Thursday, September 20, 2012


Who farted?

The more pertinent question is "What's eating ME?" Not as in mozzies, or cell mate style. As in who or what is making me upset? I'll tell you! Fucking ETV! That's who!
Imagine my delight - when I sat down with an ice cold beer after some recording work last night - to be greeted by some lame ass movie instead of UEFA Champions League football...
There was a broadcast on Tuesday night, the same as every year since the inception of the tournament, but strangely nothing last night. I suffered through a Chiefs vs Black Leopards game instead. I know I say "local is lekker" when referring to a LOT of things. Football is not one of them.

Anyway, that - and the office computer shitstorm - aside, life is as peachy as it gets. Things are going well on all fronts. Even my lawn is doing well. I am also being forced to take some leave soon, so you'll be bereft of my daily dose of tasteless oikery. To be honest, that's the only reason I come in to work. So that I have access to the internet so I can touch a part of your lives every day.

And at least 39 people jump up from their desks in unison and rush to the bathroom to cleanse themselves...

Also, tonight I have the pleasure of witnessing a performance by the delightful Lucy Kruger as she takes to Mercury's stage to unleash her debut album on an unsuspecting world. If you're in the vicinity, why not try and combat the curse that is Thirsty Thursday and join us for a pint? Apparently the first 100 people through the door get a complimentary Darling Beer, darling. For free. Not a beer that tells you what you want to hear. "Kah-tssssssh! My, but you have beyooootiful, um.. eyes!"

And speaking of incredible vocal talents, I have some news!
It's been a long time coming, but I can now announce that a friend of ours - and honourary White Flip Flopper - has officially joined Swedish Doom Metal band, Draconian. Congrats all round and we're all very proud of you, Nancy Sin Atra!

*cough* TOUR! *cough* Ashes At My Grave *cough*

And if you haven't realized yet, then you should be shot. Dead. In the ear holes. If you're anywhere near the South Coast go and catch Shannon Hope, as she stops off at a town near you, sharing her magical music, her heartfelt songs and her heavenly voice with anyone lucky enough. It is an empirical fact that not one person has ever seen her perform and not become an instant fan, if not a disciple! Yes. THAT amazing. Details of her current tour here.

And on that erm.... note, have a wonderful evening, all.

NGDG: I've attempted to update my status at least six times but didn't 'post' because Ionescu in-jokes interest only me, bitching about work will only get me into trouble, being honest will lose me friends, and posting something real would mean I'd have to kill you and I can't afford a lawyer any more than I can sufficiently uglify myself to survive jail.

Spread The Love. Can You Also Suddenly Hear Air Supply?

Tuesday, September 18, 2012


Pic by Andrey Razoomovsky - used without permission.
Couldn't get hold of him.

Congratulate me! Or rather, congratulate the Hot Girlfriend, who has now officially managed to put up with my shit and my schedule for exactly a year. And a day, if you're feeling pedantic. Yes folks, yesterday was our official one year anniversary and day on which it was completely excusable to make squishey, sickening declarations of affection to each other in public.

Which we already did on Sunday when we drove to Hout Bay for ice cream.

And then we stayed in yesterday. Much bubbly, flowers, and chatting was the prelude to the romantic candlelit dinner which awaited us. I did the cooking, but it was well worth it. Bring on the mind bending bottle of fine wine and the evening was a roaring success. Happy daze indeed! And it keeps getting better. Evidence that she has a very open sense of humour and a tether without end. Happy anniversary, lovie!

A few days before all the lovie-dovey schmaltz that went down yesterday, we had a braai at my house for all the members of the White Flip Flop Brigade, otherwise known as the officially recognised aficionados of Doom Metal. We gathered so that we could all watch the footage of the Symphonaire Infernus show we did in April. Clearly speed or urgency are not very important commodities in the land of the Flip Flop. We braaied and debated and listened to classic Doom albums and drank enough to resubmerge the Titanic. I know, I had to clear the glass and can debris the next day. Anyway, yet another roaring success and a lot of fun.

Tonight I have a work function. And by that I mean the office is being taken to some fancy ass restaurant in the Waterfront by one of the bigwigs from our London office - whoohooo!
I've decided to go dressed as a funeral Viking. I wonder how he'll respond...

