THE ANNUAL MALCOHOLOCAUST

Excitement abounds! I am on leave as of 4pm this afternoon as I gear up to celebrate the passing (like death, not like gas) of another year. I'm closer to death, and closer to finally finding out which side of the religious debates that rage on FaeceBoobs turns out to be the right one. Damn I hope I chose wisely. Anyway, I hope to go pretty soon, and wake up with such an afterlife hangover that it really doesn't matter which side won.

That might happen this Sunday, although it may dent the plans for the rest of the weekend.

Specially flying in for this most auspicious occasion is the South African version of Dr Rockso. He does cocaine. He also happens to be my derailed Cuz from up Norff. We share a birthday, so it's a double barrelled birthday celebration. We share a surname, which doesn't quite explain the vast gulf in class, but at least explains the fact that a lot of people think we're both quite clever chaps. We share a disdain for lesser mortals. Of which there are many. Obviously if you cracked an invite to this party, you are within the minuscule elite that is not beneath our contempt.

Yet there are still some people who haven't bothered indicating their intentions on the FaeceBoobs event. Yes, yes, I know. RSVPing is gay. Like place settings at dinner parties and playlists with Abba on them. But I need to know who to be upset with when they don't pitch and I'm left cradling DrHellCuz's drooling head in my lap as I comfort him through his drug induced meltdown. Someone else will have to bring Nine Inch Nails. I believe that's the accepted soundtrack for that sort of thing. You know, general disappointment and swaying back and forth hugging your knees...

Or. We could do what we do every year and test the physical limits of our livers, kidneys and senses of humour. Yup, that sounds infinitely better.

That's if Daft Rob doesn't pitch up on Friday night again, a day early for the party. Robin, we are having a potjie on Friday night. You are not invited, although after last time my parents would probably love another evening being regaled with outlandish tales of the absurd. Just don't wear your Winnie The Pooh costume again.

And, if I don't die, we're going to have Sunday roast with Rose Thorn. Whoohoo!

But first it's the Brother-In-Awe's birthday din dins tonight. All rather civilised compared to the Star Wars party he had on the weekend. Everyone was like, "Ah I see your Schwartz is as big as mine!"
And the inevitable panicked rush to get the house in some presentable state for the descending of the masses. Its permanent state of mid-renovation has to be hastily under rug swept yet again to accommodate guests. I hope no one sits on the new kitchen counters - they're liable to collapse.

Anyway, onward and upward. One more hour and it's beer o'clock. I have been informed that this is normal practice.

Oh, and did I mention the Swans have announced the imminent release of a new studio album. I think I soiled myself this morning when I heard. No, really...

NGDG: "Don't think about a blue tree! bluetreebluetreebluetree. Don't look at pictures of the cannibal victim's half eaten face! Curse you, insubordinate inclinations."

Spread The Love. Happy Birthday, Mr President!

DEVIL MAY CARE...

...attitude. It's all in the attitude. Like some days I wonder what the fuck is going on in some youngster's head when I see them macking the ladies. (I believe that's the term, although I should probably spell it sans vowels to up my credibility as a commentator on the social ineptitude of the young and horny.) There they stand all sheepish angst, oily and spotty, designer jeans keeping their ankles warm or sometimes exposing nothing but their ankles, taunting some young girl with the shrill assertion that they are in fact some version of an alpha dog. How any self respecting girl can fall for the thinly veiled uncertainty is beyond me. Add to that the fact that it's become nothing more than a Jack Parow lookalike contest and it's not surprising young girls are forced to look beyond their age peers.

I'm giving away my age by denouncing high fashion, am I?

I disagree. There are many kids out there that dress more sensibly. Take metal fans for example. With the exception of Cape Town's only hipster metal band, the general attire is jeans and metal tshirt, something I personally consider far more appropriate. And whilst they are pretty much in the same boat when it comes to the high pitched, broken serenade which passes for chatting up a likely lady, at least they do so without looking like blind, retarded tits.

Anyway, I think I went a bit off topic here. I wanted to discuss "attitude". Especially when it comes to selling yourself. For whatever purpose other than slavery, if sex is supposed to be involved or not. I was having a conversation with someone the other day about confidence and that sort of thing, me naturally blathering on about the subject like some self appointed sultan of savvy. It transpires that the opposite sex responds rather favourably to the right dose of confidence. I suppose not looking like Steve Buscemi helps as well.

