Ha ha ha, just saw this now.

See post below for jelly bean relevance.

oh and here's the url that it came from, there are tons of them and they're very funny.

Royalabillia

My friend Wendy has an hilarious blog. If you want to laugh your ass off go there immediately. If you're happy just to chuckle a bit, or smile a little on the inside, then stay here and i'll see what I can do.

The reason I mention Wendy's blog is because she found this picture I'm about to show you, and it inspired me to steal it and then write this post.

It's a Royal Wedding souvenir, but they've gone and put Kate with Harry instead of Wills. I know, I know, if you've seen one royal, you've seen them all. But really, this is hilarious.

Then I surfed around and found some more crazy Royalabillia, in celebration of tomorrow's big day.

This, my friends, is a jelly bean that someone found, and they claim it has Kate's face on it. Can you see it?

The stoned lucky owners are planning on selling it on ebay for 500 quid. Unless they smoke another bong, then they may just get the munchies and eat it by mistake.

Okay, more crazy commemorative items. I'm loving that mad plate, it's hilarious.

And then there are these nails:  

Or this toilet seat cover:

And of course, everyone needs a place to put their crown jewels on the big night, so here are some condoms, specially for that occassion:

Although the queen won't be too happy about that. I reckon she's going to want Kate to turn into a baby-making factory immediately. Or at least until she pops out a boy.

Good luck with your willy on the big night Will. The whole world is watching you. No pressure!

Maid of dis-honour.

Morning everyone. Hope you've each and every single one of you, had a fabulous long weekend, and have gorged yourselves stupid on chocolate of every description. I'm Jew-ish, so I'm not entirely sure what choccies have to do with Easter, but I'm a fan, so who cares. Bring it on.

Here's Sunday's column, it's about the royal shmedding, hope you enjoy.
PS: The one in the newspaper was edited a bit, so this is the unedited version.

A MILLION MILES FROM NORMAL – BY PAIGE NICK

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW, SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING DIAMOND-ENCRUSTED.

Which reminds me, I really need to buy a hat. Something big, and massively ostentatious. Maybe something with large pheasant feathers sticking out of it, and glitter, there must be glitter. It is the royal wedding after all, and those don’t come around very often. What’s that? You plan on watching it at home, in your grubby pyjamas? What! Were you born in a barn?

I wonder if we’ll all get the day off work? Didn’t we used to be a colony? That should count for something. I remember Uncle Charles and Lady Di’s wedding like it was just three decades ago. I was six or seven at the time, and our entire primary school ground to a halt as we all gathered around a small black and white TV set in one of the classrooms to ooh and aah as we watched the carriage proceed down the promenade. Then we all oohed and aahed some more when Di walked down the aisle, her hundred foot train trailing behind her. And we dreamt of being princesses and practiced the queen’s wave in the playground; elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist.

That wedding is one of those rare moments in time that’s become as precious in our collective subconsciouses as that handful of other where were yous? Where were you when JFK was shot? (pre-womb). Where were you when JR got shot? (Sitting on the staircase watching it secretly through the banisters – I was supposed to be in bed.) Where were you when reports hit that lady Di had died? (At work, frightfully hungover). Where were you when Madiba was released? (At work and soon to be hungover) And where were you when 9/11 hit. (Hungover and at work.) Wait a minute, I’m noticing a pattern here. I clearly spend way too much time at work.

But back to the nuptials at hand. I think there are two types of people in the world. Those looking forward to it, and those who really couldn’t give a crap. Hey we’re not as romantic now as we were thirty years ago.

I reckon it’s going to be quite an affair. No soggy beef or chicken on this menu, and definitely no Macarena, or chicken dance. And no embarrassing speech from the best man, unless we get super-lucky.

Getting the nod must be quite a thing. But what on earth would you buy the bride and groom? I somehow don’t think a set of monogrammed towels, some Ginsu knives, or a coffee maker is going to cut it.

