THE SIZE OF A COW

Plus, once I was totally bust riding one of those old Trek zebras.

For those of you poor, underprivileged souls that have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, go and google The Wonder Stuff. Anyway, the sentiment of the song pretty much sums up my mood today. It can't really be called a mood, as such. It's more like a state. A zen like disgust with most things seamlessly coupled to an irritated contentedness that things will be as they should.

So, if you've been reading this here virtual soapbox for any length of time, you'd know that I am involved in things musical, not least of which is the band I share with Little Spoon The Lady Killer, LordDoom, Hairy and Scary. We have a very important launch gig planned. We have been working relentlessly towards making this a reality and are getting super excited about the results. And because we will no doubt be under extremely close scrutiny for various reasons, we are working doubly hard to ensure the success of the launch, the songs and the band. So, colour me grumpy when I realise for the first time that the launch date is the same night as my school reunion, a night I've been looking forward to for a decade. FUCK!

Not that there's even a choice, mind you. I'm just super bummed I'm going to have to miss schmoozing with all the overweight greying "peers" and a bunch of women that wouldn't give me the time of day in highschool. I sincerely hope time has been kind to them all...

And now I'll never know...

Anyway, DrHellCuz is still in Cape Town, so it's dinner out tonight. Thank goodness too, I was so not in the mood for the same damn meal again. Sometimes bachelorhood can be trying. Hope he's hungry. He should be - I've been making him eat nothing but his words since a long time ago.

I have recently regained mobility of my neck. I now no longer pose a threat to all other road users when diligently checking my blind spots. Although last night's spot of light gardening almost did me in. The weeding was ok. The cutting the lawn was also bearable. Try sinking 100+ drainage holes with sore shoulders. As Tarty Farty Tequila Party would say, "You're such a Ninny!"

And this, dear reader, is where I bid you adieu for the day.

NGDG: 'Caution: Wet Floor" signs should say 'Caution: Cleaner trying to dry wet floors by swinging this sign around.'

Spread The Love. No Cheating!

THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT TO WINTERFEST.

Picture courtesy of KULTURMAG

On a bus. The Party Bus in fact. THE Party Bus. It would have been much more of a party if some out-of-town guests were savvy enough not to eat the "delicacies" at everyone's favourite Turdish restaurant and bellydancing emporium, Mesopotamia...

Although there was plenty of crazy to go around. Maybe it was a good thing DrHellCuz wasn't up for it...

The day started off with a bangover. As usual. Then it was delivering gear to trusty Brother-In-Awe for transport to venue followed by frantic packing of cooler box and get to Party Bus pick up on time. Once on the bus we could relax, after an equally frantic search for a jack through which to play some music for the trip. In attendance were The Hot Girlfriend, Slappy, The Dean Of Univer City, TDB, Nyte Roks, Tina's Ex with the 2 Year Guarantee, a handful of blonde people and some guy called Blue Balls (no relation to the chutney brand). The trip was fun. You know you're in for a good day when you have to stop half way to buy tequila...

Anyway, not long after we arrived in Stellenbosch and got tucked into some more beer, having done the obligatory bum-out-hug-greet to a million friends, when my gear arrived and I had to rope in the assistance of all and sundry. I must be the only idiot that takes 4 guitars along to play 6 songs. Having secured the gear in the chaotic backstage space, it was party on. Well, it most certainly was party on for the Brother-In-Awe, who started off the entire party with a dazzling display of headbanging that shamed the youth and inspired up to 50 crazed lunatics to storm the outside stage and follow suit. Alas his contribution to proceedings was cut short after about his millionth tequila and he was e-vac'ed out of there roughly an hour before I was supposed to play. Cue hasty gear travel re-arrangements.

So, the venue was absolutely packed to capacity, inside and out. All the bands were top-notch. The organisation was as slick as ever. Uncle Dave's Subternia Music merch table was doing a roaring trade, DJ Egghead was keeping the metal fires burning outside all day and night, Zombies Ate My Girlfriend had their own promo table outside (wo)manned by none other than the gorgeous Chocolaty, everyone was running around having the time of their lives and NOT throwing panties on stage, beer flowed, conversations flowed, and I even had my own personal hair care expert (thanks, Rose Thorn) on hand to ready the coif for the show...

Then, to the show. Axxon was the last show of the evening's long and illustrious list of entertainers. Beeldenstorm, Sindulgence, Impalement Theory, Bloodbeast and Zombies Ate My Girlfriend all kept the capacity crowd going mental and the spirits (and horns) up. Then the headliners in the form of Strident and the mighty Mind Assault tore shit up good and proper! Peeking out from backstage in the middle of my own preparations, I was surprised to see Klein Libertas still standing. This mayhem and carnage was followed by the ever-delectable Black Orchid Beasties, doing their gorgeously ghastly best to make grown men cry...

Which brings us to where I once again got to indulge in my favourite activity: rocking out with my stocking out! The lights went out. The intro started. My guitar tech, "Mein Sohn" handed me the first of my guitars and, well... all Hell broke loose! Axxon is an Industrial/Electro Metal band. We're not really supposed to inspire moshes that engulf half of the dancefloor. We did. The energy beaming back at us was phenomenal! And today I can't move my neck or shoulders. For everyone who missed our show, and the rest of Winterfest, may I offer you a piece of infinitely valuable advice? For free, mahala and for nothing. Look out for notifications of Summerfest and make sure you're there. I'd hate for more than necessary suicides.

To everyone that made Saturday a possibility - especially Pat and the rest of the Metal4Africa crew - well done! Let's do it again!
Also, thanks to Paul Bothner Music for all the awesome Jackson Guitars, RotoSound Strings and Laney Amplification Gear, not to mention Wolf Clothing for making Axxon looooook goooooood!

And then there was the bus back. Grown men passed out on other grown men. Tequila. Genitals. The usual.

Needless to say Sunday wasn't greeted with much enthusiasm. At least I had the Hot Girlfriend to brighten up my day.

NGDG: It has begun. The divorcee has obtained my number through devious channels. She has initiated her woo. Dawkins help me. This can only end in arranged marriage or death.

Spread The Love. Initiate Your Woo...

HOW COME IT'S CALLED MOONING WHEN THE SUN SHINES OUT OF IT?

See? ANYONE can look good in PVC...

Please note the tag on the photo, if you like go and check out more of this artist/photographer/model.

Whoohoo! It's Friday. No one is getting me down. No one is irritating me. Not even Standard Wank, who spent all the time I was on the phone with then, racking up Somalia's national debt, in sending my One Time Password to the wrong pc in the office. Several times.

I have almost forgotten what it's like getting out of the office. I've become so deskbound since I gave up smoking - and since I discovered this addictive thing called the intrawebs - that I am in serious danger of becoming one with my over-sized office chair. Some days I don't even get up for long enough for the maid to clean my desk...

