This isn’t a happy post. There are no mentions of pugs or penises or any of the usual BS that I manage to cram into the 300-odd words that I scrape together for my (and hopefully your) entertainment.
Saturday started out in a merry christmas kind of way. I summoned the fancy dress gods for inspiration re a suitable Jo’burg Day outfit and then it hit me…
Jo’burg Day was a chillax-to-the-max kind of affair. An abundance of sunshine; free boerie rolls and beer courtesy of the legends at Castle Lager and Matchworld; underage shrills and training-bra throwing as Locnville stormed the stage; and more Boksburg/Brakpan/Benoni accents than you could shake a stick at.
Tampon (one of my best friendens) and I had carpooled to the festival – not to save the environment or anything noble like that – we both just happen to live on the East si-eed, innit!
Day turned to dusk, we decided to call it a day and bounce out. The biggest upfuck about the parking area was that there was no official signage indicating the lot you were in or enough foodlights for you to actually see your vehicle. We weren’t the only tard-y ones and were joined by a host of other lost Jo’burgers, as night time fell and cars continued to be ‘misplaced’. At one stage, we had about six car guards on the hunt for my tjorrie. Nothing!
Fast forward two and a bit hours and Tampon and I had seen so many Corolla mirages that when we eventually recovered ‘Caroline’ (what my old man calls her), we didn’t even have any energy to high-five each other. We were so over it and just wanted to get the funk out of there.
We arrived back at my house, opened the door for Tampon – who was in urgent need of a super-sized pee – I followed behind her and turned to close and lock the door behind me. The rest of the details are still a bit hazy and buried in the subconscious, but I remember my eyes were like deers caught in the headlights of the four, 9mm barrels that silently approached me from the shadows. I remember my heart wanting to climb into my oesophagus to escape for safety, but I managed to scream.
Tampon heard my screams and ran to the garage door, but it was locked. The four armed, upstanding cunt(rymen)s took me down and attempted to shut me up. ‘Please don’t hurt us, we’ll give you anything you want, please don’t hurt us sir’ – it was like a script from a trauma manual and it’s like people always tell you. You never know how you are going to react in that situation.
I remember crying and being told to ‘stop crying you fuckin’ baby’, hands going in every direction, inside my pockets, down my legs, shoes being removed and laces cutting off the circulation from my wrists to my fingertips. Being hit on the head and punched in the back for squealing like a bitch.
We were taken upstairs, asked about ‘jewelry, guns, safe’ , ‘jewelry, guns, safe’, ‘jewelry, guns, safe’ …
They were too precise. They knew my house better than me. There was cocking of pistols, loading of magazines, the taste of terror escaping through my taste buds and permeating through every pore. Tampon and I were like livestock waiting for an uncertain, but frightening inevitability…
Seconds were days, minutes were years, and the 60-70 minute period that those fucktards oozed their evil stink throughout my folks’ bedroom and study was the most terrifying experience of my life. There is nothing worse in this world than being completely helpless. It’s a nightmare that you’re begging to wake up from.
Once they left, I managed to untie my hands and feet and contact our security company. It took a while but a letter opener did the trick to free Tampon. The security, my brother-in-law (Rambo :), the police, CSI (literally) were all there within a few minutes. I have hated on corrupt cops before here, but thank you to the Bedfordview Police Station for all your awesomeness. They even phoned Tampon yesterday to make sure she was ok and suggested some options for counseling.
From 9pm on Saturday night until 1am Sunday, we had been hostage’d, interviewed, consoled, hugged and ridden the rollercoaster of emotional extremes – we were fuxhausted.
Sunday was difficult. I broke down several times during the day but had the fortune of finding a shrink who was willing to see me on a Sunday evening. Big thanks to Janis Williams for your kindness and friendship and hugs and for letting me get a lot of shit off my chest!
A lot of people have asked if I want to go back to the UK now because of the above events. Honest answer: ‘Fuck no!’
For those four evil cunts who have temporarily taken a bit of my soul, there have been a hundred amazing people who have called and facebook’d and and and and, and they are the reason I love my home and South Africa in general (thanks all you cheeky lil monkeys, love you guys). I don’t need to waste my time by getting angry. I’m jumpy as fuck and prone to teary outbursts in the most random places, but the bad guys only win, when you give them the power!
Dear bad guys,
Go Fuck yourselves and die a slow painful gonorrhea-induced death!
Lots of love
Me (and Tampon)
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