I wonder if they have a registry somewhere. Selfridges maybe, or Tescos? And I wonder what’s on it? Perhaps you can choose from the solid-gold toilet seat, the bejewelled tea service, or if that’s all a little too rich for your blood, you and your friends could always club together for a Yacht, or maybe a Jet, Yachts can be so very last season.

Then there’s the wardrobe dilemma? If you do get invited, what on earth to wear? You really don’t want to pitch up in the same Oscar De La Renta as Mrs Skinny Beckham. Unless she insists on standing sideways through the entire thing, then you’ll be safe because nobody will be able to see her.

I do feel for Kate’s Maid of Honour a bit, though. When it comes to something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, there’s no way she’s just going to get away with a couple of sentimental nick knack’s like a garter, a brooch and some sexy blue knickers, like everyone else does. Rather she’s going to have to get something really really old (but not manky or mildewy), something very new and fancy, something borrowed but classy, and of course, something blue diamond-encrusted. And she should probably put quite a bit of thought into it. After all, best friend or not, nobody wants to piss off the future queen with a shitty wedding present.

Happy Easter, bunnies. xxx

Things I learnt today:

1. Good chocolate eggs are important.

2. So are good friends.

3. And Easter Bunnies and Playboy Bunnies are not the same thing.

Keep calm and marry Harry

Just a little pre-royal-wedding humour for you:

I found it somewhere on the internetweb.

Lovely.

Kate must be shitting herself huh, only a week to go.

I've been amazed at how many people are flying over to London for the actual event. Which I don't really get. Well I sort of do. But no, I don't. Is there going to be anything to actually see? I suppose there will be a procession and you might get to see the carriage if you wait for hours and stand on your tippie toes,  probably in the rain (it is London after all), and i guess there will be one moer-of-a vibe. So yeah, maybe it would be nice.

For me the whole thing has a bit of a World Cup feeling to it. Is blowing a vuvuzela when you see the queen driving past appropriate, do you think? Probably not.

The world's first 3D porno

I remember going to see Jaws in 3D when i was about 12. We went to the Pinelands Movie House in Mrs Gadd's Combi, and got the glasses and got the popcorn. I remember being terrified, especially when Jaws swam towards us. It felt like you could reach out and touch him. Scary!

Now I see that they've launched the world's first 3D porno. It opened to packed cinema's in Hong Kong last week.

Imagine this in 3D:

Oh my goodness. It's hectic enough in one D!

And seriously, do we really need one of these waving around right in front of our noses in 3D?

The  movie cost $3.2m to make, it's in Cantonese and is called 3D Sex and Zen. (clearly nobody burnt too many brain cells coming up with the title. But then with a movie like this I'm guessing it's not the title that counts!)  According to reports it contains extreme ecstasy, features orgies, swinging and some very graphic sex scenes.

According to this report: '...Curious moviegoers from all walks of life - office workers, retirees and students - formed long queues outside cinemas in the southern Chinese city, eager to catch an eyeful of steamy 3D action. Many in the crowd were women and were not shy about watching the movie.'

Set in the Ming dynasty, the film chronicles the story of a young man who, after being introduced to the erotic world of an aristocrat, realises his ex-wife is the love of his life.

Is it just me, or does the idea of watching a porno in a cinema with dozens of other people around you feel really gross?

The whole concept reminds me of that silly gag where a guy sticks his dick through the bottom of a box of popcorn on a date at the movies, and then waits for you to sink your hand in. Eeeeuuughhh!

Now watch the floodgates open:

'Italian director Tinto Brass has announced he is to produce a 3D remake of his 1979 erotic film Caligula, while Hustler plans to release a pornographic spoof of 3D science fiction film Avatar, the top-grossing movie of all time.'

I wonder what they'll call it?

Avagitar?
Anusitar?
Avatongue?

The possibilities are endless!

Do you like a bit of argie bargie?

Hey, here's Sunday's column, hope you enjoy. 
A MILLION MILES FROM NORMAL – BY PAIGE NICK
THE RULES OF FIGHT CLUB

Hands up if you like a good fight? Or rather, fists up if you like a good fight. Arguments happen, right? But as all great philosophers/defending attorneys say, it’s how you deal with them that counts. So, what kind of arguer are you?

