YAAAARRRGGGHHHH - IT'S PIRATE FRIDAY!

Yaaarrghhh Motherfuckers! Going to the Jolly Roger tonight. To watch everyone get jolly well rogered. (I know... I can't help myself...) Going to check out the bands. Especially Junkyard Parade. Everyone in the know says they're making a name for themselves, so I decided, suffering from acute missalitis as I do, that I could ill afford to remain in the dark regarding the prowess of this promising band. They'll be sharing the stage with the Great Apes (expect LOTS of shrieking girls to be in attendance) and Dead Unlucky, another unknown quantity. I have a feeling tonight is gonna be all about wonderful new discoveries! And FREE ENTRANCE. And beer mixed with people. And Tarty Farty Tequila Parties. And good, clean wholesome fun. Fuck that! If it's good, clean or wholesome I'm baling and going the fuck home!

Anyway, we edge ever closer to the redemption known as weekend. I'll be starting off proceedings by dragging my very uncooperative ass along to the Biscuit Mall to partake in some of the vast variety of beer available at the We Love Real Beer thingy. They had better have some Napier Bier on tap. Nothing like broadening your tastes and/or horizons.

According to my HellCuzz it's FrashMerrilsFriday, so in keeping it real in the familia, let's see what Saint Anger has to say about that: FrashMerrils-Quote-Of-The-Day Enjoy!

Speaking of Saints and their effect on our lives, Saint Smith would like to add the following:

Book 14 : Chapter 2 : Verse 24

So go Bokke!
So go on with your bad selves.
So go irreverent and fuck.shit.up!

Have an awesome weekend.

NGDG: "An entire cover feature article in the Men's Health on how to build a particular celebrity physique. Nary a mention of the syrettes of Dianabol he's been jabbing into his arse since he was 13. Not even in acrostic. But if you'll eat chicken breasts and brown rice 6 times a day, you'll swallow anything.

And thus concludes our interaction for another week, dear gentle reader. Til Monday then, when things will hopefully be a damn sight better...

Spread The Love. Yo Ho Ho and Some Sailor Jerry!

JUGS...

...of beer.

I really don't have an awful lot to add. Sometimes it's better to simply shut up and enjoy the view.

I have been contemplating the content of this here missive all day and I seem a little distracted. So I am tempted to keep it short and sweet. The way I like the ladeeeeez. With a set of the above attached. Distracted...

Oh yes, I'd like to publicly congratulate Rose Thorn on passing her RPL thingy. Last night we ate pizza, drank beer and watched Rammstein DVDs on a massive screen through a mind blowing system. Happy days. Think I fell asleep on the couch a little. Oh well.

Distracted. So much to do. So little time. So many little things that need tying up. Like I like the ladeeeez. Distracted...

Book 3 : Chapter 5 : Verse 1 - 4

Speaking of which! Saint Smith in all his wisdom has decided to delight us with a further set of concerts in the 'Reflections" series, where they play 'Three Imaginary Boys', 'Seventeen Seconds' and 'Faith' consecutively, much the same as they did with 'Pornography', 'Disintegration' and 'Bloodflowers' for the Trilogy shows in Berlin. More info here - even Lol (NOT raff out roud) is making an appearance!

Anyway on that entirely distracting, and distracted note, have yourselves a splendid little evening. I am once more being fed and spoiled (being a minor celebrity n all - "oooooh Pop I got the black lung..."). Actually The Chef is preparing a feast at the DSW-And-Brother-In-Awe abode. The place where beer magically never runs out. A little place I like to call heaven. See above...

Distracted.

NGDG: "When you make as many enemies on a daily basis as I do, it's a challenge to pinpoint exactly which cheeky bastard could've been responsible for taking a key to my new car's paintwork."

Spread The Love. By The Jug. October-Faced!

IRREVERENTLY YOURS...

It's a beautiful day in the Mother City.
The Boks look like they are doing ok.
It's so close to the weekend I can taste it. (Although that could be the roast beef from last night.)

Then why is it I am surrounded by tension and spite and general ill feelings? Apparently it's that time of year, when just about everyone is going mental and losing the plot... Or is it just me?

Irreverence is a beautiful thing. So perhaps I should just give in and join the swelling ranks of malcontents that seem to be taking over at the alarming rate of a zombie apocalypse. Or maybe not.

Fuck all you moaning, whinging, mouth-breathing bastards.
Fuck me for letting you get to me.
Fuck off...

Irreverently yours.

Spread The Love. On Your End Of The World Salti-Crax.

STYX AND STONES

Thanks Nathan. Although it's worth noting that those are not the only things that can inflict damage.

Anyway, now that I'm more fully recovered from the weekend, the earnest business of the week can commence. Last night we ate something called "Tuna Surprise". It was surprisingly good. TDB is on the same path of enlightenment to Martha-esque zen as your truly. He didn't even complain when we didn't bother actually playing anything. Mainly because everything was still packed up from our triumphant return to the stage and we could simply not be arsed to set everything up again. Although I'll be doing just that as soon as I get home from work tomorrow...

