WORDS FROM J SHABIER BROWN MAHARAJ

Fuck me.

I need a crash course in local politicking. Otherwise known as evading prosecution. Otherwise known as being an utter douchebag.

Now whilst those of you that know me personally are probably all already fingering the "Leave comments" tab and thinking how to rhyme "But you already are one" with something witty, allow me to elaborate.

When living in community of property with a sweet, beautiful, gorgeous, caring, wonderful woman, it never really occurs to either party to keep ironclad records of the to-and-fro flow of money. Yes, every now and then in a rare moment of clarity, when you're not all loved up and gooey-eyed, you may jot down "I paid for that" or "I owe you for this" when one of you plays the financial equivalent of "No, YOU hang up!"...

However that is usually the total extent of your book keeping.

Once the emotions of a break up are dealt with and the dust has settled, very often unfinished "business" has to be attended to. Unfortunately this very often leads to a case of the other party's word or vague recollection vs your own. Rarely are both sides of the equation as magnanimous after a split as they were before it. Well folks, there goes the romance, from now on you get the "Monster From The Blog - Bean Counter Edition v6.66". Any flirtations with romantic notions or ANY other expense incurred will now be filed immediately, in triplicate, in blood. And duly notarised by a party authorised to do so. In triplicate. Could make that spontaneous "I love you let's get home and check it out but it's more for you than for me and no I don't want it near my bum" dildo acquisition lose its spur of the moment appeal.

Speaking of losing appeals, I wonder how Juju, Mac and the boys are doing. Must be awesome being the sole fodder for http://www.hayibo.com/. Fame! You bitch. I should take notes...

[*Disclaimer: Please do not let the above dissuade you from pursuing a beautiful and fulfilling union. That, or get you an old rich dude with a bum ticker and keep it very one sided...]

NGDG: "It's nearly impossible to fire someone nowadays with these labour laws. Most companies instead bring in HVAC and Hygiene consultants to either freeze employees to death or poison them with hazardous chemicals."

Spread The Love. But For Fuck's Sake Keep Thorough Records. In Triplicate.

THIS MAN NEEDS MORE THAN DEEP HEAT.

I'm constantly astounded at what makes people tick. Luckily though, we're not like that dead dude in Hellboy who was made of clockwork, sand and a cool uniform. I'm talking more about the wonderful variety of tastes and opinions on display across the spectrum of humanity.

Before this degenerates into a philosophical piece, I'd better stop it there. I'm nowhere near drunk enough to have this conversation with all of you. And by that I mean with myself, because I have to complete the series of random thoughts, convert them clumsily into text via the "computer" and then hit "publish post", by which time it is usually too late to entertain arguments to the contrary. So let's call it an opinion piece.

Unfortunately when one is babbling on one is bound to run out of steam at some point and the end result is me sitting with my thumbs lodged firmly up my arse and without an opinion right now. On anything. A rarity. Also, it makes typing quite a challenge. Well, there is always the logical fall back of music, but I've blathered on enough about that today already. Unless you count the awesome news that Paradise Lost are releasing a DVD/CD of their live performance of all the songs off Draconian Times recently in London. Salivate. And next year we'll be treated to their new album (they're in studio now) called 'Tragic Idol'...

Anyone for a preview?

So how's this weather? I'm almost on my way to a nice leisurely few laps of the cricket oval and then a relaxing little game of football. Or should I say murderous masochism and an evening of agony? I tried this whole getting in shape thing before, with gut-busting results. I'll put a six pack in the fridge, closest I'm getting today I'm afraid.

So after all that I've committed myself ("too late!" I hear you cry) to a spot of retail therapy. I can just see it now. I'll get there and gingerly lever myself out of the car only to find there's nothing I want to buy all evening. Oh well. There'll be consolation drinks with any luck.

NGDG: "So our friend Juli-arse finally admits hes finished politically and contemplates becoming a cattle farmer. Time for a rousing chorus of 'Kill The Farmer' methinks."

Spread The Love. Deep Heat Is No Good As A Lubricant.

SHE'S CUTE!

What a wonderful weekend. I was left largely to my own devices for most of it. As promised to the world of FaeceBoobs, I punished the face off of the beers waiting for me when I got home after work on Friday. Goes hand in hand with the fire I started (how very Billy Joel of me...) and then I set about making the second best potjie ever made.

*Remember I won the competition at Tarty Farty Tequila Party's birthday get away - it was a clandestine Demonic Sibling Wolfpack collaboration.

Anyway, Saturday morning I bade farewell to the better half and got on with the serious business of doing as little as possible. Until the lovable legions of Axxon pulled in for a rehearsal. Then it was down to business, with an exceptional performance by vocalist and resident miserable git, Cevin (Off) Key Ng. It's not a very good alias, but I must protect the identity of those of whom I write. People's right to privacy is enshrined in the Constitution we all hold so dear.

Anyway, my stomach hurt for all the right reasons. Make of that what you will...

The rest of the weekend went by in a haze of books and movies until this morning, well rested and ready to take on the week, I realised with utter horror that I was in fact well rested and ready to take on the week. There goes my time honoured excuse of being permanently exhausted and hungover/drunk. There is now added to the weight of all the work that's not getting done a healthy dose of guilt as well. Tonight I DRINK! Rose Thorn is preparing a healthy and nutritious meal for us (me and TDB) and I'm sure a glass or few of wine will not be amiss.

Summer is here! I know this because I am sitting in an ill-advised ensemble which includes long pants, socks and sneakers, as opposed to the usual outfit of baggies and flip flops (usually the white flip flops of DOOOOM). Tomorrow I make the annual switch from my winter wardrobe to my summer one. Residents of the Mother City be warned. Only industrial strength arc-welding masks will suffice to keep your vision in working order.

My legs are about to be unleashed!

