ROYALTY

1. Royalty: I am it. In my own world. I grew up telling my little buddies on the playground that I was a distant relative of the Prince Of Oranje. For some reason I thought that having Dutch blood entitled me to make such a claim. Later on I spent the vast majority of my time trying equally hard to impress. But this was limited to the ladies at The Playground, generally...

2. Royalties: Money earned from the exploitation through various media of one's intellectual property. Believe it or not I'm actually quite clued up on this stuff. Which brings me to how Die Antwoord butchered my favourite artwork ever, Jane Alexander's Butcher Boys. I can't seem to stay away from these wankers. They - or rather the culturally vapid vacuum in which they have been forced to flourish - are like a glorious car wreckage. We all slow down and have a good old gawk even while condemning the damn rubber necks. Anyway, click the link for a rather interesting view on the latest attention grabbing antics of the latest sensation to take America. Americans. Almost as backwater as South Africans. If this lot is any taste barometer.

3. Royalty Processing: This is what makes me able to claim a relative level of expertise in the above. And also the reason I have not been able to spew my vitriolic, verbal filth onto a screen near you for the last few days. Also directly responsible for turning me into a near-homicidal maniac and generally grumpy bastard. Working for a living sure does make one wish one were Royalty...

In far more flowery news, a great friend of mine and ex bandmate, The Peroni Girl, is here. We went out for a few drinks last night with The Delectable Bastard and his far better half, Me Swifty. What fun when your mates are here from abroad - legitimate excuse to go out and get dronk on a school night. As opposed to just doing so for shits 'n' giggles regardless. A mini tour of Obz's finest watering holes culminated in me ordering a draft beer called a Something-Or-Other Mexican at Panchos (oh the mind...). And dragging my hungover arse out of bed this morning under much duress.

Anyway, since I am going to be experiencing the wonder of Ramfest next weekend and will probably end up in some sort of drink-induced swirl of limbs whilst In Flames is playing, I have decided that this weekend I will take it easy. Let's see how that turns out...

NGDG: "The wall mounted First Aid kit, with its sharp edges and broken glass, has to be the most dangerous object in the office. They'd do better to nail a bandage to the ceiling and dull the nail head with a cork."

Spread The Love. The Eyes. I've Been Told They're The Windows To The Soul.