Tonight is dedicated to football. I'm playing and I'm watching. Kick around after work with the lads and then The Red Devils will be murderlizing the hapless Basel FC in the Champions League. Between these 2 events dinner is to be made and all the footage from the AXXON show is to be viewed. I can see you perking up there. Patience, my pretties...

If you're good - and I'll be the judge - I may be convinced to ask if you can one day see it. The footage also maybe...

So today the "guess the song by the ludicrously easy Cure related clues" is going to be done slightly differently. Go find the Bloodhound Gang CD "Hooray For Boobies" and listen to the first song. Or read the lyrics. Something a little more-or-less humorous for you today...
__________________________________________________________________

THIS is exactly where the intrawebnets died yesterday. Telkom went to great lengths to ensure me that they were "working on" the problem, even "escalating" it. Euphemisms for mass masturbation. So feeling largely uninspired, I submit to you today and yesterday's smattering of smut, this here wee post.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I took infinite delight in typing it.

NGDG: "The only thing more off putting than a bald woman with 12 toes is one who pronounces 'yes, as well' = yaw, aaaazwil."

So, business as usual tonight then. Ripping through the set and recording lead guitar over 'Patrick Swayze'. Whoohoo!

Spread The Love. Even If You Have To Do So Among Hippies. It Still Counts I Suppose.

NOT A SINGLE SLINKY IN SIGHT!

Me - yesterday.

One for the record books, folk. Not one single person at an 'industrial music' gathering with those wonderfully colourful and exotic 'hairfalls' festooned all over their crania.

Other things missing:

1. Specific people who confirmed in the affirmative that they would be in attendance. Why bother if you're not going to be there?


2. Scott's gigging cherry. Bravo, sir!


3. Projectile panties. Diss-A-Motherfucking-Pointed!


4. Mine and a few other peoples' names. If found, please return to owners. It's pretty simple. they're our names...

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Start at the beginning. Friday night we celebrated the birthday of the great and gregarious Frankie Riester at the Rock Hard Cafe. We rocked. Hard. The lads n ladies form the equally radically "rock-out-with-your-cock-out" Sabretooth were also in attendance to show us how it's supposed to be done. I braaied enough to feed the whole of South America, and that was just the small braai. Braai salt and hedonism - a heady mixture!



Saturday was a loooong day. I'll spare you all the technical details of what goes into the preparation of a gig, but I will point out that there is an inordinate amount of "hurry up and wait".

So we arranged a braai. As you do. On National Braai Day. Or in our case, "What An Enormous Sausage - National Braam Day". Yes, it was TDB's birthday. We braaied. Can't really embellish on that too much. There was meat, beer and babies.

Fast forward to where I once more bestride the stage, deep into the late hours of Saturday night (in my spiffy, shiny pants - thanks to Wolf Clothing). Pretty terrified for a moment there. Then I remembered where I'd left my beer and I was ok again.

The show went by in a blur of hair, bouncing souls and swirling stabbing lights. The packed dancefloor in front of me was, well, packed. And people were going fucking mental! Looking over to my left I could see the f(r)iends that compromise the miraculous Axxon stomping and snarling along and having a great time, zoned in - delivering one of the most enjoyable shows I've had the privilege of playing. Even TDB made a cameo appearance. Happy birthday, you old fart! Onwards and upwards, I say!



Thanks to Reanimator, the beautiful and talented Yvette, Mercury Live, Wolf Clothing, Lux, Ian from Hellfire, Kevin on lighting, the kind folk at Paul Bothners, the crew and especially everyone that came out to enjoy this spectacular evening with us.

Cue mass relief and a burning desire to put all alcohol in immediate vicinity in my face, the rest of the evening picked up speed rather rapidly. The Dean of Univer City was, as usual, especially helpful in this regard. Tarty Farty Tequila Party (in a Cleopatra wig no less) was also on hand to apply some "oomph" to the proceedings.



Yesterday was expectedly less pleasant. I only made it out of bed because the bedroom TV is on the fritz. So we spent the day on the couch. More than that, I could not muster. I may have dozed off during a movie or two...



And tonight the maniacal circus continues. Band practice with TDB and the lovely Ms Rose Thorn. Perhaps a glass of wine? Wonder whose turn it is to make din-dins...

I promised myself I'd get back to some running (madness) after this gig, so I will have to follow through with my threats to join Commander Conker on Wednesday. Let's all hold hands and pray that he is sufficiently impressed with my reinstated status as rockstar to be suitably gentle...

Anyway. Today Saint Smith has very little to say about (the everloving) it all. So we'll dive straight into the gospel according to Saint Goldwyer:

NGDG: "A Smith and Wesson beeats four aces."