And by legs I of course mean fluorescent light tubes.

Plans for the rest of the week include me rejoining the football and starting running again. Expect tales of pain and unfathomable suffering over the course of the next few days. I've run out of excuses and now's the time. Must get in shape for the 3 times I am likely to make it anywhere near a beach this summer.

NGDG: "I'm amazed to discover that life is not a movie. Or that it's a Scandinavian movie with where everything is pointless and everyone dies."

Spread The Love. And The Sunblock.

FRIDAYS. eRREVERENT!

eFiling done! Thank you and good night! And good riddance til next year...

In the spirit of never quite doing what you'd expect, today we keep it nice n short. Mainly because it's Friday afternoon in the Mother City and she's at her glorious best this afternoon. So I'm gonna drag my arse on over to the outdoors Conference Room, overlooking the Atlantic and have a meeting. Aw, but that sucks I hear you cry! Au contraire, mon frere. When I say meeting, I mean sit down and schmooze with cool musos and stuff. I love my job...

But enough about me, what about you? Here is a little something to get your weekend started on the right, ahem, note: Guide to singing the South African National Anthem Enjoy!

NGDG: "I'm dancing to stuff I don't even know at the work year-end function and may have said to the waiter more than once 'we've just run out of wine, what are we going to do about it?!' "

Spread The Love. Love Is All You Need. Well, And Booze. And Draks, If You're My DrHellCuz...

ROBBEN 'HOODS

So today I have to submit my Income Tax Return to the South African Revenue Service. The tax collector was one of the most hated characters as far back as 2000 years ago and probably well beyond. One rogue crept into our hearts by stealing from the rich and redistributing the wealth among the poor. I have no issue with contributing to the society in which I live or even to help in the betterment of those less fortunate. I, like so many other honest tax payers though, question the wholehearted honesty and supposed transparency regarding the use of our tax rands. The poor stay poor, the rich get rich. It is with a begrudging sense of getting royally fucked over that I hand over an extortionate proportion of my monthly income to the bandits in charge.

Goes to show, if you dress up your shitty ineptitude or raging greed in a nice suit (let's not be sexist here, you can also dress it up in a very ostentatious, bright, gaudy, ill-fitting dress and hat combo), people tend to go along with the charade. But the minute you don the green tights you're branded an outlaw and a brigand.

But I digress. The aim of this missive was actually to say nice things. I LOVE efiling. It has made my life infinitely easier and the dreaded act of submitting my Tax Return far simpler and, dare I say it, even convenient... The level of civilisation in a country can not only be measured by the standard of its prisons or the way the people treat their animals (in both cases we're screwed) but by how painless the government makes it for us to give them all our money. One out of three ain't bad.

I'm actually procrastinating now. I should log in using the awesome porn star password SARS allowed me to use and just get it over with. Yet even though the process has now become easier than taking candy from a baby, I still hesitate. Why? Perhaps it's my intense loathing of admin.

Anyway, in an astonishing development, I have sweet fuck all else to report.

NGDG: "I'm not famous, but if I were and was approached by the Chinese factory responsible for manufacturing this kiddies' butterfly-catching net, I'd gladly endorse it for its unrivalled superiority in catch-and-release Parktown Prawn problem resolution technology. My nerves this season are saved!"

Spread The Love. Redistribute The Wealth. Because You NEED A New Bulletproof Beemer.

MO'VEMBER

Pic courtesy of James Porky Davies.

As you are all no doubt aware, those of you not living under a rock, a bridge or a tunnel, it is Mo'vember, a month dedicated to cultivating a lush outcrop of facial hair on one's upper lip. This practice is in aid of raising awareness of prostate and testicular cancer, raise money for the combat or treatment thereof, and should be restricted to men.

As men around the globe sport a snorr-gasbord of variety on this theme under their very noses, I have unfortunately been forced to bail out of the idea. I thought I could cheat and just stop shaving, and trust me, this idea was met with wild enthusiasm. I hate shaving and am infinitely grateful for a job that doesn't insist on me being well presented. So I let myself go and used the excuse "I'm growing a moustache, but I'm also growing a beard at the same time". You see, for those of you that don't know me personally (thank your lucky stars) I am blonde to the point of inflicting arc-eyes on anyone in my general vicinity. This poses a problem when one is faced with the prospect of a moustache sans accompanying beard. Simply put, I look like a kid who's just gulped down all the milk. Or a Swedish paedophile. Neither is a good look for me and with my already dangerous levels of narcissism, this is obviously not going to fly. So when the whole Santa Claus thing got a bit much the other day and I started getting the whole "scruffy itchy" I decided, "ah fuck it, lemme shave the beard off and see how bad it's gonna look".

I last had a moustache in the army. Everyone laughed then as well.

I felt almost embarrassed. I laughed so hard at this blonde moustachioed idiot in the mirror, I just couldn't breathe after a while. Thank all that is holy I wasn't required to go out in public to attend to some sudden emergency! To make matters worse, the laughing turned me an alarming fire engine red, making the already luminescent white paedo-stache look even more milky-way maniacal by way of added contrast. Like a slash of Tippex on a ripe tomato...

It didn't last long. As soon as I stopped convulsing with laughter and my hand was steady enough, it was unceremoniously sheared. Until next year.

The entire point of this exercise, though, is to encourage us men to go and have ourselves checked out. Now, I don't know about you, but when the school nurse "checked you for a hernia" and instructed you to cough, I felt utterly violated and couldn't wait to get my school issue navy blue underpants back to their rightful place, covering my privates. Similarly, the physical in the army was equally invasive and holds no fond memories. So booking myself in for some Cuba-educated "doctor" to inspect my balls doesn't fill me with elation. Don't even get me started on the prostate and the only available avenue of exploration... I can just hear the rubber glove snapping against a wrist - the stuff nightmares are made of!

