TYPE O TUESDAY

And I don't mean the variety with which we are so mercilessly brutalised all day on social media, email and sms. I am referring to the band. I used to be a big fan, but somewhere along the line started waking up to their insistence that I should not mistake their lack of talent for genius. I immediately took drastic action, giving my 2 tshirts to my then girlfriend. Obviously I didn't get rid of the discs I had - that's unadulterated lunacy, considering the rare and irreplaceable nature of so many of them.

I basically denounced the band, but kept their cds snuggling in among all my others. I'm definitely a hoarder by nature.

And it is a good thing that I did. Our little collection of miscreants responsible for the upcoming Doom Metal cover show have included a song from their repertoire. Now, I'm not going to tell you what it is, as we're soon going to be releasing clues as to the songs on the setlist for this little event, but let's just say I have found my fondness for them again after all these years. After all, it shouldn't be only your technical dexterity that defines you as a musician, otherwise I'd be well and truly fucked, wouldn't I? Although it's fair to say they aren't doom metal in the strictest sense of the definition, it is abundantly apparent that they were more than capable of creating the same kind of mood and atmosphere.

And speaking of 'Atmosphere', I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my new band of the week/month: (I tried to find new and exciting acts every week, but was unable to...)

I give you Bicycle Thief. I have had the pleasure of listening to their debut EP, Ammunition, and have to say it's a cracking good effort. Not the heaviest or most kiefbrutalepicawesome band out there, but sweet, thoughtful, prosaic songwriting the likes of which have rarely been encountered here. There's enough of everything for most tastes - as they glide between Snow Patrol and Cooper Temple Clause with effortless ease, sometimes sneakily subtle, sometimes seriously shakin'... Go check them out.

And now, I look outside and full glorious Summer has returned once more. The weatherman on the telly in the morning is a fucking lying sack of shit. Not that I mind - this is infinitely better than the dreary day it's been, but I'm wearing long trousers. Which are getting hot. Here's a question: if all reporting agencies, online news sites, broadcast news services, etc ALL get their updated information from the one and only source, the South African Weather Bureau, how is it possible for them to be so disparate?

Anyway, hope the rest of this more and more glorious day treats you well.

NGDG: "Step 1 in a colleague's 'Emotional Intelligence Handbook': Self-Awareness: get in touch with your feelings. AND you've lost half your reading audience..."

Spread The Love. Stop Me From Making A Homicide.

WE'RE DROPPING THIS NEXT ONE FOR A GANGBANGIN' THUG THAT NEVER SEEN IT COMING...

Jeesh what a weekend! I'm still broken. Bruised, happy, broken and in desperate need of some good sleep, even after spending the vast majority of yesterday in bed watching Southpark.

The weekend started out as any other, with a trip to the mechanic, where I handed over ALL my money, politely thanked him for returning my mobility to me and looked forward to a very lean weekend indeed. It really is a strange phenomenon; the weekends that look the bleakest because of the 'end of the month Salticrax' syndrome usually turn out to be the best.

I DJed at a friend's birthday party - roaring success - even if I did insert a joke track to start with, much to the bewildered and wide eyed dismay of all gathered. The rest of the set went off without a hitch, except for the times the songs wouldn't cue or I forgot to press play. At least my sets are generally eventful. (I should tell you how Slappy got her name some day...)

The rest of the evening was spent hanging around with a bunch of delinquents in dark corners and taking advantage of the outrageous drinks specials. Upon leaving, the Hot Girlfriend and I, bottle of wine in hand, discovered there was no money. Lots of taxis, but no money. We walked home. Or rather, a determined drunk me dragged a rather surprised her home through a nice dodgy part of town. Some days I wonder... Especially since the place was still packed full of our friends, any one of whom would gladly have taken us home.

Saturday morning was ugly. We stayed in bed and only just managed to drag our carcasses to LordDoom's birthday braai later in the afternoon. Much to my chagrin, I had volunteered to fix the braai. So, carting along lots of tools, I went about shaping and drilling and riveting a new sheet of metal along the existing drum. Splendid success! Until roughly an hour later when the fire was good and going and had actually managed to burn its way through the sheet metal. Anyway, good times.

Yesterday was a total write off. Bed, Southpark, Top Gear, Lord Of The Rings. And caterpillar hunting. I've taken on a kind of Steve Irwin / Keith Kirsten characteristic when it comes to my little garden. It's under attack. An invasion of caterpillars are enjoying the fruits of my labour, quite literally. In a very humane catch-and-release programme I have come up with, I catch them and place them in an old compost bag filled with old nibbled on leaves and half eaten tomatoes. Sort of like an old age retirement village for errant worms. Not that the bastards deserve it.

Aaaaaaand: The Meyer Of Awesomeville was all over our telly. Having inexplicably managed to miss Top Billing in the week, I caught his insert on the repeat yesterday. He totally tuned Simba as well. My friends. They rock. Out. With their... nevermind!

NGDG: "Be your own man, or woman. Step up, walk out front. If the Pacific teaches us anything it's that, if there's going to be bloodshed by ambush, it's the leaders who make it through. The machine gunners wait for the bulk, the stragglers, to walk into the trap."

