North Korean border guards peed off about peace talks with the South

North Korean border guards, based in the demilitarised zone (DMZ) between the two Koreas are privately very upset about silencing of K-pop transmissions, emanating from the South. Li Mang Ze (real name withheld) complains: 'We loved the K-pop which pumped out every hour: it helped us get through the day and also fantasise about what life could be like in the night-clubs of Seoul.' The broadcasts have stopped in the interests of peace and harmony between the two Koreas, in advance of talks about to get under way. 'When you're spending your whole day, day after day, making sure your cannons are accurately trained at some specific point in central Seoul, about 50 km away, things get a little boring and the K-pop was a pleasant distraction, especially compared with the puke-worthy martial version of popular music mandated by Chairman Kim', avers Li. 'I bet he personally doesn't listen to any of the so-called inspiring songs he puts out to the people. He's probably tuned into live streaming audio of one of the Seoul pop stations, and jiving in the palace, or wherever he hangs out.' Li and his colleagues lament that they have to pay for this lovey-dovey peace initiative, which no one believes is actually going to lead anywhere. 'I mean what're we gonna do anyway if we stop aiming all our guns at Seoul?' Some enterprising entrepreneurs are making plans to turn the DMZ into a tourist museum where people can wander through the artillery batteries and look through telescopes to see how much of Seoul would have been obliterated in the blink of an eye, in some moment of madness. Muses Li, 'If that happens, I'm outta here...' In the meantime Li, who is also studying for a maths Masters in artillery trajectories, is hoping that any detente, even if only temporary, could lead to him and his mates being able to tune into South Korean soapies, or K-dramas 한국드라마 which are taking the world by storm.

Pool noodle saved from a fate worse than death but laments drought

Swimming pool noodle, also known as PVC Silon, was only too pleased to be rescued by a passing driver after falling out of the back of his previous owner's pick-up. Silon was betting he was headed nowhere but the dump, or even worse just crushed up in some sewer. Actually, where he is now is in this pool on the smart side of town, no less. Kidney-shaped pool.  Diving board. He laments: 'There are no kids sadly except at Christmas when these visitors come from Namibia to see their grandchild. Then  the cover comes off and the little guy just loves to float and splash around.' Actually a lot of the time he feels like Michael McIntyre's herbs in the pantry. And not the basil and thyme, either, or even the paprika... more like the dill or tarragon which barely get to see the light of day except when his mistress is trying to impress some high-ups. Silon has struck up a relationship of sorts with pool cleaner, Zodiac, whose vibrating hose every now and then gently collides with him. The hose throws up little waves which are like a kind of massage or rocking chair, helping to ease the blues away. There's also an ambivalent connection with the floating chlorine dispenser but they aren't close owing to the harsh aroma of the chlorine tabs. Since Silon has taken up residence things have changed quite a bit, mainly for the worse: the cover has altered things a lot. 'I remember the doves that pecked around the edge of the pool and the moonsets over the mountain. But that's all history now.' Silon knows that we all have our dreams and hasn't given up on his: to join his ilk in an indoor pool and help with the swim training for kids but in the meantime he consoles himself that at least he's not in the same dead-end as the poor discarded umbrella, cloth torn and lying flat around the side the house. Occasionally he spots the owners lifting a corner of the cover and having a quick wash to save water or to rinse a sports shirt. Silon wants the water restrictions to end just as much as anyone, although worries that pool covers are now a fashion feature, which will take years to fade. He is at pains to stress that rumours that the plastic he's made from contain hormone-disrupting chemicals called phthalates, which have also been linked to asthma, obesity, and lowered IQ in children are just that, rumours.

City transport overwhelmed by replacement, replacement bus and train services

The replacement bus service system for the route between Simonstown and Fish Hoek recently set off an unstoppable chain reaction with the advent of a replacement rail service to replace the replacement bus service. The problem started in mid-summer when strong south-easterly winds whipped up so much sand on to the rail track that all trains were cancelled. Instead, municipal buses were laid on to transport the numerous workers and tourists who ply the route. However, the bus service deteriorated when a number of buses were damaged by vandals or simply became unserviceable (u/s). The situation became so bad that the municipality was forced to accelerate plans to remove the sand from the tracks and institute a replacement rail service to replace the ailing replacement bus service. With the council having to devote resources to both repairing buses and keeping the track clear for the replacement rail service it did not take long for the replacement rail service to fall behind the demand from passengers. As white sand once again started to cover the tracks, the council requisitioned buses from other routes, mainly Mitchell's Plain, to set up a replacement, replacement bus service to cater to travellers who no longer had the option of the replacement rail service. In turn planners in Mitchell's Plain were forced to find replacements for the missing buses in their area. This merely accelerated the chain reaction throughout the Cape Town metropolitan area and it was only a matter of time before the replacement, replacement bus service in Simonstown once again needed replacement. The council realised that its only option was to clear the tracks again to get replacement, replacement trains running to back up the replacement, replacement buses. Confessed City transport manager Elwyn Phantom, 'We have a lot to learn about the most efficient ways to manage replacement services.' He declined to answer questions about replacement, replacement services. To glean more information about the problem, a team of transport specialists is visiting England this week to study the problems at Southern Rail, which has the worst track record of all the rail services in the country and has made widespread use of replacement and replacement, replacement bus and train services. The team got off to a bad start when the SAA flight to London was delayed because a replacement Airbus had to be brought in from Johannesburg because the original Airbus was u/s.

Manly man made miserable at birthday bash

Hod Mancunin of Manly Beach was devastated during his birthday celebrations this week when his friends and family segued into 'Why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all....?' Says Hod: 'Everything was going so well as they all sang Happy Birthday to me and ended with 3 hip-hoorays. It was just what I wanted to hear after a tough week. A warm glow was creeping over me and I felt such a surge of love and kinship with everyone.' Then came the refrain, asking about why he was born. Really?! To add insult to injury it carried on with 'He's no bloody use to anyone, he's no bloody use at all!' For one thing, Hod was put out by the use of a swear word (bloody) which he felt was totally uncalled for under the circumstances. 'We're not talking about bloody, as in blood on the battlefield here,' avers Hod. 'This is just plain old bad language for the sake of it.' But once started, there was no stopping the flow, despite the look of horror and hurt writ all over the birthday man's face. On they went with 'Here's to Ho-od he's so blue, he's a drunkard through and through. He's a bastard so they say, tried to get to heaven but he went the other way!' In parsing this travesty Hod made the following valid points: 'Firstly, I wasn't blue. On the contrary, I had been very happy, enjoying the closeness of the dearest people in my life. Secondly, I'm definitely not a drunkard, any ways up, through and through or otherwise. Thirdly, I was certainly not born out of wedlock and finally, I've never tried to go to heaven. I've come to believe that attempting to go to heaven is self-defeating. You are either going to heaven or you're not. That's if heaven exists at all, which is very moot.' The refrain ended up with 'drink it down, down, one, two, three....' Hod reminded us: 'Well we are talking about high quality sparkling wine here, that I laid in specially for the party, so there's no way I'm just going to pour it down my throat, right?' Hod has moved on now from the awful turn his birthday endured but he knows there's some emotional damage there and next year he'll be inserting a few caveats on his birthday invitation, if he has one at all. He is consoling himself that at least they didn't sing the one about looking and smelling like a monkey.