Anyway, today I went into town (like in the old days when people would get dressed up to buy jam and rusks and nails) and had a good ol' mooch around, looking around at all the ugly buildings and breathing deep the exhilarating carbon monoxide missions. Glorious! But I got to stretch my legs and for once I wasn't glued to a screen. I think that I am certainly going to make a point of doing that more regularly. I might even go and sit at the beach when the weather is more conducive.

So it's Friday. Hallelujah! Tomorrow I once again grace (or DISgrace) a stage near you! Got my toight pants last night, thanks to Wolf Clothing. Actually I had to opt for the size larger than the one I had on last time, and not because I was that excited about new pants, if you know what I mean... So if you want to get a leery eyeball-full of my pvc-clad butt, get on over to the Klein Libertas venue tomorrow and fight your way through the ordeal that is cheap beer, great company and awesome entertainment. Or as I know it, Metal4Africa's Winterfest.

I'll be there. In fact most of the characters from this here piece of literary fiction will be in attendance. It's gonna be like visiting Disneyland. I could even arrange a large snaggle-toothed individual to stalk you and jump up making heavy breathing noises at you if you insist. We're getting there on the Party Bus. A wonderful institution that allows drinking in transit. Considering I'll be smack bang in the middle of DrHellCuz, his mystery guest, TDB, The Sing-Gah, SmartyPants, The Dean Of Univer City, Slappy, Tina's Ex With The 2year Guarantee, the Hot Girlfriend of course, and a host of others, this could be fun.

In fact the entire day promises to be something that will go down in the annals of history. (I had to go back and double check THAT spelling...) Don't worry, if you miss it I'm sure you'll probably off yourself after reading the avalanche of reports next week.

Beer and biltong await me at home, so without too much further ado, cheers you lot. Hope to see many of you at the show tomorrow. Remember: fornication at rock concerts is allowed. Nay, encouraged...

NGDG: Not one person succeeded in annoying me today. Not one. World, I wish to shake your hand. I know you have a hand. White-gloved. At the end of your skinny arm. Like that of a giant M&M.

Spread The Love. It's Aural Sex Weekend.

INVENTING NEW WORDS

Like "scrobbled", which, by all accounts is when you play a song on last.fm. Or upload it or do something to it. Whatever it is, it's better than over-autotuning it.
The reason this word stuck out, is because I am very upset about "swoggle", a word I was very much under the impression I had come up with. Apparently not. I've been using it willy-nilly for quite some time, usually in conjunction with something very rude in order to describe less savoury or incredibly stupid individuals. Imagine my surprise, when asked to come up with a new, rude word by a friend of mine - and thinking I had one ready made - I had to find out that it already had a recognised status. A definition and everything!

So I was forced to come up with something else altogether, although it's even ruder and I still haven't found the sensitive enough description for public viewing. I think it was Asumo-Wrap...

And then there was the very pleasant discovery I made the other day on TFLN. I will now try and use the word "whorenado" as much as humanly possible, even if it is merely a combination of words.

Anyway, speaking of all things pleasant and accounted for: If you haven't heard yet, then you'd better consider finding a less restrictive rock under which to eek out an existence:

Axxon have released their long awaited EP/maxi single, Bite Your Tongue. Clocking in at over 40 minutes, though, it's hardly an insignificant offering. To download the entire 8 songs AND artwork FOR FREE click here. Bonus material includes a complete mindfuck and, according to industry commentators, some Aural Sex and a handful or Eargasms.

Once you have been completely overcome by the sheer brilliance of the EP, you may consider checking this lovable band of lunatics out at a live performance. Well, I say lovable. What I actually mean is: kinda prickly, fucking obnoxious, but supremely energetic and superbly entertaining, not to mention the much needed kick in the fucking pants local underground music has so long been screaming for... you be the judge. They're set to tear anyone who'll listen a new one at this year's Metal4Africa Winterfest happening on Saturday. I hear all sorts of rumours about fornication in the front row as well...

Which is why I've been so occupied all week. I've been locked away in rehearsals.

Which brings me to my apology. I'm sorry. I have been neglecting you, my faithful readers this week. You don't even know what I got up to this weekend past. I watched Manchester United play in real life. It was awesome - a lifelong dream realised. I'm glad it's back to boring old television from now on, what with all the clarity, replays, different angles and close ups. I know it's a sacrifice compared to squinting from a nose-bleed inducing altitude in the stands, but I don't suppose I have a choice. Many thanks to Mark "See Through Underpants", Brad the Dad, Tarty Farty, TDB, Me-Swifty, Rose Thorn, Commander Conker, Sheik Yerbouti, the Vi-King, everyone else who joined us, and most of all The Hot Girlfriend for a wonderful day! Go Ajax CT!

NGDG: This is a frog-on-a-lilypad kinda day.

Spread The Love. Swoggle.

THE THRASH OF NAKED LIMBS.

So here we are on this Tuesday. The sun has made a commendable effort to brighten up our lives and my hangover has all but completely dissipated. I have a very busy week to look forward to, what with it being Metal4Africa's bi-annual celebration of all the cool things your parents and Sunday school teachers taught you was bad for you when you were young. Yes, folks! It's time to get your Beelzebub on! It's time for Winterfest '12. Featuring a stellar line up of bands guaranteed to rock your socks off, this humble pilgrim is going to indulge in all the naughty delights that are sure to pave a gilded path directly into hell. Or not. Personally I happen to think of overindulging in debauchery to be quite a heavenly endeavour. Party buses for the road-safety-conscious. Metal bands for the music-conscious. And booze specials for the completely unconscious! There'll even be a visual feast for everyone as the gorgeous Black Orchid Beasties are set to mesmerise your eyes with a darkly depraved burlesque act second to none!

And a Flapper...

So come one! Come all! That is, if you want to see yours truly strutting around in his uber-toight shiny pant of rock-stardom courtesy of Wolf Clothing. I may even play a tune or 2. If you ask pretty please. Apparently there is going to be some form or fornication in front of Axxon's stage... I heard a rumour...

It's a good thing the weather is playing along today - I have to go and run after work - a last ditch attempt at firming up the winter excess so that I might actually fit into them trousers... The Thrash Of Naked Limbs indeed. I trust at least one or two of you got that.

Anyway, as you will have noticed from the earlier post today, a serious milestone has been reached. 314 posts and still going strong. If by "strong" I mean running out of ideas and regurgitating the same ol' crap over and over again.
But a heartfelt thank you to all of you for spreading the love and deluding me into believing that somewhere someone gives enough of a crap and therefore a reason for me to continue besmirching the hallowed pages of the intrawebs. Thank you!

And a special thank you to Mr Neal Goldwyer, without whom your daily dose of drivel would have been infinitely less entertaining.

