Email

I was going to begin this with a little rundown on masturbation, but a good friend of mine told me that people don't really get turned on by male masturbation stories. And all this time I thought I was filling a gap in the porno literature scene. Oh well. Since I have nothing else to say I'm going to share some emails from my mailbox.

Email #1: The friend who has either taken too much acid or too little and now believes that stars control our lives.
Cancer (June 21-July 22)
Your latent psychic powers will become available for you to use in practical ways. For instance, you'll be able to read the minds of very important people and gather crucial previews of the future. Oh, there is one condition: For best results, you must vow to use any information you gather only for good works that benefit everyone.

All of a sudden a rough estimate of about a billion Cancerians miraculously gain mind reading powers, overflooding the Justice League of America with job applications. The sinister Bush administration immediately retreats into underground bunkers covered with huge lead buffers, so the mind reading majority cannot access their thoughts and their deep dark secrets involving world domination and creating a massive salt shortage that will drive the west mad because of culinary deprivation. The only thing that stands between the victory of supreme evil and ever having a decent plate of fish and chips again is me, having also been born Cancerian. The only question is, will I use my powers for the good of mankind, or to get home addresses of really hot chicks I meet in bars. Find out next week in another exciting SYNDICATED HOROSCOPE.

Email #2: The friend who misses cheap South African pain killers
...and it's not about hope cerebossie dear, it's about being fucking tired of the rather jaded cynicism that is the trade mark of our era. i'm hoping to usher in a new time of romanticism. this black humour, irony of life, uneducated nihilism is starting to tire me. enough is enough. i feel a shift in the air.

I have this friend who is currently in some godforsaken third world country teaching Asian kids english so they can stitch Nike correctly onto your new t-shirt. Anyway, having not seen or heard from her for a while I decided to make contact and say hello. My luck with women being one of the few constants in my life, I mail her on the freaking day she hits her period. Now, I imagine that medical breakthroughs like pain killers haven't quite reached the shores of this tropical sweatshop yet, so she probably uses the local period pain remedy which consists of a mixture of banana leaves, goat's blood and snail semen. Hence the overall emotional and existential tone of the above email excerpt.

I think my dear friend suffers from fake nostalgia syndrome, usually a side effect of watching too many 70's and 80's American sitcoms, the like of "Who's the Boss" or "Full House". Life has never been romantic or wonderful, and never will be. I think that fat bastard Buddha taught us that. And without irony of life and black humour we may as well all become reborn Christians and usher in a new era of the apocalypse. But I reckon the drivel contained in the above email is surely just a side effect of the snail semen, which seems to be very potent stuff. I do however think she could have put that little red exclamation mark next to her email to warn me of the red menace between her legs. But I suppose common courtesy is also something we will only experience in the new era of romanticism.

Email #3: We have found a match for you!
In the last week or so 2 ladies have been specifically looking at your profile. Furthermore, at least 4 ladies have also been looking to meet someone just like you judging by how high you appeared in their match lists. Did you know you could significantly increase the interest shown in you by ladies if you included a photograph with your profile?

The 2 ladies who has been looking at my profile are bitter, divorced and currently going through menopause. They both work for the SARS and are devising plans to send me to prison because when I filled in my tax return my pen made an inkblotch where it said "For Office Use Only". That is unacceptable and a clear indication that I have not been paying any taxes for the past 25 years. In prison I'll immediately become somebody's bitch and have my virgin arsehole ripped open by a big guy named Boetie with a "I love Mom" tattoo on his oversized forehead.

And personally I don't think that including a photograph of me anywhere would improve my chances at anything. I do however think that I must stop registering for everything that is free. Maybe I'll stop getting junkmail.

As you can see, my mailbox is constantly filled with highly intellectual content, yes, email isn't just there to use to ask your parents for more money anymore. It's become a potent social tool in which we can communicate with anybody in the world, even people you wouldn't even want to communicate with if they were sitting next to you.