Monday, August 30, 2010

Oh Poppy-Cock!

Mkay so I might have gone a bit overboard on the whole “not wanting to sit in traffic” sphiel. I’m at work already. It’s 6.30am. I don’t start work ‘til 9am. To be fair, it did take me all of forty minutes to get from Pretoria to Jo’burg, as opposed to the mandatory two hours most people do. But now I have three hours to kill.

Not to worry – I have (from the start had) full intentions of going to gym before my shift starts. I was kind of hoping Auckland Park would have a Virgin Active conveniently placed on the top floor of the SABC. Alas, I will apparently have to try out the gym at “Old Eds”. This “Old Eds” place eludes me. But I shall conquer it. I’m driving there after work to ch-ch-check it out. And if I can’t join tomorrow morning I’m leaving at 5.45am and dealing with the consequences.

I’m all bright and sparky now – oooh yes the morning highs of waking up at cock’s fart are all grand and dandy now. But wait ‘til 10am. Imma crash like a roller with a broken heart. (If you don’t get this – look up “ornithology”.) It always happens when I have to fill in for Leigh-Ass Hole. All fuckin’ chipper ’til my body realises, “sweet Mary Poppins’ crumpets! I’ve been awake for six whole bollocky-dashed hours! My-my, is it nap time already? Toodle-loo!” You see, what it is, is that that’s when my afternoon slump technically starts. At 10am. FML right?

Needless to say, this whole Pretoria commute should make life interesting. There are the people who seem to think that even though there are three solid lanes of, albeit moving, traffic, they can still manage to weave their ways to Jozi quicker than the rest of us. They never win, by the way. Just in case you’re one of them. (Buttface.) Then there’s the constant joy of the UNBELIEVABLY SHIT condition of the highway. Which they want to charge us R60 a day to use next year. Ya. Try get that money out of me, govvament, I dare ya. Unless driving on that highway is the auto equivalent of foot skiing on baby oil, I’m not paying. And the bonus to all this great tarring they have going at the moment, is that you are bound to pop a tyre at some point. (Again, I realise we’re all supposed to be driving at about 80km/h, but NO one does, and that’ll turn that forty minute trip into at least an hour. And frankly…. Get bent.) So like I said, interesting. (I’ve decided to leave out the obvious rant about petrol costs and fuel economy. That goes without saying, an frankly, it’s unavoidable and something I’ve decided to deal with. End.)

Wish me luck! I’ll be sure to update you on any terribly interesting driving oddities. (‘Cause those are enthralling I tell you.)

(I’ve grown fond of parentheses. I have far too many branched thoughts for it not to get confusing without brackets. Bless brackets. I loves them. Commas can be problematic. Stop.)

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Today's Grammar Tip

Pathetic (noun) - when an individual has reached a point of such desperation and uselessness, and is found to encapsulate all that is the word 'pathetic', such an individual removes the need for the adjective, creating an object form. Eg: "She is a pathetic."

(Please note: this might not fly in matric English papers. AVOID! AVOID! It will, however, be very useful when needing to refer to an individual fitting the abovementioned criteria.)

The Groot Trek

For those who have moved, this post will be unsurprising. Dull even, out of sheer predictability and familiarity. I’ve moved a few of times, and there’s one thing that always surprises me: you always forget how kak it is. Not just the packing and stacking and taping and moving of boxes. Not even the heavy loads. It’s the unsettling nature of it all. You call a place home for lets say, two years, then suddenly within a week you have to pack it all up and try nomadically plant yourself in a new location. And call that place “home”. If only it were that simple.

Of course the first thing that’s (obviously) drastically different is the actual house. You were used to your layout: TV there, couch there, dining room wherever, wine boxes here – there’s a general setup to it that your body grows accustomed to, and it’s programmed to expect certain objects to be in certain places after a while. I won’t even go into the nightmare that is getting used to the kitchen. It takes a really long time to feel completely comfortable in a new place, and to completely relax there. Particularly when you have all sorts of plans for the joint. (For example, I already have: curtains, TV cabinet, TV, bookshelf, hooks in kitchen, redo floors, paint peeled wall, retile bathroom, hang up mirrors and pictures – it doesn’t end any time soon.)