NGDG: "Just when you begin to despair of Lady Justice, a sacrifice is rendered unto her in the form of the drunk-ass cracker neighbour who was dragged off to the clink yesterday (hopefully by her lank scrunchy-tied minging hair!)

Spread The Love. Don't Ask Me Who Or What A Flapper Is.

PIE. GOATS. AND PROBABLY SLAYER.

Yes folks! You guessed it! Or more likely, you didn't guess anything. You're just here because you have absolutely no idea what the heading means and your curiosity has got the better of you.
Well, except for PIE GUY, OTHER PIE GUY and PIE GIRL. And Barrulus. And quite a few others...

This is my 314th post. Yes, somehow the Universe has contrived, for better or for worse, to keep up my readership to a point where I feel obliged to share my bilge, drivel, smut, filth, opinions, observations and overwhelming appreciation of boobs with you out there in interwebsland. How you manage to keep reading through the nausea is beyond me. Thank you one and all for confirming that I am indeed a minor celebrity in my own mind!

On to the business of the day then. You will have noticed that you were robbed of a post yesterday. For this horrific oversight, you have my deepest apologies. I will attempt to make amends like a 12 step alcoholic today by double fisting posting so that you may feel satisfied.

Yesterday was a busy, wonderful, momentous day! At work. Shannon Hope, she of the incandescent, incomparable, glorious, grandiose, serene and celestial voice... she of the mind-twisting, face-melting musical virtuosity, she of the quirky quip and the stellar song writing... is finally a family member here at Peermusic. I'm so excite I could make like bubbles!

Also, yesterday evening marked the first band rehearsal with a full time bassist for our little Doem Merrill outfit, joining LordDoom on his second appearance as full time vocalist. You know, there's a reason why some people are regarded higher than others in the music industry, and last night I am happy to report, our belief in certain people showed every reason to be justified. I am as smug as a bug! Welcome, Biggie. Not only has the proficiency quotient been sufficiently raised, but the laughter content is reaching dangerously critical levels for such an outfit as ours...

In other news, Jackie Selebi is out on medical parole. He must have taken my advice on how to become a free man. That, and he obviously has shady connections. For those of you who don't believe in afterlife retribution, wouldn't it be nice for some of these bastards...

Oh, and I have the most amazing girlfriend in the whole world.

NGDG: I should be a bit more specific next time I wish on the Lottery. R10.50 isn't quite going to pimp my life.

Spread The Love. 314.

Today's post brought to you by:



FRIDAYS IS MY DAYS!

So. Here we are. It's Friday. Thank all that is holy I can bugger off from the office and get home. What a day, though.

It's days like today that make my job worthwhile - this is the kind of thing I live for. It's also cut drastically into my blogging time, but in this instance I'm super duper happy about it.

You, unfortunately, are going to have to make do with a really short, half-hearted attempt. I promise that's the last time I try and use that as a pick up line... Which brings us neatly to what you can expect to hear about on Monday, if I survive:

Tonight I attempt to build a kennel for Commander Conker's dogs, while he stands there and hands me tools, listens to my vast curse-word vocabulary and makes jokes about screwdrivers. Rose Thorn will be in the kitchen cooking and getting sloshed, a condition I plan to catch up on the minute we abandon a half built kennel.
Then tomorrow morning it's bright and early to Paul Bothner for some supplies and all sorts of wonderful little adventures.
Than band practice in anticipation for next weekend's Winterfest, brought to you by Metal4Africa.
Then, it's off to go and watch Manchester United for the first time in my life - the excitement is really starting to build now...
Then I have to subject myself to some form of dress up as the birthday party to which I am going requires something from Lovecraft's fiction.

Wish me luck! And - whilst enjoying your weekends responsibly - don't do anything I wouldn't!

OR

You could go and see what all the hype is about and catch Shannon Hope at TEDxCapeTown tomorrow night...

NGDG: What's that I hear? The bitter-patois of little private-school educated minds.

Spread The Love. It's A Stranger.

THREE-BREASTED HOOKER!

For those of you who can't entirely remember Total Recall (see what I did there...), here is a reminder of why it was, and still is, such a great movie. THIS little value pack right here! Arnie is Arnie, but these puppies are triplets! Two mooring stations for your motor boat will always be better than one!

Today has been a great day so far. Other than the getting out of bed and dragging my dreary arse off to work. There is so much to be thankful for. Not least of which is this parody of Oh Fortuna! doing the rounds on the intrawebs. If you haven't seen it yet, do yourself the biggest favour you're going to do before your daily "alone time" and click for the funniest thing I have seen in, like, forever.

And speaking of things pleasurable, I am finally going to see the mighty Red Devils play in the flesh. On Saturday. Against Ajax Cape Town. At the Cape Town Stadium. Although if last night's game against AmaZulu is anything to go by I may well be more interested in the bar. The highlight of last night's lacklustre blooding-in of new "talent", and something that came as quite a surprise, was that Berbatov turned in a man-of-the-match performance, even though he is next to exit Old Trafford for a meagre 5 Million Pounds, less than a sixth of what they paid for him. I hadn't heard of half the players on the park, but don't think I'm alone in this as most probably only know Rooney and Giggs anyway...

Did you see? There's a picture of a Three-Breasted Hooker up there! I wonder if she pads her rates?

Anyway, this morning, by way of contributing greatly to my wonderful mood, someone new discovered this here wee blog and issued their basic approval. I am nothing if not "inwardly concerned". So I thought it prudent to direct this new appreciator of the finer things in life to the following "best of" link, which isolates a few highlights from all the other nonsensical drivel for him to read. This previous "best of" as well...

Anyway, best I get this posted. Duty calls. I have to go down to the hardware store for some "plumbing supplies". And not the good kind either...

NGDG: They're removing the Wonderbra hoarding that greeted me on the penultimate turn of my morning run. Which is regrettable. It was such a great motivator. Those scantily-clad lovelies saying "Push it, Neal. Feel the burn! Or you'll end up with boobs like us."

Spread The Love. Glory! Glory! Boobs.

HYPOCRITES, WHORES AND LIARS.

Ah.... today is the day. Everyone is overwhelmed by a media inspired inclination to do something nice for someone else. How noble. What about the other 525893 minutes in a year? Why are you all such dickheads to your fellow human beings then? Not to mention the damnable grammar abuse.

Actually that is probably unfair. I know a lot of very good, giving, generous, kind and wonderful people. Prostitutes have rights too, damnit! Ok seriously, there are those people that do good - regularly, selflessly and without any expectation of reciprocal gestures. To those people - much respect. It is of course the politicians and the entitled earwigs I am aiming at today.
Did you see the choruses of brightly coloured birthday wishes streaming in for our beloved Madiba this morning? Especially by the very people that have perfected shitting on his vision for our fair land?
Being on the telly paying lip service to a man who's done more for his fellow man than anything you could ever manage is hypocritical to say the least.  For the rest of the year you concentrate on retarding service delivery, obstructing basic education, health care and housing, blame shifting, chronic corruption, gross incompetence, testing the snooze rating of your office couch, and a little thing I like to call "lying through your fucking teeth". There is a 94 year old man sitting at home right now wondering where it all went wrong. My biggest regret is that you will never read these words or be moved to any form of honest introspection. Sanctimonious fuckers.

