Another Norfff post, another opportunity for people to get mad at me. I love it. If you haven’t read last week’s Norfff post, I suggest you have a look and get yourself informed. After last week Wednesday, I was asked to include more things into my list of things that the Norfff does differently to the rest of the world. It now includes Braai-ing, girls, house parties and the Blou Bulle.

So I will try to give you more information of this species that’s been hidden to the world, namely the Norfff-er.

Braai:

Oh how we love to Braai. If we could braai while driving, we would’ve done it long time ago; Datsun’s leak break fluid which is highly flammable… Blitz sorted. If there was a subject in school called Braai-ology, it would’ve had more kids in attendance than assembly on Monday mornings. Men in the Norfff were born with a ‘braaitang’ in the left hand, salt & pepper in the right, and a freshly opened Zamalek in a Blou Bul beer holder given by our dad. We live, eat and breathe braai; we can not party without throwing a choppie on the fire. But we usually get too drunk on our Zamalek and Brannas, before eating even a single piece of meat. A very important thing to remember, is that a braai needs to be close to a TV when there’s a game on! We will braai in our living rooms if the game calls for it; fuck smoke in your face, that’s what the brown aviators are for. So, now you know that we love to Braai, and if you don’t teach your kid’s to braai from the ripe young age of two, it will be frowned upon…severely.

Girls:

Girls, chikas, cherries, bokkies, dames, oogappels, Anna’s, gooses, vry-materiaal and tent-opslaaners are all words that you’ll hear on a daily basis in the Norfff. But beware, these girls are sometimes tougher than Bakkies Botha. Some of them will punch you in the throat and steal your biltong when the time is right. They are not to be trifled with! You get three different classes though; first of these can be identified by their attire, which usually includes a worn out XXXL shirt which they got from the local Engen pump attendant, when he slept over with hands above the blankets, and a pair of pants that can also be used as a sail on Hartebeespoort Dam. The color of their hair can really not be seen without the old wet towel that usually accompanies the hair… that or hair curlers. They love their Lizzard O2’s, and the first Sketcher that was made by man. The second class: they were born with an attitude that they’re the sexiest being walking on planet earth; they will wear a mini skirt even if it’s snowing outside – or if they’re going to Caveman’s. They love their cleavage (even more than the men staring at it). They will flaunt those boobies at anyone (PS every day is Cleavage day for these ladies), and they will pounce on any available guy if he has money. They will change their name and friends if they have to, just to keep him happy. The third and final class: they are the lucky one’s who haven’t been possessed by the zeffy power of the Norfff; they are considered normal. Look out for them, they are scarce, so if you find one, keep her close.

Blou Bulle:

Jirre we Norfff-ers love Die Blou Bulle; especially when they win. We will always boast about them when talking to the other team’s supporters, and how they are setting the pace in the world of ruggas. If they loose though, it’s the ref’s fault… ALWAYS! The other team has paid the ref if they win; it’s a given. How dare any other team be better than Die Blou Bulle! When we go to that sacred fortress of happiness and beer bellies hanging out underneath t-shirts, we wear our horns. Fuck, we love those blue horns and our Blou Bul shirts with our name engraved on the back. We are one with our team, and have shirt for each day of the week. If you can get extra large gold nose rings, all the better! We want to look like Xerxes in 300, expect he’s a doos because he wasn’t a Blou Bul!

Blou Bul

House Parties:

House Parties in the Norfff = zamalek, sours, fights, spinning rubber, remixed remixes of Rave Tunes, Braai, ‘help my sterk lyk hempies’ and Spice Girl Bronx. That’s what you’ll find at a typical Norff House party. Parties are usually held near a swimming pool or dam – we believe that everyone wants to swim, especially class two girls. We believe in it so much, that we tell everyone a week in advance what you’ll be doing; ‘Fokit bra, ek gaan so hard vir Lettie stamp in die swembad, sy gaan nie weet of sy moet rug of vlinder slag moet doen as ek klaar is nie.’  I’ve heard that once, I wish I didn’t… Don’t expect Project X parties at all; we usually rename the party if it’s our Birthday to the first letter of our name. And remember if you go to a Norfff party, you are bound to see guys fighting and pushing up against each other; it may look like they’re comparing their moobies, but no. It’s a fight people, and the winner will be bragging about it for weeks. He may have lost 4 teeth, gotten a concussion, and has a Scar-like mark on his face, but fuck it, he won! Cherries like dit mos!

Much like our hopes of winning the Lotto – which we play every single week – the post has to end. I’ll be trying to do a few posts dissecting the Norfff and its residents each week to give all of you a glimpse into our brandy filled world.

– Ed