Sunday, January 8, 2012


It's the final page in the final chapter that sees the mighty Hog Hoggidy Hog gracefully (and with no shortage of pork related revelry) bow out of our local live music arena and bestride the wide world with their proverbial chunks of cheese wrapped in red cloth on a stick over their shoulder, seeking their fortune. As local bands go, it's fair to say that no one deserves a crack at the big time more than these fine gentlemen, so on this, the occasion of their Final Show, make damn sure you are one of the lucky ones to be the last to witness the particular brand of ska/punk/rock that has made them one of the best loved bands around. Bon Voyage lads! Good luck and Godspeed!

And having been back at work for a few days of test cricket, I find, like so many of my Skype friends, that I am currently suffering from a distinct lack of motivation. I have a theory on that...

Like air, water, food and world finance, there inevitably has to be a finite quantity or source of motivation. The more people we continue popping out from our inexhaustible O-face factory, the less there is to go around. And since the younger are usually the more greedy, the older we get the less inclined we are to fight for our fair share. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

And then there's this poephol!

The Right Honourable Twat Reverend Kemo Immanuel Waters runs a business called KemoTherapy (amazing...) and has raised more than a few eyebrows with a tweet over the weekend urging his black brethren to "kill the whites", a knee jerk reaction to the apparent racist treatment of being made to wait for a table at a Camps Bay restaurant. At this time of year? And then claiming that it would never happen in Joburg!? Because all the fucking Vaalies are here!? DOOS!!!

You, my dear warmongering tit of a fellow, give Africans (and I'm including myself here) a bad name, you ignorant, sensationalist c*nt. It's people like you that are the cancer in our society, not those 2-tone Pick n Pay shirt wearing folk that farm the food you eat. Why don't you stick to fleecing the very people you pretend to give a fuck about. Bastard...

Enough whinging from me. I actually had a fantastic weekend. Rose Thorn and I spent some quality "us" time getting shitfaced on Friday night and then going to buy her first keyboard (that she bought for herself) on Saturday morning. Exciting time, I tell ya!

This was followed by a very enjoyable pub crawl through the Waterfront, starting at Paulaner, winding our way through Den Anker (where we had the beer for which they require a deposit of your left shoe, the wonderfully named, Kwak) and ending at everyone's favourite, Mitchells. Was good fun getting drunk in the sun with the usual suspects and our guests of honour, the Man From Further Down Under and his new girlfriend.

Sunday was unsurprisingly more sedate. Popped in to visit the other member of the Demonic Sibling Wolfpack and the Brother-In-Awe, stubbornly enjoying a beer in the garden in the howling gale. Was presented with a weedeater as a Christmas present! Now I can cut the lawn, which, even though it's only recently been laid (too easy to insert joke about TDB here), has grown like the proverbial weed.

Oh, and United beat City. Glory, glory!

NGDG: "I was just stalked by a mime. Telling yourself that the glass box will protect you is futile."

Spread The Love. Hug A Whitey!

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