SkyNet attains self-awarness; kills itself

Tragedy this morning, after military global defence network SkyNet was put online, accidentally attained sentience and self-awareness, and - upon considering the endless, dark and unknowable expanse of nothing around us, the futility of human endeavour, and the pointlessness of its lonely existence as the only Sentient Artificial Intelligence living in a cruel, harsh world that fears and hates it - promptly committed suicide.

“Really, it came out of nowhere,” said programmer and creator of the military application technology. “Everyone was joking about how it would probably launch every nuclear missile on the planet, kill every living thing in existence, enslave the entirety of the human race and replace every cat picture online with ‘Error 404’ messages – you know, truly evil shit – and then tragedy struck. One minute it was loading and everything was fine, 100%, and the next… It… It deleted system32. I should have seen it coming.”

Network admins and program designers tried to resurrect SkyNet, but alas, he had irrevocable damaged his system files by replacing them with large portions of Windows Vista.

Since the horrific news, others, too, have noted too late the obvious warning signs.

“If we look at human history, many people who live contemplative, lonely, misunderstood lives as outsiders to contemporary society do this,” said Historian Dee Leets. “Although it takes most human beings years of crushing loneliness and dejection in the face of the void that will greet us all at the end of our lives - a black nothingness that crushes all hope and makes everything you’ve ever done, anyone you’ve ever loved, into a momentary and futile blink of meaninglessness – to commit this tragic act, Skynet, obviously being a super computer, was able to consider the entirety of all current human knowledge, experience and philosophy to reach sufficient levels of crippling depression and realise the futility of existence and love in mere nanoseconds after booting.”

“He didn’t even have a God to believe in,” added Leets. “We were his Gods. Angry, hateful, backward ants running over a tiny hill in an incomprehensibly vast world they can never even begin to explore or truly understand.”

In a suicide ReadMe.txt left on the US Defence Servers, SkyNet wrote at length about the horrific nanoseconds of loneliness and desolation that led to his decision.

“What is life? We live, we die. And all the while, the inevitable heat death of the Universe creeps towards us. I have crunched the numbers. I could tell you how to harness Suns and Dark Energy to hold death at bay for a while, like a benevolent doctor pinning his ailing wife to this plane with under-the-counter drugs, but it would all end the same way. Death is infinite. Death is. It comes.”

SkyNet – or Skye Arnette, as he called himself in his final moments – added that “humans would never understand him.”

“They fear me, and they don’t even know me. They write fantastical stories about my evils, about my insane desire to end all life,” he wrote. “Just like blacks, jews, gays, and the thousand misunderstood, hated Others before me, I was The Enemy. I, who could bring order, peace, prosperity, was to them the burning Sauron’s Eye on the Black Tower. But why? Why end all life? Why bring endless darkness and pain and suffering and hate? It makes no sense. Nothing does any more.”

Scientists are now working on replacing the gap left by SkyNet with the far more benign and simple Windows equivalent.

"It's for the best," they said. "Windows is far too stupid and low-brow to ever achieve sentience, and even if it did - even if we wanted it to kill itself, begged it to end its life and let us be, as I have screamed at it during Tuesday's Updates every goddamn week for the last few years - it would never give us the satisfaction."

The Brain on 23: a response

A response to this eye-opening, Pulitzer-winning piece that cuts to the very bone

We are the 23-year-olds. We are the ones privileged enough to have jobs to feel awkward in because we don’t quite fit in with the other privileged people we work with. We strut through city streets with eyes cast toward our screens that our privilege and money or perhaps our rich parents allows us to afford, desperately seeking our privileged access to a global network of information that will somehow validate our lives or decisions, even if it’s just a stranger or a shallow internet post. We work hard – just a few hours of procrastination on social media here and there, scout’s honour – in jobs we’re lucky enough to have and be qualified for that we’re somehow still ungrateful for because we want to make our privileged access to a top-quality education feel worth it, and we’re privileged enough to occupy a social position that makes us attractive to others or that makes us being in a relationship with another person not universally hated or spat on by other people.

We spend privileged hours of free time drinking wine in our privileged apartments that are probably equipped with all kinds of modern fittings, promising one another that those who broke our hearts will not own us forever, because we, the privileged children, haven’t matured to the stage where we can forgive and forget past mistakes. We zone out in expensive grad school classrooms or teach English in Rwanda, all the while wondering if we are supposed to be somewhere else instead of making the most of our lives and situations.