This all also applies to things like job interviews, because what is a pick up line if not the precurser to a job interview anyway?
You're judged on a checklist of qualities the other party is looking for if they are to make any sort of commitment. Even a one night stand constitutes some form of commitment, at least for a few short hours, so how you present yourself it pretty much important all the time. And how you present yourself has just as much to do with your ability to converse without bashfully sagging into a red-faced heap or spazzing out if it doesn't go according to the plan. The plan should be that there is no plan. Whilst you may have an obvious agenda, it is best to take things as they come and go with it. How many movies have you seen where some dopey wanker follows the ridiculous advice of his friend after a heartfelt pep talk in the bathroom before boldly going where no man has ever succeeded before? But treat people the way you'd like to be treated - approach someone as an equal - and you'll be surprised at the results, in your personal life and your professional one.

So the rules are simple:

1. Smile, not like you're packing chloroform, just nice and easy.
2. Stand up straight.
3. Be yourself, unless you're a complete moron. Then don't leave the house.
4. Don't challenge the boobs to a staring contest. (How did I EVER get a girlfriend?)
5. Try to avoid witty repartee if that sort of thing doesn't come naturally to you.
6. Don't be too dejected if she makes you work to get her number, this isn't pornland, she isn't going to shriek "Do me, cowboy!" because you brushed against her elbow. The mere fact that she's still talking to you should indicate that she's seeing where this is going.
7. Do none of the above if she is standing in the shade of her fridge-sized boyfriend.
8. Do not debase the conversation with below the belt or suggestive vulgarity. (Seriously! How the fuck did I ever get chicks?)
9. Wear trousers at the height for which they were designed.
10. Be at ease and comfortable with who you are, then so will they. Although you might want to temper the high fiving brotherly act - lest ye be friendzoned...

Basically, whilst being a grown up has its obvious draw backs, we get laid a lot more often. So act like a kid, but if you want to do grown up stuff like put your winky in a nice girl, you have to start with the grown up approach to it and treat people with respect, including yourself.

Don't ask me where this all came from. I was going to write about lamb & veg Cup-a-Soup. I'm not in charge here.

NGDG: "One of the times one regrets colour-coding one's books, is when on cannot locate one's Jerome K Jerome."

Spread The Love. Have A Good Attitude.

ONLY ONE MAN WOULD DARE GIVE ME THE RASBERRY!

So. It's Monday. After having spent 90% of yesterday in bed, I still feel like my body, mind and liver require a full week of recovery. JUST the way I like it!

I knew Saturday was going to be heavy. So I stayed in on Friday. True to form it was the earliest night of the week.

So Saturday rolled on in with the weight of expectation and before I could wipe out my eyes, it had gotten into full swing. First up was lunch with the ever effervescent Tarty Farty Tequila Party. We took 3 wrong turns but eventually rectified our horrifying lack of historical knowledge and culture by finding the parking lot at the Rhodes Memorial. The restaurant snuggled in behind this impressive testament to one of England's foremost supporters of colonisation is quaint and very inviting, and has unbeatable views. The food is very traditional and was perfect winter fare. Being shown to our reserved table in front of the indoor fire, we enjoyed the awesome food, booze and company. Too much as it turned out. I almost had to be rolled out of there...

But things needed to be done, so after beating a leisurely retreat, I met my dad back home for a spot of installing kitchens. Having successfully covered every square inch of surface in a healthy layer of sawdust, it was time to get my arse hurriedly to Mercury where I was in danger of being late for my DJ set. The event was World Goth Day. The problem with playing the first set of the night is people are only starting to arrive and haven't got enough liquor in them yet. I played an amazing set, to very little physical appreciation. Luckily as more people made their way inside via the bar, the more seemed to take an interest in the result of all my standing there pushing a button every 4 minutes. By the time I had cued up my last 3 songs, the dancefloor was full of swooning bodies, all bedecked in their black leather 'n' lace splendour.

The reason I had to play the early set was because I needed to be in Marina Da Gama. For a Star Wars themed party. For the Brother-In-Awe's birthday. At the risk of going into too much detail, just imagine a bunch of party-party-party nerds, free booze and a variety of light sabres. And a Death Star shaped cake...

The next morning was sheer hell. I had to drive with my head at a rakish angle to keep the Hot Girlfriend's sunglasses from falling off my face as I drove directly into the rising sun on our way home. The rest of the day was a write off.

And now I need a lie down...

NGDG: "I got lost in Parkhurst, lost in the Northgate Dome. If I ever accidentally enter a forest that's tickets for me for sure, no matter how much urine there is in the flask."

Spread The Love. It's The Drug.

FRIDAY FRIVOLITY - ON A SCALE OF IRREVERENT TO... THE PLUCKY PRIEST.

This is one FUCKING GREAT POSTER.

Once again, well done to Stephen Green Designs.