So tonight TDB cooks up a storm for Rose Thorn, Tarty Farty Tequila Party (who is gracing us with her presence at "band" practice) and myself. Tonight I hand over the Martha Mantle. After I clean the house...

Spread The Love. Love Is The Drug.

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY...

I'm back.

To tell you a story of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly...

Naturally we start with THE GOOD:

Black Celebration is happening tomorrow night. At Mercury Live. It's a Comunik party and features the legendary talents of DJ Reanimator and DJ Morkhans on the decks. Guaran-damn-teed heaving mass of bouncing, sweaty bodies having the collective time of their lives! And I'm not even talking about GangBang 5 - The Movie...

On top of aaaaaaaaall that (see what I did there?) you get to experience, yes EXPERIENCE, the might and wonder of AXXON. In full colour, 4D, HD and ear-bleeding surround motherfucking sound! We'll have your face, thank you.

Also, the surreal sorcerers of BlackMilk Productions will be there with a few tricks up their sleeves.

DO NOT MISS THIS! You will inevitably end up curled up in a corner crying as you shrivel up and die.

THE BAD: Tomorrow is National Braai Day. In the case of all the people who are fortunate enough to know TDB, it's been rechristened National Braam Day. We braai. It's tradition. Looking forward to seeing friends from all parts gathered to celebrate this auspicious occasion. It's gonna be bad!

THE UGLY: I have too many options here. Those of you that know, know, so I won't bore anyone. I will however tell you a little story of the cruelty I was unfortunate to witness this morning. A labourer on the back of a construction truck was very insistently calling a newspaper seller guy over indicating that he should hurry up to make a sale. Upon running his arse off and dodging traffic, as he got to the truck the labourer told him to fuck off and had a good laugh at this poor guy's expense with his buddies. Utter bastard! I hope he has a good laugh at his oh so clever self and slips in concentration at that moment someone flings a brick at him today.

As with the rest of the week, Dr Bob's revelation is probably best left unpublished. Neal Goldwyer on the other hand, has this to say: "There's a new Muppets movie! The Muppets' Christmas Carrol is the only movie I've ever cried in. Well, that, and anything about the Holocaust. The Muppets' Holocaust. There's an Oscar for best drama right there."

Spread The Love. It Works. In Mysterious Ways. I'm Told. Fuck It.

WATCH THIS SPACE

I promise I'll be back tomorrow complaining like a whiney bitch about a moer of a hangover. Today sucked and I'm going to attempt alcohol induced near-suicide in a bit.

But tomorrow I will be back to my usual belligerent, bouncy self.

Just thought I couldn't leave you without an explanation.

You'll miss me too much.

And we can't have you worry...

Spread The Love? What Is The Fucking Point?

YESTERDAY'S HERO

Today we get random, yet not random. Yesterday's post was so filled with vitriol and personal shit, I decided to leave it unpublished. It's still lurking, waiting, in the shadows. Like you do. Like that someone or something that follows you on the subway. Subway make heroes. That's a sammitch. It all ties up.

It'll make sense in a bit.

But I really was a hero. In my mind...

So without going into the details of why exactly yesterday was post free, let's recap what went down this weekend. The "Cheerleaders" came over on Friday night and brought with them 2 of the 3 B's that constitute the ultimate happiness, Burgers and Beers. My night was indeed cheery, especially since our Mexican friend made a turn as well. Inevitable when Tarty Farty Tequila Party And Celebrity Writer is in the house. Thanks.

Saturday was spent getting a bunch of new guitar goodies from the good people at Paul Bothners. They really go out of their way to look after me - you guys rock!

Anyway, thanks to my lovely sponsors at Paul Bothners, I will be playing a beautiful brand new Jackson on Saturday. Please do come and see how I pretend to be an "axe" murderer. It's my first full length show in 4 years. Panties of the petite'n'pointless variety MUST be air born!

I will take every opportunity for the rest of the week to remind you ad nauseum.

Sunday was spent in bed feeling sorry for myself and sleeping as much as possible. Until Commander Conker called to inform me that he and the lovely Rose Thorn were out and desired my company for the big Man Utd vs Chelski game. I was out of the door before my "thanks, but no thanks" was cold. And what a game! Needless to say the fucking mercenaries from London got whupped good. Actually, to be fair, it was an even, exhilarating game - we just capitalised on our chances better. Happy days - top of the league...

So yesterday evening I was on Dinner Duty for band practice and - as if this were even possible anymore - managed to out do myself. Roast chicken fit for the Gods. In this case, The Gods Of The Sun. Those that know, know...

Big fuck off shiny hangover this morning with extra badgers...

Which brings us conveniently to the gospel according to Saint Smith for the day. It all ties in. Trust me...

Book 1 : Chapter 10 : Verse 4 - 8

Come on. That's very easy today.

Easy like Sunday morning. Just not the one coming up. You know, the one after the Axxon show on Saturday night. When your face will be removed. And you will see the most awe-inspiring thing your eyes have ever seen. Through a forest of slinkies. An aural assault the likes of which you have never experienced before. Oh the Numanity!

