Can’t stay away

Yes, I know I ‘m being doff for trying to continue blogging, but the truth be told, I find I missed you all big time and the facebook groups are mostly abusive and or racist in the extreme.

I found that simple posts were hijacked by comment abusers and the fighting and name calling amongst some of the members was not what I wanted to read on a daily basis. You lot were/are a lot more pleasant to read and comment. :)

I have changed my blog to MIRTHILESS which you should be able to find here

avatar rasta200

I will be posting some of my old posts from way back when as well as shorter less tiring type posts but will stick to my favourite theme of humor with a touch of serious. Please find me and follow me there.

Many thanks for your past support


Categories: Freshly Stressed, South Africa | 9 Comments

Lengthy break or the end?

To all my loyal friends and viewers just a short note to advise that due to the progressive weakening of my arms and hands I am finding it too difficult to type long blog posts  I spend the majority of my time fiddling on facebook now. If you wish to keep in contact find me and ‘friend’ me on facebook    .

Keep well until and if we meet again.

Will miss you all very much


Categories: South Africa | 26 Comments

Cake mixing …. A big mistake

Cake mixing …. A big mistake

cake mixer

Some time ago when my children were still appreciative of birthday parties and some time before “that kind” of party became uncool and a short time before the eye rolling sighing stage, my wife was busy making cakes for the next day, when the electric beater hiccupped a couple of times before burping out great volumes of smoke and sparks before finally expiring with a bang.

“Oh no!” she shouted “what now!”

I went running into the kitchen to see what the problem was and promptly tripped over Widdle the puppy, who yelped and dived for the vegetable box which he and his sister Puke had adopted as their safe place. I slammed into the counter and sent the bowl full of batter flying. The batter landed down my wife’s apron mostly but some landed on the floor where it was pounced on my little pet pavement special Liquorice.

“Look what you’ve done you clumsy clot”

“Sorry! I was trying to help”

“You just make things worse”

“Yeah! Like you are all peaches and cream”

“You stupid man… boohoo, sniffle, snork, sniff swallow sigh. What am I going to do now? I still have so many cakes to bake.”

“Don’t worry I’ll help” I say.

I hare off to the garage and grab the electric drill and the new unused paint mixer fitting.

Back in the kitchen and I’m bragging about how clever I was. I sterilize the mixer attachment in a bleach solution and all is ready.

New batter is measured and sifted and prepared for mixing … I plug in the drill, place the paint mixer in the batter and press the trigger.

At this point I need to explain that the drill was old school and did not have the fancy trigger of the modern drill so it had only one speed and that was freakin fast!

The drill screamed into life and showered the entire kitchen with flour, water, milk and partly mixed batter. Stop! Stop! Stop! Screeched my wife as I wiped cake goo from my eyes, but the trigger was stuck. In my haste to assist, I had forgotten about the sticking trigger thing.

I slapped at the side of the drill… nothing. I slapped and slapped and the trigger popped loose, but not before the mixer attachment came loose from the drill and, still spinning,  fell back into what was left of the batter. It sort of flopped on its side, still spinning, and continued to shower all and sundry with unmixed cup cake batter.

“You stupid man” she screamed. I knew immediately I was in trouble so I grabbed the rolling pin before she could and ran for the back door. I spent the next hour digging dough out of every crease, orifice and wrinkle before venturing back inside to the kitchen that had been hit by a batter tsunami. My wife had by this time had a shower and changed but I was still weary of her when she stomped back into the kitchen and demanded my credit card so she could go to purchase cup cakes for the party which I had ruined. (Her words, not mine)

I was left to clean up the kitchen because I had caused the mess. (again, her words, not mine).

It would have been cheaper to have bought a new cake mixer.

Stupid man!

Categories: Disability, Humour | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments




Any campers reading this? I hate camping……. period!

I like the fresh air idea, or maybe I’m just fooling myself, but the problem with camping is leaving the comforts of home, soft beds, heated blankets and flush toilets, comfy chair, TV etc.

Nowadays you don’t need to leave all that behind, you can pack them and take them with you if you have a truck or something called an RV. (Really big Vehicle, Relaxing Vehicle or Rude Vehicle, who cares)

Bus sized rolling homes that are so big you can’t get into campsites, so you end up enjoying the great outdoors in a parking lot of a shopping center where all the winos can knock on your door throughout the night.