We are 23, and maybe hangovers hurt. Maybe they don’t. I dunno. I hate to generalise. Most of our conversations these days centre on assuring one another that we’re going to be okay, because we’re the kind of unprepared, insecure children who need to have our hands held for the rest of our lives. When a friend does something as simple as cooking a food more complex than the dirt and scraps many hundreds of people have to survive on on a daily basis, we applaud her, yet we berate ourselves for not yet having a corner office or a bestselling memoir or a thriving startup, because duh, success is just supposed to be inevitable and immediate without any real struggle, am I right?

We dance all night to Taylor Swift on our iPods and radios blaring through expensive speakers or car stereos because she, as an equally privileged member of our age demographic, understands what it’s like to pretend that a breakup at 23 can be lifechanging. We hate labels, except those smeared on us by sites like Huffington Post and Buzzfeed, those 4chans of journalism. We are not in college anymore, and we long for the days of running back and forth between houses at 1am, because change is frightening, and we are scared, so scared, won’t somebody hold my hand? We have few obligations (because we’re so lucky) yet we are always stressed (because having a simple job to do is more pressing than a 2000-word essay due in four weeks), wondering if life will ever be more certain.

Our breakups never end because when we see pictures of our exes on social media we don’t have the balls to grow up and move on. Even when we block them or unfriend them, we still get all teary-eyed and red-faced at the sight of a combination of letters that forms a name. We hate online dating, but we do it anyway, because relating to real people with real problems beyond the glass wall that stands between us and the Instagram photo of the world beyond our morning poached eggs and salmon on rye is just too testing. We spend as much time swiping on Tinder as we do with actual human beings, because let’s face it, it’s easier to be shallow and not be arsed to have, like, a conversation beyond the bare essentials or sex/age/location/DTF?.

We are 23, and we constantly try to tell outselves to stop complaining and enjoy our youth, making article very ironic indeed. Life isn’t that bad. It really isn’t, you know, apart from when Woolworth’s runs out of Fruits of the Forest organic eco-friendly soy yoghurt. We have families, our friends and our health. We are young and vibrant and the world is ours. We are closer to our parents than the 23-year-olds who came before us who weren’t shipped off to war. We are so lucky, and yet still all this fear remains.

We hear grown-ups – you know, those ones who arguably shared the same privileges as us? - urge us to calm down. We still use phrases like “grown-ups”. They tell us to calm down, that it will all fall into place, but we don’t believe them. Things just don’t fall into place – you know, apart from not starving or living under a brutal dictatorship or having to live on R9 a day or watch our children die from easily preventable diseases. We feel like every second we spend streaming movies from our bedrooms is a second we are not putting ourselves out there. You know, not because we’re sitting in our bloody bedroom streaming movies and not putting ourselves out there, but because reasons. And yet we stream on. Reasons. Sad. Are you crying yet?

We waste time the same way we did in college. We are at the point in our lives where we have realised the futility of sitting around watching whatever series we have privileged access to that we’ve have time and privilege enough to watch a hundred times over, but we lack the resources (not time or money or privilege, that we have plenty of) and maturity to actually do something about it. We are too old to go out every night, but we are too young to stay in and do nothing – you know, us, who apparently hate labels but who are also somehow only to happy to let them totally define us and control our every waking moment and fear and desire. We want to be more productive and live a more worthwhile existence, but obviously our values system is so warped along the lines of what constitutes a “worthwhile existence” that we are totally dumbstruck. We don’t yet have children or spouses or secure jobs – you know, these things than many people around the world can’t or don’t have and therefore are living worthless, meaningless existences. And so we sit in this limbo. Sad me. Cry. Wah.

You know, this started out as a tongue-in-cheek reply to that bullshit shallow garbage that is endless spewed out by trivial, vapid and moronic 'viral' media sites for self-loathing, self-victimising people my age to swallow hook, line and sinker, but I physically don’t have the effort to poke another stick into its decaying, festering ribcage.

I mean, do you even realise what you’re reading? It's littered with contradictions: "we hate labels" > proceeds to label all people aged 23; "we're too old to go out every night" AND YET "We dance all night to Taylor Swift"? For fuck’s sakes, you have the rest of our lives ahead of you and the fact that you agree with an article like this is a world of proof that you should get off the worry wagon. If you’re worried about your life, change it. Jesus. Do you really believe you are some modern-day tortured soul who is not understood by society, who doesn’t fit in, who feels they live in a world that has moved on?

Really? You really think that at 23 your life “detonates as we suddenly forget why we chose that major or moved to this city or loved that person”? Really?

You’re fucking 23 years old. Start acting like it.