NGDG: "Since when did the paedophile moustache replace the Wallaby as Australia's team mascot?"

Spread The Love. Or You Could Be The Next Victim...

BOKKE! BOKKE! BOKKE!

Well... Let's hope our defending champions can deliver a slightly more convincing performance tomorrow against Fiji. Last weekend was enough to make even the most die hard fan concerned. Now let's discuss the emblem. Why on God's green and gold earth would a little embroidered buck instill in us such a sense of loyalty and patriotism, and in others such nonsensical vitriol?

I'm on the side of the fence that feels let down by the political tinkering and interfering of those that are meant to be improving the quality of life for the masses to whom they owe their positions of power, instead of fiddling with something your average user of toilets with no walls doesn't give a fuck about. But in all fairness the Springbok is a shit animal. Who thought it was a great idea to assign such a timid little creature, nothing more than lunch waiting to happen, to represent our national sport, one which is known for its robust nature? Our scrum resembles a gang of disgruntled rhino, not a group renowned for "prance at high speed lest ye be dinner".

Although given Sunday's performance, I'm not so sure. Perhaps the appointment of Div "Media Liaison" De Villiers was a master stroke. His introduction to proceedings has certainly brought about a bit more of the Savannah ballet and less of the physical force we normally associate with the Bulls, or say, winning convincingly. Our boys are now far more like springboks than ever before. The obvious deduction is that Div is a bloody counter-revolutionary agent. What is he thinking? They can take away our emblem, but we can still play like the pansies of the bushveld!

I know famous people. I also aspire to meet Neal Goldwyer in the flesh one day. His star is certainly on the rise, considering he is quoted all the time... I know THE Ryan Higgo. The Twin Tarts are most definitely famous, one the intrepid blogger/writer/extreme party animal, and one the singer and TV darling. Speaking of TV darlings, another friend of mine came beaming at my eyeballs in all her beauty this morning. Bimsilicious was on SABC3 this morning explaining to the country how to take drugs to make you feel more of the happy. Because these days the standards in our schools are so high, you need to be high to cope with the stress of writing exams. Yes, these were of course legal drugs, but then opium and dagga are nothing more than natural remedies in themselves...

I still maintain that you should be issued with a degree or diploma of your choice upon enrolling in Grade A and avoid the charade of learning stuff. You're more than likely not going to enter into the field you studied for anyway. School is merely a convenient gathering place where you can socialise, develop your prejudices and increase teacher suicide rates.

So, it's IRREVERENT BOK FRIDAY. I have absolutely nothing irreverent to add. I'm actually in a very surprisingly decent mood. Also, you guys have just read my blathering 8000 times. Wow! Perhaps I should keep up with the diatribe diarrhea.

Seeing as this Friday represents not only the irreverence in us all, or the fiercely staunch support we show for our boys down under (ladies, get your minds out of my gutter), but also the end of the week designated to my morose and murderous mood's recovery, let us see what advice Dr Bob has for us, and I promise you faithfully it is NOT "Friday I'm In Love". (Actually, I'll help a little here, it's the song just before...)

Book 11 : Chapter 6 : Verse 45 - 46

So go Bokke! Moer them!

NGDG: "I secretly think women watch romcoms backwards & enjoy them more. Take Notting Hill. Glamorous actress trapped in celebrity marriage with man beneath her stature has illicit liaison w/ Alec Baldwin, who treats her with delicious cruelty. Subsequent divorce grants her everything, incl priceless Chagall original, while her ex, ruined skulks back to his old life, making ends meet by working retail."

Spread The Love. Without The Stupid Fucking Adolescent Games.

SMOOTH OPERATOR

It's pronounced Sha-day. And before everyone starts giving me flack for an extensive music knowledge, consider the extent of my music knowledge. Omniscient, with a good kak filter. Pretty much sums it up.

So we're bumbling along and starting to get into Step 3. All things considered, it's going rather swiftly. Mercifully. Now we wait for the all pervading smell of roses to rise and tint the spectacles once more.

Cold is not cool... Funny, that.

Saint Smith had his own thoughts on the matter.

Book 8 : Chapter 5 : Verse 5 - 9

And so, as Paul Morley would write, we look to the future. I can tell you what my immediate future looks like. The inside of a studio. Lot's of guitars. A drum kit. Some dudes shouting. Framed panties on the wall.

And all this is in aid of what, you may ask. What indeed?

Yours truly will once again be bestriding the stage - this time alongside the f(r)iends that comprise the fucking brilliant Axxon. Be sure to pack in all your lip-ice, staple-guns and wood-glue. We WILL take your face off! Like Nicholas motherfucking Cage! It's all part of a party brought to you by the equally awesome Reanimator, dubbed Black Celebration and it's exploding at Mercury next Saturday.