I wonder if I can convince my girlfriend to study nursing, so she can inspect the collection of dangly bits for insidious lumps. Voila! Problem solved. Actually 2 birds. She'll get the outfit as well. I must make a mental note to discuss this with her.

On second thoughts it's a kak idea. These days all they teach is toyi-toying and basic healthcare neglect.

NGDG: "This is gonna sound totally Hipster but: I feel so superior to all the Johnny-come-latelys. Man! I hated the ANC when they were still underground."

Spread The Love. Check Each Other For Cancer.

VICTORIA'S SECRETS - WHAT ARE THEY TRYING TO HIDE?

Did you know. Queen Victoria probably had a few naughty little secrets of her own. Perhaps even some that pertained to her monarchy. Certainly a few "personal" ones that are better left behind closed doors. And strangely, the British Isles, its people, and "procreation of a chinless society" still thrive...

The huge outcry about the proposed State Secrecy Bill is then our topic for the day. Our openly corrupt government is proposing to push through legislation that allows them to gag the media should they get their equally grubby paws on sensitive information. In today's world, when selling broadsheets is becoming increasingly difficult, and sensationalism reigns, the market for sordid tidbits is flooded due to our ease of access to information. I agree wholeheartedly that those that actively steal, embezzle or enrich their cronies should be named, shamed and held accountable. Wearing black is probably not going to stop the 264 ANC MPs under direct orders (threats against their cushy "jobs") to attend parliament today and vote along party lines, or ELSE...

The only difference is that now we won't choke on our morning coffee in outrage at another scandal.

And finally maybe Gareth Cliff will shut the fuck up because he has nothing on which to make his banal commentary.

Besides, we have a little thing called THE Constitution. Upheld by something called a Constitutional Court. I'm dead sure the opposition parties, the outraged masses and all their domestic servants will make that their next stop.

And for what? Whilst I agree that the media should have the right to deliver the news in a free and fair manner in a free and fair country, one must stop to accept these considerations: Nothing in life is free. And nothing in life is fair either. Our dear mate and neighbour to the North, Uncle Rob Mugabe still rules with an iron fist, pillaging his country's rapidly dwindling resources with a baldfacedness that should boggle the minds of the at-least-semi-literate. Yet he remains in power. His people have not demanded someone replace him. Yes, there are some who would oppose him, but if the entire nation was gatvol of him, he wouldn't be there anymore. So it goes. So our lot will carry on with their 'tender loving corruption' until we're bled dry and, quite frankly, I don't see them giving a rat's arse if Die Beeld bleats about it or not. They're having a fat laugh at the entire proletariat anyway.

And as a very wise friend of mine pointed out: "The secrecy bill is a long time coming. Let's take a break from Farmville and rant about it on the day it is passed." Well said, sir. If it was so earth shattering, surely we should have mobilised our finest black outfits ages ago?

Here's a question. Is it as effective at stopping archaic bills getting passed if you accidentally put on light grey sport socks? And what about your underwear? Are all the ladies wearing yummy little black lacy numbers under their 'appalled apparel'? Maybe some things should be kept a secret...

At least it's refreshing to see that people still care.

Reminds me of my favourite line from one of My Dying Bride's classic songs, 'The Sexuality Of Bereavement': "Secrecy fosters Passion".

NGDG: "I think I'm going to start eating cereal for dinner. At least you know what you're getting."

Sounds like someone should embrace the righteous path to Martha Stewart and the Infinite Enlightenment.

Spread The Love. With Some Victoria's Secret. Preferably In Black.

THINGS THAT MAKE YOUR DAY.

For DrHellCuz

In the mornings as I drive to work (and this will show you just what a creature of routine I really am) I pass a woman running up towards High Level Road. Every morning. At about the same spot. With her iPod plugged in. In slippers. I shit you not. In freakin' slippers. Of the floppy moccasin variety. Proper jogging, at pace, up one of the most gruelling inclines known to man. Without stopping to take in the view or hack up a lung. In.her.slippers...

Then, when I get to work, among the sites I have to check out as part of my morning routine, you will find a hilarious collection of Texts From Last Night. Today's favourite is : "She made a roadhead CD. Can I marry her?"

Claudia Mohr. Saturday evening. The Fugard Theatre. Sensational. To witness a bunch of musicians of such calibre enjoying themselves so much and royally entertaining us all at the same time was a truly wonderful experience. Claudia's songs are well written and intelligent. They hit the right notes (both musically and existentially) at the right times. Her band is a collection of eclectic and excellent musos that add just as much to proceedings as Claudia herself.

Charles Knighton-Pullin (of Sabretooth fame) on lead guitar (in tasseled leather pants) is also responsible for the musical direction of this project and in doing so has established himself as not only the virtuoso guitarist we all know him to be, but also multi-talented musical master. Kyle Gray (of Fox Comet and Witness To Wolves) lends his own particular energy to this sublime set of songs, a drummer with boundless enthusiasm and a remarkable and uniquely talented individual. Nick Catto (also of Fox Comet) slyly gets on with the business of keeping it all stitched together with a beautifully understated and brilliant ease, peering at the audience from behind a mischievous grin. The back up divas add spice and sass to the show and the special guests on percussion and vocals certainly were the cherry on top of an amazing evening's entertainment. In a rare moment of forgetting they were from Cape Town, the audience even stood up from their chairs, clapping and boogieing along, some even getting down in the aisles! The set closer 'African Hello' (before the inevitable encore) was a song of such obvious single potential, I'd be surprised if Claudia Mohr isn't a household name shortly. Watch out for this incredibly talented singer/songwriter. THIS is what local musicians should be striving for. Never mind the bollocks... in the parlance of the 'biz.

