Laugh with me #48

I know this is cheating but I’ve been busy.  With work.  Hahahahaha.  I kill me.

I’ve actually been happily tweeting for the last few days and discovered a whole new way of wasting time. I promise, I am working on a decent post for you.

Seeing that I’m sitting at an airport, again, this guy reminds me of me when I travel.  Not so much the falling but the excessive luggage begging for a disaster to happen.


And due to some constraints on certain airlines, I’m also not allowed to take a cooler with me.

Asta la vista babies!!

30 New things I learned in the US

A foot selfie

The list is in chronological order.

1. There are no queens walking the streets of Queens. At least not at seven in the morning.

2. A day in New York can become excrutiatingly long if your shadow is the only companion you have. *insert gesture of sympathy*

3. Some lawns in public parks can be closed by placing a simple little sign which everyone obeys. Amazing.

4. Don’t attempt converting dollars to your local currency when ordering steak. Or beer. You’ll end up only having one and require a second bond on your house to pay the bill. Continue reading

10 Things I learned in Brazil.

This seems a little more dramatic than it needs to be, as I was in Sao Paulo for one night only. And that is not a sold out Broadway show. Not yet anyhow.  It’s just me being wisk away across the Atlantic in a metal tube for one meeting and then flying back the next day.

But like anything in life there is always lessons to be learned.  Here goes.

  1. Your passport will be checked at least three times from the time you disembark up to an excluding customs. Maybe it’s my face. 
  2. No-one checked my yellow fever certificate which means my emcounter with a HUGE needle, in a smellly clinic, was all for nothing.
  3. Traffic is horrendous. People walk around with carts selling snacks, thus providing additonal things motorists have to avoid on a never moving freeway.
  4. Woman do not strut their stuff in g-strings like they do in all the travel brochures of Brazil. They do drive taxis though. But fully clothed.
  5. Public urination is frowned upon even though the canal smells like a urinal during the October fest. A cop will verbalise his disgust in Portuguese even if you have a medical condition and would die if you hold it for another second.
  6. People consume so much meat that if you dare to witness a full sitting, you are definately going to end up with a gout attack or something worse. It has to be a vegetarian’s worst nightmare.
  7. Some areas of the city has a putrid smell that can only be described as the underarm pit of a hoarder-cat-lady who belongs to a cult that considers personal hygiene a cardinal sin.
  8. Caparinho is a lemon-vodka based drink so sweet, it strips the fluoride from your teeth whilst attempting to finish it. It contains approximately 1,634,298 calories. Per sip.
  9. It takes a taxi one hour and forty five minutes to get from the hotel to the airport at the speed of a dying snail. I already mentioned the traffic didn’t I?
  10. And that’s all folks, it was a quick visit.

It happens to the best of us

I’m flying again. To Sao Paulo, Brazil.  Two nights.  One meeting.

There is no typos in that sentence. I promises.

On the connecting flight from Durban to Johannesburg I met two people because I was sandwich in the middle of them. A motivational speaker and a vegetarian.  She has 11 cats. I’m not sure how many cats he has because I didn’t ask.  We were both too involved in trying to understand the need for eleven cats. She wasn’t covered in bird poop so she wasn’t the bird-lady from Mary Poppins. She wasn’t crazy.  She ran a pet-sanctuary.  Did I mention she also has three dogs, a parrot, two tarantulas and a eighteen year-old son. I listed them in order of importance. Continue reading

It happened on the way to Munich

When you have spend as many hours on a plane like I do, you find creative ways to entertain yourself with random things. Get your head out of the mud! It’s not that kind of airline! Besides do airlines like that even exist? (If they do, please mail me their contact details. Just in case…)

The flight from Bilboa to Munich is three hours with Luthansa and they serve snacks and drinks. In English, without having to pay extra for it. (Take note Iberia air.)  Soon after serving round 1 (turned out to be the only round) of drinks something funny happened. At least it was funny for me… Continue reading

Sandwich’ed in

Sorry for being a little inactive in my posts.  I left on a jet plane, soared across the African Savannah, made my way over the pirate invested waters of Somalia and dropped down in Dubai, the capital of all things fake OR of human achievement. (Depending on your point of view.) But this is not a post about my love-hate relationship with the famous city, this is about something much more serious, it’s about my new-found sympathy for cheese. And peanut butter.


Isn’t flying awesome?
Borrowed from

Since the credit crunch/world recession/American bank bail-out, business travel have become far less glamorous than the fly-hotel-meeting-fly-hotel-meeting-fly reality it actually is. For now businessmen, unless you are real top brass, are forced to span the globe with Joe and family.

Not that it really bothers me, as I don’t care where I sit after four glasses of wine. With that being said at 6″4′, I appreciate the emergency exit as much as the next guy. And fortunately I have stunning good looks for I always seem to get one. Did I say always?

This specific flight to Dubai was filled to capacity and I was wondering if some of these people would be forced to sit on the roof like those Indian trains and ferry’s and buses we always see on the news. There was moments where I panicked, thinking a zombie apocalypse hit South Africa and the only safe place on earth was a massive mall in the middle of the desert. Relax, it wasn’t the case.

When I finally reached the check-in counter, I showed all of my not-quite-white teeth and charmed my socks off to get my favourite spot on the plane. Needless to say, the bitch at the counter had a massive fight with her boyfriend that morning and now hated all men.  It also took away her ability to smile. So I got stuck with a seat in the middle. Yes people not even an isle.

Some sanity prevailed as I didn’t call her out for what I thought she really was, and through clenched teeth I swallowed my pride and opted for a last resort, a seat as close to the front of the plane as possible, for at least I could disembark quickly on arrival.  (I wanted to use “get-off quickly” but that would just been a cheap laugh.)

After I sat in the business lounge and took my “sleeping pills” I journeyed through the airport to the departing gate and ogled all passengers for who might be my neighbours for the next eight hours. Like any sane person I was hoping for a hotty on my left and a midget on my right, but I didn’t see either. Then we started boarding the plane. People seated in the back were boarding first, so I board last. (Think about that for a while.)

I struggled pass business class passengers with condescending looks, air hostesses putting jackets away and numerous others who were trying to fit a coffin in the overhead compartments. What are people thinking? If you can’t carry or lift it, then it doesn’t qualify as carry-on luggage. Check that shit in.

I came to a halt at my designated middle seat. Or rather what was left of it. On the seats next to mine were two of the heaviest people I have ever laid eyes upon as they were literally spilling over the arm rests. This is why some people feel that largely obese people should pay more per seat, as they literally occupy more space. I know, I know this implies every single South African politician, but that’s another story.  Getting back to me and the only thought I had: How am I going to fit in there and last for eight hours? I should have inserted my catheter.

I don’t want to generate nightmares so I’m cutting the story short, having some understanding that I would rather eat of my own arm before experiencing another flight like that one. Between all the touching, rubbing, body odour, bad breath, fighting for the hand rest and movies, dinner was served. Being the nice guy I am, I was passing cutlery, plates, glasses but there is a very good reason why I was fired as a waiter.

You guessed it, it got worse.  I spilled water on the lap of the guy to my right. He wasn’t impressed.  And now I was stuck between two people who didn’t even like me.

That’s why I have a sudden appreciation for cheese on a sandwich, stuck between two slices of bread.  From now on, I will only have cheese on toast, allowing the critter a right to breathe before I shove it in my mouth.

I’m sorry ya’ll, I get a little emotional without the wife. And kids.