Lots of excitement! LOTS of excitement! Metal4Africa have just announced the line-up for their biannual metal festival. Winterfest '12 promises to be one to remember, not least because me, myself and my fancy pants are going to be parading around on the stage. Yes folks, the toight trousers will once again be dusted off (read: procured from Wolf Clothing) and worn unashamedly as I - along with the other 4 maniacs that comprise the industrial metal explosion known as AXXON - attempt to test the adhesive quality of the bits between your face and your skull. Your ears will be mercilessly murderlized and your eyes will not believe the stimuli flowing into them. For one thing, you'll probably wonder how someone this old can fit into pants that tight...

This impacts on my usual routine, though. It is with some pride that I have managed to establish a tradition of being lavishly lathered at every one of Metal4Africa's festivals. For obvious reasons, this will not be the case come the 28th of July. The things I do for you people! The sacrifices I have to make!

So. In an unrivalled attempt at making up for said impending sobriety, I feel it necessary to pre-emptively test my capacity for alcohol consumption. We'll start at the Brother-In-Awe's birthday party tomorrow night. Which is directly after World Goth Day at Mercury, at which I am Djing, but lamentably have to skedaddle as soon as I am done. At least I might avoid the swift facepalms Slappy is usually handing out this time.

Then next weekend is my birthday. And that of "Twinzie" as well as the good "DrHellCuz". He's making a special trip from Joburgville to celebrate our special day together. We're going to take the cable car up The Mountain and then a few selected guests will be in attendance at the annual Malcoholocaust that evening.
Aaaawwwwww...

Busy, busy, busy...
June/July is to birthdays what January/February is to weddings. I have to attend a birthday party every weekend for the next 2 months. Seems Spring time really is the best time for lovin'. Good thing I gracefully exited the gift swopping habit earlier this year.

If I manage to keep body and soul tenuously together by the end of it all, I shall have to consider a serious de-tox. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I hate when I lie to myself.

Anyway, as we bid adieu to another week, please keep safe on the roads and in the sack. Stay warm and don't do anything I wouldn't. Which includes, but not exclusively, flying a copper kite in this wintry weather.

NGDG: "I just paid over R500 for a book of Konstantin Paustovsky's stories. Addictive little drugs. I'd be a millionaire by now if I had the good fortune to be illiterate."

Spread The Love. Under The Covers.

GIVE A DOG A BONE

With thanks to the Larst Viking.

Not quite like the Southpark episode where the 4 boys take turns to play with the dog's pink lipstick, but close...

I meant to write "Give it a rest..." but that just came out and I don't have the patience or inclination to change it. Fuck! How much more of this ridiculous "dick pic" nonsense must we the South African public, have to put up with? We're bombarded with it on every platform, be it social satire or serious news. I thought these kinds of adolescent pictures were the mating ritual of ill educated, teenage Chatroulette fiends in the USA... For fuck's sake apparently the defence attorney for King Ding(gaan)aling broke down in an emotion flow of tears in the court. Whilst, get this, urgently seeking an interdict against anyone in the Universe showing the picture that has already been censored/defaced/had the rude bit covered up.
I feel like saying "Quit 'Stalin' and get on with service delivery..."

And yes, I realise the irony of writing and complaining about people writing about it. At least I've stopped giving JuJu blogspace. Fuck, there I went and gave him some. It's a good thing he's not a Southpark character. Cartman would have a field day with him...

Anyway, onto more mundane subjects. The radio is on in the office. It is the latest in a series of unwarranted punishments meted out on us under the guise of "getting more in touch with the industry". Balls! It's cruel and unusual punishment. Being in the music industry was cool as long as I was allowed to spew my aloof and condescending viewpoints from the safe distance of a handy nearby cliff (NOT Gareth, who knows about as much as the sink in my kitchen). A place so far removed from the autotuned dross the public feeds on that claiming superiority was entirely unnecessary. A place reserved for the informed few. Those of taste and culture.

I just had my ears raped by "Aaaaaaah, no!" Carstens and a lovely little ditty composed on his iPhone using the dubstep app. No doubt on the toilet. No wonder the greats are dying off. It's obviously a last gasp (terminal) attempt to escape the noise pollution.

To be fair, the criticism levelled at what constitutes pop music these days should in equal amounts be dished out to the makers of more alternative music as well, lest you think me biased. Just because your mom can afford to buy you some speaker monitors to go with the pc in your bedroom doesn't mean you have the inherent right to write and record music. If at first you don't succeed, by all means, try, try again. But please. For fuck's sake. Apply some common sense and listen to the product carefully and preferably as objectively as possible before deciding it's good enough to paste it all over the intrawebnets. I mean, really!