Another thing that made my weekend was seeing a truly unique football goal scoring celebration. The Clever Boys were playing The Buccaneers (Wits University vs Orlando Pirates) in a David vs Goliath clash this weekend, Pirates being the overwhelming favourites and one of the biggest - if not THE biggest - glamour clubs in our Premiere League. Ryan Chapman scored a brace in the second half to seal the 3 - 1 win for the Clever Boys and in celebrating his goals, ran over to the fans, made the arms crossed in an "X" (which signifies "Pirates for life!") and then tore the sign apart by flinging his arms to the side. Brilliant!

So. Monday it is then. Traditionally I moan. I suppose I can complain about the Aussies looking like they are on their way to a test victory, but given the history of this game, I think I'll harbour secret hopes...

NGDG: "I haven't the vaguest idea what I get up to after lights out. Though the sheets be crisp, the pillows plump and the room conducive to rest, nocturnal crime-fighting, unconscious witching-hour-origami or sleep paso doble, will ensure I probably feel like a zombie regardless."

Spread The Love. Mainly Because I Like Four Letter Words.

IRREVERENTIALLY YOURS.

I think we've all had enough shit for one week. Get rid of the Pooh!

What a day in the Mother City! What? You're already gatvol of me going on about how lucky we are in Cape Town? Leave. It's glorious and I'm selfish! Except for Shannon. You stay. We finish M5.

And on top of all that it's Irreverent Friday! Whoohoo! Unless you're the DrHellCuz or any other member of the PIE massive, or even the Snipple. Or for that matter anyone else who believes in FRASH MERRILL FRIDAY. In an online 'discussion' this morning we got into the classification of Machine Head. For the record, Machine Head is NOT FRASH MERRILL. It's got a far more "hardcore" base derived from bands like Biohazard, etc. FRASH MERRILL is quintessentially characterised by the first 4 Metallica albums and most of what Megadeff did. See also: Anthrax.

That was before all this sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-genre nonsense existed. Because now in order to stand out it is no longer required of you as a musician to be any good , rather it is expected of you be different. Doesn't bode well for the future, does it? In fact, modern "musicians" seem to be suffering even further from a modern lament of society, that of the "virtual inability to read or write", blatantly having misread or misunderstood sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-genre and delivering to us (to our eternal damnation) something known as the wub-wub-wub-wub-wub-genre.

So tonight, in order to cleanse the spirit,, the soul and the ears from the sonic dumping ground that is modern life, I retreat along with the "likemindeds" to Kommetjie for a spot of booze, braai and staring-wistfully-to-the-sea-and-pretending-to-have-a-spiritual-moment. Or mainly-try-to-avoid-getting-my-shoes-wet.

Tomorrow I find myself back at the Fugard Theatre to check out the dulcet tones of one Claudia Mohr, who is performing to mark the occasion of her CD Launch. It's such an amazing venue, I'm genuinely excited! Must remember to take along my mortgage papers, I may want to buy a beer.

NGDG: "The difference between investing in property and investing in equities is that you'll not find a cracker squatting on your portfolio."

Spread The Love. You Put Pictures Of Dead Animals. I Put Pictures Of Pooh In Water.

DON'T LOOK BEHIND YOU!

Soggy.

Shirt, not biscuits. Soggy biscuits is something entirely different. Look it up - I dare you.

Oh what a tangled web we weave. Just in general. You don't even have to be particularly deceitful or anything. Just take a look at the shitty state of everything around you...

It seems EMI, the world renowned record company, and one of the "big 4" majors, is being bought by the Russian. Someone should inform them that the Cold War is over and that the catchy ethereal-pop act Enigma is not the famous encryption device from WWII.

What would you rather be doing right this minute? Hand DOWN, DrHellCuz! This is a family programme...

I - among a lot of other things - would love to be standing around a braai, quaffing beer after ice cold beer, surrounded by mates, watching the cricket and generally not having a care in the world. Days like today make it worse as we are so close to idyllic paradise here in the Mother City, that it's actually unfair on us. I can SEE the ocean from my office. Having a view is sometimes cruel and counterproductive.

As opposed to having a viewpoint. I have many.

But let's leave my opinion of life, love and everything else alone for today, and enjoy the sunshine, cold beer and cricket. Can you guess who is a mere hour from leaving work? Huh?

NGDG: "I just narrowly escaped arrst by begging the officer for a fine instead. How's your morning?"

Spread The Love. Love The Spread.

MOUNTAINS, MOLEHILLS AND MOPEDS. AND MOOSEHEADS.

Good afternoon from a wonderfully warm and sunshiny Cape Town. The Mother City is as beautiful as ever and the mountain is now officially a Top 7 whatsimicallit. What the fuck ever...

This means only 2 things. One. The people responsible for the voting scam have made an inordinate amount of money off the people that cast their multiple votes.

And two. That I now have to try extra hard to perpetu-hate the stereo-type that is the resident Capetonian during tourist season.

Whilst I am all for the revenue created by a steady stream of Nikon toting, sock'n'sandal wearing oglers, I sincerely dislike the fact that I have to share my paradise with anyone. There are the obvious exceptions. Anyone I know personally is fine. And as for the Jhb contingent (even more foreign then foreign). I could quite happily have the Meyodies, DrHellCuz and the inimitable Neal Goldwyer here as much as they'd like. And my real Lil Cuz. And Shannon Hope from Durban-by-the-sea.

My attitude is not exclusive to myself. This is why everyone thinks we're so unfriendly and downright rude. Because we are. We're forced to be. Imagine the influx of wanktards were we to be more welcoming. Or learn to drive...

There should also be a minimum period of time after "immigrating" to the Cape before you may consider yourself a local. Included in the "Caping" of yourself, certain aspects of your lifestyle should have to undergo some obligatory alteration. Like your incessant work ethic. Chill.the.fuck.out.

