Forgiving and forgetting just isn't an option sometimes

It's been a bit over a month now since my friend, Kerry, was killed in a car accident. For you to understand my frustration fully, let me tell you a little about Kerry.

I met Kerry at work. She was very different to other people. Very innocent in her thinking yet surprisingly wise about things you'd think she knew nothing about.

Kerry loved to laugh and tease and just generally make people feel good. She was always there if you needed a voice of reason or a hug or just a mischief companion.

Kerry was also very devoted to her church and her beliefs and lived her life in such a manner as there was no mistaking what she stood for. I didn't always agree but I respected her for staying so true to her values.

On the Wednesday evening, Kerry drove to a church meeting in Benoni. While she was doing this and in her meeting, 2 guys sat in some pub or some restaurant or some place somewhere getting drunk.

At around 9pm, Kerry left the church and started to head home. At the same time, these two drunk men climbed into a black BMW and raced through Benoni town, not bothering to stop at the red traffic lights.

As Kerry was crossing a main road in Benoni where the light was green for her in a Ford Bantam Bakkie with no airbags or major safety features , the BMW came screaming at over 100km through the red light and T-boned her car from the passenger side.

All 6 airbags were deployed inside the BMW and the driver and passenger were uninjured.
Kerry, however, suffered head trauma and had broken ribs and was unconscious and not breathing.

Her uncle and cousin had been driving just in front of her and had seen the accident and were able to notify the paramedics immediately.
Kerry was put onto a ventilator and taken to hospital where her family were told that she would most likely not make it.

Kerry remained in a coma for 3 weeks with bruising and swelling around her brain and swelling in the rest of her body.

She was somewhat responsive whilst in her coma which gave us all hope. I went to see her and held her hand and spoke to her and told her how we all loved her and missed her and wanted her to wake up. She squeezed my hand and I was positive that she would wake up and be back to teasing us all in no time.

Kerry started making progress after 3 weeks and was moved off the ventilator and into a normal ward.
After two days, she died from a blood clot on her lung.

I was so angry and puzzled and upset about her sudden passing and although I knew that she was pain free and was in a better place, etc, it angered me that somebody who lived such a good and pure life was murdered by people on a drunken joyride!

I asked her family members if anything had happened to the driver and they couldn't tell me much except that the car had been reported stolen and hijacked a few hours after the incident. The two men had fled from the hospital and had yet to be seen.

I was told that I should just let it go with regards to the men who killed her and find it in my heart to forgive them.

I can forgive most people for most things but this is something I find extremely difficult to let go of. I am not divine, I am human and I am angry.

I do not call many people friends and call even fewer close friends but she was one of these and she had her promising life ripped away from her and all of us here who loved her and for what?! It's not fair and yes, life is not fair but sometimes it isn't because we don't let it be.

I know it will never bring her back if they sit and rot in jail forever but it will prevent them from causing any further tragedies.

On the subject of drunk driving:

I am not even asking, I am begging those people who are social drinkers, please, if you've had too much, please do not drive. For the sake of your friends, your loved ones and for the sake of everyone else who has a friend or loved one out on the roads at the same time as you.

Please also be a real friend to your friends and don't just phone them later to make sure that they got home alright, rather advise them not to drive home and organize alternate, sober transport.

Alcohol impairs judgement and affects a persons motor skills and although someone may think they're fine, they are very possibly not. Alcohol also takes an hour to be processed by the liver into the bloodstream so by the time a person feels a little drunk, they have already had too much.

Please drink responsibly.

T'was a dark and relatively overcast night a long time ago

(Since our last burglary incident, and with the insurance not having
replaced the door yet, I was forced to sleep on a mattress in my
parent's room as my door wouldn't close anymore, let alone lock. The
story takes place there)

I was lying there all trying to sleep and stuff when I heard a noise that sounded like somebody walking on the roof!