But while politicians and the like are, well, being politicians, obviously it is a good thing to get involved and go do something for those less fortunate. Here at work we're making food to be delivered to a local night shelter, I suppose every little bit helps. Although the point of today should be to make people aware (again) of the plight of their struggling countrymen, something that should inspire more rigorous efforts at poverty alleviation and nation building. As if...

Look at me on my self righteous little soap box. As guilty as anyone else of being self absorbed and neglecting the masses. I'm no Mother Theresa. But then I've never claimed to be. The remarks above are simply an observation. Sad as they are...

Advertising has convinced us that we're the centre of our little universes. Twitter and Facebook has given everyone a voice and blogging has allowed everyone a platform from which to spew forth an opinion. Perhaps the entire world needs an overhaul. I am but a sheep. I was kinda hoping I was only wearing the clothing.

We live in a world where the closest thing to Utopia is a security complex in Table View, money has no tangible value, every person on the planet looks on in horrified disgust as the USA forcibly secures worldwide fossil fuel monopoly but does nothing to stop them, animals and grammar are abused and tortured daily, babies are born in toilets in Baragwaneth Hospital and convicted criminals are pardoned by our president so they can go out and recommit violent crime. Yet everyone watches Idols and knows who that chick from Jersey Shore is...

Charity starts at home. We can't expect our policy makers to change unless we take a slightly more active interest in being of some actual use to our society. Start small. But for fuck's sake, 67 minutes isn't enough.

And to the second most important brown man in the country, Happy Birthday to you too, Biggie!

NGDG: "I don't see the point of  having dishwashers in the work kitchen when the maid unloading it is picking her nose with gusto."

Spread The Love. More Often.

FANTASIES

Now that I have your attention...

We COULD discuss sexual fantasies, you know. The ones that you wouldn't dare discuss in front of your mom. The kind that you'd even be uncomfortable discussing in front of your partner. But come on admit it, everyone has some secret, sordid desire that is so unspeakably vile and deliciously debauched that they themselves dare not even try it. Except DrHellCuz. And Byron. Not that they have any willing AND conscious partners...

Actually I meant to start having a go at people who are into the sort of fantasy that involves creatures like dragons, fairies, vampires, werewolves and the like. But then I realised two very important things.

1. I enjoy the odd TV series based on those very things, along with a spot of Pratchett, and
2. most of the people I know are into those things, so I'll probably get moered.

Anyway, the thing that pisses me off is when seemingly intelligent people start actually believing this fantastical rubbish. And locking themselves away from reality in ever increasing levels of delusion. Ah yes, that's what I wanted to get at. Gamers. It's an awesome day outside. Don't you think an outdoor activity would do you good? Your arms and legs are going to atrophy like the humans in Wall-E. And you'll be forced to perambulate around on your overdeveloped thumbs.

Do you want the truth? You can't handle the truth!

I just wrote the heading and went for it, 'ramble on' as they say. Hopefully a modicum of sense and/or truth has revealed itself. Maybe I should be drunk when I blog. Apparently the entertainment value is increased dramatically. Which, incidentally, is the only reason I drink. For you. My friends. For whom I care so much.

LordDoom just sent me the pic you can by now no doubt see at the top of this here page, so I'm going to conveniently slump back into the sexual side of today's topic and discuss something that I have recently discovered. That's not to say it hasn't been around for donkey's years, just that I am rather slow on the uptake.

Japanese.   Tentacle.   Porn.

You heard me. Isn't that just the most radical concept in the entire universe? Giving words like "octopus" and "sushi" a new lease of life. I fucking LOVE it. And for good measure I will now introduce you to the best song to listen to whilst investigating this phenomenon. (You're gonna LOVE this...)

Can YOU see the connection between tentacle porn and the fishy fantasy right at the top?

Anyway, this afternoon I resume my running regime - a little something I do to stave off the eroding effects of time and something I haven't done in a while because of the inclement weather.

NGDG: "I've just bought my first pair of Converse All Stars ever today. Let's see what the fuss is about."

Spread The Love. With Chop Sticks.

FULL SPECTRUM

Not the vitamins. The other thing. This weekend was chock-a-block with all manner of madness - ranging from the manic to the mundane - with a healthy dose of "wingerdgreip" thrown in for good measure.

Friday started off with a visit from Rose Thorn "because I haven't seen you all week" and quickly descended into a drunken affair replete with nostalgia and a bit of show-and-tell, explaining to a very patient Hot Girlfriend why the footage from past band rehearsals was so epic. Wine flowed, and almost some blood too, when dear Rose was almost forcefully taken home by Commander Conker The Saint. Ah, good times!

Saturday was a whirlwind of events. It started off with some heavy lifting. Hey! Take your mind out of the gutter. I don't even KNOW your mother... I am of course referring to the transfer of washing machines that took place. This was followed by The Greek's drum clinic, an hour of watching one of the best stickmen around sharing his knowledge with a stunned audience. I thought his approach was genuine genius. Play along with a metal song so loud that the audience is stunned into wide eyed wonder. Brilliant!
After that the hordes of Axxon gathered to sharpen the blunt instrument that is going to wreak havoc on your fragile minds at Metal4Africa's Winterfest this year.
Following a quick dinner, the Hot Girlfriend and I then went to the next engagement on the day's list. A 21st. I haven't been to a 21st in a LONG time. I was introduced to the girl's dad at some point and genuinely thought, before I figured out who I was talking to, that this person may well be younger than me...
Then it was off to the Weekend Wizzard & Hey Me Tarzan for their official housewarming. Awesome spot, awesome company, awesome everything! There was even a clown! Well, that's what I thought until someone pointed out that the idiotic looking tit falling bloomers first over the couches was in fact a guest, and not hired entertainment.

Needless to say the "hard chilling" came in with a vengeance yesterday. The Hot Girlfriend spoiled me rotten. Breakfast in bed, numerous cups of coffee and a couple of movies. Bar a trip or so to the lavatory, I literally didn't get out of bed until 16h30. And even then it was only to have a shower before Top Gear. Imagine my face when Top Gear had been replaced by some half cocked rubbish called Fifth Gear. WTF!

Anyway, after that Tarty Farty Tequila Party swooped in with her sponsored chariot and chauffeured us to TDB and Me-Swifty's new home, where we were treated to a surprisingly wonderful Sunday roast, considering Me-Swifty's speciality is lasagne soup.