There will be lights! There will be cameras! There will be Axxon!

There will be a whole lot of people wearing slinkies in their hair.

On a completely unrelated topic. I have just again noticed how self centred the people of this world are. I should know. I am the centre of my own little universe. Take this here soapbox of mine...

There is an alarming lack of compassion and understanding.

There are however also the few who choose to make a positive difference. To the two Tarts, you know who you are and what for - thanks. (Watch now, they're each going to ask me who the other one is...) Also to my buddy Relic, that note came along at just the right time. Thanks.

See, stage 3 in full effect.

NGDG: "I'm not exactly sure which of the several keys on the chain is the one to happiness. But the little brass one called 'ignoring the news media' works very well."

Spread The Love. You May Be Surprised How Far A Little Goes.

BATTLE OF THE (S)EXES

Objectively. Obsessively. Obviously...

Yes, dear reader, it's THAT time again. Time to soil the sheets of the internet with my musings on the fairer sex (or not) and their impact on our lives. Or if you're already the alleged fairer sex, then you may take these barely legible and predictably not-thought-out ramblings as applied to the men in your lives.

I have a substantial number of exes. This is already well documented. I also happen to be friends with all of them. Well, all except "she who will never be mentioned without spitting" and that other one that seriously derailed many years ago. It's a situation I quite enjoy. It is after all, not just the romance and the sex that make up a relationship, there should be friendship as well. Now if you've been following this here little virtual soapbox you may have come across my views on life, especially love, and everything else. If not, try The List and Love Is In The Air.

My question, or rather my unpremeditated reflection today deals with the sometimes wonderful, always slightly scary lead up to the situation where you find yourself hitched.

I often wonder at all the different ways people tend to approach this.

1. There are the obvious romantics, who embrace the feeling of mutual attraction and go with it and don't put too much thought into the ifs, whats and maybes.


2. Then there are those that approach the whole thing with trepidation. Like it's something to be wary of. Like they are afraid of getting screwed over and are just waiting for the inevitable disappointment.


3. A third type would be the lot that go from one person to the next with hedonistic abandon and scant regard for the consequences.


4. There are also those that are literally too timid to expose their frail and fragile selves to the possible rejection and/or eventual pain.

It is an unfortunate truth, when meeting someone, or getting to know someone a little more closely, that these types are often in conflict. Rarely do you see kind for kind latch onto each other. I suppose it's simple arithmetic.

Why then, do we persist in struggling, in playing out the little dance of death and inflicting upon ourselves the dreaded "mopes" when things don't work out?

I have no idea.

It's dumb.

Yet we're by and large a society of sufferers and masochists by the looks of it. Perhaps we enjoy the attention.

Obviously I don't have the answer. I'm - on the face of all the evidence - fucking useless at this.

If it were that easy to unravel the mysteries of the inner workings of the brains and hearts of people I'm sure someone would have done so by now. Also, it would make the whole mysterious affair a lot less... intriguing.

And we never learn either.

So, "to all the girls I've loved before...", (I am really tempted to write "so long and thanks for the fish" but I'll probably get moered, so I'm going with): thanks for contributing in a positive or negative way to the person I am today. Let's hear it for self love!

And on that strangely sentimental note, let's see what the reverent Saint Smith has to say on the matter:

Book 15 : Chapter 9 : Verse 36 - 39

Speaking of bombshells, look out for Tarty Farty Tequila Party's recollection of her weekend away to celebrate her birthday, coming soon!

And on the subject of of life, love, loss and fucking liberties, I am reminded of the old adage. "Nice guys finish last" - food for thought, ladies.

NGDG: "I, like everyone else, clearly, am hoping it rains. Otherwise I'm just standing beneath an extremely noisy sky, naked, in the garden."

Spread The Love. Without Fear Or Favour. Damage Incorporated.

IF YOU CAN HANDLE THE FRED DURST WHINE IN YOUR BRAIN, THINK OF 'BREAK STUFF'

It's just one of those days.

So you've probably missed me. The past few days have seen me do quite some travelling. You're going to have to accept my apologies for not regaling you with tales of the fantastic and the magical times had by all. This would be inappropriate and utter fabrication. With any luck this funk will not last and I shall return to my usual charitable-of-spirit self. At which time I will probably get quizzically existential on your asses. We live in ill advised hope.

Not that anyone gives a fuck, and there are certain people that really should, but these actually do have certain meaning:

Book 12 : Chapter 5 : Verse 25 - 31

NGDG: "The world truly is smaller than a small thing you pick out of your food and turn to look at in the light as you wonder 'What IS this weird small thing?'"

Spread The Love.

THE PLACEBO EFFECT - BROUGHT TO YOU BY LMG PUB QUIZ

Everyone needed the loo simultaneously.

I still maintain I am right and that the disastrous debacle of last night should not have happened. Let me start at the beginning...