Are you a Sulker, a Huffer, a Sigher, a Door Slammer, an Arm-crosser, a Foot-stomper or a Crier? There are also The Shouters, The Peacemakers and The Subject Changers. And let’s not forget The Throwers. This particular brand of arguer fascinates me. I’m not really a Thrower myself, anymore. Back in the nineties I remember a fight I had with a boyfriend. We were mid-argument and I was busy taking off my boots, so I threw one at my bedroom wall out of pure drunken anger and frustration. It was back when those enormous clodhoppers with thick, solid wooden heels were in fashion, and it took a huge chunk of plaster out of the wall and sent a long crack seeping around the rest of the room. It was particularly devastating a year later, when I moved out and lost my entire deposit over it. I’ve never thrown anything since.

The guy who sits behind me at work is a Thrower. A while back he and his wife were having a bit of a screaming match when, trying to punctuate a particularly angry point, he threw his coffee mug against the wall. The handle snapped off, but it must have been pretty sturdy otherwise, because the mug simply bounced right off the wall and flew back at him and hit him hard, right in the face. The argument ended immediately. Show me one person on this planet who can maintain an angry face when the person they’re arguing with gets hit in the mug with their own mug.

Then there are The Grudge Holders, The Hissy Fitters and The Revenge Seekers. You really don’t want to get involved with any of these, particularly a Revenge Seeker. Unless you have the rare ability to sleep with one eye open, and you always remember to check under the hood.

The problem comes in a relationship when your arguing styles aren’t compatible. Like when two Throwers get together. First of all, your insurance premiums are going to be huge, and at some point you’ll have to stop buying breakables. And nobody wants to spend the rest of their lives eating off paper and plastic, there’s nothing glamorous about that.

You need one Thrower and one Peacemaker in a relationship for things to really work out. Or a Thrower and a Sulker, that can work too. But get two Sulkers together and they can go years, even decades, without talking to each other. It’s a delicate balance that you must get right if you want a peaceful household. Unless you both like to argue. But that’s another story. We all know those couples. The ones who seem to get off on bickering.

Then there are those people who are impossible to argue with. You can try pick a fight with them all you want, but you won’t get anywhere, it’s not very satisfying at all. Stoners for one. They’ll just stare up at you vacantly from the couch with a dumb smile on their face, and carry on eating chips. Or they’ll tell you to chill out, dude. Which is possibly one of the worst things you can say to someone in the middle of an argument. There is nothing about the comment ‘chill out’ or ‘relax, man!’ that makes the person on the other side of it feel even vaguely chilled out or relaxed, ever. Quite the opposite really.

Shruggers and Avoiders aren’t great to argue with either, and neither are Hoarders. They’re the ones who remember things you did wrong as far back as the ark. They store up all your past transgressions and pull them out of some kind of bionic mental filing cabinet decades later during an argument, and beat you over the head with them. You can rarely win an argument with a Hoarder.

Ultimately, no matter what your fighting style is, unless you’re winning, arguing really isn’t all that much fun. So why the hell do we do it? For the make-up sex, maybe?

Tales from the market

Yesterday's market was great fun. Except I suddenly realise that I didn't take a single photograph. Duh, WTF!
We had such a lekker stand.

It was me, and fellow authors Sally Partridge, Sarah Lotz, Hellen Moffet and Lauren Beukes. A veritable feast of local authors. We had everything from erotica to poetry, zombies, young adult fiction, sci-fi and chick lit! Oh also jars full of sweeties that went down like a homesick mole.

Like I said, I don't have a pic of our stand, but this is kind of what the market looked like.

So we basically spent the day selling and signing books, people watching on a massive scale, and talking masses and masses of shit. Which is always fun.

Highlight of the day had to be two visits to our stand.

The first from Juanne Pierre, who runs the fantastic blog - A Slice of Gay Pie - we've always supported each other's blogs, but we've never actually met in person, so he swung by to say hi, introduce himself and pick up a book. I was so chuffed to meet him. What a nice guy (and really hot too! serius!) I'm constantly moved and overwhelmed by the amazing friendships I've made online over the last couple of years.