NGDG: "Before you diagnose yourself with depression, first make sure you're not just living in Johannesburg."

Spread The Love. A Little Goes A Long Way.

IRREVERENTIALLY YOURS ON THIS FRIDAY 13TH.

Yes, folks! The day all the ghoulies and ghastlies love so much. Reminds me of my youth. When I had the wonderfully good fortune to be a full time student (oh those were the days! R2 drinks and lunchtime strip shows...) my friends and I (TDB was one of them) were very much of the gothy, metally, bad-assy persuasion and took everything way too seriously. Like, way too seriously. Well, as serious as I can get anyway, which isn't very.

Anyway, back in those days we had a little thing called Happy Hate Day. This was celebrated on Valentines Day (we couldn't get laid), Spring Day (floral print really didn't compliment our acne) and any and all Friday the 13ths. We'd don our finest black threads. Pure black. I'd like to honestly report that they were "blacker than the blackest black times infinity", but something about wearing the same clothes every day tends to make them fade to grey. So, uniformly dark grey, we stalked the corridors of higher education on these special days, one in particular stands out in my memory. We brought along a black eye make up thingy. Emerging from the 2nd level boys toilets resembling a poor man's KISS, apparently we scared the living shits out of all and sundry on a perfectly lovely Valentines Day. Notoriety quickly followed and I for one embraced the lifestyle and spent the next couple of years making my parents question their abilities to raise a child.

Lame story, I know. But it's the closest thing I can remember to Friday the 13th that's ok to publish without legal ramifications. And I have no idea about that movie with that hockey mask and that chainsaw.

But now we're all growned up and holding down jobs and paying mortgages and doing adult things like purchasing grocery items in bulk in order to save money. Ha! That's just the half of it! Today I'm wearing black. Shock! Horror! And I'm going to act as adolescent as I possibly can, because I can. So no different to normal life then...

Enjoy your Happy Hate Day! I'm going to have a wee catch up with the ever-fascinating Rose Thorn after work. There will be wine. Wine is good in this weather. So is Sherry. By this evening I may be face down and giggling. But not in the naughty "I just walked into an all male brothel" kind of way.

And tomorrow will most definitely be an earplugs day. Combining a hangover with The Greek's drum clinic at Bothners would be suicide without them, not to mention the Axxon practice straight after...

NGDG: "So this actor fellow Robert Pattinson is starring in the film version of possibly my favourite French novel, 'Bel Ami' by Maupassant. Good on you, sir. Corporate cheese to pay the mortgage, cherry-picked roles for self-realisation. C'est la vie."

Spread The Love. People In Black Clothes Need Love Too.

THE NEWS IN BRIEFS

Or just sans briefs (in the) altogether...

John Terry claims he is not a racist in a hearing in which he is accused of racial slurs against Anton Ferdinand. Huge surprise. Prosecutor says Anton Ferdinand lacks the sophistication to have fabricated the accusation. Whatever happened to transfer speculation?
This just in. It doesn't matter. John Terry is a worthless thug anyway, as he so demonstratively proved in the Champions League semi-final.

ANCYL attempt to bust up the annual Nelson Mandela Lecture delivered by President-For-Lifebouy Zuma. Their disruptive antics are dealt with swiftly and don't at all allude to a rift within the ranks of a party clinging onto popularity by the skin of their teeth and an ingenious plan to hand out more free tshirts.

Squatters choosing to live in the winter lake district below sea level on the Cape Flats are more surprised than last year that their shacks have been flooded. The concept of a water table is scoffed at when authorities try and explain. A water table will never stand up by itself and will probably collapse under the weight of any large pap pot.

Nuuskierig, the website for all discerning readers who can read, is effectively relaunched amid much fanfare and does not disappoint - bringing cheer and a much needed tongue-in-cheek relief to a country wracked by bad comedic commentary and even worse politicking.

Mark Boucher - one of the all time greats in cricket - is forced to retire from international duty due to a freak bail accident that caused severe eye damage, thereby making him the first South African sport star to bow out gracefully before the inevitable debacle of being dropped for someone in better form. Or because of the colour of his skin.

Residents of Cape Town have been plagued by an affliction worse than the flu this winter. Apparently the involuntary impulse to inform everyone else in Cape Town that the weather is unpleasant is not only contagious, but reaching epidemic proportions.

If you missed the most tragic story since Prince Charles had a rare new species of frog named after him and people actually fucking cared, please take the time to read about the insane and inhumane execution of Lennox, the pitbull. Our hearts go out to the family and our condemnation of this callous act is absolute.

Apparently living in a "security complex" in Gauteng is not as safe as the estate agents would have you believe.

The culprit in the Limpopo textbook dumping saga has been brought to book. I know...

SASCOCUP stand by their ruling that the highest ranked, most successful, and best-hope-for-a-medal weightlifting athlete in the country "can't go" to the Olympics "because".

The Meyer Of Awesomeville and his blushing bride have just become Guard Parents. Gush!

And last but by no means least, I'd like to congratulate Prince & Princess Pettitt on their nuptials. Awesome! The only gripe I have is that I couldn't be there to share this wonderful day with y'all. May you have a billion years of happiness together.

And now, the weather...

NGDG: "I've been in a state of stifled hysterics listening to the Ghanain girl phone customers to tell them they've won a prize. From the sound of her frustrated reassurances and complete lack of vernac, it's clear they all think she's a Nigerian businesswoman after their bank details."

Spread The Love. And Then...

I AM THE CHOIR

A sentence, coming from me, that should strike horror and an overwhelming flight response in anyone who has ever had the misfortune of hearing my attempts at singing. Also a reference to me being the opinionated bastard I happen to be. And agreeing when people lament the myriad woes of our time.

Lennox. Breed Specific Legislation, or BSL (Bull Shit Laws) for short, allow for the destruction (murder) of specific types of animals, particularly domestic canines, because of their apparent resemblance to a group or breed deemed potentially dangerous to humans or in human interaction. Ironic then that the words "human" and "humane" are so similar when nothing could be further from the truth. Don't get me wrong. I am, in fact, not the bleeding heart that these sentiments would have you believe.
Or at least I cannot claim elevated levels of empathy without outing myself as a staunch meat eater. Some would proclaim that tantamount to condoning animal murder, but for the sake of this missive let's assume I don't braai someone's household pets.
Let's look at BSL quickly. Let's make a quick comparison. Imagine that law was applied to humans. Hitler tried it. He was quickly ostracized by a rightly outraged world - then, and still today, the warmongering fucking racist piece of shit. The list goes on. But draw your own conclusions. Humanity today is, despite the very thin veneer of civility, even more brutally and savagely barbaric than ever, slaves to their own avarice and self serving idiocy. If, according to Gandhi, the greatness of a nation is measured by the way its animals are treated, then take a fucking bow Ireland! And every other nation! Hold your heads up high and your hands out pleading for the next fucking bail out package...

