Friday, April 17, 2015

GORDON MOTHERFUCKIN' RAMSAY!


I couldn't even... 
...help myself.

Yeah, bitches. 4 and a half years of living on my own has proven worthwhile. Very much like when Faf du Plessis first went to go and play county cricket, I have been forced to learn how to cook for myself. And subsequently, others.

Up until the sudden onset of inexplicable madness, I was quite happy to indulge in the omnipresent deal of "you cook, I clean". It worked with everyone with whom I ever shared an abode. When all of a sudden it dawned on me that you can't actually braai every night, despite a very valiant effort. Even substituting "breakfast for dinner" didn't provide enough variety. So I decided to expand my meal-base.

And now - after countless panicked phone calls to the better half of the DSW - I believe I have the hang of it. Last night at dinner club, the applause stopped just short of a standing ovation. I have taken to providing a theme to the nights on which it is my turn to whip up something fanciful and last night it was "Shit served inside other shit".
The starter was a butternut soup served inside hollowed out fancy loaves with rosemary. Like a soup gatsby.
Then followed the bobotie cooked and served inside a pumpkin - fucking impressive, hey!
And to finish off, it was baked brie-in-black-fig drizzled with honey.
Add some good wine and some great company and you have a night of gastronomic grandeur the likes of which I doubt I will ever be able to replicate.

So you see, I'm not just an alcoholic, cantankerous, potty-mouthed axe-murderer. And all I can say is thank God I have a dishwasher. The kitchen resembles Dresden. Next thing you know, I'm eating scrambled eggs, with a comb, from a shoe. And there are shin bandages next to the cheese.

So now you see. The similarity to Gordon Ramsay stretches further than the shocking list of expletives streaming from our mouths at any given time. And nobody got my Hilary Swank joke. Fuck all of you.

Oh yes, before I forget, tonight sees KUDUCHILD (still the second best name in SA music) unleash their latest single at Mercury. Best you be there to join the boys in giving it horns. Joining them are KRAAL (I wonder if the combination of their names raised any "domestic" jokes) and CONDUIT (in my opinion, which you should take very, very seriously, one of the hottest bands about right now).

And speaking of unspeakable amazing things - as we are - tomorrow night I will be taking some time out to quietly sit in a dark corner and sob a heartfelt little sob or immeasurable sorrow. The most incredible line up of bands assembled on one stage in one night is happening tomorrow at Club Med. THE SLEEPERS, WILDERNESSKING, OHGOD & PEASANT. And I can't go...
That's it. Stick a fork in me, I'm done... he concludes with a forced cooking metaphor.

Have a safe, awesome weekend.

Spread The Love. But Get Out Of My Kitchen.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

CANDLES ARE A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND



And, as it happens, guys too! Sies, you and your dirty mind.

This morning I woke to no lights, no tv and no toaster. I still managed a hot cup of coffee, a hot shower and enough candlelight by which to bumble around. Major inconvenience. How many millions in this country have to contend with that, or even less, daily? Spare a thought for those less fortunate. After all, if Mr Bean is to be believed, winter is coming.

So stop fucking moaning about loadshedding.

Imagine you were thrust into a position of extreme responsibility without having a single clue how to do the job.

Oh, to have a paycheck large enough to sincerely not have to give a fuck...

Ah, there it is. Just as I get all misty eyed and pious, my dear fellow countrymen do something to reaffirm my despair for humanity. What's with all these attacks against foreign nationals? (Please note my extreme refusal to refer to these as "xenophobic". I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fledgling journalist who just discovered a fancy nice big word and now has to overuse it to death.) And why do they seem to be so coordinated? The sad truth is that I actually understand why it's done. In a hand-to-mouth existence, one lashes out at the most obvious impediment to your own survival, the targets in this case the people who are seen as taking "err jerbs". Anyone can run a spaza shop, therefore undercutting the locals is seen as a threat. Imagine how bad it has to be in the rest of Africa for anyone to risk opening a shop in a local township as a better alternative.

