Monday, July 28, 2014


Here's why I love Faecesboobs:
I get to post inane, below-par and below-the-belt quips which fall woefully short of actual humour in retaliation to everyone else posting pictures of their offspring or food. I suppose it's better than the opposite, which would be dick picks and pooh. It's a cause and effect type of argument.

Click "like" if you think you even vaguely got that...

Another reason is that I get to be an obnoxiously obtuse bastard. A lot of people go along with it, either in some sort of head shaking sympathy, or a vain attempt to pretend that it didn't fly a mile over their wanly smiling bobble-heads. The few that get it, do. And to those people I say thank you.

It feeds my rampant narcissism as well. I get to post pictures of my too-fabulous-to-believe lifestyle and everyone believes I cavort around having the best time ever with all my Motley Crüe friends. Judicious editing has been so far ingrained that you probably wouldn't believe it if I told you the truth about my largely uneventful life. Even admitting to an uneventful life is going to be read by dozens of people. Bless you all. If I'd said hundreds that would have been okay too...

The truth is that it provides not only a platform from which I can self promote my opinions, and by extension, my music, but it also serves to alleviate the crushing boredom of an office job. It's like the world's most interactive ant farm. Watching all the little people scurry about trying their best to be noticed in among an avalanche of selfies and pseudo-motivational quotes. And the hypocrites! Oh, the hypocrites! Too much cleavage - pouting attention whore! Too little - let's scrutinise her spelling! Don't dress the part but insist on making hard and heavy music - you're liable to be labelled a "stink hair hypester" (I'm not making this up!) The alternative of course is to dress the part and make shit music or no music whatsoever. The worst are those ever-so-hardcore juvenile delinquents with no money who rely on their clothing to make a bold statement about how terrifyingly Trve Kvlt they are. Although I empathise, rubbish bags have never been an adequate substitute for proper PVC. And even then you're in danger of looking like a twat.

Speaking of! I will be donning my Amazing Shiny Pants Of Toightness for your viewing pleasure when next AXXON takes to the stage. I have a new guitar to show you all courtesy of Jackson and Paul Bothner Music! You don't want to miss this opportunity to have your face and ears thoroughly sexed by our particular brand of intense, insanity-infused industrial.

But the main reason.. the very main reason I so love Facebook is the complete and utter self-contained self absorption it not only encourages, but embodies. I say and do as I please. And the irony is that only my nearest and dearest DO get it. And who cares about the rest, right? My highly refined music taste? Only those who share my pompous predilections would agree. Obviously. Everyone else sees me as a show off and a know it all. Which is probably the only scenario in which your interpretation of my online demeanour is in any way remotely accurate.

I'm going running. It's been months, but it's a beautiful day out and I don't feel like sitting here for too much longer - cooped up and glued to the fluorescent glow of a million people updating their stupid fucking statuses.

NGDG: I came very close to having an accident on Jan Smuts Avenue this morning. Thank heavens for the Colony Arm's public toilets.

Spread The Love. The World Needs It More Than Your Instagram.

Friday, July 25, 2014


A sphincter says "what?"

...leaves you with "shit". As in just plain ol' shit. Not THE shit. Just shit. A term I am inclined to use when describing a certain online retailer today.

So you go online, as you do - tra la la...

You finally find the item your heart desires (or rather the thing you're buying your significant other for their upcoming birthday) after a millionty hours because, you know, you're so fucking special that these things are simply not available at the arse end of Africa.
You gleefully click buy and get almost instantaneous confirmation emails. Wünderbar! Shopping made easy.
Then, because a certain online retailer outsources, you get a follow up email informing you that third party retailer does, in fact, not ship to Afrique De Sud. Oh deary deary me. But assurances are given that therefore no transaction has taken place and your account has not been bled dry to the point of containing nothing more that dust.
According to their ever-so-fucking-helpful instruction you amend the shipping address and re-order. This time, however, because you're now pissed off with them, you order only the item for your better half and leave out the impulse buy you had originally included for yourself.
Once again you click buy, having ascertained that, yes, they most definitely ship to Europe and safe in the knowledge that you have organised the gift's safe passage from there, home.

But hark! What yonder fuck up this way stalks!

"We're having trouble processing your transaction, yada, yada, yada..."


On a hunch, you go into your online banking and lo and behold, the original amount sits perched there in the debit column like a belligerent step child goading you with its beady soulless little fucking eyes.

All attempts - all very succinctly laid out in the most detailed explanation - have yet to be met by a response other than "We're having trouble processing your transaction, we're going to try again in a bit, yada, yada, yada..."