Last night's epic adventure began, as most do, waiting for Sidney to bring my my effing Black Label Draft. Team Burger King was set to storm the battlements of LMG Pub Quiz once again, libation in hand!
We were in the lead right til the end as well...
All eyes, accusing and otherwise, were levelled at me for not getting the Cure question. Mike "MC Hammered" Smith delivered the question thus: "With which band would you associate the following statement? It makes you feel better." We answered Placebo. Mike insists the answer was in fact The Cure. My argument is that The Cure makes you better, whilst a placebo merely makes you feel better (or at the very least believe that to be true). Anyway, given my exceptionally well documented indecent life long obsession with The Cure, the world stood aghast that I could have missed this one. And then to make matters worse, we were tied second with a million other teams and duffed up the tie breaker. Sidney's fault, again...

Needless to say we celebrated as if we'd actually won, as we do. We don't usually need a reason, but it's Tarty Farty's birth celebration and we're doing the celebrations in high style for some while! Got to the office after another awesome night feeling a little glandularus offcolourus. Today has been long and arduous. Not even ripping my DrHellCuz off online has helped alleviate the dull throb.

Tonight it's back to business as usual with some more tunage with the lads. Band practice and then early to bed - getting on a plane to Johannesburg at arse-o-clock in the morning. Wunderbar!

Then Friday afternoon the army of lunatics saddle up and invade the peaceful village of Greyton. 31 adults, 4 kids and 7 dogs. I hope they pack in enough NikNaks. And I am now resigned to the gargantuan task of taking part in the "potjie competition" under my own steam. Reckon a few healthy drams of brandy should do the trick. Maybe I'll even use some in the pot...

And since I'm on such a hellbent mission to redeem myself for my fantastical shortcomings in the Smith worship department, I give you today's C&V:

Book 13 : Chapter 4 : Verse 34 - 37

NGDG: "Robben Island: if it was worth visiting, you know they'd have called it Batman Island."

Spread The Love. Enough To Last Til Monday When I Return To Moan Some More.

I'M GOING TO PICK A FIGHT!

Can you see me galloping off into the middle of a smokey glen, painted like Scottishman Smurf, swathed in tartan and crude battle gear about to experience the ball chaff from hell?

I've often wondered why he didn't just apologise just before they lopped off his John Thomas. Perhaps they simply didn't have any Campher Cream back in those days.

Anyway, here we are. On the eve of battle. The mighty Team Burger King readies itself to take on the evil battalions of other LMG Pub Quiz participants. Not partici-kilts. No chaffing today! And on a personal note, I prepare for another epic fight with Black Label Draft - my nemesis. You know what they say about keeping your enemies closer...

The sun is shining, I'm almost off to play some gentle football, before I have to skedaddle at a million miles an hour to get showered and fed before the big night. It's Tarty Farty Tequila Party's big week this week! She is having another 21st birthday/week/month and the activities are racking up. None more important or potentially enjoyable than the "potjie-off". She has devised an evil plot in order to pit ourselves against each other and so that she doesn't have to cook. Little does she know she's doing the dishes... My bleating about being the reincarnation of Martha Stewart has at least not fallen on deaf ears, as I am one of the four Chosen Ones entrusted with this thinly veiled exercise in feeding-the-masses. I'm going to require one of those Secret Service type ear monitors, so my sister and the only other member of the DSW can instruct me through the various pitfalls of putting together an award-winning potjiekos. Actually, scrap that. It's a kak idea. My Brother-In-Awe is an audio-visual genius who'll probably hook my earpiece up to a loop of "My Heart Will Go On".

Book 3 : Chapter 5 : Verse 9 - 17

It's particularly good today, come on give it a go. Just remember, Boys Don't Cry is considered an album on it's own.

Also, go and have a good laugh at what Helena Handbasket is up to and/or amused/musing at/about. Top read from a top writer. And exercise enthusiast...

NGDG: "In the past fortnight I've seen 2 schoolkids on the side of the road doing something more noteworthy than walking: (1st kid) sitting on his satchel reading a book; (2nd kid) filling his satchel with stones. One of these kids has a future."

Spread The Love. Spread The Wealth. Spread The Affection. Mostly On Me. Let Them Eat Cake.

D I WINE

Talk about a busy, busy, chock full of adventure weekend! Well, that and a whole bunch of other stuff. I may have absconded from my social duties on Saturday night, but "me-time" is also tres important.

Anyway, there was lots going on. It all started off with a little soiree to help welcome The Chef into his new apartment, which went swimmingly, especially considering the ridiculous array of finger foods and the infinite possibilities involved with turning them into projectiles.

Then the stupendous, magnificent Sleepers overcame a few technical issues to once again mesmerise the gathered masses at Mercury. One of the new songs, forgot its name (was told but mind like a sieve), is one of the most haunting and harrowing tracks yet and I'm completely head-over-heels for it. Isochronous followed with a set that captivated the heaving, capacity crowd. Its wonderful to see live music is still doing so well. Makes the old ticker happy.

