Hail Haruki son

So today I am excited, yes because its Friday, but mostly because one of my current favourite uuthors has penned a new novel.

The first novel in five years by Japan's best known modern writer HarukiMurakami became a bestseller before it hit stores Friday and despite the factthe author has kept its plot a mystery.
When Murakami's "1Q84," which can be read as "1984" in Japanese, finallywent on sale, his legions of fanatical fans had already reserved tens ofthousands of copies of the two-volume novel, booksellers said.

Murakami, 60, a former Tokyo jazz bar owner who is often mentioned as aNobel literature prize contender, has struck a global chord with his sensitivetales on the absurdity and loneliness of modern life.
His novels, which have drawn an international cult following and beentranslated into three dozen languages, include the titles "Norwegian Wood,""Kafka on the Shore" and "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle."
Murakami, who rarely gives media interviews, has kept a tight veil over thenew novel and its plot, while his Japanese publisher has made littleeffort to promote the title.
"As far as I know, this is the first time that we have released a new novelwithout any pre-release marketing," said Akiko Saito, chief editor of theliterature section of Shinchosha Publishing Co.
"We are seeing a market impact much bigger than expected."
The publisher had quickly increased its first print run amid the surgingadvance orders and was now planning to print an initial 300,000 copies ofpart one and 280,000 copies of part two, she said.
Saito said the secrecy surrounding its release was meant to please fans.
"After we published 'Kafka,' many readers told us they wished they had readthe novel without any prior knowledge of what it was about," she said.
Kanae Miyazu, a Tokyo photographer and long-time Murakami fan, said sheimmediately bought both volumes on Friday.
"Even without knowing anything about the book, I decided to buy and read itanyway because I trust Mr. Murakami," she said. "Any book of his would befun."
The publishers said they did not know when the novel would be published inEnglish and other languages.

YAY!

Plonk and cheap hookers

Men who drink up to half a glass of wine a day may live five years longer than non-drinkers, said Colin Collard, chairman of direct wine marketer, Wine-of-the-Month Club.
Now here is a man who sings to the right tune, a man I would share my braai tongs with, hand him a spare key to my house, hell even share my lady companion with, whoa ok, maybe I am getting carried away.
Yes yes, it would be logical for a wine marketer to say drink more wine, but here is the genius of the man…
Collard, was referring to research published by the Journal of Epidemiology and
Community Health, which found that men who consumed light quantities of any type of alcohol daily gained two and a half years of life expectancy, with a lower risk of dying from coronary heart disease and other ailments associated with poor circulation.

"There is a lot of research pointing to the fact that a glass or two of wine a day is good for a person's health, and this research just adds to this standpoint," said Collard.
You tell them Colin, Col me old chum.
The man has scientific research to back up his claims. So using his method of calculation, the more I drink the younger I will get? No that’s not right, I just won’t age anymore? Well I made a good start watching the champions league final last night, so here is to everlasting life!
Does this study apply to woman? I wondered. Sexist man that Colin is, he makes no mention of whether his elixir to eternal life applies to the female species?
Oh well nevermind, pass the tongs my good man. Chin Chin and all that.

The study, conducted at the University of Wageningen in the Netherlands, studied the lifestyle and alcohol consumption of 1 373 men born between 1900 and 1920 whose health had been examined regularly between 1960 and 2000.
During this period, according to the research, 1 130 of the men died, more than half from heart disease - and the researchers compared the men's deaths to drinking habits.
"Interestingly," reported Collard, "men who drank only wine - up to about a half a bottle a day - lived around two and a half years longer than those who drank beer or spirits. Compared to teetotalers, they lived five years longer.
It's just nice to know that enjoying a glass or two of your favourite tipple can actually have a benefit," Collard said…
Ha ha that is absolutely priceless, I love you Colin, but why are you wearing my slippers?

Headline on Bloomberg television today: “The price of prostitution falls in Latvia today.” I am not kidding. Who would have thought, it’s not a cheap hooker, but a cheaper hooker?

In the News

A few headlines I saw today:

One-game ban for hair-pulling Ronaldo
Double World Cup winner Ronaldo has been hit with a one-match ban for pulling the hair of an opponent at the weekend. The 32-year-old Brazilian striker tugged the locks of Botafogo midfielder Fahel, who had been pulling at his shirt.