Also, you may want to revise your insistence on wearing pink pop-up-collar golf shirts, white trousers and leather moccasins. You will probably have to go out and purchase a few must-have fashion accessories like the following: A jihad scarf, a trilby hat and a pair of Wayfarers. Face it Pancho, if you were wearing the pink and white ensemble you were, are, and always will be a douche-badge. This way at least you'll blend in with our local arty crowd...

Last night The Cure played their Reflections show in London. People I know went. I want to be them. Utter bastards. There aren't enough expletives in the known Universe to sufficiently convey my jealousy. And in even more earth shattering news, Sheik Yerbouti is now too on the righteous path to domestic enlightenment. Which means that, since I dished out some advice yesterday, I'm elevated to some advanced zen-like Master-Martha level of consciousness.

Final conquests beckon!

NGDG: "I cannot sit at a bar without being a weirdo magnet. You'd think being your own kind of weird would protect you by the law of osmosis."

Spread The Love. Unless You're Confronted With Foreigners... Or Foreigner.

HAZEL DEAN WAS A ONE HIT WONDER

She had an awesome song which had worldwide success. It was called 'They Say It's Gonna Rain'. TDB has made a blog entry people! No wonder we've had winter in November. It's like Christmas in July! Run for cover! Run to the hills! Run for your lives...

Anyway. Apologies for my absenteeism of late. I pinky promise I won't become like my friends with "blogs" that only deign to write something when they "have the time" or if "something significant" happens. Pfffft... What about the place in the world for entertaining drivel? What about it I hear you ask. Well, you've come to the right place! Olympic Shit Talking Champion right here!

Ja so, what did you all get up to this weekend? I DIDN'T watch cricket. Ticket holders for Saturday and Sunday at Newlands must have been pissed off.
I DID see a lot of ol' Juju Malemalemalemalemalema on the telly. Interested to see what comes of all this. Right now my money is on apathy winning the day and some form of partial reinstatement of privileges, if not power.
There really wasn't much more newsworthy, was there?

I did spend an inordinate amount of time on the sleeper couch watching classic movies. With my nice spanking new girlfriend. For those of you still in the dark, I now once again have a better half. I know this because it has finally been made FaeceBoobs official. Which is important. In this day and age one must always let everyone know. "Hi Honey!"

Onto things domestic. My eternal quest for Martha-like Biggie Best perfection has moved beyond the confines of my home and out into the "garden". And by garden, I mean plant boxes I built on either side of the braai. I have planted all sorts of fancy herbs and stuff (well, fancy in my humble book) and they're actually growing! I'm temporarily changing the name of the quest so I can dub myself Keith Kirsten. I can't find the floppy towelling hat anywhere, but hey, it's only temporary.

On the bright side, I have a new shirt.

And to go with my new shirt, here is a short list of requests to the Universe in general:

1. Please stop posting pictures of animal abuse. Whilst I am sympathetic to the plight of these poor animals to the point of choosing products that do not indulge in such cruel activities and also being active in animal welfare, I do not want to see these pictures. They upset me no fucking end. You're preaching to the choir as it is only your friends list that see what you post. I would assume that by virtue of the fact that these people are your "friends" they would feel the same or at least be aware of these atrocities. Rather put your money where your "share" button is.



2. Please can we have this weather in Cape Town for the next 6 months. Thanks.



3. Please can I get to grips with the new song without losing my mind or a finger in an unfortunate "tangling" accident.



4. Please can the world's economy be run by capable people that aren't driven by all-consuming avarice.



5. For that matter can "civil service" return to its original purpose.



6. Please can those people that choose to harangue on about how kak religion is keep it to themselves. For the exact same reason you so abhor the "pro" argument, there is equally no place for the "con" argument. It's personal choice for a lot of people and you aren't proving how clever you are by constantly knocking it. Let people be. As you expect them to leave you alone. Lead by example.



7. Winning numbers for the Lotto please. And this time make it the correct week as well. REALLY fucking funny last time!



8. Please smite down everyone who overuses currently popular words. I can't type them here for fear of being smote. Much like "No one is to stone anyone until I blow this whistle! Even if they DO say Jehovah!"



9. Please bring down booze prices. If not all, then I'd be happy with beer, wine, whisky and vodka.



10. Please let me figure out a way to lose the boep and while I'm at it get some kick ass muscles without any physical strain.



11. Please let me never again need an awkward pooh at work.



12. Please can I have a pony for Christmas.

I think that about does it for today's wishlist...

NGDG: "Maybe Berlusconi, Papandreou and Malema will join forces and establish a new political organisation. They can all it The Lemon Party."

Spread The Love. Monogamously.

DEAR SANTA

Please do not fill my stocking, or anything else, with THAT...

Welcome to your weekly (weakly?) dose of irreverence. My humblest apologies to the 3 entire people on the planet that missed me yesterday. It was a disaster! I had to work. I tell you, I don't know what the world is coming to.

Ok. I'm totally lying. I was engrossed in the most enthralling game of cricket ever. Well, in the last century at any rate. Jeesh, what drama! And smashed just about every negative record as well. Who said cricket was boring? And then we wrapped it up with aplomb this morning. I particularly like all the very civil and polite handshaking and butt patting afterwards, when you know they're going to disappear into their changing room and be like "Ja! Fuck you, you fucking Aussies! We 'wys'ed you your ma se ding! Whaaaalah!"

Anyway. Tonight sees an interesting event at the Jolly Roger. The band with the coolest name in South Africa, Sex Cauldron, are playing a set of what is, according to reports, some nice sleazy, sludgy, smug sex-rock. And speaking of all things rock 'n' roll, Ramfest has released pricing for their different shows around the country. Cape Town will set you back a very well spent R350, considering you get In Flames and some top local acts in the package. Cue the hordes of spoilt, lazy, good-for-nothing loser wank-fest students to complain at length. To the detractors: Please! Please! Please! Do not buy a ticket. There are more than enough people who want to. And I can only afford mine at the end of the month, as I have a bond and a life. Then rub one out and take along hard look at your sex life and the non-existent options with which to improve it. kthnxbye.

