The other day I fcuking surprised myself when I fcuking cussed like a muthafcuking sailor. I could have sent Quinton Tarantino to the nearest convent with the way I was making Oz look like Dennis the Menace and The Sopranos resemble a daylight soapy. I was so gunning for the Chris Rock Profanity Award I swear if Vatican language censors had me go at it they would've scheduled Tarantino's Reservior Dogs for a Papal screening at St Peter's Cathedral and apologised for thinking it was vulgar in the first fcuking place. I was so fcuking angry I fcuking ran out of fcuks before I found the muthafcuka that started the whole fcuking tirade. At just four fcuking minutes my fcuk metre was indicating that I was fcuking cussing on reserve already. I was left with seven paragraphs and thirty six syllables of fcuk and I ain't even started firing my salvo.

What's the purpose of this tirade above. The story of barometres; What instrument do we use to measure the following;

(1) orgasms? Answer; Ritchter Scale
(2) wealth? Answer; Forbes Magazine
(3) love? Answer; suicide and yodemo
(4) faith? Answer; sacrifice
(5) insanity? Answer; sanity
(6) globalisation Answer; McDonald, Microsoft and Coca-Cola
(7) poverty? Answer; Welfare
(8) beauty? Answer; eyes
(9) failure? Answer; Zimbabwe
(10) gluttony? Answer; Dieting Pills
(11) knowledge? Answer; Weakest Link
(12) patience? Answer; prison
(13) self confidence? Answer; a mirror
(14) chaos? Answer; Iraq

Send me your situations and barometres to measure them and they will be published right here.

1 comment:

  1. Question: Live by the *&^%, die by the *&^%?
    Answer: Tsebenyane

    RIP baba. Holla when ya see Pac, in case you got in. Remember When I Enter? Ke yollela kae? Keollela kae majita re bolayana banyana ba belega?

    Pour some tea Duke. Let's look unto the Lord, who is our strength.


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