The thing I find most perturbing, however, is the locale. The houses around you, the streets, the kind of traffic in those streets, and above all – the shops. I was very happy with my Woolworths – quite literally around the corner from me. Along with the best Chinese and Indian take-out joints I’d been to, The Throbbing Strawberry being my ‘local’, and the very good Pick ‘n Pay across the street. Not to mention optometrist, pharmacy, post office, biltong shop (beeeeeest biltong), gift shop, carwash and garage AND even more food places. I think it’s safe to say that shopping centre (300m away from my house) is probably one of the best ‘stocked’ centres around. And I’ll settle with the idea that they’re difficult to find. But daayyyum was that convenient. I now have a tiny Spar, two very nice restaurants, a couturier (?), a pharmacy, and a convenient store Woolies at the garage. BALLS! And you get used to the layouts, you know? “Oh, I need mafasha-mafash, I’ll also get some yadda-yadda while I’m there, and pick up the shmoo-shmoooo-shmoo.” No more of that, my friends. I now have to do my general shopping… IN A MALL. I know – just put me in a canoe and sail me out to sea.

I have to say, other than the obvious inconveniences, moving is great. For your mental state that is. After you’ve recovered some sense of sanity, you notice the change is very refreshing. It’s exciting, uprooting and stressful. And the one big change (i.e. relocating) is often the first of many. Restructuring the foundation of your life, being the place you call home, can make you see the need for change in so many other areas. Extra work you’ve been putting off, throwing out things you weren’t sure about, buying furniture you weren’t sure you needed, ending relationships, starting them, revitalizing lost friendships – all sorts of great things come from having to get off your arse. (If I’m kidding myself, do me a favour and leave me in sweet delusion – it’s obviously a coping mechanism I’ve created. I think it’s a good one anyway.) Olé! And here we go…

(Needless to say, the move is the reason the blog’s been dead for a good week. I’ll be back to mixed tape Mondays and what-not immediately!)

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Hollywood Ho-Down

I think it would be an understatement to say that there are some insanely creative and talented people in the world. They’re all over the place just dying for their work and imagination to be put to good use. Why is it then, that Hollywood has entered an age (yes – age) of remakes? And shitty remakes I’ll add. Both in that the remakes are crap, and in most cases, so were the originals. And what’s worse than redoing a shitty movie, is trying to reinvent a classic – it’s sacrilege.

Where to begin…

There are those that are pointless and transparently about box office cash:

Kids loved the original Karate Kid back in the ‘80s. And they still loved it in the ‘90s. I wouldn’t classify it as a cult classic, but it was massively dug. The two sequels, not so much. But Mr. Miyagi is a legend. “Wax on, wax off” will forever be famous, for no other reason than he said it.

And the chap who played Mr. Miyagi, Pat Morita, was also the latter day Jackie Chan, in that he was in every kiddie Kung Fu movie made. Difference being that at least Jackie Chan is “Jackie Chan” and unfortunately Pat is “Mr. Miyagi”. The original was also nominated for an Oscar. Why? BECAUSE IT WAS AN ORIGINAL!

Even though the 2010 version has an authentic looking Chan and Big Will’s kid in it, it ain’t gettin’ no Oscars. I understand that making a wannabe inspirational karate movie and NOT calling it The Karate Kid would be head-slappingly lame. And there is a gap in movie land for tweens.

They’re not really into the teen romance flicks yet, and want to be too cool to watch animations. But I still find it hard to believe that they can’t think of anything else. I’ll reserve harsher judgement on this ‘til I’ve actually seen the movie.

There are those that have potential:

Arthur’s another one they’re busy redoing. And the tricksy little hobbitses have clinched Russel Brand’s skinny white arse. And Jennifer Gardner’s. I don’t see much Liza Minnelli resemblance there, which is possibly a good thing. In case you don’t know, Arthur was about a bratty heir who does what he likes. Usually resulting in drunken acts of inhibition. His problem is, he can only inherit his fortune if he marries a picked out prim lass. Only to be exacerbated by his meeting a very interesting woman who has no money to speak of. And it was an Oscar WINNER.

I suspect that (in line with modern day comedy, and what we consider to be risqué and funny now) this one will be funny and enjoyable. The movie’s just old enough for a good wad of the movie-going population to view it as an original, and let’s face it: Russel Brand’s hilarious.

