STOP - HAMMERED TIME!

It's official. Phuza Thursdays suck. Especially since they appear to be linked to "Somebody-kill-me-please" Fridays.

Yesterday started off with the best of intentions. From this day forth I endeavour to start every subsequent day with the worst intentions, if this is the result.

Got home, played Martha Stewart for a while, got an sms from TDB which read "Bought a shit load of beer, coming round now." I stood at the front gate for almost half an hour.

No sooner had we got tucked into the beer than Tarty Farty Tequila Party informed us via many a Tequila Tweet how things were progressing at the Patron Silver Tequila launch party she was attending. A while later she pitched up with a bottle...

Good news travels fast, as another friend of ours out on the town for some form of boy's night was, along with his cohorts, also invited around. What a radical night. I eventually had to chase everyone away at some ungracious hour. This was entirely out of character, but I was blitzed, so that's my excuse.

Enter this morning. Fuck. My mouth is currently playing host to a rather ungrateful and mostly diseased colony of badgers. The only pain that's worse than that in my head is that in the rest of my body. I've had fuckall sleep. It feels like someone gave me the "Pitch Black" eyeball treatment with sandpaper. And I have this nagging feeling I may have done a Brangelina online. I may have to check my mail to see what nationality child I've adopted...

Also, to Surprise Phonecall Girl, hope all is well. Chat soon.

Spread the love. On a cracker. Then stick it up your arse. Get it?

Pay your TV Licence. It's the trite thing to do.

I have said it many times before and I will say it many times again. Fuck the SABC with their inadequate programming and ridiculous administration.

Take the cricket World Cup for instance. They managed to secure the licence to broadcast a whole 66% of the games from Supersport, a channel that actually employs people capable of stringing together entire coherent sentences and that have at least a tenuous grasp of the English language... (Some of them are Australian)

I had a TV licence all of my own once. It was a lovely little licence, and I even got to show it off to an inspector once. Due to eventual living arrangements it was no longer required. Guess how long it took me to cancel it. Come on! Guess! A year. One times annum! Including roughly 20 emails, a lunar month on the telephone listening to something awful by Celine Dion and about 5 trips to the local SABC office.

I'm fucked if I'm going through that again.

And why, oh why, do I require multiple licences for multiple sets?

They say I do not have the right to complain about the shitty service / programming / administration if I refuse to pay. I say I'll pay when it gets better. I know most of you are sitting there groaning loudly and yanking at your hair because I'm being an unreasonable git about it, but I am relatively honest in most other walks of life - I just hate those fuckers out of principle.

Anyway, ETV is supposed to be for free and they have those radical soft porn movies on late night on Saturdays. Or so JDP tells me...

Spread the love. Late night on ETV...

LOLLYGAGGING and TEABAGGING

* Disclaimer - the following musings are strictly meant as an educational narrative and are not meant to convey any offence. Like when I ask yo momma to do these things...

So. LOLLYGAGGING and TEABAGGING.

Neither of these represent what they appear to upon first impressions.

You can well imagine my utter despair and disappointment when I found out that "lollygagging" was in fact not a clever educational aid used to teach girls to deepthroat after a visit to the dentist.

Apparently it means "to dawdle or putter aimlessly"...

Luckily the flip side of the coin is true for "teabagging". It has nothing to do with the insertion of an actual teabag into piping hot water... repeatedly. Rather it refers to the obvious similarity in action when one "dunks" one's "junks" into the gaping maw of someone that up until recently I would have believed to be an astute student in the ways of "lollygagging".

Which brings up the following conundrum...

Which way around would one "teabag" one's lucky recipient? This can be argued both ways. For the sake of this missive, let's assume it is done whilst the young lady is on her back and not on her knees (which is also a possibility).

Is it better to "teabag" someone whilst the remainder of their torso is in front or behind you? Does one want to look them in the eye? Or does one want to inspect the elongated curves of their lithe bodies?

The answer of course, dear reader, is that the decision is not yours. It is entirely up to the young lady facilitating this most wonderful of experiences - if she wants a penis on her forehead or an eyeful of chocolate starfish. You should just be thankful she is willing to do what she is doing.