(Serves him right for having long hair in the first place. He can count himself lucky he wasn’t playing rugby)

Exodus Tyson, the four-year-old daughter of former heavyweight boxer iron Mike Tyson has died after accidentally strangling herself.
(Exodus? Oh the iron-y)

Rare white tiger kills New Zealand zoo keeper
A zookeeper was fatally mauled Wednesday by a rare white tiger at a New
Zealand wildlife park. The male keeper was killed by a royal white tiger while cleaning an enclosure at Zion Wildlife Gardens near the city of Whangarei in New Zealand's north.
Police did not name the keeper but he was reported to be South African Dalu
Mncube, who rescued a colleague from another attack earlier this year.

More irony - mauled to death by a rare animal, having earlier saved someone else from the feit that awaited you? Double irony for Dalu.

Facebook fugitive caught after 105 days
The long arm of the law Wednesday finally caught up with a New Zealand fugitive whose 105 days on the run inspired a Facebook fansite, a song and a line of tee shirts.
William Stewart was caught in a rural part of the Canterbury region, on the
South Island, after a farmer found the 47-year-old trying to steal one of his vehicles in the early hours of the morning.
Police quickly swooped on the area and captured Stewart, who was sporting long hair and a bushy beard after more than three months as an outlaw.

I would have gone with outlaw in the headline; one doesn’t get to use that term too often these days. But that’s just me.

Handbags, Gladrags and breasts

What on earth do woman put into their handbags? That is the question that has been jabbing me in the ribs all day today.
OK that makes me sound a little overcooked, but I ask because I have seen some particularly interesting stuff taken out lately. I attended a breakfast briefing this morning and noticed that the young lady sitting in front of me pulled out a note pad and red pen, while the key note speaker provided ammunition for a serious sleep session.
“Ah” I thought, “the man on the podium must have some pearls of wisdom to merit her note taking after all.”
However, dismay as the young lady began to flip through her pad revealing nothing more than a host of really childish sketches. I am not talking Pablo Picasso style drawings? Think drawings by four-year-old kids on the fridge. This young lady will not be cutting her ear off any time soon. The drawings in a word were terrible.
It reminded me of a time when I was still studying at university. A friend and I attended an English lecture one afternoon. As I sat and listened to the lecturer drone on, I noticed that something had caught Greg’s attention to his left, with me sitting on his right. Suddenly he started to rummage through a handbag that had been placed on the chair to his left. Lipstick? check, eyeliner? check, fake boobs? What? Greg suddenly brought out a set of fake breasts – similar to those Roman Armour Breast Plate things one gets from a costume shop, but female style breasts.
Greg had a very inquisitive look on his face as he nudged me in the ribs to share his discovery, holding them up high for everyone to see. I nudged him back and told him to put it back, but Greg didn’t seem to understand that going through a woman’s bag is a no no in any language.

Before he could mutter another word, a the girl ripped the fake breasts away from Greg, gave him all kinds of dirty looks and placed the rubber mould back into her bag.
By this time, Greg’s discovery had created quite a stir from our immediate classmates and the whole incident erupted in to raucous laughter, much to the poor girls embarrassment.Anyway that’s all I have to say about that, but perhaps any female readers might like to enlighten me further on my question at the top of the page. What do women put into their bags?

Frikkie waar die donner is my car?

So I had a fantastic weekend, for many reasons. Well there was one obvious one.
A fraction of my weekend, however, was spent on planet What the Fu*k. I say a fraction because that’s particular planet was pretty surreal and my mouth would have had me in a world of sh$t had I actually said the words…What the Fu&k?

On this particular planet, there aren’t too many places where one can go out and have a few drinks. In fact as far as I could determine, and believe me I tried, there is only one such place.
All the people who live on this planet are obese, and they wear the same uniform (Jean pant and a Blue Bull rugby jersey, yes the women too). These people also drink as though the planet was just about to spin off its axis – not too dissimilar to their dance routine actually.
Case in point: We arrived at the modest venue, to find an elderly man walking aimlessly around the car park muttering all kinds of profanities under his breath.

I was pretty sure I knew what the matter was - He was having a “Dude where’s my car moment!” Despite that I thought I would do the neighbourly thing and enquire after his well-being.
“What is the matter?” I offered. “You will never believe this,” he said stammering, “I have lost my car. In all my years this has never happened to me before and I am rather embarrassed,” he said in a very convincing fashion.
“No need to apologise,” I said, shacking my head sympathetically.

