Sunday, May 24, 2009

Ubuntu the Coke

Ubuntu: [ubu ntu] n. S African. humanity or fellow feeling; kindness. Trans: 'I am what I am because of who we all are'

Xmas comin' up & friday was the annual expat xmas-party - cuz we all goin' home for them holy-days now. Himself, the local APESKALIKKEDREPEAPE-crew, Grasshopper, Skywalker and a few others took it upon ourselves to get pleasantly fucked up on some prime hasjishj, some robust & dark classic xmas-brews, hungarian white wine and polish vvodka.

The event was held at Skywalkers place, down by the sea. A modern minimalistic appartment with a built-inn fireplace where previous generations would have their telly. Fake black leather furniture maintaining some resemblance of class without the stench of death filling rooms with real leather, and a kitchen island serving as a bar. The DJ played some real funky mashup of eastern european folk, raggalike reagge, gipsytunes, kletzmer and rap to proud&fierce to even touch the english language.

At six in the morning we had to leave because of sloppy planning (meaning no more alcohol). I was'nt sleepy tho, and walked down to the old graveyard by the ocean. The air was crisp and clean, the snow was white and pure, and the moon beeing full and 50 000 kilometers closer than usual did its thing with my already hazed mind. Inspired, perhaps, by Mr. Hanssens 'Im not a playa, Im a ganja-prophet', I prayed and paid my respects to the old ones before moving on.

Downtown I dropped by 7-11 for some mixers: coke and highland-tobacco. Now, remember kids! Tobacco is evil; and presented with a choise you should always use weak grass to fuel your hasjishj-joints. Coca-Cola is even eviler; we are all prisonerhere - but coke-workers on the plantations can oft not even choose their handlers - and beeing unfree is not academic or philosophical: It is as real as beeing Bulgarian prostitute in London.

But, beeing a pragmatic man with a quite flexible set of ethics... I buy this shit on a regular basis with no more than a sligthly painfull and sickly sweet sting to my pride and soul.  By the sodapop-cooler inside 7-11 I reach for my coke, and because of beeing fucketh up my hand comes back with a bottle of UBUNTU COLA. I am a great beliver in fate, in the-first-thing-you-think-of-is-usually-rigth, and if my hand brings me Ubuntu Cola when I wanted Coca-Cola I trust my hand to do the rigth thing. It usually does.

Beeing a man of a sceptical disposition I do purchase my old brand (I have tried many colas and most of them are crap); I purchase the evil brand, that poisonus hardcore shit that take some of the sting out of any fucking withdrawal, that nasty-nasty Coca-Cola. So, with an ubuntu, a coke and sigarettes I go up to the glasscovered main street to enjoï and watch the stragglers. One guy in his early 20s is half asleep on a bench and two dopeslingers - an african guy and a türk -'s playing socker. I sit down on a nearby bench, ligth my joint and watch the friendly game. 

The vibe is good; I don't know why, cuz usually this time of year with all the amateur-drinking and the fool-moon: aggression, violence and bad vibes' the name of the game. I pop my ubuntu and take a zip and I dont trust my own tounge (even tho I know it to be trustworthy...) its to damn good and suspecting the perfection to be a byproduct of my enhanced state of mind I pop the coke for comparison. It tastes like something dirty and vile compared to the ubuntu.

I still don't trust my tounge. I finish my drink and joint, and go back to 7-11 and buy one more of each. I take an iranyan pirate home to my own place, put the cokes in the frigde and go to bed. When I wake up in the afternoon the next day I do the sober-test; and belive me cousins: Ubuntu is the shizzle.

- Mr. BIllkowfskij (søn, desember 14, 2008 16:24:05)

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