Do you know how much the bank charges you when someone attempts to extract money from an account with insufficient funds. There goes my unborn child's fucking college fund.

I need a drink.

See? It's SHIT.

NGDG: Just checking into Facebook for my daily dose of hypocrisy, outrage, and baby pics.

Spread The Love. Shit Just Got Real.

Thursday, July 24, 2014


"Come on! What's the safe word?" 
"Fuck you! I am NOT saying 'NickelbackRocks'!"

Fetish Schmetish. It's only considered abnormal when she doesn't go along with it.
In fact, if the NG Kerk looks down on it, it is probably something worth trying.

I'm sure somewhere in the sacred texts, there exists some passage that translates to something like "exercise restraint".

And now, as promised, something completely different...

Is it considered OCD to try and eat neatly? Or for that matter, anything to do with food - be it preparation or mastication. You wouldn't want to stare into the gaping maw of some mouth breather chewing away frantically while verbally remonstrating the varied virtues of whatever is trending on Twitter this week any more than you'd like opening the lid of the margarine to find it mangled so badly you imagine Freddie Kruger and Edward Scissorhands had been playing thumb wars in there...

Yes. That just happened. At work. Further investigation led to the conclusion that a sharp knife was indeed used in the excavation - and therefore I assume, application - of said spread. It's so wrong! That's like drinking wine from a ceramic coffee mug when concealment isn't an issue. Please tell me I'm not alone in being mildly freaked out by such unrefined behaviour!

And how do I turn the spell check on this damn blog to English English? Fuckin 'Murica and its wholly dumbed down everything... Mind you, can't blame them. They've successfully managed to manipulate mass media to the extent where all the dumbfuck barely-literates they've created actually believe their foreign agenda.

Anyway, onto news of a more positive bent. Tonight I attempt the most extravagant dinner club yet. With any luck, my guinea pigs guests will enjoy my ambitious culinary creations. Let's hope the crippling expense doesn't end up being tipped into the bin, a ruined, burned crisp. At least I'll be cleaning up as I go along... Fuck Martha Stewart. Fuck Jamie Oliver. No, I really mean just fuck 'em.

And then it's the end of yet another dreary ol' week. Let's hope tomorrow isn't Food-Poisoning Friday. Last Friday our staff went to do their 67 minutes of guilt induced charity work. As usual, we did our thing for the animals, volunteering at the Animal Rescue Organisation in Ottery. My contribution was limited to getting high as fuck stuck painting the inside walls of a very confined - and poorly ventilated - waiting room toilet. At least I got to coo at one puppy. Let me tell you, the Day Of The Hound fast approaches. Does anyone know where one can sell one's soul online?

NGDG: The reason women can't park is that they've been lied to their whole adult life about how long six inches really are.

Spread The Love. All Six Inches. Around!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014


Peek... and tweak.

So lets' start at the very beginning. I believe it's a very good place to start. Them hills and all...
They're ALIVE!

You may have missed my misanthropic musings for the last week or so. It really isn't that I don't want to speak to you, it's just that I'm lazy. Like a Vaseline covered sloth. No, actually it could be you. It's not me, it's definitely you.

Let's go back to last Friday, a night of nights! Mercury hosted the curious combination of SUBVERS, THE SLEEPERS and OHGOD! All in all, I'd have to declare the evening's entertainment a wholesale success. Not only were the punters purring with delight, but I'm pretty damn sure the bands were having a whale of a time as well. Speaking for myself, I had a wonderful time! Starting off proceedings, OHGOD! were a revelation! Their enthusiastic, eclectic, energetic performance was something to behold! They rocked out, delivering their scruffy elegance with the exuberance of recently freed circus animals! The shit-eating grins washed over the gaping, wide-eyed faces of everyone in the club served as an accurate enough barometer. I'm pretty sure a few pants in the audience tightened.
Next up SUBVERS had a great time playing their pseudo-spooky stomp metal to a very receptive crowd, who seemed to really get into our goth laced grandeur. Well, as far as I could see, from behind my curtain of flailing hair and sweaty enjoyment. Once again, an extra special thanks to our dear friend McSkootnik, who ably stepped into some pretty large shoes to help us out on drums. You are a demon and a darling.
Then it was the turn of THE SLEEPERS to mesmerise all and sundry. As usual, I was enraptured by their slick, scintillating, sublime set. You daren't move from your spot when they weave their sonic magic, lest you miss even one perfectly poised note, phrase or moment. That good? Even better. They continue to defy belief.
Once again, the terrific folks at Mercury are to be commended for running such an awesome venue. Lisel and Kevin and Lux - we love you guys! And the sound and lighting crew are out of this world! Sydney - you too, mate!

