Very Naughty Men II - The Fan Walk

Other than working at Caprice (ie. slutty men beach bar) I worked at all the Cape Town soccer matches on the Somerset Road Fanwalk. We had a quaint bottle-green hut, with a rose-red roof and a canary yellow door. Or so I thought. By the end of the World Cup I referred to said hut as a minuscule, creaky shed, with vomit-green walls, a congealed-blood-red roof and a pus-yellow door.

We made pancakes. No wait a second, I made pancakes. Up to 500 a night. 500 pancakes. 6 pans. 1 Kayli. I never want to see anything flat and round ever again.

Very Naughty Men

I have been trying to pull myself together and write about the World Cup for quite some time. I really wish I had written throughout the month because now I just have to much to say. I LITERALLY don't know where to begin. This story may be muddled, so please forgive me, but I shall try my very best.

So South Africa hosted the World Cup. People feared that the crime would be so horrendous that entire hotels of foreigners would be stolen. People feared that terrorists from our neighbouring countries would suddenly attack, using anthrax and air-born AIDS to kill the Universe. People were wrong. We hosted the most beautiful and moving World Cup that I think has yet been seen.

The Villiage Idiot

The stupidity of certain people really blows my mind. Like really.

I mean, we all make mistakes. Just the other day I was looking in the freezer for something to eat. Upon finding nothing which interested me I decided to close the freezer. My mommy always told me never to leave it open. The problem was that I forgot to remove my head first. I escaped with both a bruised right ear and ego.

But at least I was at home and up until the posting of this blog, no one knew of my sin.

People on Facebook however are publically re-tarded.