And I’m out
I’ve thought long and hard, what I’d say on this day.
Play it all cool or get emo and gay.
Or write a long letter and send out a mail.
About how much I love you before I set sail.
I started out here as an eager intern.
Motivated to work and with so much to learn.
Until one day I learned, the more oil you burn,
Doesn’t translate into more loot that you earn.
But that was never the point,
When I came to this joint.
And I’ll always be grateful they chose to appoint,
Suck a stroppy young oke
With a knack for a joke
Who for some reason Margot always wanted to choke.
I’ve spent my twenties living all of my dreams.
Working as part of a blood-brothers team.
From meeting my heroes of musical theme,
To travelling the world without spending my cream.
I’ve written advice on the ways okes should goen,
Met deadlines that seemed like a moerse gedoen,
Given opinion on music that rules,
And read really kak pitches from illiterate fools.
If I had to list all the things that I’ll miss,
We’d be here until 2027 Christmas.
Getting kakked on by Melinda,
Whenever Dyl rocks a beat,
And listening to Ebz having something to eat.
Lindsey declaring that something cool sucks.
Watching the budget to save us some bucks.
Driving in sports cars and buses and trucks.
Getting shot down by models after trying my luck.
To Germany, Mexico the UK, and Durbs.
Things at gay parties that had me disturbed.
Learning the rules about commas and verbs,
And a lot of time spent trying exotic herbs.
The people before me; Lord, Donna and Coop.
Who looked after me and brought me into the loop.
And friends who are family like Hagen and Dyl,
And Raubie and Jian and Mike – Keep it real.
I also must thank,
My good homie Tank
For finding the pics that make us wanna… appreciate the true beauty of the glorious female form.
Reviewed hundreds of flicks,
Learned some handy man-tricks,
Wielded weapons from handguns to AKs to sticks.
Hung out with hot chicks,
Got the nod from hip cliques,
And with the help of the fashion babes, scored some cheap kicks.
To Hagen, for always putting up with my shit.
And for all the kind words when I told you’d I’d quit.
For being more of a mate, and less of a boss.
And when I walked in late, for not giving a toss.
Explaining the difference between hyphen and dash,
For doing your best to try get me my cash.
For every party, and every rad bash.
And evenings in Melville, choofing swazi and hash.
Sadly, nothing rhymes with Piegl. I wish his name was Koos.
‘Cos then I could rhyme about how big a…
Shit sorry. I was meant to cross that whole last bit out.
Never mind. Okay, what was I going on about?
To Carey in Cape Town who I love to bits,
For that one Christmas party when she showed me her… bits.
To Bluesey who parties like none that I’ve seen.
And Nico, my chine, you’re a fucking machine.
To Sharl who’s a champ and who I love to death,
And Jules who I haven’t really got to know yet,
A thing I regret, but I’ll take this short time,
And I’ll check you at Virgin working hard on the grind.
The Pumas for whom I have bled on the grass,
Scored goals here and there and the odd magic pass.
The team with a heart that is always rocksteady,
And full of good vibes… except maybe for Eddie.
To Erik, for videos where I always looked rad,
To Francois Groepe: a kick in the nads.
Features on gangstas and cars and triads,
And gadgets and beasties and awesome man-pads.
Riding boats on a lake,
Going swimming with Ryk.
And all the free stuff I was able to take.
To Cathy for keeping as all so well fed.
And all of the love that we’ve all left unsaid.
The salary checques, and for our daily bread.
And rude Captain Beer fans: a kick in the head.
Kirtsy and Tash and Chentelle, thanks so much.
I’ll see you all soon, so let’s all stay in touch.
For the fashion advice, the support and kind words.
And keeping me smelling good, and never like turds.
To Erin, who’s always so chipper and keen,
And possibly the hottest babe I’ve ever seen.
To Darryl, for organising those PSPs!
And to Sarita for loaning me keys.
For putting up with me and my unruly mouth.
For my boy Allan K, keep on repping the South!
And Tiny for sorting out my cooking stuff.
For everyone’s love as I tried to get buff.
For times when we splurged and for times that got rough.
For Anthony Lord and his love of the snuff.
To Wally for keeping my mindframe intact,
As I swore and I cursed and I hated that Mac.
For all of the babes who were hotter than bombs.
Like Brendah and Sam and of course, lovely Dom.
To Dylan, my dear friend who’s family I love.
And my massive chum Raubie, towering nine feet above.
To Sav, who’s so nice that it doesn’t seem real.
And Lucinda, with whom it’s a pleasure to deal.
Jay Palmer, and Stackey and Parker as well,
Are part of the reason departing is hell.
Because of the fact that I always will tell,
That you aren’t my colleagues, you’re my group of tight pals.
Alyn Adams of course, I could never forget.
For jokes that have left my trousers soaking wet.
And reminding us all should we slip and forget,
That grammar the artform’s not nearly dead yet.
To Jian and Mike, now that I’m on my bike,
Who I must finally admit, that I have never liked.
And Pisto who rocks, and Brink’s fucked up socks,
And central, who, face it, are a huge bunch of cocks.
And last but not least, as I head on my way,
I have one more important thing I’d like to say,
To Louis and Kim, who we call Mom and Dad,
For every single day that I’ve had,
For every hour, be it good, be it bad,
For making this office so magically rad,
I thank you both for it, and I am so glad,
For the best seven years any dude’s ever had.
Finally….
[raise glass]
To babes in bikinis, and icy cold beers.
To laughing my balls off for seven long years.
For the blood, for the sweat, for the joy, for the tears.
FHM, I love you. Keep on rocking. Cheers!
– Gord Laws, 2010
gordlaws@gmail.com