Staying with the theme of live music, we move swiftly on to Witchdoctor Productions, who brought KATAKLYSM to SA from Canada, and SACRAPHYX out of retirement. I didn't really get to see much of the opening band, BLEEDING SPAWN, but I can tell you they are very into what they do. Very intense, these lads.
SUIDERBEES was the first of the Cape Town contingent and apparently took great pleasure in gleefully slaughtering the awe-struck acolytes mushed together in front of them. Their brand of symphonic death metal is a juggernaut of infernal intensity that doesn't for one second ease off. Just what the (witch)doctor ordered!

Then it was time for me to get really excited!

SACRAPHYX, along with one or two other luminaries, have long been considered, by this not-so-humble scribe and everyone else who matters, to be one of South African metal's greatest success stories. Perhaps not in terms of financial gain or worldwide acclaim, but certainly the level of reverence they attained. Their legacy lives on and they command respect across the board - a fact amply backed up by their no nonsense, thunderous return to stage after a decade's absence. And pulling off their particular flavour of technical death metal after only 2 rehearsals is no mean feat either! The crowd went fucking ballistic! I had the foresight to get in early so I had a front barricade on which to anchor myself and enjoy the show up close. It was a source of immense personal pleasure and pride to watch old friends once again tearing up a stage (and a crowd) together. New arseholes for the whole of Cape Town!
Then came KATAKLYSM. I don't know where the masses got another surge of energy, but the explosion of entangled bodies that greeted the sheer brutal shockwave as they hit the stage was nothing short of staggering. And it simply didn't let up. The ultimate professionals, these guys were engaging and unstoppable. What a wonderful event and what an incredible time was had by all! Bravo to all involved, especially the guys at Witchdoctor - SP and UpsideDownDonKing - can't wait for SEPULTURA, BEHEMOTH & KONKHRA!

NGDG: We need a word for that feeling you get in a queue at a bar when you really want to dance but there are too many men's crotches in close proximity to want to anymore.

Spread The Love. Because Boobies! Fuck Yeah!

Wednesday, July 9, 2014


As if you didn't already know...SUBVERS IS PLAYING AGAIN! As if that wasn't enough to send you whooping down the street, they will be joined by the awe-inspiring aural architects THE SLEEPERS and new darlings, the devilishly delightful OHGOD!

It is no secret I am an avid admirer of The Sleepers. In fact I have taken just about every opportunity to scream it from the rooftops. Their mastery of their craft is nothing short of breath-taking. I have spent many, many gigs happily transfixed by their mesmerising musical majesty. I can honestly count them as one of my all time favourite bands, local or otherwise. And I consider it a personal milestone to be sharing a stage with these incredible innovators - a dream come true.

Which brings me to Ohgod! New to my radar, but having been around in different incarnations over the years, they are quickly forging a path to greatness, with their intelligent, eclectic brand of pseudo-instrumental progressive rock. It's hard to pigeon-hole, so I'll let you decide.

The indefatigably enthusiastic Bryan O'Pines is quoted, upon experiencing SUBVERS for the first time - earlier this year at Metal4Africa's Summerfest, as follows:
"SUBVERS followed Rukuz on stage and, as the afternoon disappeared into the night, this quartet from the dark side ushered away the light. With a sound somewhat reminiscent of Type O Negative or Rammstein on 'roids, they immediately hit the spot for me."
"Their atmospheric, gothic darkness was wonderful; this is a band that will hopefully be involved in The Awakening tour somehow, and will be making far more regular appearances on the local scene. I have not heard anywhere near enough of them!"

'Nuff said, I reckon. Kind words indeed. Thank you. If that sounds like your particular brand of poison, please join us at Mercury on Friday for a night jam packed with wild eyed wonder.
Also, as it happens, we've planned it so that it very neatly doesn't interfere with the climax of the Football World Cup. Yes! You'll be climaxing enough on the night!

Hope to see all your black little souls there! Especially all the online scene warriors who have recently made such a public fuss over supporting local music, etc.

Event details.
Ticket competition details.

Clicky... clicky...

And an extra special happy happy birthday to the one and only Cheese today! Have a wonderful day!
But wait! There's more. Valkyrie - hope you're having a fantastic day! Miss you and love you! Happy birthday!

NGDG: There's a moral dilemma when you see two salivating singles in the corner of the bar looking at the bachelors party and you should tell them that the only still-single member is the very drunk groom.

Spread The Love. We're All Martyrs To Her Will.


Little bow peep...