This man was clearly in no state to drive considering he could not even find his car in the first place. I therefore offered to take him home, adding that he should rather think about looking for his car in the morning with a porridge head, rather than the Klippies head he clearly had at that moment.
The elderly man thanked me for my concern and offerings, but politely refused (He actually had impeccable manners for a man in his state, even complimenting my lady friend.)
To cut this particular story short, we helped the man find his single cab Toyota bakkie and went to the entrance of what was now beginning to look like a rather ropey looking establishment.
Before we could enter however, we were made to pay an entrance fee of R10, which also entitled us to a free shot of Apple Sours. Brilliant, I thought, this place got off to a rough start, but things were beginning to look up.

That thought quickly imploded as we turned the corner and saw the venue in all its glory. Couples, who could barely lock their arms together, were entwined and moving to an Enrique Iglesias song resembling a tea-cup fairground ride simulator.
We managed to dodge our way through to the bar and ordered our drinks and free shooters, even though every bone in my body was screaming: “Make a run for your spaceship, you are not going to survive this planet.”

We then moved to the outside area and found a table to take-in a few minutes of every-eve life on Planet what the Fu%k?
It wasn’t long before my eyes happened upon a very curious incident. I watched in horror as a man dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt flung himself into the swimming pool that was to the side of where we were sitting.
He then got out of the pool and starting cursing as he made his way towards us. This time it was my lady friend who did the neighbourly thing, as the soaked gentleman approached us.
“What is the matter,” she said in a very concerned voice.”
“Oh nothing,” he said explaining only that he was going to kill his ‘buddies’ for throwing him into the pool.
Er ok, I thought feeling rather sorry for this poor guy, who clearly had no friends and was perhaps looking for a way to strike up a conversation ha ha.
But my pity soon turned to confusion when he began to dig out his wallet; car keys and mobile phone from his jean pant pockets.It was at that stage that I asked my lady friend in a frantic voice whether we had remembered to turn off the stove at home, grabbing her arm and making a dash for it at the same time.

Joke of the day:

A man walks out of a bar, stumbling back and forth with a key in his hand. A cop on the beat sees him, and approaches, “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yesssh! Sssshomebody ssshtole my car!” the man replies.
The cop asks, “Where was your car the last time you saw it?”
“It wasssh at the end of thisssh key!” the man replies, logically, if a bit too literally.
About this time the cop looks down to see that the man’s member is being exhibited for all the world to see. He asks the man, “Sir, are you aware that you are exposing yourself?”
The man looks down woefully and without missing a beat moans, “Ohhh God... they got my girlfriend too!!!”

Duck - the bouncer

Today is a very good day for confession.

So Shoaib Akhtar walks into a Catholic church looking for a place to confess his sins. Looking rather lost, he scratches his head, and his nether regions, at the same time. Seeing the door open, Shoaib steps into the chamber and takes a seat.

“Bless me father for I have sinned, its been many years since my last confession…”

“Wait, stop right there,” the Priest interjects. “Shoaib is that you? Get out of my Church immediately. I don’t want my little choirboys getting what you have. And you have no business here being a Muslim. When the Bible says God welcomes all who are undeserving to come into his banqueting hall, well it wasn’t talking to you, so f&ck off out my church.”

For anyone who doesn’t know who Shoaib Akhtar is, he is a Pakistani cricketer and one time fastest bowler in the world extraordinaire, who has recently been caught with his pants down. He has been withdrawn from Pakistan's squad for the World Twenty20 because of a genital infection.

The fast bowler was due to join the 15-man squad for a six-day training camp last week, but was advised to rest.

"We have pulled him out of the World Twenty20 on the basis of a medical report," said a spokesman for the Pakistan Cricket Board (PCB). Ha ha, they could have stopped there, but no…they had to say more…

The PCB statement continued: "The medical board has reported that Shoaib Akhtar was suffering from genital viral warts and the wound needs further care and treatment for another 10 days." Wow! Time for the "Rawalpindi Express" to think about becoming the first Pakistani to get a face transplant, but first things first, antibiotics are needed.

"What you doing Shoaib? looks like you are scratching your balls again?"
"No I am shining the ball, to make it swing..."