And the root of all evil, as is always the case, is money. Or the lack thereof. Congratulations Zuma, your Nkandla lifestyle is being paid for handsomely. You are, of course, merely a convenient example of the emergent elite who are largely responsible for the abject poverty that leads to the above mentioned barbaric behaviour. I hope one day that you see that. And that the paycheck is not large enough anymore for you to turn a blind eye...

You, and of course those bastard imperialists.

Spread The Love. Peace, Love And Understanding Are A Stone's Throw Away.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

SPIDEY SENSES... OOH, HOW THEY TINGLE!


With great power comes great responsibility.

I prefer some great reward.

I'm trying to tell you that, with my career path on such a sharp upward trajectory, I'm kak busy at work. It's frustrating. I miss the carefree days of discovering all the dark little corners of the internet. And regular posts.
Yesterday, as with so many days of late, I was almost driven to homicide.

Still a better love story than kissing n' platbekpadda upside down in the rain dangling from a streak of spindly silky snot.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. Perhaps I just had a small window of opportunity I needed to use. Which leaves us here. A place where I started something I can't finish. Much like my perplexing adolescent social advances with the opposite sex. I haven't gotten any better, mind you, just luckier.
I remember the last (and probably first) time I ever offered to buy a girl a drink in a bar. Pretty little blonde. Her face contorted into a mask of anguished hatred as she fought her natural inclination to flee and settled for merely telling me to go fuck myself. In hindsight I probably shouldn't already have been holding 2 drinks on a 2-for-1 night. Hideously transparent. Now I just drink both beverages and try not to embarrass The Hot Girlfriend too much.

Oh fuck this is going to be one of those posts. I'll try and steer clear of the politics - both of our beloved country and that of music. The local music scene is having a collective platz again. Actually, I should take this opportunity to inform you of a stomping li'l shindig going down at Mercury on Friday. Kuduchild are celebrating the release of their new single 'Goodnight Lady' and are joined on the night by the incendiary Conduit and the infectious Kraal. Listen to my hooves!
Also, the most amazing line up ever in the history of local music is happening on Saturday. The Sleepers, OhGod!, Wildernessking and Peasant are all flaunting their impressive wares at Club Med. This is one not to be missed. As ever, not able to follow my own advice, I will be doing something else. Don't get me wrong, I'm gutted, but I do have something very important on.

Some days are better than others. Just about to have a meeting with one of my local music heroes. Suck it.

Spread The Love. On The Web. Not On The Couch. Although...

Friday, April 10, 2015

GORGEOUS NAKED PORNSTARS IN HOT TUB!



Well, isn't that the rock'n'roll dream? Even more so if you're a rock'n'roll band from Switzerland where this sort of hedonism is commonplace up in the Alps.

You guessed it! Mercury is hosting another international act tomorrow night! RESTOCK, fresh from their dizzying performance at Witchfest and concluding their countrywide tour are performing alongside local heavyweights, BULLETSCRIPT.

Hang on. Repeat that...

International band at Mercury! Our cups runneth over! Damn, it's good to be alive in these plentiful times. You're all spoiled like, well, really spoiled children who have wealthy divorced parents vying for your affection by getting you ever more ostentatious gifts. Without all that uncomfortable broken family palaver. Click here for ALL the event details.

Anyway, I will be spending the day celebrating the nuptials of the most expensive indoor potjie ever made, but will try my damnedest to join all you lucky buggers later on that night. Speaking of, I was there last night checking out the Bluestown Sessions. On a school night. It was awesome. JDP was there. So was Captain Awesome. We hope that whatever contribution we made came in handy - The Hungry Hungarian needs to replace some stolen gear. Somewhere around Gardens a tik kop is running around with some vintage stuff he has no idea of. Unless he's already hawked it for a fraction of its value so he could get that next high. Doos.

So, if you like your cheese like you like your rock'n'roll, then come on down for a night of sweaty, swaggering fun. Even more than you'd have with some grim creatures in a chlamydia casserole.