And there are those that have been talked about, but not confirmed:
The buzz on some possible remakes is also worrying. Forgive the inaccuracy here, but because these are all based on rumours (highly plausible rumours, but rumours nonetheless) I’m not entirely sure if they’re complete remakes, prequels or sequels. I’ve also grouped them according to genres, and reasons why they should/shouldn’t be redone.

Slapstick comedy from the ‘80s or ‘90s


Another classic that was awesome in it’s time – there’s no reason to redo it. The slapstick humour and gooey gruesomeness was unique to the time, and they’ll no doubt try to replicate that. And fail.

Police Academy

A stupid idea for the same reasons as the Ghostbusters remake. Plus they made too many sequels for this to be salvageable.

Classic, cheesy old school

Honey I shrunk the kids

Whyyyyy?! Why oh why oh whyyyy?!


Musicals are definitely back and are box office gold. But there are hundreds of them to choose from. Leave ‘80s classics as they are. And Kevin Bacon. Leave him out of it too.

Teen Wolf

This is Michael J Fox magic you’re dealing with here. Not to mention the plethora of werewolves on our TV and movie screens right now. Considering the current climate, this might actually do well if it’s updated properly.

The Neverending Story

I loved this movie when I was younger. And I wouldn’t mind seeing an updated version of this at all, to be honest. No issues here.

Superhero slash Comic Book Movies and Action


Hmmm ya, ‘cause the first one was so awesome. As was the Elektra spinoff. Prime example of redoing a shit movie. It’s kak because it’s kak – don’t kid yourself. It had nothing to do with Ben Affleck.

The Crow

This is not to be fucked with. The Crow IS a cult classic and Brandon Lee died making this bitch. It should be watched the way the people who created it intended. I will be shocked if this movie doesn’t tank. Blasphemy!

Spiderman, Spy Kids, Superman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Comic book remakes will never cease to exist, so I shall cease to complain. And just make sure I never have to watch them. ‘Sept for Iron Man. Iron Man is awesome.

Tomb Raider

If it’s not Angie – and it isn’t going to be – I’m not interested. She’s the only reason the first batch of films worked. Her and Daniel Craig and Gerard Butler, that is.



Stuff that’s just way to young to be remade

American Pie

Yes, they don’t think they’ve quite milked the life out of this one yet. Apparently it might even include old-timers Jason Biggs and Sean William Scott. If they’re trying to redo this for the new generation – just show them the goddamn original! It’s not that old.

Mr. & Mrs. Smith

I know what you’re thinking: “What? This was released like two days ago?” But apparently there’s been talk of doing a younger Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Ya, ‘cause a couple of ingénues are going to be more appealing than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Pfft.

A Bourne prequel

If they do this, there will allegedly be no Damon and no Paul Greengrass. Fail waiting to happen? Eee-yes.

Horrors, Thrillers


As if anyone’s as hot as Sigourney Weaver. Seriously.

The Birds

Remaking Hitchcock is seldom a good idea. Mostly ‘cause he was a crazy mofo whose insanity made things uniquely his. It’s like rewriting Shakespeare in modern day English – the imagery’s just not there!

Pet Cemetery

This was very fucking weird and creepy the first time. But then again, the horror movie circuit’s been as creative as a peanut butter sandwich for the past decade, so do what you must…

Planet of the Apes

Hmm ya cause the first remake you did a few years ago went oh so well.

Jurassic Park

Erm, I thought we’d covered all the bases here?


A remake could definitely benefit from the potentially amazing CGI. But that would most likely be where the novelty ends. Just leave it alone ne? That cute little dude cannot possibly be any cuter. You’re fighting a losing battle mkay?

The point is, any remake of something that was phenomenal the first time around is going to be a watered down copy. And if you look at the above-mentioned flicks, they were award winners, box office hits or horror movies. And they were one of those three things because of their originality and creative flair. You’d be dumb to not know that any remake today is made for the sole purpose of profit. There is no respect or award winning to be earned there. I just wish the movie world could match its thirst for cash (via remakes) with an insatiable need for originality. How does the industry that brought us Inception, Avatar and Stranger Than Fiction not want more? Because we all know how much both Inception and Avatar made… Maybe it’s about cliques and good screenplays being rejected before they’re read. Maybe it’s money. If you really think about it, there aren’t a lot of movies that have come out this year that really stick. The state of creativity in the movie world is dismal. And I don’t know that it is just money… Whatever it is, let’s all hope its greed doesn’t destroy the art of cinema.