And on that note, it is once again time to Neal before the ever erudite Goldwyer:
NGDG: "Owing to the pestilential fug that is the winter Highveld atmosphere, I have been forced to wear my dickhead glasses. No one has said anything negative. Maybe I am the only person who hates popular culture after all."

Spread The Love. I See A Dick Pic And I Want To Paint It Black!

HUMP DAY

I have to say I'm thoroughly disappointed to have found out this refers to the apex of the week. "It's all downhill from here..." doesn't quite make up for the fact that today isn't recognised as a certified day of obligatory coitus. Actually come to think of it, most days should be so. Just saying.

As it is I have a date with a 12 year old this evening. Her name is, strangely enough, Johnny. As in "Johnny Walker Black Label". And this is all happening whilst I watch The Sing-Gher replace more of my kitchen's plumbing and then attempt to re-write history by penning the best song ever written. I'm hoping the 12 year old helps...

Anyway, here I sit waiting for a meeting. The fact that this meeting is with a band - whilst falsely instilling in you a belief that I am cool - is sending the familiar cold feeling of dread down my spine. I hate meetings. And bands are notoriously late. Well, this lot is anyway. So I sit and blog.

In other band related news, Ramfest has confirmed the dates for next year already. Cape Town, ready yourself for 3 days of mind bending debauchery (yes, they have returned to the much loved 3 day festival format) from 7 - 10 March 2013. Hallelujah! Can't wait for that hungover contentedness one can only experience with 3 days of smelly grime embedded in every crevice...

Let the speculation and ranting about the line up commence!

So I was reading this article earlier - quite enjoyed it actually. Thanks to LordDoom for linking this, the last word on the Zuma Penis Portrait Debacle. I wonder why everyone is being so prickly about it...

NGDG: "Just leave me to my spreadsheets and my Maylene and no one gets hurt."

Spread The Love. Under Will.

CHAIRMAN MEOUW.

A while ago, it transpires, a few of my friends started quietly competing with each other by sending me pictures that they thought had a chance of being used in my blog posts. It's certainly flattering and most definitely taken a burden off my already overloaded shoulders.

Who am I attempting to kid? A daily blogger, by the very definition of the beast, is someone with too much time on their hands...

Anyway, today's beautiful pussy throne is one such submission. And perfect for today's purposes, as it turns out. Because as convenient as the subject is as a default fall back when you have nothing else to discuss, I thought perhaps I'd like to crush a few glorified perceptions of myself by writing a revealing piece about some of my less attractive qualities. In other words, am I the King Of The Pussy Throne...?

Right, the time is now 12:12pm Tuesday afternoon...

Time to roll up my sleeves and get down to listing the things I don't like about myself...

Ok, perhaps if I had lunch I could more clearly illustrate my point.

12:19pm Tuesday afternoon...

Still nothing...

Oh wait a minute! No, thought I had something. Sorry...

12:37pm Tuesday afternoon...

Oh yes, I'm mortally terrified of birds.

And...

Ag screw this, I give up.

12:44pm Tuesday afternoon.

Does an unhealthy obsession with boobs count as something negative?

Hey, I finally thought of something! I was informed earlier that the beard gained me man points. My obvious retort was that I didn't need any. A scathing reply - something about typical response - was issued. I think I'll go home and find a lumberjack shirt, just to be sure. I'll show them! But at least that means there are people out there that think I need improving upon...

Ok, so I can't think of anything about myself that I don't like or would change or that could possibly be seen as a weakness or a flaw. Sue me.

In other equally important news, last night I was once again treated to awesome lasagne courtesy of The Hot Girlfriend. See, everything about my life rocks.
Also, it is officially World Goth Day. Happy World Goth Day!
Watch this space for details of the official event this weekend.

NGDG: "Jacob Zuma will just have to admit, as must we all, that he's no Michael Fassbender."

Spread The Love. The Greatest Love Of All.

O FACE!

THE NEW "ART APPRECIATION" EXPRESSION

So here I sit. It's beautiful sunshine in the Mother City and I'm desk bound and completely and utterly without motivation. I don't want to hear anything and I don't want to see anything. It's days like today that make the more pensive among us consider the "meaning of it all"...

Then I remember that my life rocks fucking hard and I turn to writing bullshit blogs to entertain myself. That, and trawl around looking to see if the generally illiterate internet users around the world have miraculously improved their vocabularies - or maybe even simply discovered the magical spell check button.
Alas, all I find is the same sensationalist, self indulgent and downright stupid schlock.

Seriously! Robin Gibb dies and the entire internet Universe posts 'Staying Alive' in tribute!?!? These are probably the same people that fart and then giggle at a memorial service...

