Funnies: An Open Letter to Sizwe Dhlomo

 Dear Sizwe Dhlomo,

Sizwe, oh, Sizwe! Where for art thou, Sizwe?

 Oh wait! I know where you are. You are on the telly, on the radio and on my twitter timeline. You are at the club on the decks, but where you are most is on my mind. Yes, you are undoubtedly my celebrity crush of 2011 and there is just nothing I love more than to harrass you on twitter, hoping for a response which I never get. As a matter of fact, harrassing you has become a part of my lifestyle that I think I am addicted to it. Curse my addictive personality. Curse it!

Michael Ealy

I have tried to replace you with other deliciously, hot men such as Michael Ealy and Chad Ochocinco, but it was useless! It didn't work. It would seem that you reign. You have filled very high shoes, because before you, Leonardo DiCaprio ruled supreme in my head. Time faded that crush, and when it was gone, I was left empty and wanting for someone to fill in the void, et voila, I discovered YOU one dark Friday night on telly early this year. I couldn't believe my luck! "A hottie! A hottie!" I exclaimed in relief, pleasure and excitement. From that day onward, you were mine, Sizwe! All mine!

Of course, there are things I am still trying to deal with, things I'm trying to wrap around my head about you, but fantasy love conquers all. You see, in my pretty head, you are not Zulu, because although I am Zulu too, the men of the Zulu tribe and I have not had a good history. Unfortunately, a few bad men made me afraid of all Zulu men, so in my head you are Tswana or something. Secondly, in my head, I don't keep hearing about how shallow you are. No! In my mind you are filled with depth, substance, humilty and spirit. Lastly, in my head, you are not gay, and this is not because you are gay in real life. I don't know and I don't care whether you are gay or not. They say that where there is smoke there is fire, but I am in fantasy love with you therefore all these "negatives" don't mean a thing. In my head you are straight and I am your kind of woman. Perfect!

Lately, I have been contemplating blackmailing you to have dinner with me. The problem is that I have no material to use against you, so that plan has been put on hold for now. I have also thought of being those weird girls that go to whatever club you are Dj-ing, but I can't handle clubs and I actually don't chase men, so that's out the window. But I think I have found the best plan and it goes as follows:

I am thinking of stalking you (or to hire someone to stalk you on my behalf. A private detective, maybe). I would park outside your place of work, in a tinted car with binoculars and a packet of 'Sweet Thai Chilli' Lays, and tail you home when you leave work. Then  after tailing you, I would mark where you live. The second stage of the stalking would be to break into your place and instead of going through your dirty laundry and sniffing your undies, I would instead cook you a wonderful dinner, set the table with candle light and roses, and leave. Then I would park outside your window in the bushes, and watch you eat the food I've cooked as I eat a sandwich in the cold, fantasizing that I was eating with you inside the house. The thing is: stalking is high maintanace. It is risky for a 'living la vida loca kinda gal like me because... WHAT IF I MEET YOU! God, no! I don't want to meet you.

mama egg and papa jizzlet

Meeting you would be awful because I am sure that it would be a disappointment. If I meet you and I am not disappointed, it would mean that you are the perfect man and none of those exist. Basically, you're better in my head, and that is where you shall remain. God forbid, I meet you and you turn out to be exactly all the things I fear, i.e. a gay asshole with a small mind. You would be useless to me then because I already have a gay best friend, I already know plenty of assholes and small minded people, so... Then I would be forced to find another crush, and let me tell you, crush material is scarce these days. Trust me!

Anyway, let me close by saying this:

Sizwe, that scar on your face is fabulous! You can't dance for shit, but then neither can I. Your mama egg and your papa jizz equals DYNAMITE!! Sheeeet! Gotdam, your parents know how to make babies! Jurrrr! Thank God for the tv show LIVE for bringing you into my life and all the best for the future. And, if you marry someone, I better not pull a Khethiwe (ref. South African soap-opera called 'Generations') and cut her with a butter knife!

Yours Psycho-Biatchly,

Veronnica Wolpendz
Love Peace and Power!


Anonymous said…
i think Sizwa needs a body guard. I sense Stalknazm, stalker. *Justsayn* lol
Hahhaha! He needs two bodyguards, Jesus, Muhammad, and a restraining order against me coz I'm a crazy biatch. Lol.

But on a serious note, I write my blogs lately with the intention to make people laugh at the cost of my twisted thoughts. I don't take myself as seriously as people might think, and I would like my readers to know this through my quirky humor. It's all in jest.

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