Super-hero in court
A SUPER-HERO runs up against officialdom ... Phoenix Jones, an American vigilante who prowls the streets of Seattle at night wearing a mask and body armour in black and yellow, looking out for baddies, has suffered the ignominy of being dragged before court himself. He's accused of using pepper spray on a group of street brawlers outside a nightclub.
In court he had to remove his mask and admit to his real name of Benjamin Fodor. He was released on $3 800 bail and insists the charges against him of assault are false.
Stand by for a celebrity trial involving, as defence witnesses, The Amazing Spiderman, The Invisible Man, Batman and Robin and Superman himself.
Another super-hero
MEANWHILE, a Filipino fashion designer has spent the past 10 years having his skin whitened, his thighs slimmed and his face remodelled by plastic surgery so that he can more closely resemble his hero, Superman (whose suit he naturally wears all the time).
Herbert Chavez will next have an operation to make his stomach more muscular, then another in which metal rods will be inserted in his legs to make him taller.
"Superman is my idol. I want to look like him," says the 35-year-old.
The cost of all this cosmetic surgery must be a drain on the dress designing business. Who said there was any harm in these super-hero comics?
Nazi conundrum
HITLER didn't commit suicide in a Berlin bunker in 1945. He and Eva Braun were secretly flown to Argentina – then ruled by fascists – where they lived for many years, raising two daughters, according to a new book titled Grey Wolf: The Escape of Adolf Hitler.
Co-authors Gerrard Williams and Simon Dunstan found "an overwhelming amount of evidence" to suggest Hitler died an old man in South America, they say. The evidence is "too overwhelming to ignore."
You don't know what to believe. I always thought Hitler made his way to South Africa after 1948 where he led a quiet and blameless life, ending up as commissioner-general to a bantustan. Who knows?
Harbour sports
HONG-KONG has revived its traditional cross-harbour swim, suspended 33 years ago because because raw sewage and ships' jetsam made the water a health hazard.
The other day about 1 000 competitors took part in the 1.8km race. The organisers say clean-up measures have made the water safer.
Should we hold a similar event in Durban harbour? Perhaps not. Whatever the state of the water in pollution terms, it also contains some rather large nunus. One fellow lost a leg while fishing off the sandbank in front of Royal Natal Yacht Club, while anglers have reported huge kingfish and other catches chomped off in one bite by sharks that must be simply enormous.
But why not a revival of the cricket matches between Point Yacht Club and Royal Natal that used to be played at low spring tide on that same sandbank? I'll practice my legbreaks.
Snoopers
LOCAL government snoopers went through the rubbish bins of 30 000 British households last year, analysing the contents.
I thought it was only tabloid newspapers that did this kind of thing, but it seems the councils do it to gain information that would be useful in recycling programmes.
The story is broken by the London Daily Mail, which duly waxes wroth over this invasion of privacy. Yet somehow I can't see people rushing to the barricades over a snooping on tea bags and potato peelings.
Maturing asset
IN HIS LATEST grumpy newsletter, investment analyst Dr James Greener comments on asset growth.
"It is the time of year for glossy catalogues of tempting goodies and the 50 year-old Glenfiddich single malt whisky at R159 000 is clearly priced for government officials and youth league hot-shots. The 40-year-old at R28 900 is interesting. If you put it away for 10 years could you expect it to taste 16 percent per annum better?"
Tailpiece
THIS fellow is having a cup of tea in the local greasy spoon. He drains it then finds a dead cockroach among the tealeaves at the bottom of the cup.
"Here!" he yells at the waitress. "What's the meaning of this?"
"No idea, love. I'm a London gal, not a gypsy."
Last word
There is a great deal of difference between an eager man who wants to read a book and the tired man who wants a book to read.
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