dustbunniesproject

Blow me: it'll make you feel clever.

I’m not one for crowds much: being part of or following… It’s a personal space and anti-lemming thing. And I really, really hate being told what to do, or that I “have” to do something. So organized sport – and dating a first-team jock – has never particularly appealed to me.
(The exception being ballroom dancing and figure skating: the costumes, spray tan and creepy facial expressions keep me amused and vaguely horrified.)

So – gasp! Horror! You cynical un-South African! – I’m really not that bothered by the hype and fuss surrounding the World Cup. Okay, so I’ve bought a pair of WC knickers for each team (Ackermans rocks!), and I watched the opening game and I might even have screamed a little when Tshabalala kicked that first goal… But pretty much all my feelings of patriotism and team spirit and clichéd Ayobaness takes a dive when someone tries to force me to blow a vuvuzela ‘cos “it’s really cool! Get into the spirit!” And things only get worse when some ass actually lifts a vuvuzela to his lips.

I’m specifically talking to you, ass-neighbour and your delinquent ass-teenagers who walk up and down the street blowing the damn thing all day long. I’m trying to have an afternoon nap here! You should know better than to get between a grump and her nap. And shouldn’t you be trying to cop a feel off some giggly chick somewhere? Although I suppose I should be grateful that you’ve given up on your amateur graffiti tagging skills… Suburban Bliss. I have it.

But, vuvuzelas. Someone mentioned that they have their deep and meaningful cultural origins somewhere in tools used when hunting monkeys. Apparently the noise would stun and disorientate monkeys, allowing hunters to pick them off easily.

This makes sense to me. It also explains what happens when people blow vuvuzelas. They stun themselves and their two braincells into a monkeylike stupor, so it’s really not their fault that they can’t remember to remove the plastic trumpet from their lips. Someone just needs to club them and drag them home for a fry-up. I’m happy to oblige. There’s a Louisville slugger at hand just panting for some brain matter. Wielded by the hand of a wild-eyed and sleep-deprived me, it shall wreak righteous vengeance on your vuvuzela. And your ass. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Tags: 2010 World Cup, Ackermans, dustbunniesproject, monkeys, South Africa, team spirit, vuvuzela

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 16th, 2010 at 16:24 and is filed under Personal ramblings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.