You're NOT Motley Crue.

Spread The Love. Like Bitches In Bubbles.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

MONU-MENTAL!



Once, when I was in primary school, I proffered a piece of carbon paper held out on the palm of my hand to an unsuspecting girl a year older than me, telling her it smelled funny and that she too should give it a whiff. Once she got her face close enough I smeared the carbon all over her face and hightailed it as fast as my legs could carry me. She chased me for almost a full lap of the school grounds. I couldn't stop laughing. At that precise point in my life, that was the greatest of my achievements.

On with the body count. I have tried to keep my great big blabbering mouth shut regarding what I consider gross stupidity of the rankest order in this whole statue defacing debacle. Note, I said "tried". I see both the point made by the instigators and the defenders. It's a noble trait I just picked up and I believe it's called adulthood. I'm not sure if I'm altogether comfortable with this new mantle though...
Anyway, I have been mulling it over and just when I decide to pen my considered opinion, this guy goes and writes this. I promise I had every intention of writing something but it all seems pretty pointless now that this guy has so eloquently made my point for me. I even had this picture picked out yesterday and all!

Actually, screw it! Let's remove ALL edifices of white imperialism and replace every single one of them with bronzes of Eddie Murphy. Engraved on the base we could have a speech bubble immortalising the words "Hey! Motherfucker, dick, pussy, snot and shit! Suck my dick! Bye-bye!"

But much like the distasteful backlash of our Afrikaans "singers", this would raise the ire of the prudish proletariat enough to mobilise them into mass crocheted cover ups. Imagine a world where every monument resembled the old Barbie doll spare toilet roll holder. Pretty apt, considering this world is fast sinking down the bog.

You see, the problem with work interfering with my online tomfoolery is that you don't get to physically see the time gaps in the creation of these little disasterpieces. I have now been out of the office for an hour or so fart arsing about with an auditor (sounds like something Harry Potter should wave his little wand at...) and in the meantime new information has come to light. I just read a document in which Mister Cecil J Rhodes was quotes as saying he'd build UCT "Out of the k****s' stomach". Well, fuck everybody!

Fuck Rhodes.
Fuck Steve.
Fuck Sunette.
Fuck the pooh-flinger.

Each and every one of these is guilty of disgusting crimes against humanity.
Actually, humanity is guilty of the same thing.

You all suck!

Spread The Love. Leave Out The Liedjies And The Feces. Although There Isn't A Discernible Difference.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

S.W.A.G.

Sealed With A Gag - to show him you really care...

I recently checked in on the number of "reads" this here virtual soapbox of mine was up to...
I lie. I check all the time. It's in my competitive nature to permanently seek validation or superiority and having my hands down my pants is often frowned upon at work.

So I'd like to thank the army of loons that make up my rabid following for being as fanatical as you are. It can't be easy logging in time after time to read the same thing over and over again. How else to explain the staggering numbers? There can't possibly be that many of you! If you were Roman gods, you'd be Erudite. [You have to pronounce the last bit like the last bit in Aphrodite...]

Anyway, it is with much appreciation that I thank you from the heart of my black little bottom. I'll continue spewing drivel all over your screens as long as you allow me. Like the indulgent parent and the vomiting infant in the mall, a necessary cog in the mysterious machine that is life.

Not so mysterious is this whole "wine, women and song" thing that rules most of us. When I was younger, my dear ol' mom used to have very many suspicions (confirmed or not) about who was the "bad influence" on her precious little over achiever. Coincidentally, the suspicions first surfaced when the over achieving came to a sudden grinding halt. I still don't have the heart to tell her I was leading others into temptation and not the other way around. Barring, of course, the "women" part of the equation. No matter how much of myself I put out there, nothing and no one seemed interested in "taking the bait". But I digress. I was going to make the point that the three ingredients in that triumvirate of vices still rule the roost. And last night I got to experience them to the full. Again.
With the glaring exception of the "women" part. Again.
TDB, Rose Thorn (wine in hand) and I made glorious doom metal, echoing throughout the aching agony of the ages, and as far as my kitchen. I don't have a point, ok? I'm just padding my report on what I got up to. It was glorious.