Today it's just too damn easy. Here are some snippets (haha) from an article on the latest palava over our Prez's tool piccie:

"The Spear, which has been criticised by the ANC, has been bought by a German private collector for R136 000. " Say what! A PRIVATE collector...?


"In his affidavit for an urgent application to be heard in the Johannesburg High Court on Tuesday, Zuma says the continued display of the painting is a violation of his right to dignity and makes a mockery of his office."
Um, I'm afraid the person most guilty of making a mockery of your office, dear Prez, is you. Let's ALL fly into a frenzy and get up in arms about a damn portrait! Fuck the poor! Eat the poor! One painting in some pokey gallery no one would have given a fuck about had the media not gone to town, and the entire cabinet is having a hissy fit. Well, the male half. The female half is sitting there - a little flushed - deep in reverential recollection.

Don't get me started on the lamentable state of affairs in world football...
Titles can now be bought.
Although in fairness, Chelsea did take years and years and years so I'm not sure if their billionaire owner's unlimited funds had too much direct impact. It's Spurs I have genuine sympathy for...

Luckily as soon as I leave the office the ennui is set to dissapate quite dramatically. The Hot Girlfriend is treating me to home made lasagne tonight. It's usually considered to be my favourite dish, although I have tremendous trouble choosing between that and a nice perfectly braaied steak... Perhaps tonight will go some way towards swaying the vote one way or the other...

And then there's the beard.

THG doesn't like it. I do. Unfortunately, unless I change the Star Wars character I chose to go as over the weekend (Fancy dress party for the Brother-In Awe), it has to go. So - bets are on which day this week I get rid of the facial foliage, if at all...
My mother thinks it's very humurous...

NGDG: "Some dude has locked himself in a toilet cubicle with, presumably, his laptop to play Diablo III. Either that or he's having one unholy-sounding bowel movement."

Spread The Love. O Faces Beginning AND End.

CHOOSE LIFE

She's lost control again...

Death. It's to final. So terminal.

Today we say goodbye to one of music's most enduring and endearing darlings. Donna Summer, may you rest in peace. She passed away yesterday at the age of 63 after a struggle with lung cancer.

And in very much the same vein (I watched Trainspotting last night...), today we remember and mourn the untimely death of one of music's most iconic figures, especially to those of us that prefer music that isn't particularly run-of-the-mill. Ian Curtis, your suicide - whilst robbing us of what could have been a few extra albums - served not only to end your tumultuous anguish, but to raise you (and the rest of Joy Division) up to unlikely cultural icons that have subsequently become references for the greater good of all music. As one of your most ardent fans once put it - and I'm sure Paul Morley meant this in a flattering way - had you lived, you could have been the band that U2 eventually became. I don't think I have to articulate the gratitude I feel that you didn't.

None of this is particularly irreverent. That's ok. We all have our off days...

So tomorrow night is the sporting event of the year: The Champions League Final. The unlikely contestants are Bayern Munich, playing in their home stadium after having beaten the Galacticos of Real Madrid, and Fucking Chelski, having beaten Barcelona. If I had my way the game would be decided on penalties, with John Terry once again missing the crucial spot kick. Unfortunately he isn't playing because he is nothing more than an ill disciplined thug who got what he richly deserved. Among a slew of other Chelsea players not eligible to play is the one and only player of theirs I feel sorry for. Merieles is a truly class player and the foul that earned him a place in the stands was not too bad. Nonetheless.

I'm actually quite ambivalent about the whole game. I am backing Bayern to win as much because of their vastly superior European pedigree and the fact that Roman Abromovich should not simply be able to buy success (the death of football), but because my boss AND the Hot Girlfriend are both Chelsea supporters.

Hehehehe.

Anyway, I'm saving up my store of irreverence for the next 2 weeks. Next weekend is World Goth Day and once again I'm DJing. After that I have to zoot off to my Brother-In-Awe's Star Wars birthday party. I'm considering a Storm Trooper outfit, if for no other reason than it offers substantial facial protection from the likes of Slappy.
And a few days later I age another year. Along with DrHellCuz. From up Norff. There will be a wee celebration. There may be some booze. The Dean might have something to do with it. There may be a Pot-o-Doom. There sure as hell had better be a Tarty Farty Tequila Party. She's on thin ice as it is, having taken the sacrilegious standpoint that iconic dead souls needn't be referred to by their correct names...

Hope you all have wonderful weekends. Go forth. Use Trainspotting as a useful guide to acceptable behaviour. Except that bit where Spud flings a sheet full of pooh over the breakfast table. That was pretty grim.

NGDG: "You may have been 'Pumped up for Summer' - whatever that means - but what are you now, with your faded bumper sticker and months of icy winds ahead? A Highveld listener. Oh, the shame!"

Oh no, he di'int!

