Friday, October 31, 2014


Now, now... we'll have nun of that!

So today it's Halloween. But yesterday it wasn't. And yesterday I resolved to pen a piece on the festivities of the night before. Which I didn't. Because I was hung over and not motivated in the least.

I'd gone out with Tarty Farty Tequila Party to go and enjoy an evening watching Gerald Clark perform his awe-inspiring blues-drenched sonic wizardry. At a little place called Bootleggers - humble coffee shop by day, nefarious hang-out for the well to do, but not so gifted in the brain department by night. Accompanied by stand in drummer Jonno Sweetman, it was a show to savour! It was one of those "miracles unfolding before your very eyes" kind of shows. Jonno is a revelation! The man is a a demon on the kit, with more tricks than the collective neighbourhood's kids at Halloween, after having been denied any treats. And Gerald, as always, delivered an evening of glorious genius, entirely lost in his own vibe, and clearly enjoying his music as much as I was.

That is, when I could actually see what was going on. Having found a conveniently nearby perch for my aging arse, I was obstructed by "the masticator" and "the doe". The one's ever-chewing, ever-babbling maw, and correspondingly oversized frame, only outdone by the other's wide-eyed lack of comprehension and ugly high heels - together they contrived to block virtually every angle from which I could watch - at least for the first bit. The place was packed! Eventually one of the deep-V-necks decided he'd recognised a fairly straightforward blues scale and whooped and hollered along as if he had a tie around his head and had been at the free bar of his best friend's wedding.

I also had to go to the lavatory, as you do when gulping down copious amounts of overpriced "craft" beer. Were I a midget or an amputee, perhaps the confined space into which I had to squeeze myself to relieve myself would have been sufficient. As it was I had to lean as far back as I dared, squint down my nose and pray to God I didn't get any on my jeans.

Anyway, we had a radical time. Gerald always delivers a masterclass in musicianship and this night was no different. We were treated to a great performance that included his full varied repertoire and even a whole bunch of songs played using a beer glass as a slide. Magical all round! Thank you Tarty! (Incidentally, from this day forward, she is going to be referred to as Tipsy Gypsy.)

And then last night we descended on the home of Commander Conker and Rose Thorn for a 5 course meal. And some devastatingly good wine. Fuck my life, right?

Tonight I play football and then go and watch a few bands at Mercury do their thing for the Halloween Slaughter. I'm looking forward tremendously to seeing Mr Villain get his "drag-on" and try to hit the highs like George Michael. And then there's the main course, Bulletscript. I struggle to even try and be objective about them. They tick just about every box in my long and unnecessarily full-of-shit list of things that make a fucking brilliant metal band. I can't WAIT! They have also released their debut EP. I highly recommend you get Knotted.

And on that note, on with the dog-and-pony show. Please remember to keep your outfits less than too realistic if you're going anywhere as a zombie. Motherfuckers are unduly panicked about the ebola epidemic in SA. And if you're going as a vampire, lay off the glitter - that shit WILL get you killed. By anyone with a modicum of decency, literary appreciation, or a moral compass.

I'm going as the Pope. In a Sheldon shirt.

NGDG: I don't find the pejorative synecdoche "Soutie" insulting. I'm flattered that you think it would dangle in the sea.

Spread The Love. Get Rid Of The Habit Altogether.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014


Saying 'No thanks' to a blowjob...
There's a first time for everything.

Ah, Halloween! Not just the abbreviation for Tim Burton's dog. Actually, I believe it's derived from "Old Hallows Eve" whatever the fuck that means. I suppose if I'm going to complain about modern day interpretations of classic traditions I should go and read up on the origins of the practice, but this is the internet and most of you have probably already been compelled to type TLDR with an exasperated sigh.

And since all but the most tenacious and therefore the most awesome of my readers are still plodding through today's dose of drivel, I may as well admit to using this very same heading last year. My ever so regurgitated apologies. I myself only found out now...