I sat up and said "Do you hear that?" but alas, their snoring bellowed
even louder in their ears than it did mine.
Later, I heard lots of cutlery moving! They were coming to
hack us to pieces!
"Did you hear THAT?" but once again, only my ears seemed sharp enough
for the tin-ey tinkle of knives and forks being selectively sifted
through until the perfect size, shape and pointyness was found.
Suddenly, they clumsily bashed into the wall with their selection in
hand. It was big! Nothing compares to the sound of a knife clumsily
being hit against the wall, the sound is simply unmistakable.
"You MUST'VE heard that!" By now, I was annoyed that I would be the
only one being chopped up without pleasant thoughts beforehand.
"MOM! Push the friggin' panic button!"
"Eh? But why?"
"Are you in some sort of sleepy daze?! Pass it here, I'll push it!"

And then I heard them go the wrong way down the passage. They had
donned squeaky shoes suddenly! How DARE they put squeaky shoes on! The
absolute audacity to add some childish humour to their brutal attack
was making me angry.

And then the fireworks started. Huh? In the passage?

Eventually I got up, marched over to the panic button but was stopped half
way by an indistinguishable sound...my dad's breathing. I stopped and
just listened. It changed from sounding like some sort of injured
animal to fireworks to cutlery and then, lo and behold, squeaky shoes!

How relieved I was that it was just my dad's peculiar breathing I'd been hearing and not someone wearing squeaky shoes armed with a knife and fireworks coming to murder us!

The walking on the roof was long gone. Probably somebody taking a short cut to rob the house next door.

When people shove religion and sex at you

I had recently re-established contact with a friend and at first our
polite and friendly chit chat was great!
However, it was starting to seem as if she was steering me in
the direction of religion.
No, you don't understand. She's not a bible-puncher, she'll outright knock your lights out with it! I kid you not!
I was just waiting for the email that asked if I'd "found Jesus yet?" I had a few responses in mind including, "Is he hiding?", "No, why? Did you pack him into my stuff when I moved? Is that legal?" and "Yes, he was here a minute ago. Said he'd be right back for me but don't say anything, you're not meant to know that you're
not invited." O.k, I didn't but this was going to get weird and awkward
and I didn't want that.
Actually, I had another idea. There was this chop at work who called me
'Nigella'. It's from that KFC ad. Anyway, he was bordering on
a slap but instead I got his number and got her to phone him and teach him to right his wrongful ways.

I used to think that people could be divided into a few distinct categories: Those who are married and need a new hobby and so they become over-religious, those who are married and normal, those who would desperately do anything to be married, those who would desperately do anything to be normal, those who would desperately do
anything not to be married, those who just desperately do anything and those who are just normal. And me. And probably you too.

Crazy exploits of the dumped and depressed

It was a freezing cold Monday morning when I boarded the train and
spotted a familiar face sitting in the corner engrossed in a book. I
shuffled over and plonked myself down opposite her. She looked up from
her book and smiled at me. We did the usual "oh my word! I haven't
seen you for ages!" chitchat and she put her book away.
I hadn't seen her in almost 2 months and although we didn't know
each other very well, there was a connection that people have from
similar experiences.
The topic turned to men. She had been dumped, not for any particular reason other than "it wasn't going anywhere". She was now in the anger stage and was having vivid, angry fantasies about getting some novice cellists, or just anyone off the street would do,to pitch up at her ex's flat at 3am every morning for a week, and just practice.
I decided that I had to intervene. Not only would she most likely get into trouble with the police, but her ex was my neighbour.
We spoke a lot about how things change and how people change and in the
end decided that she should continue with her therapy and that I
should probably start.

So, next time you want to throttle someone, find someone else who's
been there and listen to how idiotic and hilarious in is in retrospect
and it may just save you from having to fix your dancing shoes from
frantic midnight escapades in the mud. Ahem.

Are the voices in my head bothering you?

A while ago I was helping my sister and brother-in-law with a project that they were busy with. We were taking a short break when my nephew came and sat at the computer on the dining room table where I'd been sitting and started to play a computer game.

After a short time, he started to moan about how the voices were irritating him. My sister and I looked at each other; We didn't hear any voices, the game's sound was off. We ignored the comment and carried on chatting.

After a while, my nephew got very agitated and started whining that the voices were really annoying him and that he just wished that they would stop talking.

My sister and I exchanged worried glances. There were no voices or noises from the game at all! Was there some strange dormant condition that this poor child was suffering from that had chosen to manifest itself now starting with delusions?