The ‘real campers’ will pass on the luxury camping and grab their tents to head out in the bush and the bugs and the creepy crawlies etc. When you arrive the bugs are all rubbing their dirty grubby little paws, feet, claws … whatever! Just waiting for you to get out of the car, they have been looking forward to this for all of their short miserable little lives. Having been trained on a bunch of tuff skinned dirty stinky wild animals they are eager to dig into some choice pieces of tenderloin soft flesh.

Campsite bugs are different to city bugs, they’re bigger stronger and there are millions of the little bastards and as you all get out of the car, they see an all you can eat buffet.

But professional camper wallies are not so stupid, they come prepared. No bug’s going to stop them! The first thing they do when they arrive is to douse themselves with liquid poison, and a layer of chemical sunscreen to complete our human biohazard cocktail.

Cooking in the bush is always fun. The bugs no longer interested in them, start flying over that food they’re cooking. They can’t resist getting closer…and that’s when it happens….

The camper goes berserk and starts spraying insecticide in every direction then grabbing a newspaper they run around screaming threats and swatting everything in sight.

You can bite me but leave my #$%^& food alone.

Categories: Guest Posts, Humour | 5 Comments

Too much time on their hands

car hengeCAR HENGE

Categories: Guest Posts | 5 Comments

Cats and dogs are different you know

Cats and dogs are different you know


I was sitting thinking. I know some of you rude people will say “Well, that is a first, for you” or some other equally disparaging remark but I am built of strong stuff and will be able to rise above it. There have been millions of comparisons made between cats and dogs but I had insight never seen before.

Many people strongly favor one or the other, although some people are bi- household animal lovers and have both dogs and cats, some even tri or multi because of the variety of the menagerie.  Very often we wonder what animals are thinking and we can only guess.

First of all, you should know that cats in the north of this country always talk in a very snotty aloof British accent or back alley slang.  Not that all British accents are snotty, of course, but the ones that cat’s use is, like that of an English butler.  The central cats have adopted several languages and tend to be very clicky. The exception to this is if your cat is from the south, then he talks in a typical Cape accent peppered with many swear words in an assortment of languages.  Most dogs don’t have a real accent except for the real small breed like Chihuahua, Pekinese, German shepherd etc., pick your breed (also pick your accent.)  Dogs are always enthusiastic, but the smaller ones are sometimes antagonistic.  For example, if you walk past a yard that has a Chihuahua in it and he is barking vigorously at your ankles, what he’s really saying is, “This is my land.  Get away or I’ll bite your leg off, I’ll kill you, I’ll pulverize you, I’ll have you for lunch, etc.”

That’s what he’s saying until you stamp your foot at him.  Then as he’s running away yelping, “Whoa, I was just kidding, can’t you take a friggin joke and just so you know I’m not scared of you, I just thought I heard my human call me.”  Then he forgets why he was running away and comes back to barking at your ankles to scare you off and the whole sequence starts over again. Dogs short term memories are pathetic in some breeds.

If you ask a dog to shake his paw here’s what he’s thinking as he gives you his paw, “Sure, what else you want?  Wanna play? I can fetch, let’s play Frisbee.

Ask a cat to shake his paw and you get.  A smug stare followed by the thought, in the snotty accent “I don’t do tricks.  But here’s one you can do.  You can kiss my brown eye”… or the southern variety will hiss or actually hithhh through the passion gap with a “get me some food and brush me and we’ll discuss this need to shake later on…if I can fit you in between naps.” And he walks away exposing his butt crack.

If you call a dog he’ll come enthusiastically, wagging his tail, even if he was in a sound sleep when you called him and he’ll be saying, “Wanna play? I can fetch.  Want your slippers?

If you call a cat to come to you when he was in a sound sleep, which is pretty much always how they are, he may open his eyes to look at you, but if he bothers it’s only to give you the message, “go away.” Or if he’s from down south “@#$$%^&*^$$ djou ma se hot pants.”

When you compliment a dog he’ll get excited and wag his tail and say “Wanna play? I can fetch.  Want your slippers?  Come let’s go for a walk.”

