Posts Tagged ‘Africa’

Yasssis. Talk about quality control. ANN7, the third South African 24-hour news channel, launched this week. They seemed to have decent branding and animated snippets, but eish… The presenters and their live tech-support left much to be desired. Check out these clips snapped by other viewers:

First thing that got me was that dude walking through the studio shot in the background. Not forgetting the nervous entry.

Like Vast Aire from Cannibal Ox said, “The early bird catches the worm, but the early worm lands in the early bird’s stomach”. What about Robert Mugabe’s “igno-ignaugural” ceremony? For real?

“Asking Jacob Zuma to-to-to-… to disclose”. Best to read the script before going live, my darling.


This presenter held it down for quite a bit. Props, but “Shane Watson bullied his-his …[blaaaaank]… to only the third test of the century”. Bullied his what? She seemed to struggle to get the word out. Add her gestures to that and you can easily assume that she was talking about his enormous shlong.

But yo. Enough criticism. It’s a new station. It’s South African. It’s expanding the employment pool. Journalists have had quite a pinch in the past decade, so this is that drop in the desert.

Haven’t bothered to read the content, but the ANN7 website seems to have a decent enough look.


My soul remembers the days spent gazing if you don’t remember. My heart inspired the flames that ignited the rain, showering pain from it’s burning embers. How we resisted the noose, when their approach was obtuse as freedoms fell from the truth. Like raping women as proof that our women were loose, and passion was and is the path that we choose. Now, they are are fueling the fire when they claim that our ire is a consequence of desire unchecked of OUR own mire.

Those were the days spent gazing and we all still remember

those memories of times that we cannot forget.

Soon our memories of now will be then.

Back, back and forth.

We play the audience to this ugly dance.

We gaze resolutely upon the arena.

Yet we grimace at the ugly.

We are the ugly.

We have become our own ugly.

In ugliness lies the pretext of beauty.

Written by a dude for poop and squiggles.