And on that irreverent note, let's look in on Reverend Irreverent
NGDG: "Is Census 2012 over then? I wasn't counted. Guess that gives me a few hours' grace to get to the border when President Malema orders the massacre of the whiteys."

Spread The Love. Make Sure To Stretch Before Using Any Heavy Machinery.

ATTENTION!

It has come to my attention that there are still people out there that are blithely unaware of how full of shit I am. I get daily questions regarding topics that are clearly set out in bullet point on The List. It's like I'm doing this because I like the sound of my own typing.

(Actually I do this because I'm a self indulgent prick most days.)

I have an overwhelming urge to do the rest of this blog post in a Mexican accent, but you can imagine how difficult that would be, considering I left my poncho at home today. Besides I'm prone to overuse "h" when I type phonetically.

It's been a slow day in a slow week. Time has been treacle all day and nothing has happened. I am writing this here collection of nonsensical observations, not to entertain you, my faithful readership, but to stave off the ever encroaching tentacles of deathly boredom. This is not always the case. Luckily. Most days I am filled with a zesty zeal and an appetite for life that's full of things happening all the time. Just not today. Today I'm taking a rain check on "exciting". Except for drinks with Aunty Nexus after work for a spot of catching up and apparently a discussion on camping lights, dungarees and the pros and cons of turning lesbian. I plan on letting her into the little secret. I too am a lesbian. Pity Axl Rose beat me to the punch...

Perhaps Neal has something of more literary nutritional value than me today.

NGDG: "I will bet you a fistful of jazz flute that there were bears prowling the office grounds today."

Nope - looks like it's been a day far everyone. Go home. Get drunk. Come out fighting tomorrow. What are YOU doing later?

Spread The Love. Onto The Ladeeez.

A STORY. WITH TOYS.

More like I just HAD to use this picture. It's too good not to use. I have sweet fuck all profound to say to accompany this picture. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I'm proud to announce that I indulged in some wine-induced genius again last night. Can't wait to see the video recording of the greatest little acoustic (Grandpa's guitars) ditty ever written, written by me last night. Also, I have now been elevated into the ranks of "multi-instrumentalist" as I totally owned the violin part of 'Sear Me MCMXCIII'. Well, on the keyboard obviously, but still...

Now if only all this wonderful talent could miraculously get rid of this hangover...

Perhaps the gathering of souls DOOMY this evening for le evening of making 'slow, deep and hard' music will lift my spirits. Or maybe I should just continue the whole stinking cycle. Ah the high life of a pretend rockstar! (*Disclaimer - I'm actually a real rockstar, it's just one pesky little detail - the rest of the world largely has yet to acknowledge this.)

Breaking news. A dear friend of mine, Aunty Nexus, has just admitted that she would like to see me do a little tap dance wearing the following: A tutu. A black leather bra. Suspenders and fishnets. A bowler hat. You can't tap dance without a bowler hat. And for that matter, a cane. And a feather duster sticking out of my arse. The final rah would be in the form of a sarcastic "Happy now?" I have amazing friends! Just thought I'd share.

Stop drooling, Mary!

On a far more sombre note, Sickmind Flawed has been named and shamed as the new quizmaster (or as we like to refer to them, "MC Hammered") for the most fun you can have with your pants on, the LMG Pub Quiz. So mozie on over with your team of miscreants and sign up for this most entertaining of developments. Expect a fair amount of expletives. I can't wait!

Also, if the concept of answering questions all night and getting wankered at the same time floats your boat, go and check out the new MegaMusicQuiz hosted by MyMusicMatrix, the brainchild of the only member of The Bad Hatters that is allowed to stand during the True or False section, even if he gets it wrong...

In even more breaking news, I have managed to get my ugly chops in the virtual papers. Go and read ALL about this wonderful band for whom I perform the role of secondary axe-murderer, AXXON.

NGDG: "It saddens me when entertaining, quirky friends are hounded off Facebook for being themselves. I'm going to start reporting photos of kittens and sunburnt rabbits, and statuses about sunshine."

Spread The Love. Like In Andy's Room.

I FEEL INSPIRED...

... to write a bullshit heading, thereby grabbing your attention under false pretenses and suckering you into reading my worthless ramblings against your will. It's like watching people slow down and rubber neck as they drive past a road accident.

How has your week started? I trust all is well and that you're all hale and hearty after a wonderful weekend. No? Perhaps just enjoying the fact that you're alive and in this glorious sunshine? (My humblest apologies to the legions of my readers not in Cape Town.) Or maybe just grateful to be alive...

So I tried retail therapy on Saturday morning. I was waltzing around Access Park (because I'm cheap like that) looking for all manner of goodies, when my eyes fell on a sign that read "Musica". Not thinking too much other than "Oh, that's new..." I continued with my quest for new trainers. Until... I peeked from the corner of my eye a sign that could only have been presented with angelic chorus, had I been paying attention. "CDs under R20" it bellowed across the tarmac!

Now having been in the employ of a specialist CD store for so many years and since having to try and find ANYTHING resembling competent assistance in ANY Musica store - I have developed an acute aversion for this particular franchise of turgid pooh merchants parading as the foremost supplier of music to our masses (the fact that this is in fact true does not say much for the masses, now does it). But a "bargain's a bargain" I kept trying to convince my cheap ass as I found myself going meticulously through this mega-bargain-bin. The cds in this store are the ones people didn't buy out of the bargain bin in their local Musica PoohStores. You can imagine the amount of sifting required in order to find something worthwhile. To the untrained eye, that is! I walked out of there having had to curb my enthusiasm after finding 9 awesome discs worth buying. I actually put a few back, as my purchases were digging into my trainer budget. Happy days!

