches - You're right, I'm pretty darn excited to get all prettied up and go out on the town. ;)

Insane - yeeouch! I feel your pain babe! Yucccck!

C - I know PK. I'm in shit street now!

storm said...


omigosh...i've got a totally irrational super hysterical fear of the monsters!! they are the most horrible things alive!! i'd rather share my bed with 10 snakes than have one of them in a 10m radius:-(

peas, good really!!! hope you disposed of the bodies??? they have a tendency to come find their mates and then find whoever killed it......

Louisa said...


I am more afraid of spiders than anyone else I know. I KNOW that they are all out to get me and beleive me, if I decide to take the time to get rid of it instead of running then I make sure that it never comes back!

May I recommend vacuuming it up following by some loose sand with a rough-ish texture. Leave it running a few minutes so the little b*astard can get thoroughky minced up and then for good measure spray in about half a bottle of DOOM or similar. Once you decide to switch the vacuum off, watch the exit for 5 minutes. If nothing comes back out - it is done.

Foolproof (so far)...if you encounter the jumping variety the DOOM before vacuum is a good idea cause it slows them down enough for efficient vacuming.

Just a thought...use it...don't use it...Good luck!

Anonymous said...

My guess is your goal is to incite drama and controversy about yourself and whatever you can conjure up just to get a counter to roll. Now is that what life's really all about?
That's sadder than drinking. That may be the saddest thing ever.

Ja so I thought I would see what wise and grown up response you'd provide to my keen observation on your dreams (that was actually a serious - possibly helpful -comment, not meant vindictively at all):

(Meanwhile, back at the vindictive - aka try to vindicate yourself to your loving fans - ranch)Nick the Dick - ah look, you couldn't help yourself could you?? You're back!

I'm not sure if such outright nastiness is warranted...what was your name again, Lorian? Lolita? Lol?

Translated from Peaspeak: Nick the terrible bad guy. Now to show you what a bad, loser, not fun guy this is, and what a helpless adorable soul I am (meanwhile, can't really remember much about him 'cos I was drunk/hungover half the time...yes, in real life, not the bloggerverse)

Ja can't help visiting your website every single day - it's that good!

This coming from a man who nobody could stand down at the DCI, and rolled their eyes everytime you waked into a room?

Ja I remember that. How many rooms were there to walk in though? The auditorium (where you have your back to the entrance), and then the lunch foyer, where everyone is lined up at the buffet. What other rooms were there? I also remember being in two or three person cliques, and sort of roaming from one to the other. So not sure where I walked into a room with a sort of audience waiting to revovle their eyes. It wasn't a fashion show or an audition you know. Hang on, you are aware of that right?

But you know, perhaps you're right, perhaps your clique had a bit of a chip on their shoulder, who knows, but if they did, I must have sensed it: no wonder I felt so uncomfortable and at times bored, and probably why my food turned sour on me. Now I know~!

Meanwhile, I'd consider it a compliment that I don't call a stable full of writers my close personal buddies. Writers, especially the good ones (like Woolf, Rand etc) are commonly awesome failures in their personal lives, and particularly in their relationships. Why else do they spend so much time toiling over a keyboard - it's a miserable and lonely environment, so to prefer this to actual life is really scary.

Trying-to-be-writers are even worse, and bloggers, those who think they are celebrities are worse still than advertising execs who think they are something because they have the Nando's or Musica account. Worse, I say with sympathy because your sense of self, your joy, your happiness, apparently derives from a counter that roles and comments in excess of 42. Whoohoo. That's evidence of a tremendous poverty of spirit Lorian. Depression insues because these people never figure out how to be themselves - as in, just themselves at their most normal and their most lovely (it's all about constantly conjuring up someone else more exciting, but ultimately artificial)

And then came up with these supposedly (actually delete that from the sentence) 'brilliant' ideas which people sadly and largely ignored?

Can't even remember what ideas I offered. Probably weren't worth much. But then I don't remember you saying a goddamn thing at question time. Feeling a bit empty headed, dim witted? (Except on (in the safety of) your weblog of course;-) - where you spoke with sheer brilliance about getting drunk - what else right?-) Good one.

The man who spent 24 hours on the crapper?

Maybe half an hour in total, but I did prostrate myself before the crapper and did communion with the toilet bowl. Really not pleasant. Sounds like you took some spiteful glee in that - not the sort of thing we'd expect from a 'sweet' person is it.

I can say that despite the food poisoning I was present at the DCI and participating, not hungover and useless (but nevertheless strutting the Pea-stuff - whatever that is)as you were. Sorry, but that's how it was babes.

The man who felt the need to write about me in explicit detail on fucking, like you even know me?

Was that 'man' me? Well, it was the least I could do. But it was hardly explicit, and hardly any detail, how could there be, I didn't bother to interview you, c'mon. I mean I think I did a little to protect your identity.

Remember, your reputation preceded you even at the conference. I'd (honestly)never even heard of you, and everyone told me about this legend. And then this legend turned out to be you. And for a blogger you turned out to be damn pretty. Pretty, intelligent, but then you spoil it all with this ditzy charade. Unless of course it isn't, which I'm still not sure if it is or if it isn't. It must be a charade because nowhere are you prepared to reveal (be?) yourself. Now, if you were revealing the darkest secrets - say about blood diamonds, or Brett Kebble's murder - you know, significant stuff - remaining anonymous would mkae sense, but here you are being - supposedly - yourself, but too scared to say who you are. How does that work/make sense? Is it really you? If it is really you you (the little that I know about you, which is 0.0000938o4573657357%)suck/s. If you're right, and I am an idiot (see below), then don't worry, you don't suck. Quid pro quo.