(Dun dun duuun – how serious an ending, right? Sheesh.)

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Sealing Clubs

I don’t go clubbing much these days. I did a lot (a lot) of partying at varsity, suffice to say my need for raucous nights out has lessened somewhat. But a girl does like to venture out and squeak some takkie now and then. Saturday turned out to be one of those cut-a-rug nights.

Where there is booze, bitches and low-self-esteem, there will be a shameless search for any platform on which to display T&A. Whether it’s good T&A is irrelevant. In fact, it’s usually a prerequisite that any chick dancing on stage in a club needs to be well off her arse or butt-ugly. I was very amused by the fact that on Saturday night at Clapham Gold (in Fourways, JHB) the person hogging the stage was a lad, clad in his orange golf shirt and white fedora. And he was jamming like there were dollar bills to be made. Unfortunately he lost the dance-off to some bloody pirate, but that’s another story. (Yea, there were pirates there. About fifty of them.)

But of course, as the night moves on, so does the booze. And within mere minutes the girls were clawing their way onto the stages (plural) to show us what their mammas gave them. Which in one case was a giant arse that wiggled like two pigs wrestling in a blanket. At one stage there was even a chick up there all on her own. Doing that half-ass effort ‘dancing’, where she swayed unenthused, barely making the effort to lift her arms. I would love to say she was too tanked to move, but no. she just sucked at life.

I’d have to admit I’ve been there. Not often. And when I did make a concerted effort to humiliate myself I was always shitfaced enough to think it was awesome. And nineteen. But even then, I still thought to myself: ‘What are these girls thinking? That everyone’s looking up at them going “yeah baby! You got the moves! I’m gonna marry you and impregnate you one day!”?’ We all know that’s not what we’re thinking. At all. We’re thinking: “Oh lord, that girl is wearing a frilly pink top and denim shorts in a club. And this is no foam party.” Or, “Is that chick pregnant or plus one man-boep?” And neither answer would make the wannabe-stripper antics permissible. (And I’m not kidding – this chick had THEE most unflattering pink, baggy strapless top hanging from her boobs. And there was definitely a very watery baby hiding in there, wobbling around to bad old school songs. Or, she’d given birth the same day and hadn’t quite finished ridding herself of bodily fluids.)

Basically, the only attention girls on stages in clubs get, is ruthless judgement. Because they’re putting themselves up for it. Climbing onto that platform is like saying: “Hey! I’m either confident enough or desperate and pathetic enough to be here! You decide!” And let me tell you, the people who are confident enough don’t feel the need to climb onto a sticky wooden bench to prove it.

So why do clubs put the platforms slash cages in there? I personally blame movies and music videos. Club owners envision stupidly sexy women with tanned, long legs, seductively grinding each other in shiny cages, wearing short sparkling dresses. Tossing their long hair in the conveniently installed fans. It’s more like stupidly drunk girls with cankles and leggings, thrusting their tongues in each others mouths while their mascara leaks all over their blood-shot faces. I suppose it’s done more in the hopes that all the babes will put themselves on display, drawing the attention of horny guys, thus resulting in horny guys buying babes many drinks, in turn resulting in more revenue? Probably. Nowhere is safe from Capitalisms giant claw! You are its bitch comrade!

Monday, August 16, 2010

Mixed Tape Monday - 1999

Today’s playlist might be the most embarrassing to publish. It was my first tape I think, which I made in 1999, also my first year in high school. Yipes.

Maybe you can help me out actually – I have some ‘titles’ of songs and I don’t know who they’re by. Comment away:

Side 1
1) Seems like an Angel (?)
2) You’re a God – Vertical Horizon
3) Every Morning – Sugar Ray
4) Kiss Me – Sixpence none the Richer
5) Under the Bridge – All Saints version
6) There She Goes – Sixpence none the Richer
7) Rescue Me – (?) (I do however know that is was that dance mix)
8) Runaway – The Corrs
9) If Only (???)
10) Pink – Aerosmith
11) I See you Baby – (shakin’ that ass) (?)