Anyway, cue ninja bomb and enter Saturday. Band practice all day with the f(r)iends that comprise Axxon. A heady mixture of industrial pounding, mecha-metal slabs of guitar, vocals that'll tear your face off and enough coffee'n'cigarettes to last til the next Ice Age and you pretty much have my day down...

Sunday was manic. Picked up a consignment of discs (those weird things that hang off the rearview mirror of minibus taxis, for the unenlightened - they also store music - it's kinda like old school flash- or hard-drives) from Subterania, among which was Fear Factory - 'Demanufacture'. Surely one of the most awesome discs of all time. I had my copy stolen about a decade ago (I'm still gonna find out whodunnit and force them to endure an entire Celine Dion album) and finally replaced it. Much joy and rejoicing! It's currently being played full blast in my office. Ah! The life...

Anyway, after a brief trek out to Tableau Voi, I went to go pick up my new kitchen counter tops. Picture 3,5m long counters, weighing in at a million tons each being transported sticking out of the back of a Golf. Absurd! But I did it. When I got home I paid one of those lovely homeless car guard types R20 ( I know - last of the big spenders) to help me carry the 2 pieces into the house. I thought his remuneration to be more than fair for 3 minutes work. He ended up insisting that I pay him more. For about 10 minutes. Perhaps that's the cheek that's being referred to when a slap in the face is being discussed.

So the 2011 Rugby World Cup is upon us. The Gods have seen fit to excuse me from having to sit through yet another bullshit extravagant waste of money, otherwise known as an Opening Ceremony. We're all going to be arse-over-tits dronk on our weekend away by that time. Only drawback I suppose is not being able to see the actual game. Oh well, there's always PVR. Mind you I am sure that among the entire battalion of people going there will be more than enough intrepid rugby fanatics that'll seek out a telly somewhere. I wonder if there's such a thing on Hooligan Hill. (Hooligan Hill = the cluster of cottages reserved for the more raucous sect of our friends, and also an attempt to keep us away from those "early to bed early to rise" types.)

After I've posted this, I shall be boning up on my general knowledge. Mostly that to do with Canadia, 'Stralia and bad mid-nineties grunge. You see, it's LMG Pub Quiz again tomorrow night!

Can't wait!

And here is a glimpse into my current state of mind. If I had to do a remake of the Sound Of Music classic (bear with me here) 'These are a few of my favourite things', I'd literally just repeat the refrain "Boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs..." The other thing is NSFW.

SO let's see what Saint Smith wants us to know today, in Chapter & Verse:

Book 1 : Chapter 3 : Verse 7-9

In keeping with all things Cure, tonight we carry on doomurderlizing our little cover (we've somehow managed to double the length of an already 6 minute long song - pure art I tell you) and probably drink wine until it sounds good again. Rose Thorn is on cooking duty, which means I have to be 'Kitchen Bitch'. Long story, I'll tell you all about it some other time. In this case it amounts to standing around, drinking wine, making snarky comments, apologising to TDB for taking so long before get started on band practice and wondering under my breath just what the fuck on earth she's doing to the food... And secretly smirking in sheer delighted relief that for a while at least, we're not discussing Tori Amos...

...Speaking of which. It was brought to my attention early this morning that the Ginger Whinger will be assaulting our ears and eyes with a performance in Cape Town on 17 November or something, a fact I thought Ms Thorn would be quite glad to know. So I phoned her with the breaking news, which ended up with my phone disintegrating and my eardrums perforating in a combined simultaneous sublimation of the senses. She (and I promise this is a new word to me, but apparently it does exist) "Squeeeee"d so fucking hard I nearly pulled an Esme Everard on myself.

Have a fantastic Monday evening all. I'm going to start bracing myself for the inevitable wee-my-pant-fest I'm in for all night. Fuck the clowns and dancing horses, bring on the wine!

NGDG: "I must have the only car dealer in Johannesburg I can discuss cannibalism and Soylent Green with."

Spread The Love. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Wonderful Glorious Boobs.

IRREVERENT FRIDAY - COLD FEET?

What The Fuck?

Is that staged? If that's the ceremony, imagine the honeymoon...

Bet her dear ol' Dad was beaming with pride. Wonder what he said as he gave his daughter away...

Perhaps they just couldn't afford the wedding dress.

Lest you think I troll the intrawebs actively looking for pics like this, please note that I am not that type. Nor am I sexist. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I just thought I'd push all y'all buttons a little with the pic today. Also, because it's mightily IRREVERENT, and suits the mood today. And furthermore, it gave me something to discuss in this here blog post. I have nothing else to report. Other than having the coldest feet ever. Not as in the "cold feet" you'd associate with a wedding, but physically cold. It's brass monkeys here. Only my feet though. The aircon doesn't reach under my desk...

So as previously noted, I'm a bit of a dumbass. I got the date wrong for tonight's show with Isochronous and the Sleepers. It's gonna rock. Spectacularly.