Spread The Love. It'll Tear Us Apart.

CAPTAIN PANTS AND THE CATAPULTS.

So it's ok for our esteemed Comrade President to flounce around with his Spear out, prodding at his harem of wives and other "Lewinsky-ites", but Heaven forbid it's captured in a painting and hung on a wall. They censored the picture before I could determine for you, my adoring readership, if indeed it was well hung or not. Zapiro must be rolling in the aisles! Wash their mouths out with Lifebouy! Give that man a hot handshake and a golden shower!

Then there's the disturbing, disgraceful and disgusting show of utter disdain for the rule of law in our fair land perpetrated by the working man's union, COSATU. They were actually protesting the fact that the DA was protesting the fact that they were in protest of the ANC's proposed bill to subsidise youth employment. So actually what COSATU is saying is that the people already on the payroll are the only ones that count, even if they spend more time overturning dustbins and sleeping under trees... and most of them can't count. Fuck the poor and destitute and desperate (school leavers) and never mind the commendable (for once) long term strategy aimed at alleviating the misery shared by so many of our people. Oh, and do you hear the slowly crumbling facade of the Tripartite Alliance? Commie bastards.

NGDG: "The fucking neighbour is at it again! I can only hope the cold comes suddenly to wrap her Dunhill and box-wine wrecked mortal coil in terminal pneumonia."

Viva! Neal Goldwyer, viva!

Spread The Love. Throw Rocks Out With Your Cocks Out!

NAKED TWISTER

Could there be a better game?
The ultimate test of strength, suppleness and self control...
As long as when you finally collapse you manage to avoid planting an elbow in your partner's nethers, I suppose we're all good, although I sincerely doubt any game has ever made it past the 4th spin of the colour indicator thingy.

Ah, plumbing. Yes last night I indulged in a spot of watching my good mate The Sing-Gher extend the fittings to allow for my new oh-so-spiffy under counter tap connection. After much coffee, swearing, bashing and rolling of tape we eventually discovered the "AquaMend" and Robert's Your Mother's Brother.

Then we sat down and spent some time conspiring to write the next great piece of lyrical art and came up with a pretty good framework of a song, even if I already know it'll be an entirely different beast in a week's time. Excited, though.

So it's all systems go for the kitchen to be finished by the 2012 incarnation of the Malcoholocaust. Unfortunately this year I can't officially name it that as I am sharing my birthday celebration with the much vaunted Dr Hell Cuz from up Norff. We share a birth date and a surname. We're also going to take in the breathtaking views of Cape Town from high up on the Mountain. Cable car rides are free on your birthday. Can't wait. As long as the weather plays along, I'm sure it'll be fine. Although later that day when the masses descend for the party, we may be a little on the "pregamed" side, if you catch my meaning. You see, neither of us can function socially without some form of inebriant. Alas.

And now I am off to do that most conscientious of duties, my recycling. This has nothing to do with riding the Argus again. I'm off to the municipal depot with all my glass, plastic and cardboard. Gee vir my 'n fokken goue sterretjie.
As much as I'd like to sit here and carry on entertaining the lot of you, this must take precedence. Not out of some sort of green-consciouse obligation to the future welfare of our planet, but rather because it affords me the opportunity to get the hell away from my desk and the office. See you chimps later!

NGDG: "Hollande beats Sarkozy by 500,000 votes. The last time the French unseated a power-hungry midget it took an English Duke and about as tenth as many men from England, Belgium and, ironically, Holland."

Spread The Love. Pick A Colour. Get Your Elbow Out Of My Mouth.

Incidentally I was originally going to go with this picture...

THE THINGS PEOPLE MOAN ABOUT...

Sometimes it's quite amusing roaming around the labyrinth of the intrawebnets, trying in vain to find something other than The Oatmeal from which to derive any worthwhile entertainment. It's amazing what you can find. Cats, contrary to popular belief, are not amusing. In the least. Fuck cats. They don't play well with others.

Anyway, there seems to be an ever-increasing trend of religious vs anti-religious debate going on again. People still haven't figured out that they will never, no matter how often or persuasively they try and convey their opinions or beliefs, miraculously sway the beliefs of the person who holds the opposite opinion or belief. In the same fashion as you will never convince me that surprise buttsex is a good idea. Wars have been waged. In fact, they continue to be fought. Do you really believe they're being fought to gain the moral high ground? Nope. Afraid not. Usually has something to do with oil or very old paperwork. Groinchurn once came up with the wonderful 'Putting the fun back into fundamentalism'.

I think I'm going off track here.

A few points to take note of to everyone:
You are not going to go up, down or sideways in anyone's opinion by continuing to proclaim you piety, your lack thereof, or your disdainful distaste for either.