So, according to a very respected source (also from the interwebs), the costume of choice this year in 'Murica is "Sexy Ebola Nurse". Considering the entire point of a HazMat suit is to cover everything, one wonders just how they're going to go about wearing as little as possible. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for skimpy outfits and promiscuity. After all, the gangly, awkward version of me in my adolescence wouldn't have stood a chance if it wasn't for a metaphorical moral loosening of the belt. But it's morals of a different kind that this behaviour calls into question, not to mention the indictable lack of intelligence and susceptibility to media hype. Yes, I'm the cantankerous old bastard sitting on my porch yelling at the kids to 'git off mah yard!'. Just think - if the Holocaust happened now, this weekend would see frat boys everywhere double teaming drunk, half naked Nazi bimbos on pool tables. Probably even after Pearl Harbour. The real one, not the movie.

I know I'm not the only one weeping for humanity. And I'm dreading the day I have to witness my own (possible future) daughter trying to get away with shit like this - or worse. I'm probably going to reap all manner of dastardly rewards for my shenanigans. I wonder, if I was a young man today, if I'd be taken with the Twerk Or Tweet generation's female of the species. Or if my adult revulsion would remain...
Don't get me started...

But there's good news as well. As usual, the musical underground - other than salivating through prosthetic teeth - has taken this opportunity to put on a variety of mouth watering shows this weekend to commemorate this special spooky holiday!

The Halloween Slaughter is already an established event, now in its fifth year and going strong. Organised by Bulletscript, the formidable line up includes Strident, Junkyard Lipstick, Moment Of Clarity, and of course the irascible riff-monsters, Bulletscript themselves. I cannot tell you enough how much you NEED to see this band. They will tear down your perceptions and reaffirm your faith in the sort of metal that pulls no punches - leaving you bleeding on the floor. I hope Mercury's clean up crew is ready...
Then there's Full Metal Jack at The Rabbit Hole featuring Beeldenstorm and a few others. And if you still haven't had enough blistering local merrills, the following night sees Burning Tone Records' second annual Blitzkrieg, in which they showcase all the bands on their roster - Infanteria, Zombies Ate My Girlfriend, Megalodon and All Guns Full Ammo. Get all your buddies and go! Remember kids, travel in well lit areas and in packs. The locals of Edward Street are the current equivalent of pitchfork wielding witch burners.

But the undoubted favourite of the weekend has to be Attack Of The Ghost Riders, a show that's being put on despite The Black Angels postponing their trip to South Africa. If the line up of The Very Wicked, The Sleepers, Loveglove Pyrotechnic and Playing Dead doesn't get your ghoulies greased, then you may as well stay in your grave this Halloween...

But wait! That's not all! If you fancy yourself a horror movie aficionado, then you probably already know about the annual Horrorfest. If you don't already know, where the fuck have you been? The most prestigious film festival of its kind in SA, now in its tenth year, you daren't miss this 11 day feast of creepy celluloid celebrations.

My sincerest apologies for not keeping it to 140 characters or less.

NGDG: I was eating a bratwurst and drinking a beer. This girl was doing the same. So I asked her what her favourite Woody Allen movie was and she said "Who's Woody Allen?" It was like the Germans HAD won the war.

Spread The Love. Shake Dat Ass?

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


I've been away for far too long.
I was struck down with a vicious bug.
I felt very sorry for myself.
Then I returned to the land of the living and I felt even more miserable.

I'm fascinated by people who are fascinated by something that has sweet fuckall to do with them. People who condemn without really knowing all the facts. People who call into question the very principles on which our lifestyle is based. People who so easily succumb to the mass hysteria created by a "trial by media". A sensationalist media so often scorned for irresponsible journalism by these very same people. People who seek retribution by posting inane quips online like a vengeful horde of witch burners. People who should know better.

The trial of the century...

How has the death of an innocent young woman in her prime affected any of you, other than giving you something to keep you distracted from the real atrocities committed in this world? Spare a thought for her family, who are so bereft they're selling (soiling) her memory to the highest bidder. So that you can all relive the outrage on your Kindles. For shame.