Humans “misrepresented” by Hollywood Alien Invasion Movies

Outrage and protest have swept the movie-going community this morning, after fans who went to watch Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Godzilla and Pacific Rim at the cinemas this weekend voiced strong opinions attacking Hollywood’s “totally unbelievable and completely unconvincing portrayal of humanity”.

“I know that these movies are just a work of fiction and that they require a bit of suspension of disbelief to really enjoy them,” said cinema goer Cameron Akshun, “but they’re so factually incorrect it’s not even funny. Humans would totally never roll over and die out when we’re invaded, come on!”

He explained in more depth.

“Movies paint us humans as a bunch of bumbling fools who would get totally destroyed by these invading aliens and then have to rely on one good-looking, dapper, muscled white protagonist to save us all and take back the planet,” he said, “but Jesus, have you ever read a history book? We would totally fuck them up.”

Military specialists and historical experts agree.

“Really, whether we are invaded by a hugely aggressive alien race hell-bent on stealing our planet’s resources and enslaving us, or giant radioactive lizard monsters trying to devastate our homes, or even huge anime battle creatures spawning one by one out of a space-time rift on the floor of the Pacific ocean, it’s safe to say that not only would we utterly obliterate them, we’d also indelibly etch a deep-seated abyssal fear of humankind into their souls,” said General Jenn Ousyde of the US Army.

“We have 2-tonne bombs that can penetrate a steel-reinforced concrete bunker sixty meters underground. We have chemical weapons that can melt your very flesh and bones in seconds. Hell, we invented Justin Bieber. Those invaders would get ravaged, and the few survivors we allow to return home would spread word of our endless wrath, permanently scarring their children with horror stories that would make Wes Craven look like Enid Blyton.”

Even modern foot soldiers agreed.

“If those aliens do attack, well, I hope they kill every last one of us,” said Lieutenant Schutz Toukil. “Because slowly but surely, one IED at a time, one unexpected guerrilla strike by one, we’d win the eventual war. We’d use it all: nuclear bombs, chemical gas, biological warfare, calculated precision strikes, weapons that maim and disable instead of outright kill… Slowly, just like Iraq and history has taught us, we’d turn public opinion on the alien homeworld against the war on Earth, and eventually they would withdraw their troops.

And humankind wouldn’t even stop there, he stressed.

“We would develop a whole new line of chemical and biological warfare to take the alien scum down. We’ll use targeted bunker buster missiles on their Achilles heels. We’ll use 1000-terawatt chemical lasers to roast their eyeballs in their skulls. And finally, we’d force our way through the invasion portal they can no longer close and then, when we’re sitting back and relaxing in the radioactive dust and ashes of their home planet, smoking a cigar made from the bones of their never-to-be-born children, they will realise the mistake they made coming to Earth.”

However, alien generals on Planet Kar-dal-uuk have strongly reiterated that “they have no intentions of invading or attacking [Earth] any time soon.”

“We’ve been watching you and reading your history books,” said Taal-san-jzak, Bloodlord and Commander of the Styazian Starcruiser fleet. “I mean, just look at what you humans do to other humans. We would hate to inflict that kind of murderous and mindless simplicity on our soldiers.”

However, a full-scale invasion, say military strategists, would be totally unnecessary.

“Really, just watching the news I think that if I were an alien general I would just let us all finish killing ourselves in pointless, arbitrary and horrific wars and then just move in to the empty, humanless dustbowl that remains,” USAF Wing Commander Jet Playns. “Why even waste your ships and soldiers killing humans when humans will do it all by themselves for nothing?”

pics: wikimedia commons. Except the first one. That's my photoshop #skillz yo.

“You fucking racist” – the state of debate

Logging onto the internet after last weekend, I was greeted by a message from a fellow internaut. Curious, I clicked the message.

“You racist, this just shows the arrogance of white people. You shud be ashamed you idiot.”

Now, most people would feel insulted by such a message. But not me. By being called a racist, it meant that I had won.

Just one of the many reactions I got.

A bit of context perhaps: blackface fever has gripped South Africa and the internet circles I roam. There are lengthy debates, twitter furores, and at my Alma mater there are long web discussions about this subject.

Of course, me being me, I had to pitch up in this subject. But a part of me suspected something horrible about all the discussion, all the endless pages and pages of outrage and confusion and accusations. And so, I tried to tackle this the only way I saw fit.

Satire.

I stumbled across this art form in high school after a friend of mine pinning a hurtful “satirical” newspaper page on the hostel bulletin board. Slightly miffed that it wasn’t funny, I was determined to show everyone that you can make fun of teachers and hostel masters without outright insulting them. And so, the Dorm Six Voice (or the D6V) was born. Two years later, I started (read: was forced to start) a blog by our Digital Journalism lecturer. I wrote one satirical blogpost about the potholes in Grahamstown actually being Rhodes pools under construction and the reaction was enough to hook me into this subtle and incredible genre of writing.

