HAPPY ESSIE HALLOWEEN EVERYBODY

Twas the night before Halloween and not a sound was to be heard

I drank lots of brandy until my vision was blurred;

But hark! What’s this I see?
Its a horde of zombie and they’re coming for me!

Oh no, I cried, that’s scary, that’s no fun!
Lucky for me I put up a turret gun!

So off to the roof I stormed with fear and alarm
With lots of grenades to keep me from harm

They moaned, they groaned, they dragged their feet
The horde of zombies and my neighbour named Pete

Pete was bitten, oh – Pete was undead!
I cried a tear and shot him in the head

All Hallow’s Eve I defended my house

From zombies and ghouls and even my spouse

He had been turned, you see, his evil eyes glistened

I told him zombies were real and he should have listened

By morning I was tired, my ammo was low
The zombies kept coming even though they were slow

Luckily as the sun rose and my arms had grown numb
I saw the glint of tanks – the army had come!

They blasted the zombies with nary a thought,
Oh, golly, that’s the type of tank I should have bought!

Safe and sound now, my life is still in tact
But zombies are real, children, and that’s a fact.

Global cooling

The first ever ICEBERG was spotted in Cape Town.

We're still working on the giant glass of brandy and Coke.

Why you don't sing campfire songs in the military

Conversations with SuperDave.

ESSIE: “What did you eat in the army?”

SD: “It depends if I was in the bush or at base.”

ESSIE: “Is being in the bush like camping?”

SD: “Exactly like camping, but with hostiles shooting at you.”

ESSIE: “Did you fry marshmellows and swop stories and sing songs around the campfire?”

SD: “Initially we did. But then whoever played the guitar kept getting killed, so we stopped.”

ESSIE (sympathetic): “We lost a lotta good men that way.”

SD: “It took three guys getting killed before we figured out that the singing and guitar-playing and fire was blowing our cover.”

ESSIE: “Army sounds like fun. Do that thing where you kill someone just by putting your two fingers on the pressure point.”

SD: “No.”

Having a soldier-friend is totally overrated.

My qualifications for good furniture includes style, comfort and temperament

I was walking through the mall going furniture shopping with SuperDave over the weekend and saw the GREATEST FUCKING CHAIR IN THE WORLD...nay...THE UNIVERSE. And I was all like, "I'm buying that. Right. Now" and he looked at it and said, "It's ugly" and I was like, "No, it's wonderful. Can't you see it's shaped to make a smiley face?" and then he did the thing where he pretended not to know me but I forgive him because he is emotionally stunted because he spent all those years fighting Nazis in the jungle or something. (I'm not entirely sure what modern warfare involves. I think it's like Transformers but you don't drive around in a yellow car that becomes a robot because that's just conspicious. You should only drive your yellow robot car on the weekends. And only in places where there aren't Nazis. Come to think of it, I never finished the Transformers' movie. But I'm fairly sure there were Robot Nazi Cars in it. The long and short of it is SuperDave probably shagged Megan Fox and now I'm not talking to him anymore.)

You guys see it, right?

The Chair.

Digitally remastered for your convenience.

My view is that if you are going to sit something, it might as well be something that acts happy about it, not like those cold-hearted bastards on the bus when it's full and I'm tired and a bit lonely. I think it will be a great edition to the cottage although I'm worried it's only putting on a friendly face until its lured me in and made me take it home and then tries to kill me. These things happen.

This is also why my mom refused to let my dad buy that house where the windows and door made an "angry face".

Finally someone takes me seriously

My friend Jenni's baby enthralled and terrified us all by finally capturing the image of the elusive rocket-ship boot-wearing ghost.

I always knew ghosts were sneaky, but I never thought they would go THIS far. We asked Sam how to kill the aforementioned ghost, but he just sucked on a piece of Lego and looked mysterious.

Children truly do carry the wisdom of the sages in their hearts.

I'm just more brilliant than all of you

Well it is now time to introduce my friend SuperDave. He is an army guy who has (foolishly?) decided to improve my life and turn me into a military-style neat freak. Needless to say all his time in the Secret Service sleeping in snowy holes and eating mud and turning his bare hands into weapons did not prepare him for the mess that is my cottage or my psyche. Originally I had implored Dave to come and do some home improvements for me and he suggested a bulldozer and then I laughed and then I coughed because let’s face it there is a LOT of mould in my house and also a hole. Really, my house doesn't need improving. We are now trying out a “training section” in the house that I have to keep clean. (You can tell which section it is because it’s the messiest one at the moment.)
It’s been a lot of fun because I’m all depressed because DW left me and took all the good furniture and he’s distracting me by doing Secret Servicey things like make fire rubbing two sticks together and showing off his titanium kneecaps and AK-47 bullet wounds. And he's also really freckly so you can sort of play connect the dots with him when he's sleeping but you really aren't supposed to do that because he's all badass and might consider it a threat and then his post-traumatic stress disorder gets triggered and we all die. Luckily I've systematically armed myself to the teeth over the last couple years. But really it’s like having that guy from the Bourne Ultimatum movies come over and make you pasta.

                                                                              *

ME: “So what are you afraid of?”

SD: “I’m not afraid or intimidated by any man or anything.”

ME (cheerfully) : “I bet it’s spiders!”

SD (condescending look)

                                                                          *
ME: “So can you show me how to kill someone with my bare hands?”

SD: “That’s classified.”

ME (whining): “I won’t tell anyone.”

SD: “Why do you want to know?”

ME: “Um...I just want to em...use it for...something.”

SD (condescending look)

                                                                                *
ME: “I’m so much more ghetto and scary than you are. I bet I’ve killed more people. How many people have you killed?”

SD: “Like 157...?”

ME: (thinks) “Pansy.”

SD (condescending look)

                                                                                       *
SD: “You can’t live here. It’s not safe. What if someone breaks in?”

ME: “Oh sure, it’s not safe against BURGLARS. But “if” the zombie apocalypse breaks out, the isolation works to my advantage.”

SD: “I think I know what I’m afraid of now.”


Proving ONCE AGAIN that I am a badass motherfucker.

I'm back but I'm not happy

I went to see this monkey punk band called Boo! last night, but the night was a total disaster. Not only were there little or even – I suspect – no monkeys in the band, but when I went to the toilet DW had given the guy at the table next to us a bite of my hot chocolate pudding. I came back and it had "stranger cooties". And then the guy BITCHED about it. He BITCHED about MY stolen hot chocolate pudding and its sweet goodness. Not only did I not get to FINISH my own hot chocolate pudding with its delicious drippy centre, I had to hear that it was “too sweet” for two hours afterwards. It’s not like he paid for it. Or ordered it.

These monkey punk events aren’t the refined cultural get-togethers they used to be.

Anyway here's a picture DW took but it came out crappy so it just looks like I'm a death punk sex dungeon again and I'm not even in it. Proving that not only can he not be trusted with my pudding, he also sucks at capturing important family memories.

The world has become a cruel place, children.