Murder, rape, burglary (more often then not violent), domestic abuse and assault happen so often in our rainbow nation that they are accepted as the norm. Yet no-one blinks an eye until they are directly affected. We just happily pay the ever escalating ADT premiums. But let one famous athlete fuck up (and fuck up he did, make no mistake) and the bilious vitriol spat all over the social media of your choice is so venomous, it threatens to rip apart the fabric of society like an incensed hive mind.

It's an indictment on humanity that so many are so easily swept along and so infatuated with watching a beloved figure falling from his or her ivory tower. You put them there. And now you're the pack of virtual wolves waiting to rip flesh from bone after terminal velocity has taken care of the rest.

I'm no legal expert. I won't even pretend to give enough of a shit about this entire farce to have an opinion. My beef is with you, the viewers, the commentators, the faceless mass of slack-jawed daytime tv devotees, the self appointed judge and juries, the would be voices of an outraged public. Have any legal precedents been set by this apparent miscarriage of justice? Has the accused - after being given the chance to plead his case in court, and facing the charges brought against him by the state - not been found guilty and duly sentenced? Yes, money and connections bring with them the privilege of being able to manipulate the clearly flawed system. But raise your hands - I dare you - if you would meekly surrender your liberty after, say, being arrested for driving under the influence, if you had the means to get out of it.

I have no doubt that a lot of people I know would disagree with me. I have no doubt that the sentence handed down was most certainly lenient. I have even less doubt that circumstances will eventually lead to an even more comfortable application of this sentence. Appeals may even be considered... But to call what has transpired an error is to buy into the rankest conspiratorial suggestion. The world's penetrating glare was focused on every second of this trial. A mistake was simply not an option. Yet even after all the nitpicking and pedantic point-for-point analysis, has even one legitimate legal mind come out and cried foul? Or are the laws of this shining democracy being upheld, even in the flimsiest sense of the word?

Like I said, I certainly don't know nearly as much as so many of you law professors out there. And I most demonstrably give far less of a fuck. But allow me to make a few suggestions on how better to occupy your time:

  • Find an institution that specialises in trauma counseling for the victims of violent crime and volunteer your services.
  • Engage with your community and do something to help similar victims in your neighbourhood.
  • Join the police or study law. Failing that, just turn off your fucking TV when Shrien Dewani is mentioned, go outside, and spend time with your dog.
  • Contribute instead of condemning. Even if what you see is contemptible. If you wasted all your time getting your tits in a tangle over every shitty thing happening in this shitty world, you'd have nothing left but wrung out hands and an impressive collection of hessian outfits.
  • "Get on with it!" Your life, that is...

Let the spluttering indignation begin...

NGDG: Apparently a compromised debit card need only be cut in four through the magnetic stripe. Not 64 pieces, reassembled with pritt, to scan as proof for the bank that I'm still in possession of  said card, or a really crap puzzle.

Spread The Love. For Everyone. Not Just The Victims Of Famous Shitheads And Their Dirty Deeds.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014


I needed to have SOMETHING to write about considering that, if the law of averages is to be believed, some time today, this new post will have some completely unaware stranger read my blog for the ONE HUNDRED THOUSANDTH TIME! I couldn't wait until I had something worthwhile, so I made a little rhyme.
For you
From me.

A kugel did a kegel
As she stood and asked her spiegel
"Who's the bestest of them all?"

But when the answer came
It shocked and left her lame
And prompted her to promptly drop the ball.

THANK YOU ALL for reading the sometimes wise, sometimes wistful, always a complete-waste-of-everyone's-time rants, diatribes and silly stories. I hope you have enjoyed them as much as I have.

Here's to the next 100,000!

Spread The Love. No Really... Spread It.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014


Once again, nothing to do with anything.

That is of course if you're not an advocate of the death penalty making a return. Which you shouldn't be. I find it temporarily amusing that so many people baying for the re-institution of the lethal injection are the same dumb fucks who can't help but point out the obvious shortcomings in our judicial system. Clearly not the brightest peanuts in the turd.