Needless to say I wasn't able to locate any trainers, but a successful day out nonetheless. The only TRAGIC thing about all this is the amount of local content on the R20 shelves. Well, not really, considering this means that Musica has already paid for these and is footing the bill, whilst the artist is plotting his pick up lines for the next festival...

Shannon Hope. How do I begin to describe the sheer magnitude of the occasion? The Fugard Theatre is at once a beautiful and awe-inspiring venue and at the same time poncey and overpriced. Having gone to the show alone, I found myself nursing the single most expensive beer in living history as I awaited the big moment. The staff were wonderfully friendly though, continually asking if I was happy/in need of more refreshment/lost. I hope I didn't look that out of place. I was wearing a button shirt and everything.

The moment finally arrived and the inside of the theatre in which the performance took place was as breathtaking a backdrop for Shannon's hauntingly beautiful music as is possible. It was a combination of old and new, a steel lighting rig against bare masonry and tall, arched church windows. A solitary baby grand piano sat highly polished on its own centre stage. The lights dimmed and the anticipation was palpable. Without any fanfare Shannon sat down and launched into her stellar set. I have mentioned before - on many an occasion - that I consider her to be a cut (or several) above the rest - and in this spectacular setting she was even more glorious. As humble and self effacing as she was all evening, reminding the appreciative audience that this was a dream come true for her, the music soared and her distinctively divine vocal captivated everyone in that auditorium and transported them far away. I found myself both moved beyond myself, and moved to my own inner self, so poised and poignant and powerful was her performance. She treated us to a wide repertoire off both of her albums, ending with the single 'Believe' off the cd 'Fight A New Day', for which this was the launch. A rapturous, standing ovation was rewarded with an encore song and after an hour and a half performance, that was that.

But that wasn't that, I realised. Even as I left to go home, this particular performance - punctuated as it was with entertaining anecdotes and moments of incredible sadness and strength - was replaying itself over and over in my head. I remembered, and re-felt, things I had felt at particular moments in the show, shivers down my spine for a particular crashing crescendo or finding myself sitting there grinning like an idiot at a quirky comment or sly turn of phrase.

All in all a magical night and congratulations Shannon - not only was it everything you dreamed it would be - it was everything I did too. Bravo!

And then yesterday I braaied. A lot. I am taking bachelorhood seriously and decided to braai enough meat in one go to make sure I'm fed all week. All week except for tonight when Rose Thorn, post "stupid fuckwank", cooks for me as we pretend to have band practice. And also on Thursday when it is once again my turn to Martha-nise the gathered masses for Dinner Club. Whoohoo!

Anyway, I'll leave you to ponder on your loss. Your grief. Your eternal longing at having missed out on one of the most memorable shows I have had the privilege of attending.

Fear not - she'll be here for another month, go and check out listed gigs if you get a chance.

NGDG: "I didn't put the nipple picture in his presentation, but he didn't take it out."

Spread The Love. Because It's Worth Spreading.

THERE'S HOPE FOR YOU YET...

This is your last reminder about the lethal dose of awesome happening at the elegant Fugard Theatre tomorrow night. Yes, yes, I said elegant. They said I would be allowed to come in if I wore pants.

And a shirt.

And brushed my hair.

Yes folks! The intoxicating Shannon Hope is performing her long awaited Cape Town CD Launch show tomorrow night at the Fugard Theatre on Caledon Street. Her stunning new album, 'Fight A New Day' will also be available for sale. Join me, my pants, and the gathered masses of people in the know to celebrate this auspicious occasion with her. You're in for a night of entertainment the likes of which you have never before experienced. A grand piano, a grander venue and the grandest artist currently around. To quote a very wise and astute reviewer: "the voice of a goddess and a truly magical musical ability". Also, bubbles...

Simply.Awesome.Trust.Me.

So don't let yourself down. Come and see what all the well deserved hype is all about.

Spread The Love. Show The Support. You Will Be Smitten...

IRREVERENCE - IT'S LIKE THE LUGGAGE.

So here we are again, on that most hallowed of days, Irreverent Friday. More so for the fact that it's the end of the week than for the fact that a general sense of irreverence is being encouraged. That is pretty much the default setting for most of you anyway. It's just that I decided to make all your sordid dungaree wearing tendencies a bit more acceptable - for today anyway...

For those of you that actually retain any information from this here soapbox of tricks and virtual tome of heretic hedonism, "Yes, thank you, last night's meeting of the parents went quite well..."

They had the requisite number of digits, limbs and other body parts. Enjoyed a pint or 2 in their rather pleasant company, being the life of the party and royally entertaining everyone at the table. I lie. It was mostly "What do you do? " and "Where are you from?" and "Are your parents kind to the staff?"...

Which basically turned into me talking about myself and music. My 2 all time favourite subjects.

They were cool. I survived.

This weekend, because it's going to be musical heaven in many ways (Axxon practice AND the wonderful Shannon Hope's long awaited cd launch), I have designated some time to teach myself how to use a cello bow on an electric guitar. Now, I have seen this done and heard the hauntingly beautiful result when done properly. I expect the proverbial feline mating maul before I get to that level...

So wish my neighbours (bless their ever loving patient hearts...) the best of luck.

NGDG: "I want a Frasier Tshirt with a velcro sky for sticky-on-y meteors and balloons and winking neon lights."

Spread The Love. Like A Cat. Scream Like You Want It!

ALTERNATE DAY

You see, today I can't use a picture of some random hottie, box or no box.

As in CARDBOARD box, but I like the way you think...