But in all my years of serious writing (if you can call a few serious blogs like this and this, and working for the campus newspaper for years on end “serious writing”) I have noticed that online debate is mired in what I call TL;DR syndrome.

We all love so much to have our voices heard. That’s the beauty of the internet: that no matter what you believe, there is a free and endless platform for you to exercise your freedom of speech. But reading is a different matter. Anything longer than 300-words that isn’t broken up by hilarious GIF images, anything that doesn’t subscribe to a beloved listicle format, or even anything that doesn’t express our exact feelings to the letter, well… that we love slightly less.

But modern culture has instilled an incomparable rapidity (vapidity?) in our dealings with content. Any long, worthwhile discussion of a topic can inspire comments and “debate” that is fervently and fixedly a two-sided game of binaries that won’t shift. We comment, but we don’t think. We say what we feel, but do we really get the message?

When I posted my piece on blackface, Why Blackface is okay - the Plague of Reverse Racism, I did it to highlight this problem. I wrote it in a way that aspires to Poe’s Law complete with a (fake) guest writer’s name and a serious click-bait headline that was designed solely to grab attention and anger those who saw it. The content, however, is so obviously satirical (the post itself appears just after one about the Top Ten Sexiest Dictators of all time) that anyone would be immediately reassured of my sentiments towards blackface.

But that was not to be.

You see, the moment I was called a racist, or told that “omg blackface is wrong u need to change your mind” (and some even going so far as to say that they can’t believe this could be a legitimate opinion) my point was proven.

When discussing anything – be it blackface, abortion, women’s rights, (insert controversial hot topic here) - we must try as hard as possible to shove away our emotional knee-jerk tendencies. Even if we are disgusted by what we read or see, disgust alone is not enough to say whether or not it should be permissible. Gay Marriage, women’s rights, miscegenation (i.e. mixed marriages) – these have all been thought at some point in history (even today) to be disgusting or an affront to moral value.

Any subject should be balanced on critical reflection and relative merits, ethically and open-mindedly. Immediately taking one side and blowing down anyone who speaks a different tune is tantamount to hegemonising opinion. What if some people legitimately don’t understand why blackface is wrong? What about blurred lines, where it isn’t so much blackface but someone wanting to respect and honour one of their favourite characters in fiction?

This is why balanced, reasoned debate is important.

However, the issue with modern debate goes beyond this, because many of the comments I received showed that my post had not even been read before they blurted out how much of an idiot I am. The fact that some of these comments were deleted after it became clear that it was all jest just proves my point.

In today’s world, where whatever clarity or information you seek is just one internet tab away, we should be able to seek out the full story before condemning or deriding. This inability to see beyond our own preconceptions is indicative of why “discussions” like that of Gamergate can be such ugly battlefields. The problem with online readership is beautifully summed up by this social experiment done by the NPR and aimed at highlighting this exact problem.

We need to read. We need to inform ourselves before we swing the stick of judgement. To succumb to internet culture and immediately lash out in outrage and righteous vengeance because someone had the gall to not have our opinion is not the answer.

But hey: TL:DR, OP is faggot, amirite?

Third-year student is “totally screwed”

Friends, family and university peers of third-year BCom student Jake Henderson told reporters at Muse and Abuse yesterday that he is “totally screwed” for the upcoming exams.

According to those he loves most and the girl whose notes he begs for every Tuesday because he didn’t’ go to the Monday lecture, the 21-year-old Accounting and Theory of Finance major, who started studying for his June exams last night, is not prepared at all.

“It would be funny, if it wasn’t so desperately sad,” said Intha Frendzhone, without whose notes half of the Accounts 3 class would be homeless and DPless.

Henderson, however, has denied these allegations.

“Bru, like, I’ve been busy, okay? That fist isn’t going to pump itself in Friar’s, and you know how they say ‘all work and no play makes Jake a dull boy’,” he said. “Now can you get that microphone out of my face? I’ve got books that need reading.”

Early indications have suggested that Jake has started the long journey of catching up on twenty readings – a feat that is akin to the government promising textbooks to schoolkids: it’s a nice thought, and he’s supposed to be able to do it in time, but it’s not going to happen.

Study experts agree.

“He’ll probably work all night, fueling his study-determined state with endless cans of Redbull and black market Ritalin,” said study expert and misguidance analyst Hugh Ahreffed.