"Andy, are the voices telling you to do things?" I asked. This irritated him a lot "No!" he yelled at me, "It's not like that! They're just voices."

"Ands, what are they saying? Whose voices are they?" my sister asked.
"I don't know what they're saying! I don't know whose voices they are but they're irritating me!" He replied almost in tears.

We were getting more and more worried until we noticed that he had the ear phones draped around his neck and there was a very feint sound coming from them! The voices were the voices of Spongebob and Squidward from the game he was playing.

Later on, when we were having a late supper, I sat down at the table and was about to put my plate down when I heard creepy sounds coming from the table (which was shrouded in papers and books and homework) and, being rather anti-insects, I freaked out. I ran back into the kitchen yelling "There's a creature on the table, it's making a really gross sounding walk-ey noise!"

My sister went to the table and carefully lifted papers and books and homework and found nothing. I came back to the table and once again, as I was about to put my plate down, there it made it's creepy-crawl-ey noises again!

Once again, I yelled and ran for it and she came to have a look. This time, she very carefully lifted the table cloth and there it was...the earphones lying under the table cloth, the Spongebob game still on.

O.k, the computer monitor was facing away from me and I thought he had stopped the game but I felt like a real chop.

An adaptation of an adaptation of Roald Dahl's adaptation of Cinderella starring all of you.

This is strictly fictional. Any similarity to real persons is purely
coincidental.
Please note that no offence is intended. The co-author waives any
responsibility for any tears, fights or questioning of sexual
preferences as a result of the content of this post.
Please note that most of the adaptation of the adaptation of the
original has been left in tact and all lameness is to be excused as a
15 year old's humour is generally lame.
Ahem:

I guess you think you know this story?
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
was cooked up years and years ago,
and made to sound all soft and sappy,
just to keep extremists happy.

Mind you, they got the first bit right,
the bit where in the early night,
Di and Chants, looking hot,
departed for the parking lot.

While pale and grinning Jarrorella,
locked himself in Tessa's wine cellar,
where Kristy, who wanted things to eat,
began to nibble at his feet.

He bellowed "Help!" and "Let me out!"
Fairy Jono heard his shout.
Appearing in a ball of snot,
he said "what's up, you drunken clot?"

"What's up?!" cried Jarrod, "can't you see?
I feel as drunk as a punk in pee.
There is a disco at Marsha's palace.
The rest have gone, and I am jalous!"

"I want a dress! I want a coach,
a g-string and a plastic brooch!
And silver flippers, two of those,
and extra laddered pantihose!
Done up like that I guarantee,
that Koos van Zyl will fall for me!"

So Jono said, "Hang on, you tick."
He gave J's bum a mighty kick.
J beat his head against the wall,
It missed his bum and hit his ....

Jon gave a sigh and rubbed his face,
and J appeared at Marsha's place.

J and Koos danced for very long,
and to every single Kurt Darren song.

But midnight struck, J shouted "Heck!,
I'd better run to save my neck."
"No!" cried Koos, "Alas! Alack."
K grabbed J's dress to hold him back.

"No!" begged Jarrod, "Let me go!"
The dress was ripped from head to toe.
J lost his g-string on the stair,
and ran out in no underwear.

The ending has no happy magic,
but is quite weird and rather tragic.
For J ran crying to his mum,
as the sun beat down and burnt his bum.

Every third one tastes like catfood

Have you all found happiness or are you too still
hindered by the fact that every third wafer in the packet tastes like
cat food?

My mom is driving very badly but then again I think that it could be a
group mentality thing going on. Do they make pills for this?

I am preparing myself for a day of wishing that I had a few hundred
elastic bands with me to shoot my boss on his gleaming forehead
because he seriously irritates me. I keep telling myself that he's old
and I should be patient and be a nice girly, but the urge to throw all
my paperwork out the window and shoot elastics at him until he goes
back to his own darn office, is getting stronger by the day.

I keep thinking about monkeys. Do you think a monkey would be ok with
dentures? I mean, if they were put in only at meal times by a person?
Or could a monkey live on soft mushy stuff?

p.s: it's the chocolate wafers. Every third one. Third being whichever
one you happen to eat third. No, you can't eat two and then start
again tomorrow. The third one will always get you. Go on, try it. It's
disgusting!