On that cheerful note, I will leave you to ponder the intricacies of this most delicate art form.

Spread the love. Gag the lolly.

PUTTING THE "FIST" BACK IN "PACIFIST"

Besides making fisting kinda awkward since 1979, there was a lot of the above going on this weekend...

We shall refrain from any commentary on the woeful display on the sub-continent.

So. Friday was a night of live metal bands at ROAR. I like going there. The sound is always good and the bar staff rock. I can't even call them that anymore either. They have become good friends. Speaks volumes about my view on "rock n roll lifestyle" then...

Also I live quite close, the road home has parking bays all the way for when one might suddenly need to cease driving due to flashing blue lights in the distance.

The Thundergods opened up proceedings with a tribute to Amon Amarth, after which the vocalist from Mind Assault (100kg plus) struggled all set long to wrestle the mic away from the Birthday Girl (less than 50kg, if that). Was highly entertaining and they still managed to deliver a monumental show. Great time with great friends. Even the EX was there.

Next day was spent convalescing in bed and watching the Sri Lankan cricket team gang rape another pitiful South African cricket team. The one that starts the game off singing "God Save The Queen"...

Off to ROAR again at full speed, only to "hurry up and wait" as is usual. Played an inspired dj set to 4 trannies sitting by the bar. Spent the rest of the night gleefully running up an almighty tab, hanging with the Guitar Guy and Daddy Long Legs, among others. All the while, quietly admiring in a very unassuming way, the wonderfully cute little lady in charge of the merchandise stall. Was very well behaved. Didn't do or say anything stupid. Left with my dignity intact, even after Tarty Farty Tequila Party tried some less-than-subtle persuasion tactics... (She frog-marched the poor girl over for a chat... Oh dear...)

And then she smelled my pants! Gotta love the Tequila Tart!!!

Oh, and Axxon once again had a blistering set. Gathering fans like Julius gathers anti-Julius tweets, that lot...

Yesterday was a write off...

Happy Monster Moanday.

Spread the love. And if you're the wonderfully cute little merchandise lady, my way please...

IRREVERENT FRIDAY

It's back. IRREVERENT FRIDAY is back! Whoohooo!

SO far today I have suggested a friend of mine try prostitution as an alternative to her current gainful employment.

I have suggested bulimia as a cure for carb intake.

I have poked fun at New Zealand's shepherds, but not nearly as ferociously as they... ag, nevermind, you get the picture.

I got to work with a mother of a hangover.

And I can't wait to get home so I can lounge in front of the cricket with a beer.

Also, you will once more be thrilled to be informed that I have reinvented the entire culinary art by successfully feeding no less than 6 people last night. What's next you ask? Let's see how long I can avoid seating arrangements and RSVPs...

So the plans for the weekend include going to a metal gig tonight to watch the awesome Mind Assault unleash their new cd upon us. They will be accompanied by Suiderbees and The Thundergods - all happening at ROAR in Observatory tonight. With any luck I will manage to convince a "wholesome" young lady to accompany me home.

Tomorrow night I am djing at the very same venue. With any luck I will manage to convince a "wholesome" young lady to accompany me home.

Enjoy your weekend one and all!

Spread the love. Like insurance... My Way!

ROUTINE...

Routine. What is it good for? I've been so out of whack with normal goings on - what with all my overseas friends visiting and a little holiday - that the mere thought of having to sink back into a mundane routine of "wake, wank, work, get drunk, go sleep" fills me with terror. Well, the wake and work part at any rate.

I have had such an awesome time of late that I don't wanna go all normal again. I enjoyed going to wine farms in the middle of the day in the middle of the week.

Alas, all the fun has come to an end now. Or at least, the overseas excuses have all left. One even found time to cut off all his hair while here - hair that for the best part of his last 18 years has been arse length. How the times they is a-changin'...

"What the fuck has any of this got to do with the picture up there?" I hear you ask. Well, dear reader, this is how I currently feel. Dear Miss Rose Thorn came over and made me dinner last night. We may have drunk a little as well. All under the very clever guise of having "band practice". Dinner was exquisite though.