I declare myself the winner. I have successfully overcome the loathsome task of setting up a new email account and getting all the little bits and pieces and wank to fire on all cylinders. Or for those of you in the know, the settings on the incoming and outgoing servers are now correct. Who'd a thunk it, eh? An IT guy I am not. Computers give me the heeby jeebies. I come from a different time. A more pleasant time. I grew up flinging handfuls of wet soil primarily at my younger sister and eating plants that tasted of dog pee. Ah, bliss. A time when you saved up and bought records. And later cds. For the iPood generation, those things that look like shiny coasters hanging off the rearview mirrors of minibus taxis.

Life wasn't a series of zeros and ones.

Guess what I'm doing later... have you seen the movie "Meet The Parents"? I hope I can keep it together and not fall into the overwhelming temptation of referring to them as the Fokkers. Because you know what's going to be going through my head...

I have also begrudgingly agreed NOT to wear one of my more choice slogan tshirts. Apparently "Blow Job Is Better Than No Job" won't, um, go down too well. Neither will "Pussy Magnet", "Shave-Yer-Guava" or "Fuck Off I Have Enough Friends"...

And in other news... Well there really isn't any other news. The world is busy imploding as usual. Choose a conspiracy theory and stick to it. The only news site worth reading is still Hayibo. Love their tag line: "Breaking News. Into Lots Of Little Pieces."

Oh, did I mention what an absolutely awful day it is in The Mother City? Think I'll do a couple of sundowners overlooking the Atlantic... Sound good?

NGDG: "Johannesburg was voted 5th worst city in the world for traffic congestion. 5th! At least we're still No.1 for murder."

Spread The Love. Kill Your Computer.

CHICK-IN-A-BOX

I only put that there because I have this picture I want to use. This is the second time I have used a picture of a chick-in-a-box. Not entirely puzzling, as it sounds like "Dick-In-A-Box" which is a particularly funny song. Go on. You know you want to...

Anyway, this all conveniently bring us to the point in time that is now. When I inform you that I have a clicky thingy on the right here. You click on it. Then some little being in the remotest parts of the ether-verse tots up all 15 votes and has a quiet chuckle before disappearing in a disappointingly uneventful *poof*...

So, please go "Click-In-A-Box" and who knows, I might be getting some sort of prize for this here wee soapbox of mine. Perhaps something really groovy like a set of handkerchiefs, or even better, my own personal mime. We all have to start somewhere.

In a thoroughly dismal night's underperformance, Team Burger King did not end on the high we were all hoping for. It was more like an already deflated balloon than angelic trumpeted fanfare. We manfully attempted to regain our high spirits and high-jinx by putting lots of booze in our faces. This resulted in the one prize I did receive - this very impressive hangover. It feels as if a bergie took a bath in my mouth. Oh, LMG Pub Quiz, how I love you!

I get to present the questions for a category of my design the next time. Hold onto your knickers!

NGDG: "Where the hell is my new Tom Waits? This has ceased to be amusing, not that it ever was, but giddy anticipation confuses the emotive centres. Like being in a motel, wanting a late night cheese-burger, only to wake up next to a runaway from Poukeepsie called Maya."

Spread The Love. Click In The Box.

OFF TOPIC...

Today has been a fascinating one so far. I woke up sans debilitating hangover. It was just a little one. I have been assisting my new colleague to get settled in and have had to do an awful amount of explaining. I'd completely forgotten how complicated my job is. Perhaps I should pay more attention...

Tonight I (finally) lead the glory bound Team Burger King to, well, um.. glory! We shall triumph and top the podium on this night! Nerd teams be damned! We shall storm the battlements of "participating sober so we can get all the answers" on our mighty steeds of alcohol-induced-bravado-and-belligerence!

Man, I just love LMG Pub Quiz!

AND. Today heralds the brief reappearance of the Gospel according to Robert Smith. It actually means something today. Not that it normally doesn't, but this could give you quite an in depth view into my personal goings on. Not that any of you are THAT concerned with the grotesque and sordid details...

Book 5 : Chapter 4 : Verse 12 -13.

Come on! I dare you!

Another strange occurrence this week, and this may just cause very unseasonal weather phenomena to occur (indoors) - I have no band practice. All week. Every single night free of band activity. I have no idea what to do with myself. Ok, tonight is pretty much spoken for. So is tomorrow - I have the distinct pleasure of bursting a lot of bubbles held in such reverent esteem about the music industry. Young minds will be disillusioned. It's my contribution to the idea of weeding out the weak.

Thursday - well, we'll see what Thursday brings...

And then - blessed be - it is once again weekend. Which can mean only ONE THING. Yes folks. She's here...

The gloriously gifted, terrifyingly talented, achingly entertaining Shannon Hope is in Cape Town for the launch of her second full length album, Fight A New Day. This weekend the Cape Of Good Hope changes its name to the Cape Of Extraordinary Hope. She will mesmerise you with her poignant performance. She will capture you and enrapture you with her stunning vocal delivery. She will steal your heart and fill you with a haunting longing and a hatful of quirky, irrepressible humour. All this with a wicked little smile and a sincerity that borders on anxious honesty. I will be there, letting it wash over me like a beautiful tide.

If all of this seems a little heavy on the praise, it is with good reason. I am unashamedly a fan of exquisite music and Shannon Hope is currently on top of the pile. My opinion is considered and considerable. The only way you'll be able to gauge how accurate my views are is to be there and see for yourself. See where I'm going with this?

Saturday 5th November. 7:30 at the Fugard Theatre. Caledon Street. Do not miss out.

Speaking of considered and considerable opinions, here's another chap with some of those.

NGDG: "Blind dating never qualified for the Para-Olympics. Good enough reason for it not to be practiced recreationally."

Spread The Love. Eyes Wide Shut Style.