If you compliment a cat, it will give you that long uncaring stare and say, “Duh, I know I’m beautiful.  Don’t expect a compliment in return.  I’m liable to puke a hairball on your pillow.  Now, do something to serve me, you peasant.”

I think you get the idea in the difference between cats and dogs. Do you want a pet or do you want to BE the pet. It’s your choice.

Categories: Guest Posts, Humour, South Africa | Tags: , , | 7 Comments

Cell phones and me


Everyone nowadays has a cell phone. Even if we don’t know how to do anything else but make a call or sms. It’s like their lives orbit around that rectangular piece of plastic and technology…and it’s not even a sphere!

I hate to admit it but …I’m one of those people that just can’t part with their phone, every few minutes I’ll be checking my phone. Oh look! I have…zero missed calls, zero new texts, the Facebook frontier is quiet (Yes Facebook, because I’m techno savvy) …

Then I remember I’ve had zero incoming calls, zero texts, and I have four friends on Facebook: wife, mom, dad, and grandma. I used to have five but then grandpa died.

Anyways, I’ll still be sitting there, or standing there, no difference, with my phone, just messing around with it. Bored spitless! Slide up click! Slide back, clack! Slide up click! Slide back clack, click, clack, click ………I have one of those sliding phone thingies.

If you have one you know how addicting it is to just slide the phone back and forth? *click, clack, click, clack* It’s lots of fun.

Suddenly, I get a call from my mom wondering why I called. “Hello?

Oh hi mom!….no I didn’t mean to call you!…no I’m not at a bar right now!…yes I know I don’t have a girlfriend! ….. I’ve been married for 20 years….. to Abigail …… my wife…….of course you’ve met her. C’mon on ma don’t cry, you like her!

NO! do not set me up with someone! Um I really have to go. Yes, at 2AM! How do I know why I need the loo……Love you. BYE!!!”

Later on, I’m going to bed…getting real sleepy… Peep peeeeeeeeep, peep peeeeeeeep, peep peeeeeeeeeep!

I jump out of bed, grab my gun.  I always keep it under my pillow and I’m going around corners like they do in the movies, looking all cool like Horatio. C’mon punk make my day!

I get to the room where I still hear it going off…… Peep peeeeeeeeep, peep peeeeeeeep, peep peeeeeeeeeep!…and I realize it was my phone.

Nothing like an sms alert at full volume at 3 in the morning to get the blood flowing!

Someone actually smsd me! It was…my mom.

Let’s see…I read my mom’s message first. It says that grandma died.

Damn it! Now I only have three friends on facebook. Bloody hell, I must work on that!

Categories: Humour, South Africa | Tags: , , , , , , | 5 Comments

2 years old on WP

blogging fatal

WOW —- I have been blogging on WordPress for 2 years today and that’s after 3-4 years on various other platforms and have posted almost 600 posts here….. scary how fast time goes

Categories: Freshly Stressed, South Africa | 10 Comments

Cereal IsleMix up

cereal aisle

Over the weekend I had the privilege of being dispatched, by my darling sick wife, to the super market, to purchase some items for the grocery cupboard. Before I left, I underwent a half hour crash course on the correct and only way to carry out the mammoth and difficult task of grocery shopping without falling into all the traps specially designed to fool the male species into making reckless purchases.

When you get to the cereal shelf, you have to work out the price per gramme and then check to see which size box is cheaper after multiplying the gramme price by the weight of the package. Once you have successfully completed the mathematical equation using your cell phone calculator (if you can even remember where to find the application on your phone) and correctly selected the correct size to purchase, it was time to check all opposition brands and sizes to see if they were any cheaper. One cent difference is most definitely a discrepancy by the way!

Next came the check to see if it was gluten free and that the fat content was lower than our normal brand. If that was lower and the price was better it was time to select which package to buy. Crushed or even bent packages are an absolute, NO NO! Please! Do you see what I mean about male shoppers now?

You have to dig around the back of the pile to see if the shelf packer had been lazy and left the older boxes with lower prices when refilling the shelves. By this time I can feel the onset of exhaustion and my mouth was dry from the sheer panic of not carrying out the purchasing process to its full extent.