And in the UK, the PM expenses row has begun to see some really strange, and very honest revelations. A British opposition lawmaker is to quit after claiming £1 600 for a "duck island".

Conservative MP Sir Peter Viggers bought the wooden structure for the pond at his home in Hampshire, southern England. He has been made to resign with immediate effect, so that he can spend more time waiting for his bread to get stale to feed his ducks. It follows earlier allegations of ‘moat cleaning’…

The Daily Telegraph reported that Mr Hogg had been paid more than £20,000 a year between 2004 and 2008 in second home allowances. Among the costs itemised were £2,115 for having a moat cleared, £646.25 for "general repairs, stable etc" and £40 for piano tuning, the paper said.

But in a statement, Mr Hogg said: "It is clear that the system is flawed and that we as parliamentarians have a responsibility for this; we got it wrong and we need to apologise for that, I do apologise for it." Whether he used govt money to clean his moat or not, the man owns a moat… and piano tuning? What planet do these people live on? Mr Hogg simply cannot be in touch with the working class citizen in the UK.

So in the spirit of confession, I admit today that I like snow globe shakers and going into pet shops and tapping on the glass of the fish tanks, waiting for the fish to react…

Joke of the day:
I was walking down the road when I saw an Afghan bloke standing on afifth floor balcony shaking a carpet.I shouted up to him, "What's up Abdul, won't it start?"

Inflatable demands

Ok so Jacob Zuma and his new government have sat back and watched the spat between opposition leader Helen Zilly and The ANC Youth League with very little comment. In fact Zoom Zoom has been pretty quiet all-round. Perhaps he is nursing a hangover following a R2.5 million ‘Mother of all parties” upon his election to the presidency.

In the meantime life in South Africa goes on, pot-hole ridden roads means cars continue to get bigger and more expensive so as not to be swallowed up, taxies run amok, bus drivers in Gauteng enter a fourth week of wage protest, meaning no public transport in the city, coal and other mineral workers strike, Eskom pushes for a 34% increase in electricity tariffs, the Gauteng mayor extends his budget to squeeze home owners further, and jobs continue to fall through the very big cracks in the floor, etc etc etc.

I think the problem with having the same party elected to govern for a fourth consecutive term is that it breeds complacency and corruption and general ineptness. Yes yes tut tut this is all old news and talk of the ANC just puts me in a bad mood.

The thing is I can’t help it; I have a stake in the future of my beautiful country. I have a voice, so why not use it. I have been most annoyed that we have not heard a single word from government regarding new policies, while Obama runs wild sprinkling magic dust everywhere he goes, and with funds that come out of his royal arse…where exactly is the US government getting all this ‘cash’ to blow on bank bail-outs and the like when the national debt of the star spangled banner would buy a new S500 Mercedes Benz (R1.1M) for every ANC member and his/her kids. That represents a figure of a trillion million gazzilion (is that a word?) dollars, roughly. I think I read that they even owe Guinea money.
I believe Mugabe in Zimbabwe had a lovely little phrase for the amount of money he printed as he watched his economy slip through his disease stained hands – Quantitative easing – see how it just rolls off the tongue?

It seems crazy that Zoom Zoom has been happy to bask in his newfound Messiah like status, but has not really looked to show us his ‘good’ intentions and deliver on his pre-election promises – nada.

And while the president keeps schtum with his crooked government waiting on his next command, or are they too busy with their private dealings? I am going to steel a march and propose a raft of new acts to liberate this country, much like Obama is doing across the ocean sea so blue.

First on my list, I would like to propose a three-day weekend. I am yet to meet someone who would appose such a lobby? Pay would remain the same, except that Monday would become the new Sunday. I hate Mondays, which would probably mean that I would learn to hate Tuesday’s if that proposal were to become law.
Right so now that I have at least three quarters of the population behind me, barring those blood sucking capitalists and entrepreneurs who drive their employees into the ground in order to become richer capitalists, what else would I propose…

Well definitely a one-man one-woman marriage rule, only one spouse at a time please…sorry Zoom Zoom that means you are out of here.

One needs a campaign slogan if you are to get anywhere in life is my motto - ‘A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage’ – said former US president Herbert Hoover, in his campaign slogan in 1928.
So in the spirit of my demands, how about: ‘A blow up doll in every bed and, lie in every Monday’?