I also managed to get back to reviewing albums, something I have been very slack with of late. So. I am getting back to a more normalised version of my life. Routine. If you will. Perhaps I should take tonight off and just relax, before I feel like the picture above again tomorrow morning.

So perhaps routine isn't such a bad thing after all. It may be the only thing that's surreptitiously saving us from a glorious yet untimely death...

Spread the love. Because love spreading is so NOW...

"A PINT OF THE BLACK STUFF PLEASE LANDLORD..."

Well... St Paddy's Day.... Done and dusted. Aaaaah, how we love the black stuff!

Got to our reserved table last night and was pleasantly surprised to find a real Irishmen sitting among us regaling everyone with all manner of fantastical stories. The Irish. Love a good story. Ask Bono.

Let's not beat around the bush. We go where there are promos on for St Paddy's - the cheap bastards that we are. Scratch cards hold within them a mystical and magical power of hope - an almost reverent sense of anticipation. St Paddy may as well be old Saint Nic on this particular day. Will I finally, after all these years of disappointment, be rewarded with THE HAT (the ultimate prize - and a perfectly legitimate excuse to look goofy for the rest of the evening's revelry) or at the very least one of those awesome black tshirts with a clever quip about our beloved Guinness?

This year I walked away with 2 applique tattoos, a fucking keyring and a pocket full of "bad luck try again" tickets. Fuck the luck of the Irish!

Spread the love. And the Panados.

THE NAKED CHEF

The picture above is the logo for MetalSucks' cooking show. Check out the site here www.metalsucks.net.

So, as I have previously informed everyone, I am now in the lamentable state of no longer having a better half. Whilst this current state of affairs (oh dear, DID I just use THAT word?) offers it's obvious benefits, one of the immediately evident drawbacks is that I have to cook for myself. Now, I am not a foodie, but I do enjoy a good meal and have been thoroughly spoiled all these years.

A bit of background. This is the first time I am not sharing an abode with anyone. Yes, I have the whole house to myself. Up until this point in my existence the very thought of cooking and all that dull preparation and chopping and burning and bollocks has filled me with utter dread, so much so that I have always had a deal of "you cook, I clean." Which works out brilliantly for both parties concerned as most people hate cleaning. I quite enjoy it. I find it cathartic. Also, people tend to leave me the fuck alone, which is a rarity.

A side note. Whilst most of you look at the heading of this post and think it's all about me wearing ONLY a little apron and prancing around in the kitchen by myself, it isn't. There's no point. Although I have been known to make breakfast in the very same attire...

Anyway, back to me having to bone up on my exceptionally limited culinary skills. I have always been able to make one or two dishes. They're dead easy and not even I could fuck them up. Although I have contrived to do so on many an occasion. But jeesh I got gatvol of chicken burgers after a few weeks!

So I took to the challenge of becoming Jaime Oliver Number Two. Much like a duck takes to water. Infested with piranhas...

I am however, thrilled to announce that I have finally "mastered" the tricky art of cooking. Vodacom must loooooove me - I have made countless flustered phone calls to The Demonic Sibling, who happens to be a gourmet chef renowned the world over, in a panic wanting to know which spice goes with whatever, whilst putting a fire out in the sink. Not to mention the few cubic tons of food I've had to discard due to horribly failed attempts.

But now dear readers I have come of culinary age! I made a stew last night. All by myself. Ok, I consulted The Demonic Sibling once or twice, but there was no physical supervision. And maybe the preparation took an hour longer than it would take a seasoned kitchen veteran, but it's the end result that counts. Even The Band Mates commented on how wonderfully aromatic it smelled. Their magnanimity was short lived as I kept on ducking to the kitchen to "check on supper" between songs...

Anyway, I REALLy enjoyed my din dins last night. I had a nice celebratory glass or 6 of cheap ass plonk to mark the occasion as well and promptly passed out while watching the footie, in "magie vol oogies toe" bliss.

It had better be good - I'll be eating it for the next week.

Spread the love. Naked Chef style!

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR ME LATELY?"

To coin a phrase from the great Eddie Murphy's stand up act, Delirious...

"What have you done for me lately?"