The sell by date was the next on the list. It has to be well before the sell by date to be at its freshest or the whole national economy and my life would collapse in utter ruins. The date read 12-10-10. Oh s**t is it the 12th October 2010,  the 10th December 2010 or the 10th October 2012. HUH! How the hell do woman survive having to make these monumental decisions?  ……..  I’ve only tried to buy the cereal so far and I am sweating buckets, my mouth is dry and I‘m starting to get claustrophobic, cerealaphobic and shopaphobic. No wonder I hate shopping. Go figure!

Categories: Humour, South Africa | 15 Comments

Chariot on fire

Chariot on Fire

wheelchair wading


Then entire Sarchasm family including the menagerie of pets went for a walk, down to the play park, which was at the end of our street. Grandparents (My wife pushing me in the manual wheelchair), parents (my daughter and SIL), two granddaughters, (daughter’s kids, 1 of 18mths and 1 of 6 mths), each in their own push chair, my son (23), two Labradors (Widdle and Puke, for obvious reasons) and one Maltese cross Cocker Spaniel (Hali, short for halitosis) and last but not least, Liquorice, (an assortment of breeds, who’s father must have been in a gang and mother a good time girl who had both been on crack). The stupid little brak was as miserable as sin and twice as nasty with everyone else but me. Anything untoward happens and she will bite the first available paw, toe or finger. She seems to have adopted me as her pet project and any stranger that comes within spitting distance of me is threatened and barked at by this cheeky little squirt, as she protects me with her life.

We were all sitting watching the kids while SIL pushed them on the swings, blissfully absorbing the warmth from the sun. The dogs leashes were tied to my wheelchair so that they wouldn’t run into the nearby road and to stop them from chasing the kids on the swings.

A passing car backfired! —- Being South African, everybody, including the dogs, ducked involuntarily while trying to see if it was a hijacking or robbery taking place.

All of the dogs are chicken hearted when it came to loud bangs, so I was patting them to reassure them when the car backfired again, right behind us. Widdle the biggest dog with the smallest heart jumped to his feet and the others soon followed suit, Liquorice took evasive action and promptly bit him on the tail. He gave one shudder a bark/yelp and took off for home. Puke the other Labrador took his cue and drew level with him and the two pavement specials were right on their heels, but the stupid friggin idiots forgot that they were tied to my wheelchair. The wheel spin as we took off would have done credit to any drag racer, as with smoking wheels, the dogs, chariot and I, left smoking wheel marks through the grass in our quarter mile dash for home and safety.

We shot off the pavement and as the houses passed by me in a blur of speed I kept shouting STOP STOP STOP! @#$%^&*(&^%$#@ Maybe they couldn’t understand English and thought I was shouting mush or tallyho, because they just kept running. My wife, son and daughter tried to stop them but they couldn’t get anywhere near to catching up to me or the dogs.

Parked cars whisked by as if they were reversing as fast as they could go, as this berserk cavalcade went screaming and barking up the road. When we hit the first corner we were doing at least 100mph and there was no gear changing or slackening of speed going into the corner, I shut my eyes and clung on. Zooming around corners on one wheel while my ear scraped a furrow in the tar was not my idea of fun but when I started swearing at the dogs in fear they ran even faster.

As we neared our gate they slackened off slightly but it didn’t last long. The dogs turned left, and I kept going straight, because I couldn’t steer the thing. The wheels were turning too fast for me to attempt any touching to steer and I would have only burned my hands. The chair eventually decided to follow the dogs and I took off like a jet fighter plane as I hit the driveway ramp. I came down to earth once, then a second time, then permanently.

Dogs stopped, but I couldn’t because the designers had decided that the brakes were best placed behind me. What friggin idiots! Anyhow, I ploughed into the dogs and landed in a tangle of dogs, wheelchair, legs and arms, as stars and lights and bells and whistles circled my head. I lay there with a wheelchair, two 8Okg Labradors and one 10kg brakkie lying on top of me in a heap while they tried to lick the skin off my face. Liquorice was going totally moggie by this time, as she snapped at everything in sight while trying to protect me from the onslaught.

Once I had managed to unhook my legs from behind my head, I fought myself into a sitting position, mouthing curses and spitting gravel out of my mouth. Liquorice sat on my lap growling and snarling with great gusto while she proceeded to void her bladder all over me.

I don’t think we will ever tie anything to my chair ever again.

Categories: Guest Posts, Humour, Reblogs, South Africa | 16 Comments

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