Spread The Love. With Your... Nevermind.

CAR PAY DIEM. AND FLASHBACK FRIDAY.

Her back, She's flashing it. On a Friday...

Happy Flippant Friday, one and all!

Much like Tarty Farty Tequila Party, I have been the recent winner of 'Car Trouble'. Whilst mine is minor compared to her actually managing to blow hers up, this morning's cost estimation has made some serious inroads into March's drinking budget. Not good news. If you see me out and about, flouncing around like Captain Pants, buy a brother a beer...

However...

The magnificent, handsome, intellegent, wonderful folk at Metal4Africa have made up for what's been a lousy day. They lifted my spirits, allowing my soul to soar among... Ag let's just say they did something really nice and I'm feeling all warm 'n' fuzzy. They featured the band I was in - Grämlich - in their weekly 'Friday Flashback' an initiative that remembers bands form a glorious yesteryear that have made an impact on the scene. Talk about being overwhelmed by a tidal wave of nostalgia... It is a fine honour indeed to be recognised alongside such greats as VOD, Sacraphyx and many more. I believe the motherfucking almighty Pothole is due sometime soon as well. Keep 'em peeled! Here then, is this week's 'Flashback Friday - Grämlich'. ps Go to the Metal4Africa homepage to see what we looked like a decade or more ago...

Also, you should really go and have a good gander at the exploits of my friend Helena Handbasket, gin slinger extraordinaire . I find her expletive ridden tales quite motivating, even inspirational. But not in that lame, cheesy American-with-a-big-fake-smile way. More like the this-is-real-life-and-a-thoroughly-enjoyable-read way. Do it! Clicky clicky.

NGDG: "You know it's been a rough day when you have to undress in the bathroom cubicle to reverse the boxer shorts you realise at noon you'd put on back-to-front that morning."

Spread The Love. No, Really. Spread It.

SUPPLIES!

I'm sure you're all aware of the joke. The one that I've managed to stretch to roughly 5 minutes in its delivery. Well, now I've gone and ruined the punchline anyway.

FIVE minutes??!!?? I hear you cry with no small amount of incredulity. That's nothing my friends, I once stretched a 30 second joke involving sexy penetration, sound effects and all, to a whopping - well around - 3 or 4 minutes. How the hell am I supposed to remember - I was lathered. You could hear my screams as I ran into the icy death known as Clifton's sea water all the way from the road above the beach.

Anyway, enough of that pointless reminiscing, on with the show.

Surprises. They can be both wonderful AND devastating.

Nice surprise. Last night I was contacted out of the blue by an old friend, with whom I've basically lost touch. We reconnected over a couple of beers and caught the Bayern Munich game. It was one of the more pleasant experiences I've had of late. Thanks, The Creature.

Not a nice surprise. As one gets older, if things go according to plan, one earns more and more. By this stage in my life I am sure I'm supposed to have made the significant leap into eternal monogamy and started a grandchild factory for my folks. Alas, this has yet to be put into practice. I'm good on the monogamy part - the Hot Girlfriend reads this - but not ready for parenthood yet. One day. When I'm growned up. And I've cared for something living. More animated than my herb garden.

Ja so, this morning when I stumbled into the bathroom and got nekkid, as one does in anticipation for a shower, I happened to glance (fastidiously inspect the physique) in the mirror and to my monumental horror I discovered that the little boep I have been joking about has become a proper "Saffrican Male" BOEP (you have to read that in a David Attenborough voice). I stood for a while cupping said offensive curve in my hand/wrist/forearm, turned sideways, covered my chest with my other hand/wrist/forearm and I was magically transformed into Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair. The horror! I think I've been putting off the running and the football for long enough now, because as I so eloquently opined before: "I'd rather exercise harder than cut down on my drinking." After all, with the ever increasing 'sin tax', it is my patriotic duty!

Oh well, no point in complaining. It's time to get up up off my sedentary arse and do something about it.

Have a phantazmagorical day, everyone. And a special birthday shout out to the one and only Donnie. Have a good one, lad!

NGDG: "I went from an 8 point lead in two games to still lose at squash. Best R40 spent all day."

Spread The Love. Cardio Makes You Sexay! Sexay Makes You Cardio?

MUSICAL EDUCATION - AND I DON'T MEAN STANDING IN THE BACK WITH THE TRIANGLE.

I grew up with only the best. My mom listens to classical music, although over the years that has been mystifyingly diluted with shit like Mantovani and Andre Rieu. My dad, who used to be the coolest cat on the block - and played drums for a rock band of some description - was into the Animals, Troggs, Shadows, Stones and Beatles. Even more interestingly, my younger sister is responsible for showing me the way, the truth and the light. She introduced me to such wonderful delights as SLAYER (you always write SLAYER in capitals), Metallica and Sisters Of Mercy. Not to mention such gems as Psycho Reptiles and No Friends Of Harry.

Being the sharp little kid I was before severe cirrhosis of the liver and the inevitable accompanying brain damage, I quickly and keenly immersed myself into the wonderful world of music, discovering, exploring and pushing all the boundaries. I vaguely recall spending all my time and money browsing through huge racks of records and poring through magazines, on a permanent quest to find out about, and listen to, everything I could get my grubby paws on.