There were a horde of twitter friends there too who I got to meet in the flesh for the the first time, like @RochelleSA and the incredibly fabulous, uber-babe and twitter queen @StyleGuideCT. At some point in the very near future we're all going to have to walk around with a badge bearing our twitter handle, so we know who we're facing in real life.

And the second visit highlight came from another online friend who I finally got to meet in the flesh. @Deems, runs this blog - http://deems.wordpress.com/ and we've become good friends online and finally got to meet yesterday in real life.

I was also lucky enough to get to meet his daughter, 4 year old Rebecca - how cute is this conversation that ensued on their way home:


'Demitri: I was with Rebecca and Paige gave her a lolly pop. Afterwards we were driving home and I asked her if she remembered her name?


Rebecca: The lady with the purple top?


...Demitri: Yes


Rebecca: Uhm, Aunty Paper'


So cute man!

Anyway it was a fab day, thanks for swinging by and saying hi (The Biedermans, The Gotz', Jamie B Hannah, @guywithcamera and candice, @lucagallarelli and @cjstweets, @akcoulson, chryssa and Jop-sker, also porky heffer, Janice and Ruby and @Smz1 and @jennyehlers and @karinbmac, and a dozen and a half other people - it was really nice to see you all. Okay okay i know the name-dropping is getting boring, i'll stop that now.

To market, to market...

So, do you have any plans for Saturday?
I do.

I'm going to be joining a bunch of other local authors at the Freeworld Design Market selling and signing copies of our books.

The market looks like it's going to be amazing, with tons of shit-hot local designers, live music, stone carvers (looking forward to seeing what that's all about) and yummy foodie type stuff.

I'll be selling and signing my book, A Million Miles from Normal:

I've never done anything like this before, but I'm excited about it, I think it's going to be fun.

I'll be joined by a couple of other amazing local authors.

The wonderful Sarah Lotz who has just launched her new book which she co-authored with her daughter. It's called Deadlands, and it's the first ever Zombie book set in Cape Town.



Sarah Lotz



Lauren Beukes, genius author of Moxyland, and her more recent, much acclaimed Zoo City.

Lauren Beukes

And the tallented Sally Partridge who will be signing copies of her first book - The Goblet Club.



Sally Partridge



So if you're in the hood and need something to read over the Easter holidays, or are looking for a good gift, you can't go wrong with a signed, personalised book.

Come swing by and say hi, we'd love to see you.

We'll be in the very first stall as you walk in the entrance.

Oh and one last thing, the Freeworld Design Centre have an amazing blog, if you're a person who likes cool and uber-gorgeous stuff. Check it out here: http://www.freeworlddesigncentre.co.za/

And now for a map of the world's boob sizes

Hooray for Charlotte Spicer (who drew this to my attention), hooray for Life is Savage (who got there before me), hooray for the internetweb (who is wonderful in penis and boobie abundance!)

Yesterday we had a map showing the sizes of penises, today it's boobies!

Here it is, a map of boob sizes around the world:

drum roll please:

click to enlarge.

 

And here's the key:

So, I'd say you're looking at either Norway or Russia for your next holiday if you're a guy, and China or some parts of Africa if you're a breast enhancing surgeon. 

It says we're generally 'B Cups' here in South Africa. Well speak for yourselves, I say, smugly.

Shame poor China, small boobs and small winkies, that must totally suck!

Map of the world's penis sizes

I first saw this on someone's blog. But now I've lost track. Kaloo, was it you? Nik the Greek, was it you? Remind me and I'll be sure to credit you.

Anyway, then I went to Google and tried to find out as much as I could about it.

Suffice it to say there's not much to tell other than the fact that someone has made a world map that shows how penis sizes vary around the world.

I'll be fucked if I know how they did this. I can only imagine a large group of researchers with strong stomachs and lots of rulers.

click on it to enlarge (or stroke to enlarge he he he)

Here's the key to the map:

Average Penis size: 17.93! Since when is that an average penis size? That sounds kind of above average to me.

and the smallest is around 10cm, shame man.

