table insanity

Tuesday night's dinner party is a classic, if not crazily retarded, example of how small Johannesburg has gotten.

Just another reason why I really really need to go and live in Europe.

Oh also that our cabinet is falling apart, the market is crashing, we have a 'who the fuck is he?' fake president, and it's a matter of days until Zuma, the corrupt fuckwanker is our actual president and the whole country goes down the shitter….of course.

My ex, Dick, is back in town for a week.
So a little dinner party was pulled together, resulting in a table of people.

Well Doc and I were in hysterics. And it wasn't because we thought the air-conditioning industry is hilarious. (Air-con is a hot dinner-party topic these days.)

Just based on the general table semantics - you can only laugh – the people at this table? The one we were sitting at? Have all collectively shared an appalling amount of sexual fluids.

I'm going to deconstruct it, so you have the conclusive picture.

Stick with me, and try to pick up what I'm throwing down.

Picture the scene. There are 12 people sitting around a table at the Grillhouse in Rosebank. Wine is being poured, steak is being smashed, and I'm not smoking.

Life is grand.

Until I took a jolly good hard look at the one circle of friends around me, and my immediate urge was to escape with a cigarette, frankly.

But I didn't. Anyway.

Girl 1 has recently been with my ex boyfriend, Boy 1. I don't really give a stuff; it's pretty amusing.

On the other hand, Girl 1's ex boyfriend, Boy 2, is sitting next to her. And he has his new girlfriend along as well.

Girl 2's ex-boyfriend, Boy 3, is also here.

So there are essentially three ex-couples at this table.

This alone should usually make for stiff, somewhat awkward cheap talk, but that's only the start of it.

We all get along politely, when in truth this situation is a bit fucked up. We're all friends. And you'll find that friends share a lot more than meets the eye.


So I'm sitting next to Girl 1, and we're bitching about Boy 3, who recently tried to get his hands in the till with Girl 2. I'm bitching, because Girl 2 is Boy 4's ex-girlfriend. And Boy 3 and Boy 4 are good friends.

Are you with me?

Girl 1, Girl 2 and I are sitting together just talking about this scenario, pretty openly.

In the meantime, I've been with four people at the table. (Most of them somewhat innocent). Boy 1 (my ex), Boy 3, Boy 4 and Boy 5 a few times though a series of random hook-ups and good old clean fun.

Girl 2 has been with three people at the table, and Girl 1 has also been with three.

Girl 1 and I have been with Boy 1.

Girl 2 and I have been with Boy 4, Boy 3 and Boy 5.

Girl 1 and Girl 2 have both been with Boy 2. (The dude who has a new girlfriend in tow)


We've all shared a lot of spit, basically.

Then, as the wine flows and people get horny, Boy 3's sister wants a piece of Boy 5, who has had a piece of me a few times, and has also had a piece of Girl 1 and Girl 2.


The only people who haven't been together are the dudes and the girls. Even then, Girl 1 and I were thinking of just pulling into each other over dessert. Just to drive the point home.

And also, because it would probably be a bit of a giggle, and hey. We would be one up on Boy 1 who has been with both of us.


Perhaps the dudes have been together. Nothing surprises me anymore. Perhaps they've all communally wanked as one unified Joburg brethren.

Stranger things have happened.

This place is so incestuous; we might as well all go down to a fuck farm in the Midlands for a weekend.

And just get it on. Altogether, in one place. It would save a lot of time, and hell we've all practically been together anyway.

A sex camp actually sounds like a fucking ace idea. It would release some much needed sexual frustration.

Doc and I ate a huge Loser's Breakfast yesterday, giggling and laughing about how bloody absurd the whole inter-fucking scenario is in this town.

Appalling and laughable, and oh so very very very over that vibe.

PS: My Hot Pom, who is really my number one chat buddy at the moment – snaps for Brit-Belgian pen pals....I guess.
Doesn't everyone want a penpal? Or am I still stuck in 1993 when I wrote letters to some dude who lived in New Zealand?

Whatever, anyway, he doesn't seem to agree with my very clever and thought-provoking theory on Why Belgium Has a Paedophile Problem.

It could come down to something far more sinister of course. Like the famous little pissing fountain boy, maybe.