Side 2
1) I Turn To You – Christina Aguilera
2) I Just Wanna be with You – (?)
3) Paranoid – (?)
4) There You Go – (?)
5) Feels So Good – Sonique
6) Thong Song – Sisqo
7) Adam’s Song – Blink 182
8) Look Up, Look In – (not fucking idea)
9) What’s My Age Again? – Blink 182

Very Girly… And I hate that I don’t remember who sang half of that stuff.

Kudos should be given for Sonique, Sugar Ray and Blink 182. Blink was basically the definitive soundtrack to my youth.

I’d love to hear your thoughts… I think…

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Mixed Tape Mondays

Every now and then I get a niggling urge to clean out my cupboards. I empty out the lot, refold all my cloths, organise them according to colour and type and repack everything. On one particular instance, I also cleared out the storage shelves. There I found something amazing: my cassette tape holder from high school. Filled with labelled tapes.

Christina Aguilera, Eminem, Third Eye Blind… and Evanescence… blegh. All taped off 5FM. I forgot how cool it is that I now work for the station I spent my life listening to. The best part is that I have a cassette player in my car. (I’m so cool and retro, it’s dangerous, man.) I had also reached the point where I needed to zone out in the traffic instead of catching up on all the stressful news. So in went a tape marked 2003: Beginning. Eminem’s “Superman”, a song I’d totally forgotten about, started playing. At the end of each song I could hear snippets of Sash and Ian F, Nicole Fox, Zuraida Jardin – even Gareth in his first days at 5, before I undoubtedly stopped recording, swearing at their stupid asses for talking over the songs. (I didn’t know about ‘clocks’ then, you see.)

Despite the poor quality sound and the shameful mix of good and bad taste in music, hearing the tapes I’d listened to over and over again in high school was more than nostalgic. I didn’t think about my friends and sports days, or waking up at 6am and putting on a blue skirt. I remembered just being a young girl locked up in her room with paint brushes everywhere. I remembered the neat stack of files for school work and the tidy desk I spent so much time at. And I remembered the unassuming oval box that was my pride and joy, which yodelled out my favourite songs as loudly as it could. Yes, music always takes us back to parties and good times with great people. But it’s that time I spent with my music alone that’s so distinctive. No one critiquing how good or bad the line-up was. No one asking who sings which song. Because frankly, it doesn’t matter when you’re twirling around to it alone in your room.

I’m so chuffed I found them. I now have “Mixed Tape Mondays” when I listen to a different tape on the way to work. It’s surprising how refreshing it is to recall the feeling of being young and relatively careless. Because it also reminds me how much better so many other aspects of my life are now that I’m not naïve and unspoiled, if you will. I’ll post the playlists on here every Monday just in case you remember some. And please, don’t judge me when you see ‘JC Chasez’ posted up there…

Saturday, August 14, 2010

A Little Yoke...

A man sent in ten entries to a newspaper's pun contest in the hopes that one would win. Sadly, No pun in ten did...

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Today's Grammar Tip

Lend and Borrow

You lend something TO someone
You borrow something FROM someone

Can I lend your Weed Whacker?

Can I borrow your Weed Whacker?

I borrowed him my girlfriend.

I lent him my girlfriend.

Fairly. Fucking. Simple.

Can I get a "OWWW!"

For most women, going for a bikini wax is a truly daunting experience. And we’ve all heard the horror stories. If you’re planning on venturing into the hair-free world that is the Brazilian… This post isn’t likely to make you feel better about it.

My friend, let’s called her Fnoo* (in honour of the nature of this post), had become a regular waxee. Like many ladies, she’d made getting her cat waxed a monthly habit. See now, I’m the kinda girl who likes familiarity when it comes to these things: when I find a beautician who can do it properly, I’ll drive 30kms to get to her every month. Fnoo wasn’t as fussy. She’d heard from a friend of a friend that the new salon in Hatfield, Pretoria had good prices and was ‘pretty good’, so decided to lay it out on a table and be smoothed out by a girl she’d never met before.