So some questions and observations;
Is that erect or flaccid, do you think? I'm guessing erect. Cos imagine what happens to a 17.93cm flaccid penis when it become erect? That would surely be a danger to low-flying aircraft.

What do you think China and India ever did to deserve what they got?

Am happy to see that Africa is well in the green, good job Africa. I guess a continent's got to be good at something, right?

you can check out the map and some info here if you'd like.

Who gets laid more, ugly guys or ugly girls?

Morning. Here's yesterday's column. Feel free to leave any thoughts behind.

A MILLION MILES FROM NORMAL – By Paige Nick
UGLY GIRLS vs UGLY GUYS

I think it’s way easier for ugly guys to get laid, than it is for ugly girls to get laid. There I said it.

Seriously, I really believe this. Stick a bunch of dudes in a room and the slightly porky, less attractive guy with the nice personality and the great sense of humour really does stand a chance against his hot, ripped counterparts. But put a slightly dodgy looking, but really clever, funny girl in a room amongst a bunch of gorgeous babes, and she’ll be the girl most likely selected by all the guys to be their great friend.

When it comes to guys, smart and funny can be immensely sexy. There’s just something about a guy who can have you rolling around in stitches that’s a massive turn on to a woman.

But it’s not the same on the other side of the fence. In my experience, you can be the cleverest, funniest girl in the room by far, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get more laid, it just means that you’ll be the cleverest, funniest girl in the room by far.
In the female camp, if someone says you have a great personality, it’s a bit of an insult. It means fugly - fun but ugly. But in the male camp it’s that great personality that will get you laid every night and twice on Sundays.
Let’s look at this a little closer - famous ugly male comedians, like Seth Rogan – somehow oddly attractive! Famous ugly female comediennes, like Kathy Griffin – just funny!
Money on men is sexy too. Do you really think Donald Trump, Bill Gates, The Heff, and Woody Allen would be with the women (plural) they’re with if they didn’t have more money than God. No way.

Another reason that uglier guys often get half a shot is because girls like to take on a project now and then. Even though guys are well-known as the DIY specialists in our species, this isn’t solely their department. A girl sees a dorky guy, in bad clothes, with bad hair, who laughs too loudly and sweats too much - and as long as he’s got good foundations under there somewhere for her to work with, she thinks she can probably ‘fix him’. And she usually can. A bit of a scrub, some decent clothes, the right deodorant, contact lenses, a haircut and a close shave and Sim-sala-bim, nobody will even recognise him.

But you never see guys taking on projects like that. Guys don’t think to themselves, she’s got a great personality, so, so what if she’s got small boobs, bad skin and a big mouth and I’m not so crazy about her fashion sense? It’s nothing a Wonderbra, some makeup, a roll of duct tape and a bit of Country Road can’t fix. Instead they think, next! And keep on looking.
Guys just get away with so much more. Take male porn stars. You have to wonder where they cast some of these guys, Uncle Bert’s Big and Hairy Shop?

Have you ever seen Ron Jeremy? He’s The Porn Star King of the Universe. He’s about 5’6’ tall and 5’3 wide. He’s got long greasy hair, a moustache and he’s extraordinarily hirsute in the strangest of places. I can never understand why people pay exorbitant sums of money to film him having sex? One look at him and you would assume it was the other way around. We simply hold ourselves to different standards, I’m sure of it. Ugly guys definitely have it way easier than ugly girls. Particularly ugly, smart, rich, funny guys.

Are there any men out there who wouldn’t want to come back in another life as the next Will Ferrell, Donald Trump or Hugh Heffner? I think they’d all be keen. But you don’t see anyone lining up to come back as the next Rosie O Donnell, do you?

Pole dancing for Jesus

You may or may not remember this mail that came regarding one Sunday Times column, from Frans, my biggest non-fan:

'...anyway have a lovely day but i think you can try looking into more uplifting matters to write about like the christian religion now that would be great.' 
Frans Quinton Marx

Not one to ever ignore a suggestion or request, even from a non-fan, i decided to think about Frans' advice and seriously consider writing about the Christian religion. No wait, before you click away, you may want to see this.