People at large think you're a bloody idiot.

But you don't, do you? You presented yourself as 'a fuck on heels' I noticed subsequent to reading about you on your website. And didn't you start something at the DCI with a German photographer? Which would, you know, support that notion. So it seemed a bit rich those conversations on night 1 about your collection of stalkers and people running after you in adoration. Like, (tinny voice)I'm so suprised so many people want me...and like you're NOT softcore porning yourself on the net (?)and doing a perpetual selfpromotion gig thing (of yourself) with silver handbag etc. in the outdoors on the pavement world? Please.

But I'm sure you're right that most people (including you) think I am...what did you idiot. That must mean either they are (and you are) or that I am. Either is fair. Idiocy is relative, so I'm prepared to have a substantial fraction of the population not like me (probably simply in reaction because I obviously don't approve of pretty self evident - read - drunken stupidity on frequent basis, and then bragging about it and then complaining why my life is so twewwible) There are far more fucking important things going on in the real world, like, crime in your backyard. Like the poor bastard at the intersection nearest to you. Like some or other critter that you road over in your car while you were applying lipstick. Like the fact that by the end of the this decade it's unlikely that you or anyone else will be able to afford to drive at all. But you can associate yourself (or what is it, model yourself) with the Paris Hilton's of this world and all their glamorous, shallow, but pathetic addiction based lives. I think it's healthier to be more constructive, and know you can have just as much fun waterskiing or snowskiing as getting drunk. Actually, it's no comparison. Strike that.

I am spending way too much time let's conclude shall we...

Sometimes I hate being me. Sure. But then I thank God I'm not you.

Okay then.... Ja.... Okay.
Right. Ja well no fine.

Let's move on: When we were having breakfast together (you were still hungover remember)on the first morning (and I can't remember now who came and sat next to who - I really can't), we did talk about doing an interview and even doing a quick photo shoot. I remember you were really enthusiastic (and why shouldn't you be).

But then, after visiting your blog and witnessing your realtime this-is-me-hungover-as-usual-help-me-or-fuck-me etc presentation to the other male conference members, I wasn't sure if I wanted to. Is life about stroking your own ego and getting it stroked by as many people as you can find? So I don't remember a follow up to that. I mean, I don't remember coming up to you and saying, "OKay, can we do the interview now?" As I remember, we didn't really speak again, and I mentioned you once on reporter I think in connection with blogs that are about what we eat for breakfast and other more and less important trivia. Let's face it, yours is about you, and not about the best of you. You're allowed to do it. It's my humble opinion that it's a bit of a waste, is all. But as you say, I don't know you, so perhaps it's just you being you and as you say, I'm the stick in the mud idiot with no life. Maybe baby.

But if I had to call it I'd say it's fucking pathetic that you base your life on a website and vice versa to the extent that you do, and then pretend that you, your life, and your website is real. It's all manufactured. And you're selling a commercial of yourself to the world and enjoying how much the world ingratiates itself in your artificial fuck up?

On the brighter side, I see you're cycling. That can only be good for you. I love cycling. Did a 2:45 for a 100km this weekend, and am in C group in the Argus (see, I don't just write).

Meanwhile if you'd like me not to visit your blog again, simply ignore this comment.

Happy cycling.

Revolving Credit said...

Oi,Anonymous Nick

You again? I really thought we got rid of you the last time but you obviously didn't catch the hint.

So let me TRY and explain the concept yet again (for someone who is supposedly educated you are a trifle slow, aren't you!)

This blog represents a community of people who enjoy sharing the trials and tribulations that make up their lives. Some of it serious, sometimes factual but mostly lighthearted banter with the occassional sprinkling of Munchausen thrown in.

The bottomline is, it's fun..get know, as is entertaining.

What has started here as arbitary commentary has, in some cases, turned into firm friendships and provided others with insight into the minds and personas (real or portrayed)of people they would never and may never meet.

Personally, there's enough published media covering the nuclear arms race, crime in SA and the general state of health of the African Continent.
If thats what you want, go read the Mail & Guardian, CNN or BBC News.

That's not what this blog is about. If we (the commentators) wanted that we'd leave our comments on the aforementioned sites.

This blog, as it stands and as Peas maintains it, provides us all with a bit of humanity, insight, humour and spirit.
Sometimes just an escape for a few minutes.

Yet again I reinterate that if you don't like it, don't read it.

Your post smacks of envy, confusion and rejection.

You envy Peas her ease of interaction and subsequent following of readers and commentators.

You are confused by the fact that people may actually enjoy this level of interaction without ( what is to your mind) serious, meaningful and relevant content.

You feel rejected because you actually like her a lot (don't you) and she has not neccesarily been as accepting of your comments, remarks and academic advances as you would have liked or hoped.

Here's the trick. Literature/media, is a form of communication between multiple parties. These parties all get to choose whether they will subscribe to the specific form and instance of the literature provided.

While I'm sure that you ensure your own contributions present current events, political dispensations and social theories in a serious and fair light, guess what, I am personally not interested, because while your content is probably sound, you have no feeling, no emotion (bitterness not withstanding), no soul.

That being said, here's the thing:
I'm no writer or literary student;
My prose are terrible, my grammar atrocious and my spelling haphazard, to say the least, so please excuse me (all) if I take this down a notch.

You know dude, you're such a poes!!

PS. A primary social fuck-up, as you've committed, is addressing someone by the wrong name or by spelling their name incorrectly in correspondence.
(But then, your social abilities do leave much to be desired)

Laurian, we all still luv ya and your quirky blog/life ;)

Nuff sed