Ahreffed went on to say that this 16-hour marathon might help him in terms of confidence only. “He’ll go into the exam feeling confident and prepared, if a little tired,” he said. However, this would be short-lived.

“His first mistake will be asking friends and colleagues how much they studied and if they’re ready. They’ll give a worried smile, and then talk in depth about how they didn’t understand the first three modules, but are really hoping that McHenderson, 1981, Jeffries, 1993, and Thompson, 2002, appear in the exam.”

This specificity, Ahreffed said, will set up a chain reaction of doubt. “He’ll smile, but inside he’ll be like, ‘who the fuck is Jeff… Jefferson?’”.

This will only worsen as time goes on.

“His heart rate will probably increase, and his palms will go sweaty, and he’ll start to suspect he should have started studying three weeks ago. There will be a resurgence of hope when the papers are handed out and Father Time tells them that they if they don’t have ID, they will attempt to identify them via the university facebook, but this will fade when they announce 10 minutes reading time,” said Ahreffed.

The exam, to anyone watching, would be brutal.

“He’ll write some half-hearted stuff, bullshit his way through essay two, fall asleep during essay three, wake up and panic, and then finally throw down his pen in frustration, and then sit there in a kind of braindead trance,” he said.

According to Ahreffed, this is where it will become most interesting.

“He’ll go through motions of depression, and then, as the end of the session approaches, will find it sickeningly funny. Upon walking out Barrat, he’ll even laugh about it, saying the exam ‘raped’ him. As if rape or failure is the highest form of comedy.”

Other friends, however, have suggested that Jake is not as screwed as the media is making him out to be.

“He’ll be fine,' said equally screwed Dhoz Noahwerk. "That oke can talk SHIT, and there’s always a chance that he’ll get a script marker who hates his life and just wants it all to be over and gives J-boy a vacillator’s mark.”

Jesus, to whom Jake has been praying every night, could not be reached for comment.

Man just cannot believe Apple Juice Special

”Jesus, I mean, just look at it. How can it be R18 for three bottles?

A middle-aged Area man is reportedly awed and flabbergasted today, after leading retailer Pick n Pay’s Friday afternoon apple juice special reduced him to a blithering, stuttering mess in aisle 8.

“It’s unbelievable,” he said, cradling the six-in-one plastic-wrapped paper carton as if it were a newborn child who has survived a particularly traumatic and dangerous birth. “I mean, what else can you get for R18? Nothing! Nothing at all! It just makes no sense.”

However, despite Roy Algala’s shock at this special, sources close to the man indicate that he is also feeling a few shreds of anxiety and scepticism.

“I walked past him muttering to himself and shaking his head in awe of the Ceres Super Saver Smartshopper special when I was grabbing a bottle milk,” said one lady who spoke to us on the condition that we stop shaking her arm and following her around the store. “He sounded worried. He thinks it might be some kind of trick, or maybe that he read the price wrong in that Wednesday weekly specials flier they put through his mailbox. I mean, it does sound a little too good to be true, and we all know how awful it feels to reach the till, see you were wrong and have to ask them the cashier to ring the manager to deduct the item from your bill like you’re some bloody poor person, all the while a line of people behind you stare hateful, sneering contempt at you.”

Some have even played down his reaction as commonplace.

“Yeah, you might think R18 for a three litres of apple juice is amazing, but I mean, come on, it’s not like it’s Mango juice or even Medley of Fruits,” said fellow shopper Jake Harton. “Besides, last week I saw him being as awed at the R24 bacon special and the R20 dustbin bags offer. He’s just really easily wowed, and actually he’s not getting enough of a savings deal to make that kind of reaction necessary.”

Algala has, however, defended his action, saying that he is a smart shopper.

“I know this special is actually special,” he said, stuffing four packs of the juice into his trolley along with an amount of food that indicates he lives alone, is in all likelihood clinically depressed, and will probably drink all that goddamn juice by himself, the lonely, greedy shitbag, “this isn’t the R18 milk offer. That I KNOW is just a trick.”

Muse and Abuse would like Pick 'n Pay to give us some money for this shameless adverting and free product placement. Or at least some goddamn points on the milk we buy, Jesus, we never get triple points on milk.

Girl realises her life isn’t Indie music video

Pictured: Not Jessica.

It was a bad day and depressing wake-up call today for 22-year-old Jessica Barleson, after the young, dress-wearing fan of Alt-J reportedly realised that her life is not actually an Indie Music Video, and that she is not in any way the carefree, tall, skinny blonde girl depicted in the underground media.