It stands to reason that, like any other drug, the fixes got less effective over time and as the years passed, my tastes became more eclectic and, for lack of a better word, underground. And heavy.

Anyway, all this actually is of minimal interest other than to illustrate what an absolute music geek I am. If it has to do with music I'm generally interested, if not already involved.

So as I'm sitting in my office (in the music industry) I decided to see how far I could push my colleague. She's into light, inoffensive dance music. I sent her into near cardiac arrest with a little bit of surprise Septic Flesh. The Amon Amarth got a set of eyes bigger than saucers accompanied by a strangled whimper. I thought perhaps toning it down a little would help ease her into it, but by the time the strains of "I Am Hell" by Machinehead made it through my tinny speakers I thought I'd lost her altogether!

Fun.at.work.

It's a bit one sided though, considering I had to put up with Adele (and that bitch can wail) sodomising The Cure's "Lovesong". No one is allowed to cover The Cure. Some things are sacred. Joy Division is also pretty much a no no. There has been to this day only ONE exception, and that is the live version The Sleepers used to do of "Lovesong".

Says he who is, as we speak, working on his own Cure cover...

To be fair, it's less of a cover and more of a general guideline en homage to The Cure, since we aren't really technically gifted enough...

And speaking of covers, keep the 14th of April open. On that night you will be swept up, astounded, and overwhelmed by the sheer majesty of the selection of Doom Metal classics on offer - being played for you. At ROAR. Only, we're not telling you which covers are being done, we're making you guess. We'll leave clues and hopefully by the time you pitch up ready to be overawed, you will have a fair idea of what to expect. Diarise and watch this space. Event details coming shortly.

And that's what I'm doing tonight, re-hearse-ing for the show. At 2 bereavements per minute. With a sliced up finger.

NGDG: "I'll probably be in heaps of trouble tomorrow. But heaps are easier to shift when you recall that you're no longer a child with a pink plastic spade and you can now wield a pickaxe like Stakhanov."

Spread The Love. Turn It Up!

BUCKET LIST

Anyone for a game of Soggy Biscuits?

I've been meaning to get to this for quite a while now, but haven't ever had a gap. And since my entire life consists of non stop partying, much like this past weekend, replete with being in a permanent state of hungover, I thought it would make a nice change to avoid rehashing the same old crap.

Time for brand new crap altogether!

So - ladies and gentle readers - I present to you the BUCKET LIST:

[*Please note that I only have one or 2 things on my actual Bucket List that I'm absolutely sure of, the rest of it is either made up or completely without substance.]

1. I want to sky dive. For real. Out of a perfectly functional plane. I don't think there could be a bigger rush.


2. Bungee jumping off Bloukrans. Pretty much the same as skydiving. Pretty much "kak yourself" stuff...


3. Get drunk on real tequila in Mexico and eat the worm that's been spending its time soaking up the lovely fire water.


4. There's another entire section we'll have to file under NSFW.


5. Record a full length album. Surprisingly (or some might say unsurprisingly), even though I've been involved in bands that have been this close, I still do not have a full length release to my name.


6. I'd like to upgrade my property to a place large enough to accommodate my small battalion of big dogs. Rottweilers and Boerboele for choice, something I can ride around on.


7. On the larger property thing, I would very much like to have a small collection of vines one day, something that could potentially provide enough grapes to let me try and make a bottle or 2 of my own wine. Wouldn't THAT be something!


8. Finish my renovations, although I'm not holding my breath on that one...


9. Learn to play the cello -or the guitar for that matter!


10. Compile a decent Bucket List.

Yeah. Pretty standard, boring stuff, really. Typing this has been a little slower than usual, so this is all you're getting today. I pitted the tip of my finger against the sharp bits of my new pruning shears and guess which one won. Strange that it happened AFTER I finished recording my guitar bits for the new Axxon single. Usually it happens directly before.

NGDG: "Just remember: there's life changing music out there you've yet to discover, books to read, people who will surprise you, and a thunderstorm on the horizon to cool the evenings you think will be too sticky to sleep. More life, friends! More life!"

Spread The Love. And Indulge In More Life!

FAKING POOH ISN'T LIKE FAKING ORGASMS.

Today has flown by. Actually the entire week has. Been a busy little badger, beavering away feverishly, me.

Well, you know what I mean...

Tarty Farty Tequila Party wins today's quote-of-the-day prize with: "I have constantly had to deal with poo..." Now if only she could apply that marvelous mind of hers to actually writing in her blog.

So, we're all about to do the mental equivalent of a hundred joyous cartwheels and a robust slap on the arse as we congratulate ourselves on making it through yet another gruelling week in the salt mines, and enter the weekend. Can you also hear Gareth Cliff? Someone pass me a sharp pencil please. My eardrums need piercing.