And tonight SUBVERS get together to plot and scheme our way into your collective conscience, your dark little hearts and your knickers. I would tell you to look out for imminent updates but we all know that perfection takes time. Isn't it nice how we live in a world where subjectivity is so acceptable? Can you imagine rating bands on their empirical, rather than their emotive musical worth? I'd be fucked.

And on that blond bombshell, I'm out. Have the day you deserve. Cheeky, neh?

Spread The Love. Not The Cheeks.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

EASTER - A BOOB DANCE...



Yup, that's a titillating little picture. For the whole video, click here.

And now that I have your attention...

It is with great sadness that I must report that I did not go to Witchfest this weekend. The missilitis has been eating me alive, especially with all the reports streaming in about how absolutely mental it was. To be honest, I am really crushed I managed to miss Septic Flesh, maar nou ja. Too late she cried..

It ended up being a good thing. My oldest friend surprised me with "Hey, I'm in South Africa til Tuesday, let's get together for a drink!" He lives in the UK, so I haven't seen him or his wife in many, many years. I'd have missed that.
Then, The Meyer Of Awesomeville and his even more awesome First Lady snuck into Cape Town. We welcomed them with open arms and open beers. And gabbed for a million years. It was, to labour the point... awesome!
Lots of family braais and the usual revelry to fill in all the gaps which you usually reserve for doing laundry, and you have two very exhausted Easter bunnies. Not to mention another drinks session with SimOne.
Another event I'd have been gutted to miss was the rather less celebratory, but it was good to see old friends and reminisce.

When The Hot Girlfriend and I finally had enough time to catch our breath, we made the world's most awesome home made burgers. If pop up restaurants weren't so popular right now, and if outrageously ostentatious facial hair weren't a prerequisite, I'd open up a diner. Any leggy dames out there with their own rollerskates? I'll keep a life time supply of Mycota in the office since socks are frowned upon.

And now I'm back in the office. Long weekends are not long enough. Seems I should have an awful lot more on which to report, or at least more depth into which I could go, but I don't. So I'll leave it at that. Oh bloody hell! What am I thinking! I forgot one of the most important bits.

[Please do not think of a disappointingly short sexual escapade when you read the above paragraph.]

The Hot Girlfriend and I took TDB & MeJulie out wine tasting on Saturday. As we drove past Constantia Village and the traffic came to a complete standstill, we realised our fatal miscalculation. The fucking 2 Oceans Marathon. Not only is that other blog damnably, and infuriatingly, successful - but now the marathon from which it stole its name was blocking my boozing!
Anyway...
Making a sho't left through the mall parking lot and deciding to try and wind our way to Buitenverwachting instead, we were once again (and this time unavoidably) thrust into crawling traffic. At least this time we had the advantage of watching the "athletes" variously jog, walk, trudge, or shuffle past us in the opposite direction. The unearthly masks of desperation, agony and in some cases, numb noncomprehension, were priceless and actually reminded me of my maiden sojourn up my mountain with Commander Conker. Why we do this to ourselves beggars belief.
Buitenverwachting was closed.
Luckily ol' faithful, Steenberg, wasn't.
Following a languid wine tasting there, we managed to make our way to Eagle's Nest where the squeals of delight upon entering could mean only one thing. The Hot Girlfriend found out they had their world famous Viogneur back in stock.
We picnicked. We strolled around the picturesque grounds. We left. All in all a grand day out! Capped off with the obligatory piss up back at my place it was the cherry on top of a great weekend.

"Here I lay me down to sleep, and pray that Witchdoctor will bring Septic Flesh to South Africa again. Just for me... Amen."

Spread The Love. "It Can Leap... THIS Far!"