Anyway, I was going to write about the incredible level of "piss me off why don't you" going around today, but I decided to ignore it and stare blinkered at the onrushing weekend instead.

So, here's hoping you all - each and every one of you special little cases - have a splendid weekend! Herewith today's Chapter & Verse, the gospel of Saint Smith:

Book 12 : Chapter 7 : Verse 9 - 11

And not to be outdone, although I'm sure he'll thank me heartily for referring to him as a saint, cos a saint he ain't, the gospel according to Saint Goldwyer...

NGDG: "Do feel free to tell me when I'm being abstruse."

Spread The Love. Good.n.Thick.n.All.Embracing. Like A Snuggy... Or A Fat Aunt...

QUICK! QUICK! BEFORE ANYONE NOTICES...

I got the dates wrong. Anyone who opened the link to the event would have realised immediately. Thanks to all the wonderful people that went to great pains to point out (in such a loving way) what an utter arse I am.

The Isochronous / Sleepers gig is TONIGHT and not on Saturday! See y'all at Mercury later than. Do NOT do the Cape Town thing and let a little drizzle keep you away. Just remember: Rain = No Roadblocks.

Spread The Love. Get Your Dates Right.

SEEH - REEH - HUSS

And thus we move onto the more serious business of a proper blog post. None of this rehashed, repackaged kak I tried to get away with. After all, I'm sure you're dying to know what yours truly has been getting up to...

Yesterday I got home, cleaned a bit, made food and had Tarty Farty over for dindins and lots of vino. At least I know I had lots of vino. I'd already had lots of vino by the time she got there.

Also, I clocked up some more Martha points - it really was the best bolognaise ever made. One step closer to the commemorative apron...

And that is it.

Now we have to see what the everloving Saint Smith has to say in his daily gospel:

Book 8 : Chapter 7 : Verse 11 - 14

So, looking ahead to the weekend. Lots going on, lots to do, lots to see, lots to experience. On Friday our friends The Summer Underground are playing at a new venue called The Privilege Cave in that place, Tableau Voi, along with special guests Junkyard Lipstick. Free entry and loads of drinks specials. More info here.

Then on Saturday it's the big one. Isochronous are once again gracing us Capies with their sultry sonic super-awesomeness as they perform at Mercury with the stupendous Sleepers. It's the launch of their new album and a show (surely) not to be missed. Go check out the event details.

And speaking of musical mastery. You know, the kind that makes your toes curl and turns you inside out simply because you can't contain yourself. Do yourself a favour and go and click on Shannon Hope's song 'Believe' from her forthcoming album. Your ears will delight.

Wow, my song for the day should have been "Links-2-3-4"...

Bedeah Bedeah Bedeah That's All Folks!

NGDG: "I don't care if they've expunged it from the OED. After my ill-fated shuttle repair and discounting @Deano Maduramuthu's hour on otherwise very execrable radio, I'm left with little option but to rock a CASSETTE. Pour some sugar on me cos I'd do anything for love, but I won't apologise for my TDK60 mix tapes circa 1994."

Spread The Love. I'd Do Anything For It.

GREATEST HITS - THE VERY BEST OF

Welcome to my world! I live in this little box in front of you and rant and rave about life, love and everything else. Because the intrawebnets allows me to spew forth my bilge by providing me with this here virtual soap box. So I have decided to edit a little 'highlights' package for you, my wonderful and obviously very discerning readers. For those of you who haven't read every one of my opinion-masturbations, here is a short list of my favourites, from old to new:

1. In which we discover how the Meat Market works.

2. In which we read of my unfortunate duel with death, trying to beat the boep.

3. I just like the picture in this one.

4. The story of how I was cockblocked whilst chatting to the lovely Miss Her-Entire-Bum-Fits-In-My-One-Hand.

5. A rambling report on Ramfest. Awesome!

6. The INFAMOUS "List". Not for the faint hearted.

7. In which the Naked Chef discovers how to make the kitchen his bitch.

8. In which we muse on the mechanics of Teabagging & Lolligagging.

9. 10 Thing I Hate about that thing called Luuuurve...

10. I couldn't leave this one out. It's about BOOBS!

11. In which I fiddle by myself while the world burns.

12. The New Rules - words to live by...

13. Of a particularly well loved song by L7.

14. In which I run straight into the gaping maws of death.

15. I couldn't leave out the post from Sheik Yerbouti's Birthday.

16. A brilliant review of one of South Africa's most brilliant artists.

And that, dear gently reader, it that. If I add more, I effectively dilute the overall quality on show above.

Enjoy reading my stupid ramblings - I hope you crack a smile.

NGDG: "I lack bed-making skills, not having been to the army. The folds in the sheets can be best described as non-Euclidian."

Spread The Love. Spread The Gospel. Spread The Blog Link So I Can Do This Crap For A Living.