Also, I have a little theory on the behaviour and handling of big dogs. Sure, they're not everyone's cup of tea and it's quite understandable that some may find them scary, but consider this. It is widely accepted that behaviour is instilled by conditioning by owners and is not the predisposition of a specific breed. And if you're ever attacked, bear in mind that the dog more than likely weighs less than you (if you're a grown adult), has only one very limited weapon (its mouth) and lacks opposable thumbs or the ability to reason/strategise. If you remain calm, you're more than likely NOT going to be ripped to shreds.

Save the pitbulls and euthanise the men and women who force them to fight...
For the full story, click here.

And don't even get me started on the spelling. The spelling today is the meter by which we can plot not only the atrophy of our worldwide education systems, but the general mindlessness of our youth and our descent back into the Dark Ages. Ah, the youth... The happy-go-lucky scamps lighting up our lives, nary a fret in the world. The leaders of tomorrow. The very generation that are going to be policy makers when we're shuffling around some institution hoping that they serve custard with the Rum 'n' Raisin pudding because it makes it easier to chew. What then? Will we have come full circle and be communicating via a series of grunts and vague gestures (with emoticons, obviously...)?
Looks to me as if that has already started. Yes, I know the entire interweblands is full of whingers like me lamenting the death of language, but, like the lobbyists that must go on fighting against the injustices perpetrated daily by governments the world over and particularly by the Belfast City Council, I feel entirely justified in moaning about a lack of grammatically correct conviction. Hemingway would pirouette in his grave.

Do yourselves all a huge favour and go and find a copy of "Vick-Tory to the Underdog", a moving documentary on the plight of the American Pitbull. Here's a preview.

And speaking of ol' Mahatma, here are another 2 nuggets of truth, one describing the situation regarding the execution of Lennox, and one that will hopefully speak to the rabid masses that call for the heads of those involved:

"An unjust law is itself a species of violence. Arrest for its breach is more so."
"An eye for an eye only makes the whole world blind."

Here's another astute observer of the human condition that is oft quoted, for good reason.
NGDG: "Some people have rad celebrity stories. Not me. Although, I was there at the most embarrassing point of Hlomla Dlamini's career (and mine if you count the spandex on national TV), I flicked sashimi on Edith Venter, frightened Barry [Wronger] with a metal tshirt, held William Kentridge's daughter's hair back from her own puke, and was bullied by a TV presenter at school, who's blocked me on FB it seems."

Spread The Love. It'll Save You. [Gira]

SCREAMING MULTIPLE ORGASM

The polar opposite to quickies. "Wham! Bam! Thank you officer!" That's what you're getting today, seeing as I've left it late.

In the more traditional sense I'd usually not even bother because I believe some things are worth doing properly or not at all. Luckily this is a blog. A mere fleeting representation of my mind's perennial meandering and is brought to you by a fascinating, yet equally fleeting series of zeros and ones. Much like the "sex scene" in Demolition Man. Eugh. So none of this matters. (I'll make it up tomorrow I promise. In the meantime are you absolutely one hundred percent positive you're completely up to date with all 305 of my other posts? Huh?)

So as we trudge on through the mire that is this week, let us lift our heads, push our shoulders back, take a deep breath and say "Ag... fuck it."

Which is probably how most quickies start...

NGDG: "One's hair is fairer in infancy. It darkens with time. Like the heart."

Spread The Love. Quickly.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN HEADING

The easiest way to get attention, I've found, is to blather on about boobs. Seems the Universe is full of all sorts of other people willing to blather on about anything. Unfortunately anything usually amounts to nothing more than their own opining or apparently under appreciated virtues.

Today I spent more time on Social Networking than usual (I know, is it even possible?) and I have come to the harrowing, if not entirely unsurprising conclusion, that most people themselves... are utter tits. Today I have seen seemingly intelligent individuals ALL repost the same fucking pictures. ALL of them, Which amounts to my feed being clogged by whatever 9gag brainfart is popular today. Everyone is oh so fucking unique. I tried unsubscribing, but then my feed died...

Anyway, enough of me complaining about other people on the internet, like everyone else does...

Today is a beautiful day. Not in the comfort zone weather sense, as the entire Universe is so quick to point out, but in the wonderfully existential sense. The one that comes with an undulling of senses as I am experiencing today. No hangover to mute the usual weary grating of mankind on my horrified perceptions. No buffer between their incessant mediocrity and my addled brain. Booze continues to prove quite an accomplished barrier between humanity and I. Sometimes too accomplished... Yet somehow I can't help shaking the feeling that I should be grateful for all the sharp new daggers of pain-personified that rain down on me in these brief periods of total lucidity. In that spirit I intend seeing if I can add one more day to my sociopathic sobriety. I'll keep you informed and we'll see how it goes. Or how long before I get homicidal. It's not withdrawal symptoms - it's shutthefuckupbeforeIkillyou symptoms.

Thank God I'm not in tech support.

But having a very necessary shorter attention span today, I managed to come up with the best letter ever - in a conversation I was having with TDB.

B. The best letter is B. B embodies so much of what is good in the world. So many pleasures. So many wonders. So, at the risk of quoting the internet, in no particular order:

Beer, Bacon, Boobs, Braais, Buddies, Bands, Blowjobs, Bosuns, and BC Rich guitars.

Oh, and thank you to every last one of you for reading. We've just hit 25,000. Spread The Love indeed...

NGDG: "Mountains and quaint rural villages are lovely. But what really strikes one while watching Le Tour is how beautifully smooth and maintained the roads are. True, French cars are notoriously moody but even in the industrial zones of the lower Pyrenees, an old woman could navigate her walker without a bump, a rape, a mugging."

Spread The Love. No Holds Barred.

MANICKLED TO MONDAY - NOT IN THE GOOD WAY.

Mondays. The Bangles sang about them. The Boomtown Rats sang about them. They hold a special significance in our subconscious - probably mainly because nothing provides us with more of a sense of camaraderie than collective suffering. And getting out of bed this morning was difficult...

But let's have some perspective here. Too often we malign Monday for the beastly prospect of a week's worth of work associated with it. I found it way more difficult to leave the warm inviting clutched of my bed on Saturday morning. Mainly because the Hot Girlfriend was happily snoozing alongside me. I found it hard to do anything when I woke up yesterday. I was in for'n parts and had a head full of tequila. Temporarily disorientated the first thing I saw upon prising open crusted eyes was Justin Bieber staring down at me with that expression of "I wonder why all the other girls have pubes already - it's just not fair, but I have lots of money, so that's alright plus I'm as dumb as rocks". Scary stuff. There were also the assembled cast of Toilet and various other nefarious creatures threatening me from the walls...