As you can well imagine - after having posted a list of attributes/requirements concerning the fairer sex (see below) - I have had a few responses. Whilst some were on the right page, one stood out as just not getting it.

It has unfortunately been my experience to have dealt with such individuals before. The "I'll only do it if you guarantee I'll get something out of the deal" types. The "What's in it for me" types.

Immediately I hear that shit and I no longer want to do whatever it is that's currently on the table for discussion. In fact I feel compelled to NOT do whatever it is out of principle. I was always under the impression that when one is sufficiently enamoured with someone else, that it went without saying that you WANTED to do nice things for the other party. Not wait until they had sufficiently pleased you before you reluctantly gave in and fulfilled your end of the bargain.

Having said that, I have also been fortunate enough to experience the flip side of that tarnished coin. Hallelujah!

You.missed.the.point.

Spread the love. But don't wait for the other person to make nice. It may be too late and you may miss out...

Good Moaning from the Rat Race

You get good moaning (like when you accidentally hit the right erogenous zone on your girlfriend's undersmile) and you get bad moaning. Like the kind done by just about everyone on the planet. As soon as something doesn't go exactly as anticipated, people start wailing and depositing handfuls of ash on their hessian outfits...

Why? Are our expectations too high? Do we all live in the delusional belief that life is indeed like that lived inside our television sets? Most of us would argue that we're lucid and intelligent enough to know the difference between fact and fiction, but I think deep down everyone is secretly hoping against hope that they are the lucky ones that get the terrific worry-free life with all the trappings. And when it doesn't happen, it comes as a shock.

Oh, and heaven forbid you accept your lot. Then you're branded a loser with no ambition. So the key to success in this life is therefore to work hard, be miserable and always have something missing that you can still strive for.

I want to be a dog. Food, tummy rubs, the occasional walkies and the ability to lick one's own balls. Utter contentment. Wow. You guys read all that crap just to get to the one sentence I was trying to get to...

Spread the love... On a sammitch.

"YOU'LL HAVE OUR LOVE..."

It is a sad day in the history of the South African music land(or sound)scape. Tonight we join The Sleepers in bidding farewell to their frontman, Simon Tamblyn.

It has long been public knowledge that this weary soul considers The Sleepers to be among the best, if not the best band currently plying it's taudry trade in this fair land of ours. From humble beginnings they have forged a formidable following and have won over the critics with aplomb, grace and the sheer strength of their intelligent songwriting skills and powerful and incendiary performances. All things being subjective, I will most likely continue to maintain this opinion.

Tonight they perform at Mercury Live alongside that lovably mischevious bunch, Van Coke Kartel, and media darlings Foto Na Dans. It promises to be an incredibly intense and enjoyable affair that marks the official 3rd birthday party of everyone's favourite magazine, Your LMG (Live Music Guide). You know. That mag. The one you can't do without. The one everyone loves. The one that offers news, views, interviews and reviews, all top notch and totaly free!

Getting back to the point. Tonight is going to be a bittersweet adeiu to one of our favourite frontmen (in his current role) as he takes off toward his own horizons and embraces his life and solo project 'Tape, Hiss & Sparkle', a more eclectic brew of off-beat, folk-influenced introspection.

Simon, you have made an indelible mark in the hearts of those who have been privileged enough to have witnessed and experienced your musical ascendence within the framework of The Sleepers. You will be sorely missed and will always "have our love..."

Spread the love. Be there.

THE LIST - PLEASE NOTE 'NOT SUITABLE FOR STUCK UP ARSEHOLES'

So I read the Anti-B-logger's latest blog post, which led me to remember the empty promises Tequila Tart has been spewing about Man Lists and the like, which led me to remember the jolt I felt when entering the bar tent at RAMfest on Sunday morning...

I'll explain. Anti-B-logger (otherwise known as The Delectable Bastard) doesn't get chicks. I mean he gets chicks. He just doesn't get chicks... Understandable.

Tarty Farty Tequila Party has been promising to come up with the definitive list of attributes women look for in a man. She has up to now failed to deliver on this promise.