As it has always been, if you're after a good hard pomp, make sure that unruly hedge is at least trimmed. Or like Mr Miyagi and I both agree, "Wax on, wax off"...

Unfortunately Luiz, Dante and Marcello didn't read the memo as the Selecao got the full "back, crack 'n' sack" last night. Or did they purposely glue the sweepings of every beauty parlour in Sao Paulo to their heads? Either way, it cost them dearly, as the well organised machine of the Mannschaft marched on, leaving the host nation in a humiliated heap of sack cloth and ashes. It doesn't bode well for the Dutch, should they advance at the expense of Argentina tonight.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I don't think there has been such a hammering in a semi-final of a World Cup ever. Let's hope that tonight's game sees the Netherlands - with their graceful, balletic brand of football - prevail. I don't need a a wünder-drubbing; a nail biting win by one goal will do thank you very much. I'm even wearing my bright orange Holland football shirt, my bright orange Holland armband, and my bright orange Holland underpants! If that's not enough, then I don't know!

 Hup Holland Hup!

Anyway, it could have been way worse. Imagine the outcry had the host nation crumbled like the current champions, Spain. Or if they'd made such ignominiously early exits as England or Italy. Making the semis is an incredible feat, especially since they were carrying the weight of expectation of an entire nation. And even more so considering they have been sub-par, and that FIFA is having a fat lag as they do worse to the country's people than Germany did to the team. I hope this result doesn't precipitate more riots. At least when South Africa hosted the tournament, we knew we weren't good enough - only qualifying to play because it was at our house. When we went out, everyone shrugged a shoulder and adopted another African country. Remember BaGhana BaGhana? Somehow I don't see the devastated hordes of bawling Brasilians looking to their neighbours for a Messi(ah).

Anyway, favourable outcome or not tonight, I have enjoyed this World Cup tremendously. Once again, it has dished up its fair share of drama and delight.

NGDG: "What did you do that for?" asked Paulo Coelho, after being punched in the face for no reason. Because sometimes things happen for no reason and you end up asking the wrong questions of life.

Spread The Love. Fun And Sunshine, There's Enough For Everyone.

Monday, July 7, 2014


A far cry from flowing white cotton robes...

Yoko Ono is still alive. Much to the chagrin of whoever it was that took John Lennon out and everyone else on the planet. She "performed" at Glastonbury recently. Somehow... somewhere... someone saw fit to allow her to assail our senses with her grotesque warbling.
So, it may be the long way of doing things, but I finally cracked the "how to" of getting booked to play at large, world-renowned festivals:

  1. Break up arguably the best song writing collaboration of modern music.
  2. Turn one half of above mentioned collaboration into a flea-bitten, moth-eaten, lice-infested hippy messiah.
  3. Visit the local eatery run by your family and study the sound made by cats when they're skinned alive.
  4. Emulate...

No need for all this fancy "musicianship" or "having a good voice" or being able to "write a song". To quote another astute observer of the phenomenon "Some artists use the medium of feces to express themselves on canvas. She is the musical equivalent thereof." If I was the booking agent for Glastonbury, I'd find the nearest clogged up porta-loo, sit down and - sobbing - write a heartfelt apology to humankind and post it across all social media, before shoving my head into the overflowing septic melange oozing up from the toilet bowl until I choked to death. You deserve no less than that which you have inflicted upon all of us. If I had a Delorean, as much as I dislike John Lennon, I'd go back to 1980 and rugby tackle him out of the way in time if it meant that the gunman managed to get his intended target...

Anyway, onto happier news. The World Cup Finals, other than miraculously turning everyone into an expert on the game, have yielded the semis I predicted. But wait! There's more! With any luck the dream final between The Netherlands and Germany could still happen. As condemn-able as Neymar's kuif is, I feel truly terrible for the guy, having had such a good tournament and now having to suffer the fate of watching from the sidelines due to an unfortunate incident which was entirely unnecessary. With him out, I doubt Brasil will have what it takes to overcome Germany. And with Di Maria missing from Argentina's semi, the Dutch should prevail, gravity notwithstanding. Actually, I wouldn't mind a Netherlands vs Brasil final either. The atmosphere would be amazing.

What did I do this weekend? You don't want to hear my report. Except to tell you I almost caught the bouquet. If there had been one...

NGDG: A love poem for Kendall Jones

We have thousands of lion, leopards, buck too,
On film or the park down the R512.
But nude pics of you I can't find for shit,
Can't feel on my palms your cheerleader's tits.
Young Kendall Jones, when next you come hunt,
please can I come, sheath my gun in your... handbag.

Spread The Love. Imagine...