Watch this space for further demands…and if none of these demands are met, I am going to propose wildcat strikes! Now there is a phrase that packs a punch.

With that my joke of the day:

When I got divorced, my wife said she would fight for custody of the kids.

Took her out with one punch.

My potty mouth

A friend asked me recently, after my first day at a new company, if I had learnt the names of at least five people and if I knew where the toilets were?
Well it is was a no to the first part, but yes, much to my disdain, to the second part.
You see, having your desk in a position that is convenient for your web surfing habits is pretty much first prize when you start work in a new environment. Unfortunately, I didn’t even get onto the podium when it came to desk positioning - safe to say, I am the equivalent of the Force India team in Formula One - last on the grid, and lucky to finish the race.
I am the only person in the entire open plan office who has his screen facing the door, to which I have my back. On the plus side, it means that I can work harder for my boss ha ha, f&ck off, but on the downside, well that needs no further explanation.
Yes, super happy, friendly, smiley colleagues are important, and I am fortunate those people who work around me are really nice however, more importantly for me, second prize if you like, is a nice ablution.
There is nothing worse than messy toilets, with untrained toilet users at your place of work, think Trainspotting and the infamous ‘Worst toilet in Scotland’ if you aren’t on the same page yet. Annoying people you can just ignore, but a shitty toilet, well you have to wipe it up, or wait till home time.
The toilet seats in my place of work are wonky and don’t fit on the bowl nicely, which means that the bowl is often, well smeared with last nights Korma, from that obese middle aged person who you never see in the office, but always hear on the toilet. The person whose only exercise comes when he suddenly needs to run to the toilet to shake off last nights TV dinner, the person who has their top button undone and their tie half way down their shirt because their neck is too fat, the person who sweats even in winter because their diet consists of three different types of take-away every day, the person who comes back late from lunch because they just couldn’t finish eating in time, the person who makes indescribable sounds with their arse and then breathes a heavy sigh of relief when the job is done, that person, and that’s just the ladies bathroom haha.
Anyway hats off to the cleaning lady, because thanks to her mid morning routine, the bathrooms are generally spotless by the time I have a need to enter, long after big Al has made his rounds.
On the flip side, I really like it when public establishments take pride in decking out their water closets. – Notice how that sounds so much more sanitary already. I have seen some amazing WC’s in my time and perhaps none better than The Mayfair bar and a few others in that area in London.On a local front, a club in Fourways that I recently visited had a really funky set up. Walking into the gents, one immediately noticed that when standing over the urinals you get to look into a fantastic fish tank, filled with beautiful fish and those things that are generally found in the ocean, and on the other side, is the ladies bathroom. Sorry for those guys who get stage fright then, and also those vein guys who spend hours in front of the mirror doing their hair – the ladies are privy to all of that unnatural behaviour, and visa versa. Its all very amusing to see how people behave out side of their comfort zones, especially after a few tequilas - so well done to the owner.

Joke of the Day: I was walking in a cemetery this morning and seen a bloke hidingbehind a gravestone. I said "morning."He replied, "No, just having a sh!t."

Sporting moods

I had had one of those ‘Monday blues’ days yesterday, which is a rarity for me.
Why Gareth? Shame, poor chap – I can hear you all say, or is it just one person with a Canyon like echo I can hear? Thanks Zoe, er Zoe are you listening?
Was I slipped a Rohypnol (roofie), at my local on the weekend and taken to the Blue Oyster Bar by several YMCA song loving, Stetson wearing homosexuals? Well I hope not - I can’t really remember!

Actually, it’s far more dramatic than that. My beloved Sharks rugby franchise lost a close encounter to the Blue Bulls team from up north. The loss meant that after a great start to the Super 14 competition, the Sharks failed to qualify for the play-offs. Hats off to the Bulls though for topping the table, meaning a home-semi and possibly a home final.

Doubling up my misery was the fact that Liverpool couldn’t prevent United from a record equalling 18th championship title. I couldn’t even bare to watch the trophy presentation at Old Trafford, sorry Man U – poor sportsmanship I know, but that’s the way it is with sport sometimes, it can just be too much to take – See Chelsea’s Drogba’s reactions after his side went out to a last minute goal from Barcelona in the semi final of the champions league recently, for a clue.