What are you getting up to? If you're not booked up like a librarian, then I shall inform you of what you should be doing. The brightest star in the sky that is the current state of metal in this fair town of ours, Wildernessking, a heady brew of progressive blackened metal without the panda effect, will be taking the stage at ROAR tomorrow night in order to raise some funds to help offset the monumental costs of their debut album 'The Writing Of Gods In The Sand", which has already secured an international record company to back an international release.

[I just won the longest-sentence-of-the-week award.] I'll be there, happily giving my contribution to their cause and ALL the rest of my money to Mike behind the bar.

Speaking of iconic local acts, go and check out Grämlich's first official foray into the land of digital resurrection. Lifted from the demo 'Tears Within' the song 'Close Your Eyes' is now available for your listening pleasure. Can't believe this was done in 1999... Now that the intrawebnets and all her mysteries have been unravelled by my kind friend, the Samaritan known as Lord Doom, there may be more on their way to your ears via the clickey thingy.

Well, since I have nothing much more to report and you obviously want to get on out of here, I'll leave you to it. Have a fantastic weekend. Practice safe sex.

NGDG: "I'm trying very hard to stop the foul language. I find Bon Iver in the car is a natural sedative. Now I need one of those cartoony plasters to serve as a psychosomatic chillout patch. I'm a nice lad, really."

Spread The Love. Get Some!

TAKE IT SLOW. DON'T RUSH IT. AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT...

'The quality of life' vs 'The eternal pursuit of the almighty buck'.

This has long been a fascination of mine. Probably because, as a born and bred Capetonian, I appear to be sans ambition and everyone thinks I'm quite happy as long as I make just enough money to keep me in Piz Buin and cheap cocktails.

This conundrum has been raising it's ugly head on a regular basis (every time I visit my dear ol' mum) since I got horribly overqualified. I chose something quite daunting (to normal mortals) to study, only because I was forced by society (and my dear ol' mum) to do something. Let me tell you: very few kids of 18 years old know what they want to commit to for the rest of their lives, let alone are able to focus on anything beyond getting shitfaced 'n' shagged at their earliest convenience. I was no different. I still subscribe to these youthful aspirations. They keep me young. So young, in fact, that a vast horde of my friends are significantly younger than I am. (I don't get to hang out with the "Ed Bundy - Married With Children" sect that much anymore.)

And I have been mildly bemused to find out that I am in fact not earning as much as some of them. Whilst I have purposely chosen a life and landscape of leisure something in me cannot help but be a little jealous. But then I realise that this fact alone does not make me the monumental loser and waste of life my dear ol' mum thinks I am. I do not lack ambition, see.

In fact the opposite is very true. My main ambitions include NOT living and working on or near a mine dump 1000s of kms away from my family and friends. After that, I'd like a life in which I have enough to time to pursue my musical interests and occasionally smell the roses. Check.

I choose not to have a smart phone. This does not make me a hippie. It merely means that I am not a slave to the internet.

I have spent ALL my money on guitars and other musical instruments. I see this as my Retirement Annuity. When I'm eventually too decrepit to play these instrument - that bring me so much joy - I'll frame them and charge people entrance to view them in the museum/mausoleum that I call home. (I can't sell them, they all have names.)

Here are some magical words to ponder, as you sit on the loo, or whatever it is you do while reading this bloody blog - you're certainly NOT working, unless you're doing research for a psych paper...

STOP.

YOU ARE NOT A MACHINE.

YOUR NATURAL GENETIC DESIGN DOES NOT TOLERATE 2-4HRS OF TRAVEL PER DAY, 8-12HRS OF SLAVE LABOUR 5-6DAYS A WEEK

FOR WHATEVER MONETARY COMPENSATION

ON 5-6HRS OF SLEEP

IN A SYSTEM BUILT ON PENALISTIC PRINCIPLE

AND A LIFE UNDER JUDGEMENTAL SURVEILLANCE.

STRESS, HARASSMENT, CONSTANT FINANCIAL WORRIES, FEAR AND A SENSE OF INADEQUACY DESTROYS THE HEALTH OF ANY HUMAN.

THIS IS A SCIENTIFIC FACT.

SO WHY IS IT WE ACCEPT AND TOLERATE A SYSTEM THAT IN ACTUAL REALITY DEMANDS THAT YOU ERASE YOUR NEEDS AND IN EFFECT COMMIT A SLOW JOYLESS SUICIDE FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S PROFIT?

YOU HAVE A CHOICE.

STOP PRETENDING YOU DON'T.

I have no idea who wrote that. Use it, don't use it. Here in Awesomeville, I think I'll get my arse home asap and crack open a cold beer, tend to my garden and make the music that I love with people I actually give a fuck about.

NDGD: "I simply must, like [name deleted], sign off my mails thusly: 'Hoping this finds you lonely, naked and trapped at the bottom of a well.' "

Spread The Love. Badda Boom Badda Bing!

INTERSTELLAR FOUR-ARSED MONKEYS...

...have nothing whatsoever to do with the contents of what is more than likely coming after this sentence. Like when the crime doesn't fit the punishment. Like when kids are banished to their rooms for refusing to eat their peas and their rooms look like a convention exhibition for the electronic entertainment industry.