So this morning - at 5am - was a doddle by comparison. Besides, it was adventure time. Tarty Farty Tequila Party and I went for a pre-breakfast constitutional. In my car. Fun times!

Which brings me to the nap I intend having the minute I get home, since my internal clock is now out of whack. On a day like today, lemme tell you, this is going to be the nap to end all naps. Then a spot of light housework to get the blood flowing again before I sit down and make my guitar (and myself) gently weep. You see, I am going to take this rare practice-free opportunity to work on some top secret new material, a challenge that may leave me in frustrated tears. And I only have expensive wine left, so there are aggravating circumstances...

At least I won't have to cook, since I have tons of left overs after last night's winter comfort food epic. There is enough stew to feed the 5000. Perhaps I'll listen to some Crass.

Anyway, I am in a particularly splendid mood today, for those of you that care. Things are looking up and I'm feeling very positive about it all. Not that that isn't usually the case. It's just that today is kind of especially upbeat for me. Well, it is now... Clap hands.

On today's birthday wishing wall we have the ever-beautiful Lisel. Hope you have a wonderful day!
And an extra special shout out to Evie! We love you. We all miss you! And we hope that Bear is making an extra special fuss over you today!
Happy birthday the both of you!

NGDG: "I think I've sprained my finger. What was I doing? Wrestling manta rays? Cage fighting? No. Cutting a piece of cake."

Spread The Love. You Lift Me Above Myself.

SEX AND DRUGS AND WTF!?!?!

Raising the bar on blogging.

Firstly, I would like to address this sudden - and entirely inexplicable - misuse of the term Supergroup. If the current overuse of the word is to be used as the benchmark by which we determine the validity of the term and how it defines the band it refers to, then every single band that exists is a fucking Supergroup. With the exception of those that formed in a garage with no experience between them.

Now please don't get me wrong. I know some of the people in the bands to which I refer. One or two of them might even call me a friend if threatened to do so at gunpoint. My point however, is this: you cannot simply bandy about the term Supergroup because some okes that have all been in other bands before got together to make music. In metal we call that "pooling resources to stay relevant or active". And on the face of it, if the only criteria for being labelled a Supergroup means that everyone in the band has been active previously in a different band, then hell, I've been in a number of Supergroups! In fact, come to think of it one of my bands was labelled a Supergroup even though the bassist was a nobody. I disagreed at the time and I disagree now.

Velvet Revolver - now that's a fucking Supergroup!

Enough from me though. If the transient nature of the music industry demands a reshuffling and repackaging every now and then to keep the punters interested, then so be it...

And in other news, I was watching morning TV (surprisingly, this morning) and they had a feature on drug mules. There are 600 South African citizens behind bars around the world because they were stupid/desperate enough to attempt to cross borders with drugs in their possession/dreadlocks. One was recently executed. Now, crime is always tempting in a "risk vs reward" kind of way, but if I ran a real risk of being killed for my trouble, I'd probably shy the fuck away from the entire ugly business.

Which brings me to the essential problem I have with the whole trade. If you choose to do illegal drugs, I feel that is entirely your prerogative and none of my business. In fact, I have become rather more tolerant of the whole thing, as long as I'm not required to get involved. So the premise is there is a massive demand for drugs the world over, particularly those that are synthesized in laboratory conditions.
Here's the question. If the demand is there, why is the supply not fulfilled inside your own country instead of the hazardous and arduous gefuffle of importing it? The labs required to make anything these days are rudimentary at best and quality control is not exactly high on the agenda when you're cutting it for maximum street value anyway. The technology is as simple as a basic chemistry set and humidity control. I would imagine that it is as risky to operate something like this within your own borders as it is to have someone bring it in at vastly inflated prices. Simple business principles should be applied. Yes, I know someone else is taking the risk on an individual basis when they sidle up to a Customs Officer drenched in sweat with a few condoms worth of coke in their butts, but they're getting paid middle man fees. Anyway, I'm just curious as to why there is such a booming international trade in something that was synthesized using Jik, Mr Muscle Oven Cleaner and Handy Andy in the Cape Flats. Not exactly the headquarters of MENSA either, you'll have to admit.

Anyway, hope you all have a phantazmagorical weekend. I know I am certainly planning to. Tomorrow is a party at that place known as the Tequila Haus And Small Person Emporium. Prepare for some more awkward and embarrassing photographs...

NGDG: "When a beautiful woman runs her hand through your hair, the mature response is not to pull away instinctively. At least I didn't say 'dontouchme'. Maybe she thought I was merely adding good posture to great hair."

Spread The Love. Do It For The Kids.

INTERNATIONAL SEND YOUR BUDDY SOME TITTIES DAY!

Merc: "Mercenary" OR "Mercedes"...

It's the second one! INTERNATIONAL SEND YOUR BUDDY SOME TITTIES DAY, that is. I have no idea how legitimate or valid the date is, but I was sent this today by my friend who likes to wear black dresses, Nyte Roks. What is it with local alternatives and their preference to the word Nyte?

Anyway, it is a delight indeed - a veritably feast for the senses. I would have written eyes, but much like Cleavage Day, we all know it involves a slightly more complex stimulus package. I suppose you're interested to find out exactly what I'm talking about. Here then, without further ado, is today's Gallery o' Mammary. NSFW. Enjoy.

TDB says he knows half of them...

Anyway, today I feel much better than I did yesterday. Yesterday I was a little hoarse, not to mention hung over. Not that Tarty Farty Tequila Party was much help, taunting me for being a light weight and a general p*ssy. But the reason for feeling infinitely better today, other than a lack of Black Label Draft in my diet, is the fact that I've been a-retail-therapyin'. Yup, finally after all these years, I purchased a lovely little audiovisual device which I have had my eye on for ever. Halleloojahs! Not telling what it is though, since I intend surprising one or 2 of you, my gentle readership. Thanks mainly to Commander Conker for facilitating said purchase.

Anyway, today also marks the 3 year anniversary of me officially giving up smoking... and not a moment too soon! What with the government not having anything better to do than come up with exceptionally restrictive tobacco laws and padding their own personal retirement funds, I could have been one of the unlucky ones that is now treated like (more of) a criminal for being within 10m of a restaurant door as they enjoy their post-meal-puff. I can certainly understand that some of the more sensitive (p*ssy) non smokers out there can genuinely be affected if someone in the direct vicinity is "polluting their air" but by and large I think the laws are far too prohibitive, completely over the top, and downright bad for business. Smokers will continue smoking. And in so doing, continue to contribute in a very fiscally tangible way to the swelling of state coffers. The very coffers the incumbents so readily plunder (seems the ONLY thing they apply themselves to with any sort of vigour...)

It's called cutting your nose to spite your own face and is silly.