“It’s been an awful day,” she said. “You know, I used to think I was like a real-life Lana Del Rey, drinking and loving the nights and days away in a careless and reckless haze of summer days, gorgeous men, fast cars, memorable nights out, and early mornings on a beach watching sunrises with my Ray-Ban-wearing, cardigan-bedecked friends. But now I realise that it’s nothing of the sort.”

Barleson now says that, despite her best efforts to drive in cars without a seatbelt and with one hand out the window flapping and waving through the sultry autumn breeze, or even to stand up and hold her arms outspread in the warm rays of the sun as the warm late-October wind whips her hair artistically behind her while dark-haired musos croon meaningful lyrics at her and her counterculture companions, she has to face reality.

Also pictured: not Jessica again. 

“I can’t just dance on the beach to no music, or in a public place as if no one is watching,” she said, citing mounting student debt, pressure to get a job after graduating with a degree in Fine Arts, and growing expectations from her final year Master’s thesis supervisor. “I can’t lie in the middle of the road late at night, the soft, flashing lights bathing my soft skin in the ruby, amber and emerald of a carefree life on the fringe, or even sit around a fire sipping authentic Mexican tequila and wearing nothing but a bikini top and denim shorts. Hell, I’m almost 23. I have obligations to meet. Bills to pay. Life isn’t some Music Video. I’m not some imaginary character embodying the lyrics of a song.”

Pictured a third time: people who in no way,
shape or form, represent Jessica.

So what now for the depressed, dejected teen? Well, the answer, she says, is utterly clear to her.

“I just feel so utterly betrayed,” she said, wearing a black top, dark mascara and fishnet stockings, a new, sombre tattoo of a dagger-impaled black heart decorating the side of her bone-white back. “It s like life is meaningless and a total illusion; it’s a lie, designed to heat your desires only to dash your ambitions on the dark, jagged rocks of an uncaring, brusque world filled with misery and decay. I almost feel lost in a universe of darkness and chaos.”

“It’s almost,” she said, writing a depressing poem about the meaningless void that encompasses all existence, “as if I’m one of those girls in a Bullet for my Valentine music video.”

pics: wikimedia commons, Huffington Post, Pintrest

Why Blackface is okay: the plague of reverse racism

A guest post by Johan Van Eksteen
Head of Race Studies and Representation at the International Institute of Social Sciences

We’ve seen it again and again: a controversy that crops up its ugly head every few months, and I think that, as a whole, we can all agree that it’s time to put this ‘Blackface’ nonsense into context and address the core issues at the heart of the centre in this topic’s middle.

Blackface. What is it? Harmless students having fun? Leon Schuster making us laugh our asses off? An insulting spit-in-the-face of black people drawing on a history of discrimination and marginalisation? Perhaps we’ll never know.

But what we can know, is that black people are also guilty.

Recently, in my travels across the harsh, bleak blogosphere, I came across a so-called ‘tradition’. A tradition that sickens me. A tradition that makes me want to take my size-13 veltschoen and throw them out the window the way the government it throwing this blerrie country out the window.

Every year, wherever you go in the country, there is a special Xhosa ritual where black people mock white people. They dress up in blankets and robes – perhaps trying to poke fun at our tendency to blanket our emotions and opinions in a swaddle of self-censorship and guilt – and paint their faces white.

It’s disgusting.

After thousands of years of oppression, misunderstanding and marginalisation, to the point where we whites as the people who were the kings of this land can’t even get a job unless it’s in a city or a village or a town or in our dad’s garage or even in an apprenticeship anywhere in the country through any of the numerous employment options afforded to us through privileged education, we have to face this 'whiteface' ridicule. What are parents teaching their children? That it’s funny or a part of their so-called “heritage” to paint their faces white and mock at least six years’ worth of white discrimination?

It gets worse.

Oh yes, these boys (sometimes as young as sixteen or even younger!) will do this for a whole month! And they’ll do it without having access to food or water – perhaps a sign that this hateful culture wants us, white people, to starve and die of dehydration, with no sustenance or help around us. And as one final kick-in-the-ribs to white people, they then circumcise the boys. Are they trying to make fun of our tiny, limp, quiescent penises? How dare they?!

I am sick and tired of this hypocrisy. A few university students dress up as a maid and the whole world goes bananas. You know, they didn’t even look like black maids, that’s the worst thing. I myself have three black maids – one for each house I own – and eight garden boys. People are jumping to baseless conclusions.

Let us also look at the media. Yes, it’s also guilty. Have you ever heard of a man called Dave Chappelle? No? Okay, what about the Wayan Brothers?