So yesterday it was Valentine's Day. It started off well enough. Paradise Lost very lovingly gave me the gift of music - they graciously, lovingly and generously allowed a download of their new single 'Crucify' from their upcoming album 'Tragic Idol'. Because they love ME. And YOU. Click on the song - it'll take you to the link.

So it was to the perfect soundtrack that I went about preparing the meal to end all meals. Not the Last Supper - way more larney than that. Try this on for size:

Starters were some fancy shit with blue cheese, home grown tomato and basil.

Mains was some fancy shit with chicken, feta and green fig preserve. Accompanied by equally fancy shit like garlic baby potatoes, 'n' lardi-da veg 'n' shit.

It was a spectacular success! Especially along with the champers, wine and the Hot Girlfriend.

So all in all, a wonderful Hallmark Holiday, capped by my neighbour knocking on my front door at 3 in the morning. Now I know what you're thinking... Alas, it wasn't loud throes of passion and raucous ruckus earning us a door knock. No - it was my neighbour informing me of my new found lack of electricity. Some little fucking tik addict shit had cut the overhead wires feeding electricity into four houses. For scrap copper. For enough money for a hit of tik. Then the cops came out and stood around like tits and I went back to sleep drowsily wondering why my lights were still operational.

By this morning I'd worked out that they had left the "live" wire intact and was as pleased as punch to be able to have a hot shower, coffee and food that was being kept cold in the fridge. It was only after my near fatal shock in the shower (THAT would have been tough to explain to paramedics) that I figured that nothing in the house was earthed. And I was blithely using everything. So I unplugged every single thing except the fridge and came to work so that I could endure the monumenstrual hangover from hell. I feel almost like I've been to quiz night.

Anyway. Tonight normal service resumes. With any luck the council will have reconnected our electricity supply and I will be able to have band practice without having to resort to using "grandpa's guitars". Which would be totally "dildos".

NGDG: "The time for bed's an hour past / but there's still ice in the whiskey glass. Pour a double, save the earth / postpone sleep for malt is mirth.

Spread The Love. Burn An X In Your Head.

WHY DOES AN ARROW-FIRING ANGEL NOT SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF YOU SINNERS?

Image courtesy of Occupy Bacon

Today is set aside specially for us to celebrate the attraction, love or lust we have for that someone special. Depending on your level of depravity and/or smitten-ness, it is something most people look forward to because it highlights the fact that we have the capacity to feel something other than despair and disillusionment. It also keeps Cardies and CNA in the red for the rest of the year. (See what I did there?)

Personally, I schmaak the fuck out of it. I'm making extra special dinner for my lady tonight and we'll be washing it down with champers and fancy wine. It's almost as wonderful as Steak'n'Blowjob day, which happens a month from now. For the unlucky. Those that don't celebrate it EVERY day.

I found myself wondering what I had to say last year this time, as I was profoundly single and still smarting from a run in with a potential suitorette (see Mall Rats). So I went looking. Nothing! Not a word. Apparently I was avoiding the public. What a big girl's blouse. If only we were capable of realising that things actually DO get better. And they do! Kyk hoe lyk hy nou!

Also, do yourself a favour and go and check out this "aaawwwwww"some blog by my good buddy and fellow intrepid blog-o-naut, Barrulus. It's all about first kisses. It's a place to tell the story of your first experience passionately pressing your lips to that of some equally spotty, awkward youth - and in the sickeningly sweet spirit of today - go and get your "aaaawwwww" on. Perhaps I should start a blog about peoples' first experience with actual real sex. With another consenting person. Can you imagine the hilarity if people were actually honest. "You got a shoe horn, baby?" or "No! Wrong hole!" The limb-twisting, contorted-faced possibilities are endless...

Oh wait a minute. I remember seeing a movie called 'Filthy First Timers' once. Or twice. Damn! Why do I always have to be the one that thinks up the good ideas too late...

NGDG: "I finally found a pair of jeans that fit my warped disproportionate lower half. But my upper-half refuses to shell out R2499 for them."

Spread The Love. Using Saccharine Pink And Red Symbols To Convey Your Everlasting Affection.

LIKE A GRINDSTONE COWBOY

I just got off Faeceboobs IM with Mad Rob. He's recently become a father for the first time. Like so many others. I was duly informed of all the various wonders of diapers and the vocal ability of his gorgeous daughter. Not to mention the slight lack of sleep. Given that he's genuinely a crazy motherfucker, I took his nonsensical babbling as par for the course...

Anyway, at least one good thing came from it. Our conversation, that is. I can now make a smiley face emoticon without searching for some link. And we know that the accepted symbol for a vagina lookalike gives you a thumbs up. Coincidence? I think not.

Anyway, time to catch up. What did you get up to this weekend?

I had the good fortune and wonderful company of a very clandestine figure. And my Hot Girlfriend, obviously. A friend of mine was visiting "underneath the radar" as it were - sorting out all sorts of life altering arrangements. Good news to follow, ladies and gentlefolk. Watch this space! He cut a dashing figure in his all black ensemble, as a clue. As if the vast majority of my friends aren't already pretty much always in black. Ah! The plot thickens.