Once again, why can't humanity just apply some common sense and common courtesy? Why do we only do things that are forced upon us (and only when there is a clear and present threat of not getting away with not doing it)? A little consideration would go a long way.

From both sides.

Now I'm off to consider both sides. If I am to maintain my title as undisputed boob expert (haha! I said "pert". But then I said "ex" as well...) then I have to make sure I regularly brush up on the subject, left AND right. I'm off to see if this Gallery o' Mammary is everything it's expected to be. That sentence sounded like I was channelling a lesbian Barbara Streisand...

And as with any good turn, you, my wonderful online adorers, deserve something nice today. Anyone heard of Metal4Africa? Or the wonderful work they do in the metal community in South Africa (and beyond)? Not least of which is a massive bi-annual festival featuring the best of local talent. The next one is coming up at the end of the month and promises to tear you a new one, were you that way inclined. Winterfest '12 is gonna be magical. And mad. And magnificent! But wait! There's more. You can now download a free sampler featuring all the bands on the bill - how brilliant is that!?!?! If necessity be the mother of invention, then is innovation the sister of a happy pants party?

Oh, and before I forget, Happy happy birthday to our favourite BARRULUS! Have a good one mate!

NGDG: "Baby, turn the lights down low and lay your ass down. I'm trying to watch TV."

Spread The Love. And The Boobie Pictures!

DOUBLE TAP THAT ASS

Double tap. As in "to cap once more". As in "to recap". Ok, you twisted my arm, I'm running out of time and you need to know what went down last night.

Truth is I don't really remember all that much.

I'll tell you this much - Black Label Draft won a resounding victory.

Unfortunately Team Burger King floundered desperately last night, unable to sustain the lofty heights of intellectual super power or hold on to their hard won title without half the team. It was an entertaining evening nonetheless. You'd expect nothing less from Mike LMG Smith and Kevin I'm-a-sadistic-music-clue-guy Winder. I did, however win the first prize of the night - a bag of sweeties for "best chirp".

Reconvening at a bar downstairs after all the pleasantries, I do believe shooters were introduced into the proceedings and that's pretty much all I can tell you, except that a blast was had by all.

Which explains my very short post today. I'm barely able to breathe, let alone capable of cogent thought.

NGDG: "I don't know what's a more terrifying prospect for the future of this country: the ANC's proposed economic revolution, or strip-club king Mike Basson's themed night club, Avastar."

Spread The Love. On Blue People.

THE NEW BLACK

And I'm not talking about the recently empowered and engorged elite running our beautiful country (did I say "into the ground"?" Didn't think so). No, ladies and gentlefolk, I am of course referring to the return of the Main Event. The most important meeting of minds since forever. The single most cohesive collection on thinkers on the planet. Possibly the solution to what ails this withering world of ours...

Yes! Pub Quiz!

As I have explained before, Pub Quiz IS the new black! Tonight the glorious Team Burger King will attempt to defend their title of "Whela Kapela! We've finally won this fucking thing and beat the bastard nerd teams" against such illustrious opposition as The Mad Hatters and others. Failing this of course, we will claim victory in the fact that we are perennial under-achievers and are merely there for the booze and to heckle Mike "Get, get on the mic, get on the mic, Mike" Smith.

In the absence of our 2 star players, The Vi-King and Sheik Yerbouti, who are fixing cars in the Southern Cape, we welcome the better half of the DSW into the fold for the evening and celebrate the even more Burgerness of Team Burger King. All this and a bag of chips tonight! At Mercury! Can't wait. Too long my body has been wracked with the withdrawal symptoms of not enough Black Label Draft. Too long I have woken to feelings of only mild pain and only slightly distorted recollection. Too long have I managed to avoid the deathlike grip of regret that envelops my entire being. Not after tonight!

The inimitable Tarty Farty Tequila Party is picking me up in Basil The Family Saloon And Roadworthy Ruffian and we're going to show them who's boss. Or second in command. Or third...

Oh well, rough day at the office. Should probably wrap this up and get my weary arse home in anticipation of the big night.

NGDG: The phrase "seriously, stop! You're getting too thin." is powerless against the retort, "Poppycock! I want to look like Iggy Pop so I can fit into my see-through PVC trousers."

Spread The Love. And The Lust For Life.

ME SO HORNY

I am excited beyond excitement! I am finally going to watch Manchester United in action. For those of you about to launch into a tirade against United supporters, allow me to say this first. Do not lump me in with the average United fan. I have been loyal to this one team for longer than most of the readers of this blog have been alive. This is really a big deal for me. And the fact that I get to do so with a whole group of mates makes it even better. Even the Chelsea-supporting Hot Girlfriend is going.

That is, of course, if they don't approve the re-appointment of the Cape Town Stadium first. COSATU is calling for it to be converted into low cost housing. Take some time and read that again. COSATU is calling for the Cape Town Stadium to be converted into low cost housing. In the middle of Green Point. In the middle of the great big landscaped park. They actually think this is viable. I blame our non-existent education system. My 6 month old niece has better ideas in her nappy.

And in the glaring absence of an adjacent building, is it not an obvious oversight then to suggest the stadium when there is no place on which to anchor washing lines? The V&A Waterfront is simply too far away. Given the weight of the nylon string and water soaked Antie Miena se panties 'n' jerseys, the clothes will simply hang down to the ground and be stolen by the queues of people waiting outside. You know, the queues of people that actually qualified for the housing after having been on government waiting lists since 1994 but are forced to squat outside the new development because some shady/incompetent bastards have allowed scores of people to move in before construction is completed.

I'm glad to see the destruction of Mariner's Football Club was for such a worthy cause. Do you think the property owners in Mouille Point will qualify for flats there once their land value plummets so low they're also deemed poverty stricken due to outrageous bond repayments that can no longer be met?

At least this way most United fans will already be in the stadium at any given time.

The other option is apparently a shopping complex. As far as I'm concerned the only Game that should be allowed in that magnificent stadium is the beautiful game. Or maybe international rugby...

Anyway, enough ranting for now, it'll probably never happen. COSATU is probably just bored because no one invited them to the ANC policy inventing indaba. Where they sing songs, reword the previous campaigns' empty promises and flick through the 2013 Bentley catalogue.

We had a particularly awesome Sunday Roast yesterday at the home of Commander Conker and Rose Thorn, mainly because it is still the celebration week of Rose Thorn's birthday. Happy happy birthday!
There was even traditional Yorkshire Pudding - perfect!

Why is Gordon Ingesund, Bafana Bafana's new head coach, getting half of what Pitso Mosimane was paid in monthly salary - and less than half of Joel Santana or Carlos Parreira? Is the rest going towards low cost housing?

NGDG: "My rear windscreen needs a stick figure (me) and a little box (the amount of fuck I give about your brats and shopping-bag-laden trophy spouse)."

Spread The Love. Hug The Homeless. They May Just Be Moving In.