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Partners
I've always thought the man is as dull as a queue, and his preppy, vacant smile makes him look like he just won the cake raffle at a pro-life bake-off. And as if to prove his suburban image was a reality, he married the Lotto lady, a now-sagging camera addict who has used her marriage and modicum of talent to persuade Huisgenoot to document practically every waking moment of their colourless life together.
Yes, everything seemed to be going swimmingly in Boneheadland.
Until now. Thanks to the wonders of cell phone technology, the saga of Joost (if it's really him) and the stripper is sure to provide hours of entertainment for the whole family in the next few weeks. There have already been the predictable denials, lawyer's interventions and a host of insane comments on the interweb from crazed supporters – and all this before anyone's even seen the video. But I suspect the anticipation is going to be the most exciting part, and when I've finally seen it I'll just feel disappointed and slightly nauseous. So it'll be sort of like eating KFC.
The mere thought of seeing some has-been rugby player's junk in a stripper's mouth is enough to erode what little faith I have in humanity, but what's truly fascinating is the fact that anyone cares about the video at all. The only reaction I can muster is a hint of jealousy, because the only sex tape I have is duct, and I've always wanted to schnarf cocaine with a stripper – preferably off her boobs. OK, I once had a similar experience with a woman who just happened to be a stripper at the time, but I didn't pay her or anything, so I don't think that really counts.
But it's the fans' reactions that make celebrity scandals like this the best form of entertainment that doesn't require an age of consent and a safe word. It's no different than the ongoing Rihanna/Chris Brown technical knockout saga, the dealings of posthumous movie star Hansie Cronje and the latest divorce of teaboy Steve Hofmeyr, who (correct me if I'm wrong) seems to be blaming the media for his inability to keep his penis in his scants. As always, barely-literate commentary has already sprung up in van der Westhuizen's defence, most demanding that the rest of us "leave him alone", a few arguing that "a man needs to let off some steam, sometimes" and one unbelievable comment –tellingly, all in CAPS – declaring that Afrikaners must "stick together", no matter what. Wow. I can't work out what's more depressing: that someone would actually write that, or the fact that it's not the dumbest comment I've ever seen in my life.
Likewise, Chris Brown defenders are accusing Rihanna of being an STD riddled ho for sho who deserved her beating and biting, as if anyone deserves to be assaulted by their partner. It's nothing more than blinkered hero-worship that's as disgusting as the actions they defend, and taps into a level of denial that allows neighbours to pretend they hear nothing while women are beaten to a pulp by their husbands in the house next door.
Van der Westhuizen and Brown may not be the most admirable men on the planet, but right now I'm reserving all my contempt for their fans.