If you subjected me to Guantanamo Bay style torture, having bamboo shoots inserted under my nails, enduring a Parliamentary sitting, watching an entire 3Talk with Noeleen show, or if you forced to listen to the latest Nickelback offering on repeat, I really wouldn't be able to pinpoint what got me to that epiphany. And I hate using the word "random" altogether. It's just another reminder of the literary void exemplified in the current generation of layabout slouching youths. If I use enough big words I can distinguish myself from them. Or come across as a gigantic arsehole. Your choice.

The point is I really don't know.

Usually by now when I "just start writing" I have assembled some sort of idea what the subject matter is going to be for the day, but that tried and trusted method of shaping my mindless regurgitation is failing me today. I could tell you about the wonderful Garfunkel & Oates singing comedy act that I discovered on the intrawebs, but you lot probably already know of them. I just recognised them from cameo appearances in Big Bang Theory.

I wish I had more to offer. I wish I had something more constructive to add to the development of humanity. I wish I had bigger biceps...

Perhaps I should make an attempt at that 'contributing to humanity' thing. Seems like the one with the least effort involved. I'll try and steer clear of classics like "Don't be a dick, be cool":

  1. Adopt or foster a rescued animal. If you can't, then do something to aid the institutions that save them.
  2. Observe netiquette. Don't repost willy nilly. Everyone has probably seen that shit a million times and for goodness sake, use an anti-hoax site before you get your tits in a tangle.
  3. Avoid "reply all" at ALL costs.
  4. Get outside and exercise in the fresh air. Unless you reside in Lavender Hill.
  5. Call your folks - if you're still fortunate enough to have. And stick up for your father, he stuck up for you.
  6. Life's too short for bad music, cheap women or running out of booze. (Bad music is, incidentally, an affront for which I would gladly act as judge, jury and executioner. But it is the only instance in which the death penalty would be acceptable. And only if it offends my sensitive senses.)
  7. Never fail to take advantage of an opportunity to help someone. Unless it's at your front door and you'd like to avoid a steady procession of beggars.
  8. Always wear clean underwear? Hah! I say never wear ANY underwear! That way the paramedics will think you are way more risque/popular than you really are.
  9. Don't marry your job, unless you're one of the lucky ones who do what they love.
  10. Use spell check.
  11. Recycle as much as you can.
  12. And in the immortal words of Aretha Franklin, try a little respect. It goes a long way.

I still have no idea where any of this came from.

NGDG: This is why I live here. This makes me more patriotic than Candice Hillebrand in a green and gold g-string.

Spread The Love. Not The Ignorance.

Monday, September 29, 2014


What comes around, goes around. Indeed.

"The world we live in, and life in general..." Words that echo from way back in my childhood. As a devout Modie, they certainly shaped my interpretation of things, and probably still have some lingering effect. Don't ask me what exactly they mean to me, or anyone for that matter, but it is what it is.

I suppose lyrics to songs can very often be misinterpreted, and probably are more often than not. I try and keep mine as ambiguous as possible, allowing the listener to make their own assumptions and take from the words what they want. I've even caught the singers of these lyrics out, when asking them exactly what it was they were singing about. Then again, I can be purposely obtuse and a bit of a doos. The vast majority of these songs however, deal with times that have caused me emotional turmoil, such as break ups. To the point where we have even trademarked the name for that section of the song after the second chorus when the music either "breaks down" or "builds up". Yup! The "break up"...

I digress. I have to tell you about a certain interesting run in I had this weekend. Hanging out at some place in De Waterkant for an old friend of mine's birthday party, I found myself glancing around the room more often than usual. I was the designated driver and the conversion was getting away from me. When all of a sudden I notice one of the party of bachelorettes looking at me as if I'd let one rip and she was having trouble seeing through the ensuing fog. I recognised her instantly as one of the young ladies about whom I have been forced to pen a ditty in the past. It wasn't all that positive (he says nonchalantly flicking his fringe from his eyes). After mouthing the query/response of our respective names at each other, we got up and did the whole "Oh wow! It's so awesome to see you! How're you doing?!" schpiel, and here's where I actually started quite enjoying myself. We no longer have contact, in fact there has been very little in the way of communication since I took my kite flying a bit more seriously. It transpired, without going into any sordid details, that in the end one of us is a lot better off. At least in the matters of the heart. I couldn't help but feel a little smug, but managed to avoid blurting out "Ja, serves you right!"

