Ladies, you had your chance...

Big hair, big heels, big jackets. Colosally lumo colours, with big belt buckles and big slogans splashed across everything. Big dreams, big attitude and big scrunchy elastics to give you big, vertical, off-centre ponytails so you look like your head was exploding.

But those are the fashions, and you have to follow them – ’specially if you're a teenager.

If you're a girl you’ll have been crimping your hair with crimping irons before squeezing it into your vertical pony.

You, with your blue and pink eye-shadow, glossy pink lipstick and your fake Madonna beauty mole. I saw you at the open party.

I asked you to dance to Take on Me by A-ha, but you turned me down because I was wearing pin-striped Instinct drawstring slacks.

And everyone knows cobalt blue is the coolest colour.

But who cares about that whole plastic nightclub music scene anyway? Androgynous overly made-up stars with false eyebrows that point up at the ends? Boy George and Culture Club and Queen and New Romantic ponces with platinum blonde hair and kuifs the size of lounge curtains hanging in their eyes.

Bollocks to that.

Although I did check you at the Petit Cheval concert, that time they played support for eVoid. You were looking fine in your plastic belt, neon pink leg-warmers and your lumo-green Frankie Says Relax top.

Mainly I'm a beach cat, chilling on the sand with my 5’11" Levin twin-fin with channels and a box for optional tri-fin conversion.

No, I got it together. Bit of a kuif going on, sure, but more like the dudes from Depeche Mode than ABC.

But with my lumo-green zinc sunblock and my reflective Style Eyes mirror sunglasses on, you just can’t resist me. Especially not when I’ve also got my Bear International muscle top on. Yeah, baby I’m just oozing sex appeal when I get that sucker out.

It makes a perfect ensemble with my pastel pink towelling walk shorts – the ones so short that my goolies hang out of them if I sit down.

Which is why I normally wear my bright orange knee-length Gotcha boardshorts when I’m surfing. I got the skills.

You checked me doing verts in the bowl, I know you did. Lank kief verts, and layback tube-rides, and bunny-hop aerials, ja, I know you been watching me.

I checked you there on the pier with your Ray-Bans on, with your boob tube and your tight stone-washed jean. Looking so fine. Although, so did your mate with the layered hair like Charlie's Angels, in her super-tight pink mini skirt and the torn purple pantihose. Those hoop earrings were sharp.

I think I sharp your mate just as much as you. Why don’t you both come visit some time?

We can go shopping – I need some checked trouser braces and a rhinestone Michael Jackson glove to go with my High Chapparel cowboy hat.

We can also pick up some stickers from the surf shop. Surf Rats ones, and maybe a Country Feeling Surf Africa T-shirt and a pair of Ugg boots to go with my Rip Curl tracksuit pants.

If you’re not into that we can just chill at my place and do the Rubik's cube, or watch the A-Team.

Unless you girls aren’t into boys stuff and just wanna stay home with your Hello Kitty collections and your Cabbage Patch dolls. But whatever, I’m cool with that.

I know how you eighties girls think about boys. "If they don’t give me proper credit, I just walk away-ay," like Madonna said. Respect.

We can get to know each other better when we’re all grown up. In the 90s some time.

Till then, I got my double-wing twin-fin to keep me busy, with its fluoro green leash and lumo yellow lemon-scented Sex Wax. Yeah that baby keeps me entertained.

And when I’m over that, there’s always my dad’s Scope collection, my Atari TV games and my Juluka LPs.

But if you change your mind, give me a scotch call from the phone box or leave a message with my mom.

I’ll phone you back, or I’ll come visit, or we can go to Milky Lane.

Anyway, you’ve had your chance. If I don’t check you soon I’ll see you some time round the year 2000 and then you’ll be sorry.

You’ll realise you could’ve had a dude as cool as me back in the eighties, but you missed out. I can see you kicking yourself from here.

Sexy star of the internet Shay Maria

Class war, same as before

It's class war, same as before. The neoliberal consensus insists it doesn't exist, but I don't think so. And don't forget, the poorer I get the more socialist I get, so I'm not decided yet. And I like SuperSport too much to give up the crutch of privilege and entitlement that keeps me up above the people who talk to each other.

The people not anaesthetized by J.Lo cameltoe and how fat she look now she pregnant and did she use a surrogate and I'm talkin' shit but you know who I meant... And if there's anyone who doesn't maybe they weren't educated and trained for 20 years of their days to consider considerations of celebrity vacations and glam swag Facebook statuses and who Heyneke Meyer got at eight for Four Nations.

They put us to bed. Got us sleeping through double history. I'm rocking these cool sneakers coz I saw them in a magazine and I like to read magazines coz I see them on TV and I like to watch TV coz I saw it on the internet and I like to surf the internet coz I saw it on the internet and I like to surf the internet coz I saw it on the internet and I like to surf the internet coz I saw it on the internet...

They put us to bed, man! Fashion, sport, news, celebrity, all that stuff on DStv... It's like a lullabye. Like a ritalin remedy for your critical faculties. Entertainment, action... It's all just a distraction. From reality. To put us to sleep!

They got us sleeping through history. But Govan Mbeki said that history's on the side of the people. Now we just gotta decide... Is that us?

Coz it's class war. Same as before. The neoliberal consensus insists it doesn't exist. But I don't think so.

I believe I can fly!

Tibetan Sky Burial

Tibetan sky burial is a practice whereby the dead are left on a mountaintop for their body to be consumed by wild animals, especially predatory birds like vultures. 

The body is cut open in various places to aid consumption and as you can see from the images here, funeral attendants – either monks or bodybreakers named rogyapas return to cut up and crush the body parts further in the course of the ceremony. 

The ceremony dates back to the 12th century and is practical in the Himalayas where fuel is scarce and the soil is only centimetres deep. This makes both burial and cremation less feasible. Buddhist principles hold that life is impermanent, and that once the spirit has departed the body, the corpse holds no special significance.

How to take a selfie!

"A picture is worth a thousand hashtags, so be sure to use a thousand hashtags"

Here's some bro tips on how to take the ultimate selfie after a gym sesh, when you're still swole, during the anabolic window. Then, how to optimise it so you become the king of instagram.

Proper hilarious! We're betting all the video cuts were from breaking character and bursting out laughing!

Jackass Presents: Bad Grandpa

This features a style not unlike that favoured by South African icon Leon Schuster. It's scripted comedic fiction mixed with real-people stunts and pranks. Good ones, though.

We had our hands over our face, peering through our fingers, concomitantly pissing ourselves and shocked at what we were seeing. 

The movie is directed by Jeff Tremaine and written by him and fellow Jackass stalwart Johnny Knoxville. Knoxville also stars as 86-year-old Irving Zisman, on a road trip with his eight-year-old grandson Billy.

It's depraved, shocking and incorrigable. It encourages child stripping and interfering with corpses. It will be awesome and we can't wait to see it.