Now if there are any gents reading this, or any un-waxed lasses, there are some crucial details to address when getting a Brazilian wax. If you haven’t gone for a while, and if the hair strip in the middle is too long, it needs to be trimmed, for two reasons. The one simple reason is that the strip left behind looks much neater. The other, is that the hot wax can’t dry properly in thick, knotted shrub. That means it’s a whore-lot of pain to get that shit out. Fnoo’s new waxer started off doing the basic outlines. But when the job entered higher grade territory, she let too much wax gloop over onto the longer hair. After writhing in pain for half an hour, Fnoo realised the waxer was try to CUT the wax out of her groin shrubbery. Now picture it: someone pulling your pubic hair upwards, trying to negotiate a pair of scissors as close to the skin as possible. Enter cold sweat for poor Fnoo. As if that experience wasn’t pleasant enough, when she got to the counter to pay, the bastards overcharged her. Dying to get home and put a pack of ice on her fanny, she didn’t argue.

When she finally settled down enough to get naked for a shower, Fnoo obviously looked down to inspect the grooming that had caused her such inexplicable agony.

She had a halfro.

One side of her flapper was completely clean, and the other an unevenly cut, shoddy mess. The next day she was also the happy owner of a purple pussy.

I suppose the point of all this is to play on the title of my blog. And warn you: if you have a Cat Lady who does the job properly, stay there.

*Fnoo: poon, vadge, coochicoo – lady parts. In this instance used to refer to Cooter-Tortured friend.

Grammatic Ties

Consider this the desperate plea of someone who’s very fond of words. What with egomaniacal campaigns to be do-gooders plastering themselves all over my goddamn twitter feed, I figured my cause would have to be that of the dying sanctity of language. Yes. I am a Grammar Nazi. I’ve got no problem with the odd error, particularly via text or on Blackberry Messenger. Nor even the phonetic spelling to convey a particular accent. That kind of thing only adds to our use of the written word; gives more dimension to it. But lazy, neglectful language or even a rebellious tendency to “not give a fuck” really boils my goose. (Insert tribute to Andy Samberg here. ”Boy-yelled gue-oooose”)

When I was in high school cell phones were pretty common, but still not mandatory. Texting was on the rise, but it wasn’t yet a lifeline. In short, the worst offenders were people who sucked at spelling, and those that had, in their younger days, neglected the joy of reading. The decline came right along with the exponential availability of technology. Before we knew it, every nine-year-old was stuck to a little LED screen with lobotomized drool leaking from their gaping sphincters. And they weren’t only opening the market for pink glitter covers – they were opening the abyss of acronyms, emoticons and stupid sayings that come with kids who are too lazy to type the one extra letter it takes to spell "the" instead of "da".

Now you may ask, why do I give a continental shit? Well you see, these pillagers (yah) are growing up and are slowly leaking out into the real world. Many of them are on twitter with me. And they’re allergic to vowels. And the worst part is, it’s not even limited to people under eighteen. Some people have agreed fervently with my occasional outbursts of Nazi fury, stating their hatred of the bastardisation of the English language. One such agent also muddled up “they’re” and “their” in the same bloody day. Not to mention a couple of “is/are” errors. So not only are people really shitty at spelling and grammar, they don’t know it. Scared yet?

My point is, without thorough control of the English language, you’ll lose your ability to concisely, accurately and emphatically communicate not only basic messages, but your emotions. People who don’t take being articulate seriously sound dumb for a reason. And someone who’s not necessarily clever can sound like a bloody genius if s/he has a good grasp of grammar. (Though, point two is that people who are articulate and well-spoken are seldom, if ever, not smart. Because they’ve read books. That is wholly different death camp, to be dealt with at a later stage I’m sure.) If you are eloquent, people will listen to you.

If we’re slowly, generation by generation, nullifying the importance of good language, aren’t we also destructing years of evolution? It took humans millions of years to reach the basic point of speech, let alone the thousands more it took to perfect communication through specific pronunciations and laws. If speaking properly is "so overrated", four thousand years from now we’re going to be grunting, hairy chimps with under-bites. When people are actually saying “LOL” to each other, instead of actually laughing out loud, we’re clearly losing our aural identity. Losing our ability to communicate precisely is the beginning of the downfall. Not communism or global warming: poor talkage!

Can we just add da one extra letter and have "the"? Cld we plz nt wrt lk ths cz iz so UNNECESSARY! It’s not clever, or cool and certainly not original. Even if yOu pick O as yOur letter tO be in caps all the time and nO One else has. "They’re" is for "they are" and "their" is a possessive pronoun. "Is" is singular and "are" is plural. It’s pretty easy when you pretend to give a shit. I mean, what do you do all day if it’s not talking, huh? Do it proper like yea.