Saturday it was time to turn my hand to some studio magic and basic engineering miracles again. Not having done so recently, I was required to set up a vocal recording session. All I can say is: Imagine me in a small confined little studio space, tangled in a million miles of assorted cable and making up new profanities - the likes of which would make a sailor and your ol' mom blush. And on top of that basically boarding up the "alcove" I lovingly refer to as my home studio to try and soften the impact on my neighbours' ears as the pair of demonic vocalists from Axxon howled, sneered and screamed blue, bloody murder into the mic all afternoon. Whilst the rest of the assembled cast relaxed in the lounge with a shitload of beer. Ah I love recording. Can't wait to hear the final product.

Sunday was met with less enthusiasm. In fact, apart form the best omelettes ever made, the day passed by in a musty haze of duvet and Southpark. Until my DIY & Roast date with Tarty Farty Tequila Party. The Hot Girlfriend was designated at puppysitter, while I drilled holes and swore some more and Tarty made a Sunday Roast. Great stuff. The Tequila Cottage & Small Animal Refuge is coming along nicely.

And lest I be left out of the intrawebnets and shunned for all eternity - and lest you have not yet been bombarded by the tasteless, and frankly there's only been one good joke so far, gallows humour - RIP Whitney Houston. Who fucking cares. That is a statement. Not a question. If you are truly saddened by her passing or that much of a bleeding heart, do us all a favour and go out - today - and do something good for someone alive who deserves your time and effort. Show someone you care before it's too late. All this after-the-fact pounding of fists into the ash and crying "WHY!" is too fucking incongruous for words. Not one of you silly bastards has given as much as one fuck since the chorus of "I Will Always Love You" finally drifted from your subconscious in about 1994 - and then you were grateful. Go and be simpering and insincere elsewhere. Don't get me wrong. It's a tragedy that she lost her life relatively young. My heartfelt condolences to her loved ones that genuinely grieve. But please spare a thought for the less famous and the less fortunate that perish day in and day out without so much as you batting an eyelid. Perhaps you could pretend you give a fuck about those people too - at least a little.

Oh, you want to hear the only worthwhile joke, do you?

Hardly appropriate don't you think?

Anyway, back to life, back to reality.

And tomorrow's Hallmark Holiday. I'm a big fan of Valentine's Day. It gives me an excuse to make my better half feel extra special. Not in the "make that a double scoop with a 6inch nail" kinda way, just I like spoiling her, if and when I can. I'll tell you all about it when all the dust has settled. Can't give too much away, I'm sure she reads these little diatribes.

So, have a wonderful day tomorrow. And an awesome evening this Monster Moanday Night.

I'll be doing my best impression of a combination of Keith Kirsten, Martha Stewart, Riaan Die Nutsman and Slash.

NGDG: "I don't use LOL much but when a random Indian dude at the ENGEN asks the cashier for assistance in choosing a condom brand I think it's warranted."

Spread The Love. It's The Greatest Of All.

PANTS.

As in FLIPPANTS. As in FLIPPANT FRIDAYS. Irreverently.

We reach the end of the week and the end of our patience pretty simultaneously roughly 4 times a month. We all hold hands and rejoice at the prospect of time away from mandatory activities only to engage in even more taxing ones, only to be secretly grateful to be back at work on Mondays to catch up on some much needed rest and Facebook time.

Without which we wouldn't have THIS wonderful little snippet of local parody action - quite fitting considering the day of the week. Especially in the romantic spirit of the upcoming Hallmark Holiday celebrating the secret stalking of a loved one. And if it's developed past the secret stalking phase, you are more than likely wishing it was back there...

Not me of course. I find myself happily in the pound seats, having inadvertently struck the jackpot. And seeing as it's Leap Year I wonder what fantastically amazing surprise the Hot Girlfriend has conjured up for our Valentine...

Anyway, yes. Friday. It's Friday. I can tell by the unanimous chorus of "TGIF" style statuses on the intrawebnets. The intrawebnets, a place where everyone can be precisely the same in their unique quirkiness. Pity it's so addictive. I don't know what I do with myself on weekends, I swear. Oh! Hang on a minute! I have mentioned the Hot Girlfriend, have I not?

Unfortunately tonight she is gonna have to share...

I have a visitor. A very special secret visitor. He may or may not have a title. He may or may not be from somewhere else. We may or may not drink a "few beers" this evening.

It's not the tooth fairy. Like that bloke in that Red Dragon movie.

And speaking of all things happy and springy and larky-abouty, this little group of people I know that seem rather keen on something called "Doom Metal" are going to be flexing their musical muscles in a show featuring classic covers of this "Doom Metal". Sounds positively delightful. Watch this space. Yours truly may even make an appearance. Do you think the collective would allow the iconic White Flip Flops as part of the ensemble?

NGDG: "The quality of one's day is directly proportional to how good one's hair looks."

Spread The Love. Lube-Bottomy Is A Dirty Word.

THE STATE OF THE NATION'S UNDRESS.

Because it's considered protocol to disrobe before receiving a thorough pomping. We as a nation of dumb-fuck voter fodder (one must consider the entire populous, not just the exceptionally enlightened who are fortunate enough to be reading this) have obviously been prancing around in a very suggestively short skirt and gaggin' for it.