I also watched with interest Rodger Federer’s reaction after he beat Rafael Nadal on Clay in Nadal’s home country on the weekend.
Nadal has made a habit of beating Federer in recent times, to the point where it left the Swiss great in tears when he was beaten in the Australian Open at the beginning of the year. I mean Federer cried like a baby, blubbing away while Nadal had to apologise for beating ‘a great champion’ - How rude is that. The best player in the world having to apologise to the former best in the world for beating him, so as not to hurt his feelings, and generally to get him to stop crying.

Anyway Rodger, being the ‘great champion' that he is, took his latest victory in his stride, showing the strut he had given the world for so many years, with his chest all puffed out, yet very little facial give-away, well except for a self pontificating smirk – Good on you Rog, I was so glad to see you win, as I could not have taken more tears from you.

So I look forward to the rest of the week, hopefully with very little sporting action. That is until the weekend again, where I will look forward to Grand Prix racing at its best in Monaco. What a great season it has been so far for a sport which has its fair share of high profile petulance between drivers.

Not even half way into the season and we have already seen reigning champ Lewis Hamilton lose all credibility after being found a cheat, along with his Mclaren team.

Meanwhile things are hotting up at the new kids on the block, British team Brawn Racing where there is a wrangle between the two drivers Jenson Button (British) and Brazilian Rubens Barrichello. The source of Barrichello's displeasure revolved around the team's race strategy. Both Brawn drivers initially started off with the intention of stopping three times, but after a dramatic opening corner, in which Barrichello leapt from third to first, Button was switched to a two-stop strategy and ended up cruising home by 13 seconds.
If I get the slightest sniff that they are favouring Jenson I'll hang up my helmet tomorrow," said the clearly frustrated Brazilian.

And while I might be displeased by my Sharks team performance last weekend, I will indeed be watching and supporting the Bulls…well not too closely, as I have a naughty weekend away planned….good timing then really –what is the saying – ‘you win some you lose some’.

Its not just zilly but serious too

I watched in absolute hysterics the other day how the ANC Youth League and Helen Zille went at each other like to er, straw-weight boxers (we all know who the heavyweights are in this country – in this corner weighing in at 250 pounds Jacob ANC – Boom Boom Zuma).
Well it was funny until the Youth League went a little far…some of their comments were just absurd….
The ANC Youth League accused her of sleeping with members of her all-male cabinet.
In a statement issued on Tuesday the league said: "Zille has appointed an all-male cabinet of useless people, majority of whom are her boyfriends and concubines so that she can continue to sleep around with them, yet she claims to have the moral authority to question our president."
The statement was responding to a personal attack made against Jacob
Zuma by Zille when she was challenged over appointing an all-male and mostly white cabinet in the Western Cape. The league said it was "disgusted by remarks attributed to the racist girl Helen Zille, who when failing to defend her stupid and sexist decision to appoint predominantly white males into her cabinet, attacks the president of the Republic of South Africa".
She was quoted as saying: "Zuma is a self-confessed womaniser with deeply sexist views, who put all his wives at risk by having unprotected sex with an HIV-positive woman."
The league went on to say: "The fake racist girl who was dropped on a head as child should understand that South Africa will never be a Mickey- Mouse republic like she wants to portray it."
The last comment hits the nail on the head….

Can you imagine, Gordon ‘Broon’ calling David Cameron a homo, or the opposition party Obama calling him a cotton picker…does Obama even have opposition or have they all just given up to the new messiah?

The very childish remarks do nothing to foster a government that should be taken seriously, both nationally, and internationally. The outside world must just shake their heads when reading this balderdash, whiel the media has gone to town over the past week, treating this matter like a joke. The truth is, it isn’t a joke, the comments were slanderous, and the world will continue to see us as mediocre, with lots of potential to extort, not to mention what the everyday citizen must think. Its up to the new government to set an example for all to follow….

Of course the grown up ANC, not the little ones, moved to distance itself from the carnage and general mudslinging – Uh uh - aikona zoom zoom. Unfortunately, your baby youth league is part of the ANC establishment, the movement, they need no prompting regards how militant they are and how they were part of the struggle. So as unfortunate as it is, you cannot distance yourself from a group that is intrinsically a part of you, its like cutting off your arm when it pinches something at the shops.
Joke of the day….see above…enough said.