1. If you're for any particular religion or denomination, please practice the much preached about tolerance towards the sinners that are obviously on the highway to hell. Either pity them or ignore them, just please do so less publicly. Like my once very good friend who chose to graciously remove herself from the fray altogether and concentrate on what she felt was important in her life.
2. Same goes for the proud sinners. You're just trying your best to garner attention for being "annerste". It's adolescent and no one could give less of a crap. The same tolerance you so desperately crave from the virtuous should be afforded them as well.
3. And finally to those that, despite claiming to not believe in anything, spend more time than either party waffling on about something that apparently doesn't exist. Enough already. Congratulations. You're very clever for having singlehandedly figured out the existential mysteries of mankind. They should rename Wikipedia after you.

Bugger. I expect to lose some followers after this one...

NGDG: "I have a 7am meeting. Depending on the amount of 'likes' I get here, I'll either intentionally go in late and blame the traffic or carry on living my life, go in at my usual time, also late, and blame traffic."

Spread The Love. I Mean It.

MORE BANG FOR YOUR BUCK

A term "coined" to explain the increased expectation regarding the quantity and quality of goods or services in exchange for your ever more hard-earned cash. Not cheaper hookers. Although...

Anyway, the point is we expect more and more these days, don't we? With the mandatory tightening of belts the Earth's over-population and corrupt governance has forced upon us all, we are forced to do shopping at grocery stores other than Woolies or the Food Lover's Market. Except those delusional Tableau Voi housewives that still think it's a status symbol to spend R100 on a small selection of so-called "organic" vegetables from the Biscuit Mall on a Saturday morning. It's like the last 150 year's worth of progress never happened. They schmaltz around lower Woodstock forcing their poor disheartened hubbies to proudly hold out the little wooden crate of carrots and potatoes like it's fucking Simba in the Lion King, as they totter 8 city blocks in their stilettos to where they left the Hyundai Tuscan, clutching their Blackberries and water bottles extra tight lest one of the gazillion informal car guards or even worse, locals, look at them with too penetrating a gaze.

Where was I?

Ah yes, we're being forced to make our money stretch a bit further with every fuel price hike. People have resorted to *shudder* buying clothing at budget outlets like Pep Stores. This has given rise to a new phenomenon: The Socialite Thrift Shopper. You know, the ooh-lala-look-at-me type that spouts off like they're permanently in a CTM ad instead of admitting to their friends and family that they're essentially cheap and/or struggling to keep up the payments on the Merc.

It's quite disheartening. I have the solution. If you HAVE to shop at Pep, make sure it's for things that no one other than you girlfriend sees. Buy your socks 'n' jocks there in big fat bargain packs. Face it Tonto, your chick doesn't give 2 shits when you're debriefing. She's more concerned with your package. And the fact that your arse is a bit better off from the extra walking the petrol price has imposed upon your lifestyle. Also, I have recently figured out that you're more likely to find rare and cool cds at outdoor markets than in specialist music retail stores as well. Sorted! In the liberating spirit of publicly admitting that I'm a cheap bastard, here are a few tips to live by:

1. Use leftover teabags soaked in a glass jar of paraffin, instead of the entire box of Blitz at a time.
2. Buy "Wildsvleis" instead of lamb. The label says it's Kudu, Springbok or Ostrich, but I reckon you're safe either way.
3. Remove the Debonairs number from your speed dial.
4. Cut down on your smoking, you're doing to give up one day anyway. Think about that and get back to me.
5. Buy box wine and keep one or 2 bottles of impressive wine only for special occasions like when the in-laws come around.
6. Wash your own car. (If you're a girl, do so in a white bikini with Kelis blaring in the background...)
7. Buy less snacks. This will have the triple bonus advantage of less initial outlay, less subsequent outlay on personal trainers, and more sex.

Etcetera...

However. There are certain things on which it pays not to skimp. After all, "goedkoop koop is duur koop"
Sunlight liquid, 2 ply toilet paper, decent coffee, Melrose cheese spread, good shoes, quality home entertainment components, good jeans (a rarity, no matter which way you apply the phonetics), and trusted dental care and birth control.

Can you tell I don't feel like work?

NGDG: "This 'Fetal Development App' is freaking me out. Everyone's about to give birth to alien animes and David Duchovny will come up to me in a towel and say 'I love you, Runkle'."

Spread The Love. Roll Around In Your Money.

2 LITTLE 2 LATE

Ever since I got that picture I have been dying to use it in this here bloggy blog blog. Finally I have sweet fuckall to say - nothing to promote and even less to report on. Rose Thorn and I totally forgot that Biffy wasn't going to Barf Lies, so we ended up nursing a pair o' pints waiting for some people to pitch up. Then we went home. Uneventful.