Just after publishing Frans' letter, author - Ingrid Anderson, came across Crystal Deans and was nice enough to send me this story.

Crystal is your average God-fearing woman who used to run a woman's bible study group on a Sunday, but when numbers started to dwindle, Crystal took a good, hard look at things, and readjusted her group, and she now runs a Pole Dancing for Jesus group every Sunday.

“On Sundays, we do pole fitness for Jesus. We do the upbeat contemporary Christian music because people have to bring their church program to get into the class, so we basically are just continuing the whole worship thing here.” Says Crystal Dean of her group.




in case you can't see, that small caption reads 'OnKneesforJesus'


Needless to say, numbers at the Sunday Church group have never been better, and I would imagine that Jesus rather enjoys it too.

When do we start lying about our age?

Hello everyone, hope you had a weekend full of sexual favours and party tricks. Here's yesterday's column for your perusal over a cup of coffee. Hope you enjoy.

A MILLION MILES FROM NORMAL – BY PAIGE NICK

GETTING ON

It’s my birthday today. Birthdays are awesome. No they suck. No they’re awesome. No they suck! Eish. When you reach a certain age, it’s hard to tell how you feel about them.

They should be good. After all, together with Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa/full moon (please insert your own significant religious event here), a birth in the family, a death in the family, and a promotion, birthdays make up one of the four or five truly legitimate excuses one has every year to snog a stranger, punch a cop, and pass out in the bottom of your whisky glass. Fun, sexy party times - good! But they are also indicators that you’re getting that much older - bad!

I just had to figure out how old I am. I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I am thirty six or thirty seven. And it took me an embarrassingly long time to work it out. Fair enough, I’ve never been any good at maths and I don’t know my times tables (except for the tens, those are easy), but still, that’s ridiculous. I had to count back from when I was born and work it out on my fingers, carry the three, minus five, plus four. Am I that old that I don’t remember things anymore, or are there just so many digits building up, that they become hard to keep track of?

All this number crunching got me wondering when it’s appropriate for me to start lying about my age? I’m not feeling the need quite yet, but I sense it’s coming fast. I did a little research on Twitter, and the general consensus is that chicks start lying about their age somewhere around our late thirties, early forties. The desire to be young is strong with us.

And I’d always been under the impression that this was purely our domain, that men don’t have to lie about their numbers, what with the whole aging-well thing they’ve got going on. It’s completely unfair, and they have no right, but men generally do age better than women. Just look at George Clooney, look at David Duchovny, look at Justin Bieber, it’s hard to believe they’re all in their fifties.

But then a girlfriend of mine met this guy online who claimed to be forty five. Some weeks later, when they met in person, it turned out that he was closer to sixty five, and the picture he’d posted online was of his son. When she confronted him with his very obvious deception he claimed he was very young at heart and still felt like he was forty five, so he didn’t think it was that much of a lie. So Mr Man had simply lobbed off twenty years. He was probably concerned that since she’s in her thirties (or so she said), that ‘45’ was her dating cut-off point, and he wanted to come in under that.

I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not, but it’s kind of nice to know that we’re not the only ones doing the lying here and guys have jumped into the fray.

When I was about six, we were in my mom’s Rover, heading towards De Waal Drive, when a policeman pulled us over. My mom didn’t have her licence on her, and when he asked for her age, to put on the ticket, she refused to tell him. I remember sitting there for what felt like hours, in a Mexican stand-off between the policeman and my mom. Who, being the lady she is, refused to give up either her age or her date of birth, and was completely offended that he even had the gall to enquire. She got the ticket eventually, but he never got her age. She would have sooner gone to jail than tell him that. It was the principle of the matter; she told us later, a gentleman should never ask a lady her age.

So I think this year I’ll still happily tell you my age, that is if I can figure it out, and if you’re rude enough to ask. But enquire again in a couple of years and you’ll probably either get a lie, or a bit of a Mexican Stand-off.