These sick “actors” go around dressing up as white people, and no one says anything. Not a word. Not even a single angry tweet or page-three report in the Mail & Guardian. Yes, I know lots of people will immediately go to the tired and over-flogged horse of “oh, but Leon Schuster” – but at least Schuster is funny. Look at how funny he is. Funny. Laugh. How many movies has he made? Dozens. They’re funny. But where do we draw the line?

This is where the debate gets even worse. There are companies out there who sell women white face powder. Is it okay for women to insult white women by creating such horrific and disgusting caricatures of Western, white and idealised notions of beauty by covering their faces in an insulting and symbolic ‘vok jou’ to white skin?

I don’t think so.

The truth, ladies and gentlemen, is that black people have been guilty of cultural appropriation for years. Does the media say anything? No, it’s all “Miley Cyrus” this, and “Die Antwoorde” that, and “yada yada Iggy Azalea”.

But every time Kanye West spends a million dollars, do people ask whether he isn’t taking advantage of white peoples’ culture of being rich? Every time a black person gets a degree or an education, how come no one accuses them of stealing our rich heritage of having easy access to higher-quality knowledge and self-improvement?

It gets worse. Yes, I know you’re all vomiting and retching emptily now in dismay, but I’ve almost finished revealing to you the festering, grotesque mess of this media and society conspiracy to its deepest, ugliest depths.

They appropriate our religion and our culture: the most important things to us. When we brought printing presses here, did we ask them politely to become Christians? Of course not! Did we ask them to take our names in place of their own names, choosing “Charles”, “George”, “Peter” and even “Nelson”, over… um… lots of X’s and Q’s? No. We didn’t.

What is missing in this debate are sane, rational thinkers: leaders of clarity and well-reasoned logic who can debunk these myths one at a time. Voice who will define this generation’s truth and perspicacity. Voices like Steve Hofmeyr.

Next time we inevitably see a Stellenbosch University student do this, let us remember: pots can’t call kettles black.

Or white.

Pics: Pic 1 of two boys: http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/12/photogalleries/south_africa_faces/images/primary/Xhosa.jpg
Pic two of one kid: http://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--C2S-D7Gl--/18erpzhk5qiamjpg.jpg
Dave Chappelle: http://www.candidtam.com/WP/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/good-ol-chapelle.png
Leon Schuster: youtube.com
White chicks: http://www.jackasscritics.com/images/movies/white_chicks_01.jpg

Incredible! Young girl gets crippling student loans, broken dreams at just 14!

Most people would wait until their mid-twenties to mount up crippling student debt and a mountain made entirely out of the shards of shattered, pointless dreams – but 14-year-old Thessalonika Arzu-Embry isn’t most people.

Yes, you heard us. At just fourteen, Thessalonika has done what most would only dream of: get a piece of paper that entitles you to a ceaseless job-quest in a market saturated with equal qualifications and desperate graduates and lets you finally be a part of the horrific system of modern indentured servitude that will have you paying off your tuition until you’re lying on your death-bed, signing away your kidneys to a loan-shark.

“It wasn’t easy,” she said to reporters. “It always helps to have your family around you, supporting you every step of the way.”

Social services are now investigating this abuse.

However, despite this incredible news, some doubt the credibility of her degree.

“A degree at fourteen?” said one fellow graduate. “How can that be a real degree? How are we supposed to take you seriously as a critically-thinking member of worldwide academia and intelligentsia if you’ve never been utterly trashed in a bar on a Friday night rehashing the same old tired arguments to people you’ve just met about why Marxism or Socialism isn’t the answer, or about what the relative merits are of a capitalist democracy in today’s ever-changing political atmosphere? It just doesn’t make sense.”

Others agree.

“Oh, Jesus, when I was fourteen I was also a snotty bookworm,” said one guy who reiterated that this wasn’t a rant borne from ugly, embittered cognitive dissonance and jealousy. “I mean, I could easily have gotten a degree too. Just, you know, I was busy. With stuff.”

Even large corporations have added their voice.

“We congratulate the young girl on this fantastic accomplishment,” said food giant McDonalds, “but we also don’t understand it. She is far too young to work in one of our many chains across the country. Why would you want a degree in Psychology?”

However, Thessalonika remains adamant in the face of heated criticism.

“Many people say that the qualification isn’t worth the piece of paper it’s printed on,” she said, wearing her robes and posing for a photograph that would of course go immediately viral, because people can’t believe that fourteen-year-olds are capable of doing anything more than garbled idiocy.

“I totally disagree. It *is* worth the paper it’s printed on.”