All this, coupled (haha) with my recent ambivalence on the subject of relationships and permanently being told I'm far too full of shit for my own good, has led me to want to divulge MY list. It is a reasonably long list. The older I get and the more run ins I have with the opposite sex, the longer the list gets. Every altercation reveals a universally true attribute or condition that I will or won't put up with.

I have had my fair share of action in the 112 years I have been sharing your oxygen. Some of the girls I have dated have been super cool, some really intelligent, some awesomely compassionate, some super hot and some have even been good at sex and all its wondrously varied applications. Bless them. Very rarely, if ever, has all this been rolled into one conveniently solvent and sane package.

So. The list. In no particular order, and I will admit to making this up as I go along (it's never progressed past discussing singular items at a time), here goes.

1. Ridiculously good looking. Simple. Not classic beauty either. Cute in a smoking hot way with more than a hint of naughty in the eyes plopped on top of a body that would leave Kerry McGregor jealous.


2. Music tastes have got to at least overlap to some degree. If I elaborate we're going to be here all day.


3. The ability to function at a normal social level when required, a basic understanding of Ps and Qs and common sense and a little decorum.


4. Kindness and generosity of spirit go a long way in this world, but all too often I find intolerance and bigotry to be hurdles. Also, I am the only one allowed to be self centred in this union, thank you very much.


5. I don't give a crap if you can cook like (insert your favourite celebrity chef's name here), but you have to be able to concoct something more complicated than a PnB sammitch.


6. The ability to hold one's liquor. A must.


7. If you're with me it is a given that you have exquisite taste in partners, now go and apply the same level of sophistication to the other spheres in your life.


8. Cats vs dogs. Cats lose. Also, there is a minimum size of animal that qualifies as dog. Yapping slippers are other people's pets, not mine.


9. Sensibility when it comes to the purchase of shoes and selecting shoes for a specific purpose.


10. Solvent.


11. Sane... You think I'm joking...


12. Sex. You don't have to be Sasha Grey but you have to be open minded, limber, filthy and reasonably keen. I wouldn't say I'm the kinkiest guy around, but there are certain expectations. Also, don't even bother if you have a gag reflex or don't swallow. And yes, random surprise blowjobs DO make for a happy and healthy and reciprocal sex life.


13. No follicular growth under eyebrows.


14. Eyebrows. You'd be surprised how many women are without.


15. A basic sense of cool.


16. A stupendously advanced, yet at the same time adolescent sense of humour.


17. A driver's licence and some form of transport.


18. A willingness to indulge me when I am being silly/drunk/belligerent/sick/depressed/watching sport or making music.


19. An understanding of the correct use of a telephone.


20. Infinite patience.


21. Have I mentioned tiny. I like tiny. With boobs. It goes with cute.


22. Also, I'm into affection. Giving and receiving. Surprisingly, not everyone is.


23. And lastly,the windows to the soul. I could fall in love with eyes if they capture me...


24. All of the above.


25. ALL OF THE ABOVE.

*Disclaimer. If any exes are reading this, I am talking about the other chicks, not you. You have always been my favourite.

And there you have the ramblings of someone, now that I am about to post this, who is destined to be single or disappointed for the rest of his days.

To those of you who don't find the above list at the very least informative, and have contrived to find some offence in it, I kindly invite you to stop reading my blog.

Tomorrow I re-institute Irreverent Fridays, and will be back to my short-post bolshy self.

Spread the love. Instructions above.

THE WEEKEND THAT WAS...

...Well, everything I expected... and more!

Once again RAMfest took the youth of the country by the scrotum and swung 'em overhead for shits 'n' giggles. Wow! What an epic festival full of adventure, dust, sunburn, awesome music and truly memorable performances, and not all just from the stage.

It was also quite hot in Rawsonville this weekend. This facilitated the rather welcome shedding of clothing, adding to the visual spectacle. And the disturbing froth in the communal swimming pool...

So let's get to the bands. The first really pleasant surprise were Down On The First, kicking off proceedings on the Metal4Africa stage. I might add that the M4A stage, the supposed "second" stage, had a better vibe than the main stage, and very often superior sound as well.