Anyway, people make their choices and we have to respect those choices. Sometime you agree, sometimes you don't. But in the end, we can but hope and pray that the ones we make steer us to the best situations, people and results for us. And here's another thought, just while it popped into my head. You know how everyone believes in karma and the power of retribution and evil people getting their just desserts? Well, that's all good and I'm sure that shitty people will be rewarded accordingly, but I disagree with the same premise being applied to the good side of "what goes around, comes around". Basically, no matter how magnanimous or noble you think you are by "paying it forward", you're doing something nice because you expect something wonderful in return, which is to misunderstand the point entirely.

Now here is something - for you - because I love you and no other reason. A new instrumental Sleepers track. Enjoy. At least this one's words won't be misconstrued...

NGDG: If you simply have to protest Israel, can you start with those annoying Dead Sea Skincare promoters?

Spread The Love. Listen To Michael Bolton On Mute.

Thursday, September 25, 2014



So Tarty Farty Tequila Party posted something witty about a visit to the gynaechiatrist, and I unfortunately responded by saying I was infinitely grateful that I would never have to go through that clearly dreadful experience. Now, long story short, I have to write a piece on it...

Not that I haven't woken in sweaty night terrors at the prospect of having my prostate checked. I believe I am almost at the age when I get the relive the sheer hell of the school nurse curtly telling me to "cough". It's very similar. Little did I know back then that I'd spend virtually every waking moment of my life dedicated to getting a female to cradle my balls in a similar fashion. It was only weird in the army physical...

Then someone told me that they no longer give you the Polsmoor Probe to determine whether or not your prostate is healthy - they now rely merely on blood work - a fact met with much rejoicing! Which brings me back the the stirrup demon. It's easy to joke about it, but I'm sure that for most women it's rather an unpleasant gedoente. And in the light of my only comparable experience now being a thing of the past, it left me wondering just how kak it must be and how I'd manage a trip to the dreaded Uterus Mechanic. Right now all I can think of is how I'd react to being pants-down in a room resembling a doctor's surgery and all I can come up with is "Happy ending, please!" seconds before the physio threw me out on my ass.

So let's pretend I'm a lady and I do lady's things, and for a few minutes at least resist the overwhelming temptation to point out that I'm a little bitch anyway. You call up and make your check-up appointment. What is the protocol vis a vis grooming? Does one present a neatly trimmed patient for inspection in the same way you brush your teeth before gaping open your maw at the dentist? I bet you there are a few gynies who could tell you some stories. But never mind all that, from what I'm led to believe (I've seen movies like 'Knocked Up' and so forth...) it's fairly unpleasant, if only for the invasive nature of the visit. I would imagine that even for the most aggressively sexual among us that this is invasive and most would rather not have to go through it.
So there I am with my heels in the stirrups, doing my best not to speculate as to the possible problems that could be found and, at the same time, praying that it'll all be over soon and I'll be stamped with a clean bill of health. Bits dangling in the breeze waiting for the bearer of lube and probes. No, we're not in Amsterdam. And with the theatrical thwack of a rubber glove we're away! I don't know what you're looking for, but like I keep telling my husband, it's a little to the left!

You see, it's hard not to sexualise or trivialise these things, as a guy. And I am trying my best not to be too flippant about this subject / ordeal. But with every word I type I have to be honest and admit that the only phrase bouncing around my big dumb head is "don't work where other people play". You see?

Anyway, I have attempted to think what it would be like to deal with this experience, and have come up short, not only in terms of completing the narrative, but also in being able to remain calm and rational. Perhaps I AM a woman after all. I have failed to remain composed and to offer a reasonable or fair portrayal of the terror inherent in a visit to the gynaechiatrist. For this I apologise. But I just cannot get my head around it sufficiently. Let's not even get me started on the obvious confines of trying to keep my language in check.

NGDG: Energy-saving bulbs! Enjoy a glimmer of stone-age ambience in your home today!

Spread The Love. You Got A Shoe-horn Or Something!?!?