I should have been hired to write the speech, although I fear that "Mr Push My Spectacles Up With My Middle Finger In A Thinly Veiled Fuck You To The Masses" would struggle with some of the bigger whedds.

I'm sure the opportunistic bastards currently sweating all over the seats of Parliament are quite capable of jobs or portfolios to which they have been appointed. I mean, look at the splendid endeavour they apply to enriching themselves with their "Let them eat cake" attitude. And getting away with it! You have to take your hat off to a group of people with the con skills to keep the masses happy on "we don't have anything, we're just grateful that we have the right to have something"...

Public service? Public service be damned! Public service is for people who care more about their constituents than their personal wealth or power. The last true high profile public servant was Mother Theresa. By definition a politician is "one who displays more cunning, artifice and despicably devious design to leech votes from the downtrodden proletariat."

So. To my version of today's much anticipated speech...

"Oh Hai! Is this thing on?*

Madam Speaker, Ministers, Ladies and Gentlemen, and The Nation.*

You're fucked. We're in bed with China and they hold the purse strings.* We didn't think that out very well, but a few job losses do nothing to deter us from our Africanisation of this Rainbow Nation.* It is all-inclusive.* Even the previously advantaged are fucked.*

I am glad to announce that we have managed to think of ways to fudge the crime statistics to show only marginal increases and bring in unsuspecting tourists that you can rob* - this will from now on be called 'Job Creation'.*

Going forward,* nothing will change no matter how clever Zapiro thinks he is getting with his counter-revolutionary cartoons.*

Goodnight* and thank you for blockading every single road in and out of Cape Town for 2 days, when I could just as easily have done this via Skype, Oprah style.*"

*[Pause for effect, the effect being that I can't read this shit in front of me. Give nationwide television audience the finger...]

And that, folks, is that. Anything else is an utter fabrication.

NGDG: "If I want your advice, I'll Google it."

Spread The Love. Your Nation Needs You.

GETTING YOUR GROOVE BACK.

My humblest apologies for my online absence. I can just see the lot of you sitting in front of blank computer screens, rocking back and forth, dribbling like doped up mental patients in the sun room of a sanitarium. Ok, maybe not so humble after all, but then the 8 people that read this already know me well enough...

Today we tackle the question of keeping up one's motivation (and mojo for that matter) in the same way Bakkies Botha would shoulder charge an Aussie loose forward who was ill advised enough to enter a ruck from the side. Hard.

I'm not exactly having any form of existential crisis, on the contrary actually, but I have been feeling a little bewildered at the continued uphill battle we call life of late. Just for the record, the first person to even think about making an "emo" comment gets their larynx pulled out via their gaping anus. And then gently skull fucked whist I weep into my "kuif"...

Ok, seriously. No person on God's green earth can be upbeat and happy all the time. Neither can they permanently be angry and malcontent. Once in a while, whilst taking a brief hiatus to smell the roses and question the futility of it all, one needs to be a bit more reflective. Now, normally I'm quite enamoured with all things reflective, being the narcissistic bastard you all know and love, but sometimes, only sometimes, the reflection is of some droopy tit in dire need of some re-motivation. Another point I'd like to make at this juncture is that I cannot stand those typical American-style, big smile, motivational morons that are always in your face telling you everything is peachy and it's all about your own attitude. I think I'd rather shoot heroin into my left testicle than deal with one of those. It is however true that from time to time, the tree of self awareness needs to be watered with the blood of blog-neglect.

So, dear gentle reader I have taken a few days to ponder it all. I have purposely taken time to relax and read. I have evaluated life and the part I play in it and come up with some, if not all, the answers. I have noticed in no uncertain terms that I am surrounded by the same mixed bag of circumstances as I was last week, and the week before. I drank quite a bit, but not to dull the senses to the general malaise, simply because I really like drinking.

I'm back. I could lie and say it is with a renewed sense of purpose and a pumped up vigour that I once again stride balls-out into your subconscious. But I would be lying. I need a holiday and for some fuck forsaken reason I have yet to be handed an unlimited supply of cash. But I'm happy. I am as fortunate as I've ever been. Once again my arse and the butter are inextricably linked - for better or for worse. Once again I will bulldoze my thoughts, fancies, opinions and general bunkum into the gaping maws of your receptive brains. Ooooh! I'm getting excited just thinking about it!

In closing: Look the world in the eye, distract it with (a) boobs or (b) a funny joke, then kick it in the nuts! And in a rather quirky take on an original classic...

"Live like there's no tomorrow, Love like you've never been hurt, Dance like no one is watching... And fuck like you're being filmed!"

Ps. I blame the ills of the world on its population's inability to think for itself and its warped obsession with sensationalism and faceless social media. It's more than likely the never ending stream of inane, dull, thoughtless comments, status updates, tweets, etc, that had my knickers so in a twist. To those of you who at least go to some effort, bravo! To the rest of you second hand hash-taggers, go live in America or stay the fuck off my feeds.

I'm off to do my recycling. They have real people working there.