Later on the Friday night, we were treated to a jaw-dropping show by Mind Assault that was nothing short of faith re-affirming. As creaking and ancient as I am, they even somehow managed to get me so excited about it all that I rushed headlong into the swirling moshpit and for a few brief moments actually managed to hold my own bouncing around. This was short lived as I found myself face down in the dust, having lost both my drink and my dignity. I escaped to enjoy the rest of their set from a safer distance, horns in the air.

The next day we were treated to Juggernaught. These Bourbon drenched rock behemoths stomped and snarled their way through a set that did their moniker justice. And I got a cd, which has been on heavy rotation since getting home.

Sabretooth stormed the stage next with their retro classic rock-metal and, as always, left the audience agape at the sheer virtuosity on display and begging for more. Loudly.

Off to the main stage to catch long time favourites The Sleepers perform their second last show with current vocalist, Simon Tamblyn. A little light out to appreciate the full range of sonic supernova that is this band, but a bittersweet and brilliant set, chock full of the sorcery these lads dish up every time they bestride a stage.

Somewhere between all of this we also managed to eat something and spend a lot of time heckling the passers by. There was also a lot of catching up with old friends and there may have been a libation or 2 consumed.

Enter A Walk With The Wicked. I had earlier predicted that they were going to own everyone's souls. I was spot on. It gives me gooseflesh seeing a performance of such magnitude as to win over even the most sceptical of curious bystanders, and this was one of those. They simply brutalised their way into the collective hearts and minds of all those in attendance. The lucky ones. The fortunate ones. The ones with the good taste and sense not to be too near the main stage, where all manner of arse was being spoon fed to the unwashed masses.

If A Walk With The Wicked owned souls and some of the other bands were a pleasant surprise or won over a few new fans, then I have just run out of words to describe what happened with Axxon. A relatively young and inexperienced Industrial band that closed proceedings on Saturday night was in the exalted opinion of many, many people, the highlight of the entire event. They overcame the initial technical glitches to put on a show that could overthrow a small government!

No words. Simply awe...

Overheard at Ramfest: "Jeesh the international bands were kak! And Die Antwoord were rubbish..." This in the bathroom, and not from some black tshirt wearing metal heads...

The most entertainment came form The Heavy, who had had a bit too much and slept through ALL the bands on Saturday night, eventually waking up at 3am and partying all night in the Trance/Dubstep area, only to return to the campsite at 10am. I can't tell you for fear of a libel case. That good!

Well done to the organisers and bands. I am sure RAMfest will keep on growing and growing.

So. Spread the love. Just not anywhere NEAR the Nekkies swimming pool...

More RAM for your PC?

Wow! What a month! The 9th of February saw one of the world's greatest live bands here to entertain us with their billion kiloton pyrotechnical spectacle. I'm talking about RAMMSTEIN! It was simply awesome. Yes, I was as sick as a dog and literally almost burnt alive, but it had to go down as one of the best nights ever! Certainly the most high octane show I have ever been to...

And a few short weeks later we're treated to the ever-growing RAMFEST. Replete with Dali-legged pachyderms. This weekend a few metalheads, a whole bunch of kids that think My Chemical Romance started 'music' and of course a few 'normal' people will all descend upon Nekkies in Rawsonville for what is fast becoming THE most popular live music festival in SA. From humble beginnings 5 years ago, it has grown to a massively well supported festival, where you are more than likely to climb in the wrong tent at some point over the weekend, simply because every person there owns exactly the same Camp Master Wedge Dome III...

It promises to be a hectic weekend, considering I'll be there with one Tequila Tart in tow, as well as the sibling Party Animal and a bunch of other crazies. Wish me luck.

Acts to look out for: The (mighty, mighty, magnificent) Sleepers, Isochronous, A Walk With The Wicked, Contrast The Water, Mind Assault, Sabretooth, Juggernaught, Axxon and probably a few more I am too lazy to mention.

What does this have to do with PCs you ask? Fuck all. Unless you consider my views on the so called 'headliners' to be a little unPC. At least the emo-screamo kuif-crew will be wetting them se pants...

Spread the love, but remember, at a festival it is likely that her fridge sized boyfriend is right around the corner, so be careful or employ a look out.