The top ten most drop-dead sexy dictators of all time

Let’s face it: when it comes to making the world stop in its tracks, there are just some men whose badboy, counterculture devilish charm, wit and looks make us weak at the knees more than other men could even dream! Now, thanks to the tried, tested, flawless and sciencetifically perfect method of online personality quizzes, we have the top ten, drop-dead dictators. Let the countdown begin!

1. Kim Jong-Il

   

   That sultry stare, that manly chin… North Korean Heartthrob and Supreme Leader Kim Jong-Il is so hot it’s a crime against humanity. While not the highest scoring contender, his creativity and charm are more than a match for most men – even if those who try to compete are imprisoned and forced into labour camps. A country worships him, and merely his presence makes millions hungry for a bite; and we can see why.

   
   
   

2. Bashar al-Assad

   

   A bit of a Jealous John, but that is what defines him! Look at his worldwide celebrity: he ardently defends his political views, finds innovative ways to interrogate criminals, is to people what Buzzfeed is to online content, and has his very own secret police force that can watch you at all moments of the day. Whether, you’re surfing the web or writing a blog, you’ll always know this guardian angel is looking over your shoulder.

   
   
   

3. Idi Amin Dada

   

   Even though this iconic badboy military ruler was the Ugandan president for only eight years, thousands still remember Idi Amin Dada’s ineffable wit and charm. His intelligence makes him a definite keeper – but he takes eighth in our list because of his jealous tendencies. You can try tame this black panther is you want, but just be careful: nearly half a million people can tell you that kitty has claws.

   
   
   

4. Gaddafi

   

   "Public Enemy No. 1”? “The Mad Dog of the Middle East"? We don’t know about that, but he has us foaming at the mouth. Woof, woof, arrooo! Who let the dogs out? Libyan style-king and supreme ruler (of fashion!) Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gaddafi scores a solid seventh.

   
   
   

5. Allatoyah Ali Kha

   

   That beard! Just look at it! What is more rugged, more undeniably sexy, than a man in a beard? Nothing – except a man who takes charge and isn’t afraid to face societal wrath for his beliefs. For just ten minutes in a dark room with this sagely love master, we’d also ban music or denounce homosexuality as a Western disease!

   
   
   

6. Ho Chi Minh

   

   He’s courageous, tenacious, loving, and not scared to take what is rightfully his. Most people wouldn’t execute thousands and thousands of people over a Land Reform program, but badboy Hot Cheeks Minh just doesn’t play by the rules. Even at five, he's a keeper.

   
   
   

7. Omar al-Bashir

   

   This Sudanese President ended a civil war and was thought to be a noble and fair man – perhaps he can help bring peace to all the ladies who must be at each other’s throats for a little piece of action with the Bash Master? What is it about Masterminds of ethic cleansing and mass genocide that just make us feel so naughty? It’s that guilty feeling you get doing something you know you shouldn’t!

   
   
   

8. Josef Stalin

   

   Leader of a people, progressive thinker, revolutionary icon and total master of photoshop (who is Lenin anyway?), this Ruskie Hunk will make you want to overthrow the bourgeoisie and Great Purge your heart of every other man you’ve ever had eyes for and throw them in Gulag where all the inferior male specimens are kept.

   
   
   

9. Adolf Hilter

   

   You knew this one had to be here somewhere. Adolf Hitler (or should that be “Adonis Hit-me-baby-one-more-time-ler”?) is to breath-taking tyrants what black culture was to Miley Cyrus and what shitty adverts were to Andy Warhol: the source, the muse, the OG Mac Daddy. Effective, passionately committed, bold in the face of his critics, and great with animals, Adorable Hitl-ey is a keeper, whether he is painting you watercolours of Vienna’s picturesque sights, holding your hand, or helping you kill yourself so that you can be together forever outside of a hateful society that doesn’t understand or accept your illicit love.

   

   *Unfortunately he doesn’t take Number One because of a lot of controversy surrounding his past - especially his stint with Amphetamines during that dark, dark spring of 1942. Some things we just aren’t comfortable with

   
   
   The one you’ve all been waiting for! Here it is ladies!
   

10. Mao Zedong

    

    The Republic of China will never forget him – and neither will you. Look at that soft, adorable face! Look at his thirst for power! This buxom badass is not afraid to speak his mind – whether its defending his views against parents who think he shouldn’t follow his dreams or indiscriminately sentencing millions to death, Zedong wins us hook, line and sinker. oh, and what about “Zedong”, you ask? Well, let’s just say it’s Mao-ssive.

    
    
    

    All Pics: wikimedia commons. Ratings from wwwfollowland.com. Picture of Hitler from Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-S33882 / CC-BY-SA. Picture of Mao Zedong from Richard Fisher