ce through a straw. but every now and then a residue of steak breaks through the firewall and so spawns my taste for the eventful.this is a story, a true story about a pair of boots, a pair of timberland boots.
i bought a pair of timberlands-sawft and leathery to the touch, cheese griller rugged underneath and with a shiny orange dot emblazoned with a tree. these skones would work harry potter magic throu
gh the snowy climes of finland, to the harshest of russian landscapes. i was now to test them under super extreme conditions in the dry rockyness of africa, rahh.dring dring the blinger did ring.jingles was on the otherside inviting me to t
he drakensburg. friday rolled through and i cut the day in half.we rode in one car- jingles, tijen and me, i felt good about it. 'al gore, let's talk carbon credits?'
the hilly hills of the drakies enveloped us with its open arms.
i unravelled my smurf pj's, shoved my chimpmunk cheeks full of marshmellows, warmed me gulliver at the open fire and viewed the Texas Chain Saw Massacre, all this in our thatched bungalow. i wanted to draw straws but they were too high.
the sun arose as an egg yolk and i saw Leatherface in my spilled milk.
it was hike time, and
my boots new it.their rubbery soles grasped on every surface making a leach to a blood clot look like a pimpled, bespectacled harry potter sucking his forearm for kissing practice. these leather-upper skinned boots were amphibious cutting Thorpedo-style through lakes and streams up rocks and past savanna, it was dry but i couldn't smoke it. the crags,they were sharp, they were splintered-i was wearing run-flats. they knew my every move, they had int
el inside.the icey wind turned my Aero chocolate cold and me into a milky skinned, red cheeked pommy. but thank goodness, my toes were safe from frosts bite.the grunt of the man-eating baboons did little to scare my boots for they, like the goddess of speed, are nimble. those apes weren't gonna get my pastrami sarmy
hiking for 8 hours, dehydration is as common as 10 dollar monopoly money.a human
in need of a kidney would do well to retrieve mine after i flushed those pie-fillers with 3 litres of H2O, some from the taps others from the sweet streams we waded through.i could not have asked any more of my kickers.
on that rocky mountain i was introduced to a black cat peanut butter bar- peanut butter should only be found on toast. there at the top of the world with my heart clinging to my rib cage I found myself nibbling a peanut butter bar at 600 feet above sea level with the ever chirpy kev. Clearing my sticky palate, looking back at the footpath we'd carved, thinking 'gees i wish i was watching currie cup rugby now, oh wait, not really.'
but then we reached 900 feet, my lungs heaved under the strain of thin, fresh oxygen and fear kicked in. Me and my flashy kickers stared de
ath, that's D.E.A.T.H, in the eye. and then death, or was it heights, ate me like a jelly donut, leaving the centre for last. it was time. the front of the mountain saw the back of me. i skidded down, my pants soiled.'i came here to conquer you, but you drop kicked me like Naas Botha's boot to a pap rugby ball.'
this pair of boots trekked the second highest peak, but they didnt give a sh*t for being second best, the prom queen was still mine.
wow i left the drakkies feeling groovy and high on my own supply.
that experience and the landscape have clung onto me like a fat kids jam smeared fingers.
ey all my friends-androids an imagined
be cool, stay cool and keep reading cos watching telly'll turn your eyes square.
the dan, russian bear hunter master swordsman and the carbonated water in a fizzy drink.