NGDG: "They say you must fight for what you want. Why? If I want an Aero from the aisle I don't have to krav maga that; if I want to sleep an extra 15 minutes I needn't wrestle my snooze button. What if you fighting skills are dirty and borderline cowardly? Can we not have what we want then, us slap-em-upside-the-head-and-run-awayers?"

Spread The Love. Rehash Your Tag. Twit.

NORMAL PROGRAMMING RESUMED

I'll even get a little irreverent for you. If you're going to insist. If that's what DOES IT for you...

Sorry for yesterday's absence folks, I was out of sorts and no one likes a grumpy old fart expounding the lack of virtue that abounds in the world. We're all acutely aware of it in any case, considering most of you delicious bastards are the prime exponent of said lack of virtue.

Is it just me or has online traffic slowed to a virtual halt? Perhaps I need some new sites to check out. Any suggestions? I've tried a number of Web Comics and have gotten into a handful of them, but nothing excites anymore. The way it used to. Oh now I remember. Not allowed to download porn at work anymore...

And speaking of all things mega SEXXXY. In my all but humble opinion, the best band to come from South Africa (and that's a huge statement considering such acts as No Friends Of Harry, The Gathering, Evoid and anything Brendan Jury was ever involved in), the fantastically flawed, the eccentrically ethereal, the heartbreakingly haunting and desperately beautiful Fetish are set to deliver a once off reunion show at Mercury Live on Friday the 13th of April. It is a show of monumental importance. For too long have we been deprived of Michelle Breeze's surreal lyrical prowess and devilish and delicate delivery. I'm getting shivers just thinking about 'If' or 'Awkward'. If they play 'Leah' I promise to shit myself. Don't get me started on 'Shade Of Ghost' or 'I Might Fall'. If you missed them when they were tearing up stages back in the day, then you have no excuse. If you were there, I expect teams of wild horse couldn't keep you from this anyway.

You can thank me later.

My house is a construction site again. I have become a professional accumulator of renovation material. The only thing I still lack is the time in which to actually DO any of it. I blame a massive bent towards procrastination and the ever present need to spend 80% of construction time standing back and admiring my handiwork.

With any luck this weekend will be a little less ferocious than last. It took far too long to recover from Summerfest '12. We have another instalment of the infamous House Burning, which usually involves an ill-advised quantity of tequila. Hold the tomato cocktail please! Btw, I heard an interesting fact the other night. Apparently the hallowed and much revered Jose Cuervo is 47% cane spirit ans 53% tequila. Disappointing.

With that much cane consumed in my life I might as well find a nice dodgy suburb and accept my lot...

NGDG: "Maybe you wasted your life. Maybe you made mistakes. Maybe you put too much hope in the unpredictable. You're not the first. You're not alone. Stop acting so hurt. There's no final judgement. Anything you did differently would be equally forgotten by History. Chill. Put on some big girl panties. Enjoy the feel of silk against flesh."

Bless you, Mr Goldwyer.

Bless you, Miss Smart Tart.

Bless you, and gesundheit!

Spead The Love. Pass The Tissues.

LOOK MA - NO HANDS!

I lost my ongoing battle with personal demons and one or more pints of Black Label Draft last night. I have the hangover from hell. I am feeling like shit. I'm probably looking worse - sporting a kind of bedraggled wet dog chic. Charming. I would also like to complain vociferously about the distinct lack of cool in the world, starting with this "metal music". You know, that stuff only Satanists and confused, greasy, spotty, disinterested, wasted youth listen to. In stark contrast to yesterday's piece, which was ALL about cool...

All the cool has been sucked out of metal. Every single guitar player has taken to "shredding" his or her "axe" at roughly 6 inches above navel level. Everyone looks like a fucking jazz aficionado. And those musicians who choose not to make an attempt at "dressing up" a little all look like an emaciated Jason Biggs from 'Loser' on laundry day. Don't get me started on those that do, who all resemble role playing uber-nerds who ate ALL the pies. Ok, obviously I am pointing at the stand out examples, but it is helping to make my point. When did the "underground" become nothing more than a refuge for a bunch of opportunistic little tits who couldn't make friends in school, and who identify sub-culture as an easy way to be accepted and appreciated? Oh hang on, it was around 1995.

Having had my little rant, I'd like to thank those that continue to sustain my belief that not all is lost. The lords and ladies at Metal4Africa are doing a damn fine job of facilitating the continued well being of this much maligned form of music and, some would argue, "lifestyle". Also, Uncle Dave from Subterania Music, you are a true "stall"wart in the scene my good buddy. Also to all the other positive contributors, be they online mags, support groups, bands or faux-tographers, thank you.

Moving on... To the disastrous results from last night's LMG Pub Quiz. Second. Fucking SECOND! A-fucking-gain! Conspiracy! Collusion! Cockshiners!

And everyone who doesn't have a sense of humour can fuck off an' all.

NGDG: "Download Festival is very much like the economy: dominated at the top by the same crotchety old bastards who just won't die. With everyone else living in tents and filth, and realising when they go to buy tshirts that they've spent all their money on beer."

Spread The Love. Spreader Bars. That'll Do Nicely.