Went to Moogs’ Vaal pad late Friday night to get shitfaced in good company, smell diesel fumes on the back of a boat and action the usual tomfoolery we do on weekends at the Vaal.
I am where I was two months ago, and it was not a bad place – single.
Anyway, it turned out better than I thought. Good company, strong Tequila Sunrises, tanning by the pool, and a dysfunctional family.
The ‘dysfunctional family’ part goes something like this:
We chug along upstream towards the Waterfront Lodge – a chilled spot, wooden deck, on stilts, pretty sunset, cheesy music, we’re all throwing a few Sex On The Beaches around.
This family rocks up. The father is the poster boy for reasons not to take steroids, and the mother is wearing an incy wincy leopard print bikini, acrylic nails and hot pants.
The kids appear normal.
For about five and a half seconds.
They’re sitting at a table right next to ours and all talking loudly, so the first thing we overhear is him ordering buckets of Moet.
Eventually they order our table a bottle. Shweet, thanks. So we’re making friends, but friends with an unwitting edge. Because the 5 year old is hitting on me, and the 12 year old is talking like someone who should be in her 30s, not in Std 5.
The kids were saying things like this: ‘Fuck man. My dad says if I wait until I’m 18 to have sex, he’ll buy me a 5 Series BMW.’
OK. You’re twelve.
The five year old then proceeds to go ‘Daddy I want a Johnny Walker Blue.’
‘No dude, you normally drink Black for shits sakes.’
Our new freaky creepy friends are now buying us tequilas, and we’re sipping on them whilst checking out this scenario in disbelief. Didn’t realise that Jerry Springer holidayed in Gauteng, but whatever.
The more punished we got, I eventually, after three tequilas, and hearing the 12 year old talk about her mommy’s sex toys, and after hearing the father ask his 5 year old son to fetch us more tequila, thought I should speak up.
Addressing the mother, while daughter is doing provocative hip hop moves – moves I do in my dreams – and I said:
‘I think it would be a good idea to send your children to boarding school. Single sex.’
‘Well, your daughter is probably giving older men blowjobs behind the school toolshed while she pops ecstasy tablets, hands out cane tot packs around the playground, while swearing like a sailor.
‘As for your son, that horny little bugger currently humping my leg, knows the difference between a Sex On The Beach and sex itself. He just said so. He also said “fuck” three times in half an hour and is carrying around tequila shots. He’s FIVE. I’m just saying it might be a good idea so that there’re no teenage pregnancies going on here and/or alcoholic children.’
Mother: ‘Nah. We’re all just very open, and this is how I choose to raise my kids.’
They also mentioned their party lifestyles and recreational drug habits when they hit Truth on a Friday night. No censorship for small ears, in any form.
We all bundled up our things and ran to our boat, and I’m pretty sure they could hear us talking as we went down the river.
‘Dude! Fuck! Child Welfare.com!’
‘Are you guys as freaked out as I am?’
‘Shit chaps, that’s quite a yardstick for bad parenting.’
‘What I loved is that they reckoned they were from Sandton, and they live in Buccleugh. The last time I checked, Buccleugh was in Midrand.’
‘At least we know none of us would ever be like that.’
Needless to say, we got trashed and I passed out in my bed before dinner.
We also made moustaches out of the grease on the ‘outboard motor.’ I looked like General Kitching, while the others made various Mugabe, Hitler, Kurt Darren ones between them, and that's how we missioned around the river. The diesel fumes really did go straight to my head.
Love a bit of silliness.