I had an sms a few days ago from Jerry saying that it was the Bishops/Rondebosch day night cricket at Bishops. Always keen to go show my face in the enemies backyard, I thought it was a good idea. So we were on. Like Donkey Kong. Bee-atch.
On the day a couple of things knocked my schedule off. The VR3 was behaving in a strange manner. It honestly sounded like someone was starting their boat engines in the street. Maybe a bit louder even. Now from experience we all know the VR3 is a highly tuned piece of equipment, and it never fails. So I took it to Tonnesens in Rosmead Avenue(The only place to go. When I go to other places it always seems like they are trying to rip me off., Kenilworth. The vibe at Tonnessens, which I'm spelling completely wrong I think, is like the vibe at a good friends house. The vibe at other places is like a chop shop, or a place where you know you will be offered drugs or sold to a prostitution ring. One place like this is, I think it's called Pit Stop in Kenilworth. Don't go there. They will steal the loaf of bread out of your car)
Anyhow, I had to get the silencer fixed, and once it was done the VR3 was purring like the beast that it is. It truly is a lifestyle.
So I sent it through to Bishops to meet Mike, but I arrived early and was surrounded by Bishops people pumping their music out of their cars that their parents dodgy business deals bought them. I was not perturbed by this whole scene, and I sat there, leaning on the VR3, with shorts, sandals, a smart black shirt and my Rondebosch old boy's tie. Kicking it old school. Then I saw a Ford sending it through the Bishops racing straight...and by George, it was Mike. Mike, I think Bishops has a speed limit that is less than 100km/hr.
Mike got out of the car, and I was just waiting for the blinding lights and smoke machine to kick in, that's how rock star his entrance was. We ambled down to the field, and I was expecting to be greeted by hordes(Or whores, to be honest) of dirty school girls. I can't say I was that impressed. There was one dirty girl, but she had a boyfriend. Other than that there was nothing. There were the usual wannabe-gangsters, shouting such charming things as “No Ishmaal, yo poessss!” as the last three “s's” spluttered out through his passion gap. Then there were the usual fuck ups who were pushing in front of me and Mike in the queue. Mike is no tame boy, and I have no doubt that had these guys weighed more than a nickel, Mike would have hit them so hard that their DNA would be altered...forever. They would have become Neanderthals. Hey, Mike has made this happen. And he will make it happen again.
But we just acted all cool in front of these slobbering pricks. Then it was time to show what money can do. Some fucknut had pushed in front of us and bought two packs of liquorice and when the MILF behind the counter said it was R6, he realised he could not afford it. So he just asked for one packet. That was when I said “Yeah, we can pretty much afford anything we like” At which point Mike put away the R20 note he was going to use to pay for his Coke, and started looking for a R200 note. So he pulled out one R50 note, of about a dozen, and payed with that. Why? Because he fucking can. So in the end Mike won. Because he has a girlfriend, a job, a car, a girlfriend. And he is bigger than most people as well. Granted, it's unfair to have a money throwing contest with a 14 year old punk, but a fight won is a fight won.
Another funny thing is Mike's phone. He has myself and his girlfriend on speed dial, but not the police or ambulance or anything. What a tough man! (I shall not mention his girlfriends name, unless I get permission, as I believe she was a little less than impressed last time we had a poll and voted them the first to get married, or have kids or something. She may even be reading this. If they do have twin blonde daughters though they should probably ban me from visiting once the kids reach the age of 18. Hi guys!)
Jerry eventually arrived after his bird had decided which outfit to wear, which took up the better part of February. Then we took a look over to the other side of the field and saw some of the younger old boy's, absolutely inebriated. Cruising around the field with draught beers and cigarettes, it put a smile on my face. Their singing was actually louder than the schools. Give yourself a high five, boys.
We also noticed that Madiba was there, as per the photo. Amazing.
We were also constantly surrounded by gay people. At first I thought it was because of our dashing good looks. Then I just realised that they were regular Bishops boys.
Then afterwards we decided to give Lex a visit, at his place. He was just kicking back, having a braai, playing some drinking game called “Fuck the bus” Jerry ended up being the one having to “Fuck the bus” It's no surprise that he did that, because Jerry would pretty much fuck anything. Pulse negotiable. I'm in big trouble now.
We chilled there, Lex's brother Matt arrived, after hitting the cricket the entire day,and so he was clearly in need of a little pick me up. I have now lost the inspiration to write further as I left at this point. I needed my beauty sleep. And fuck me, it worked well. Because this morning I look good.
Yes.
I do look good.
Adonis like, some may say.
Most people still only believe I exist in myth.
No comments:
Post a Comment