So, true to form, I have successfully avoided the dreaded lurgy through sheer bloody mindedness. Given that there were so many things to organise and attend, I wasn't going to let the sniffles get the better of me. Oh no, sirree! Now that I am on the verge of going on my annual leave, guess what! I may even go and lie in bed before my leave starts. I especially enjoy having to deal with this when I'm trying to wrap up projects so I don't have too much unfinished business while away AND I'm in the middle of doing the auditor's damn job for them...

If I miss anyone's birthday or special event, or don't reply with undue haste to silly spam invitations, my deepest apologies. Looks like the intrawebnets is free of my inane blathering for a fortnight. You think you can handle it? I'm pretty sure I'll muddle through. If you're bored and or deprived/depraved enough you can always go and check out the "best of" my daily dose of delusion. Here are a few favourites from the recent past:

Booze Panic!
Good earplugs- this season's must-have accessory.
Your Irreverence...
Fillet and fellatio.
Reliving the glory daze...
An education in music and me.
The art of sloth. Nothing at all to do with NWA.
Here is a speech about ineptocracy - "fuck you, South Africa."
A Stella voyage of self discovery.
In which I get tricked and expel a lung.


*THIS WAS IN DRAFT WHEN THE INTERNET WENT DOWN AT WORK ALL AFTERNOON ON MY LAST DAY BEFORE LEAVE. SOD IT - YOU'RE GETTING IT ANYWAY

Spread The Love. Ask Miss Pacman How.

I CHOKED LINDA LOVELACE...

Well, not really. I haven't even seen 'Deepthroat'. Yet.

And to think! I had all these amazing titles just lined up for my glorious return to the land of the intrawebnets. Something about sitting chained behind a desk and in front of a computer somehow immediately sucked the urgency and virility out of my thought processes. Back to life, back to reality, back to the ever-mundane trudge through the mire of working class life. Eh.

So I could probably spend the rest of the day typing all about how glorious my leave was and all the wonderful things that I did. Truth is I (typically) waited until there wasn't anything urgent pending and then gave in to the ever-present impending lurgy. Nothing like spending the first week of your vacation on your back. Stricken with flu, not Asian hookers...

Love you long time! How the FUCK have you all been?!?!?!

I did get to do a few cool things, though. My buddy from the UK was down with the wife and kid, so we braaied. A lot. We also took in a few wine farms. I'm sure I'm not the first to make the following observation, but there is something decadently enjoyable about mooching from one wine tasting to the next while the rest of the world keeps the cogs grinding at their respective places of employment/slavery.

I also managed to do some of the renovation I had so carefully mapped out and planned for. Naturally, the snags that I hadn't foreseen caused the lot of it only to be completed about halfway, but the one half ot the kitchen looks AWESOME! And the roof beams that are lying in the unfinished half, drying under Woodoc are also pretty cool. I have, however, had to sacrifice my dining room to the gods of surplus storage space. And since I have yet to install that cabinet in the kitchen that houses the drawers, the cutlery is a daily short trip beyond various boxes, some chairs and a cabinet. Now that I write it out like that, perhaps it is a little silly/lazy. Maybe I'll bring it out and stash it temporarily in a cupboard.

Yes, lots to report and much over which to muse, but much like other peoples' vacation photos, not much of any particular interest to you, my dear devotees. Suffice it to say I am physically broken from the partying and self imposed slave labour, but spiritually rested and mentally as spry as an old man that's just realised his pecker still works in the old age home.

Which brings us neatly to the plans for the next while. You'll never guess. Lots of band rehearsals. Thank goodness I'm so kak everytime is like a new experience, trying to remember how songs go.

All jokes aside, this morning was pure, festering, evil murder. Try spending three weeks surfacing at roughly lunchtime and then set your alarm for dawn. To make it up to myself for this unwarranted punishment I may have to mollify myself with a bit of wine this evening. Tomorrow morning's episode is already off to a corking fuck up. See a pattern?

Anyway, I've missed you. I've missed how you allow me to stain the sheets of your personal intrawebnets with my only very vaguely entertaining nonsense. And I especially appreciate the sentiments poured forth by around 3 of you saying that you'd missed these here little soap box wankathons. Thank you! I shall do my best to continue lubricating the nipples of progress, pleasure and Puritanism.

Let's go and have a quick nose at what our resident philosiphizerer has to offer us on this fine day.
NGDG: "I'd rather have Parkinson's than Alzheimer's. It's better to spill half your beer than to forget completely where the fuck you put it."

Spread The Love. All You Need Is...

 4 Long Life Batteries!