So. It's been a glorious few days, and I have every reason to be sitting here with my face split in 2 and my pearly whites near blinding my colleague. That is of course, until you take stock of the world around you and realise that everything is fucked. The politicos are making full use of the travesties perpetrated in our land and the daily struggle of life at the bottom of the food chain to perpetuate their own agendas. No surprises there, but it is actually disgraceful. Heynke Meyer is raising the question of whether or nor P Div should have been left in charge. Personally I think they should just have paid P Div to assume a figurehead appointment, paid Jake White to do the real coaching in closed sessions and paid Ryan Seacrest to be the offical coaching staff spokeswanker - as long as he promised to represent the cross section of franchises selected and wear a pink outfit.

However. The surest sign that we are in fact at the End Of Days is that DrHellCuz has allowed a woman into his life. Not only has he gone back on the founding principle of a burning hatred for EVERYONE, but he even allowed that shit to go all FaceBoobs official. Oh how the mighty have fallen! (Says he who is smooching his girlfriend online for all to see...)

NGDG: Folks who complain about poor spelling on the internet should be grateful that wonderful words of olde haven't had a resurgence of popularity, like moreish and comely.

Spread The Love. Become Like Us...

Friday, September 14, 2012


As opposed to "commando". I hear it's liberating.
Another thing I hear is liberating is a change. As good as a holiday some say. So I thought I'd speculate on a change in what I do for a living.

Professional striker sounds like just the ticket - I'll attach myself to whatever high profile strike is on the news at the time, stand at the back of the crowd so I don't have to toyi-toyi, spend lunch sleeping under a tree and get a massive raise. And goodness knows there are more than enough strikes going on continually. It's the only growing industry left in South Africa and I for one am quite excited at the prospect of some light dancing and destruction of public property resulting in an ever increasing income flow. Us South Africans really are "glass half full types"!

Coz you gotta get your chips up.

Coz our dear buddy and resident Lothario - the one that likes him a shoot out at the OK kraal - Prez 4 Lifebouy, yesterday explained democracy quite succinctly during a parliamentary session: The majority has more rights than the minority. By definition. Because they are the majority. And the minority, because they are less, have less rights. Than the majority. Who are more. So they have more rights. Now, unless he is talking very literally about hands or feet, I fear that he has just let the cat out of the bag. The cat that - smiling like it's originally from Cheshire - simply doesn't give enough of a fuck anymore to disguise the contempt in which we, the citizens, are held.

And.then.there.are.the.dumbfuck.halfwits who don't know about fake shit on the intrawebnets. Apparently intelligent people who insist on reposting old, tired, fake, trolled bullshit and in so doing perpetuating falsehoods and inflaming opinionated rhetoric just because they are too lazy or too ignorant to make sure that whatever sensationalist bullshit they're regurgitating is for real. Some days I just can't believe that people I know - who wouldn't buy the Heat Magazine, or Die Son for that matter - would lower themselves well beyond the online equivalent. It boggles the mind. Mind you, if like the TV, the internet says it's true, then it must be so...

Anyway, we're getting off topic here. I was talking about becoming a professional striker. Alas, I spent my entire childhood playing amateur club football as a defender and my most memorable moment was running onto the field at Hartleyvale 3 minutes into the game because I was so nervous for the cup final that I had to make a quick pooh first. We won eventually. Maybe I should have thought of adopting that as an idiosyncratic ritual. I'd probably have scored more that the princely total of 5 (including a hat tirck and an own goal) goals in ten years. Ah, if only. I hear professional strikers get paid top dollar. And they, like our local workforce, are permanently getting raises. I just don't know if I can get that level of immature petulance down. I'd need acting classes.

[Disclaimer: for those of you among my vast, erudite, and respectful readership that recognise this post for what it is, I sincerely hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have suffered, often on the brink of personal sacrifice, to bring it to you. But please, for the love of all things holy, unholy, or just plain "couldn't care either way", do NOT read anything prejudiced into any of the above. Do NOT indulge your trigger-finger inclinations to make any sort or sympathetic (leave the "sym" out if you so wish) racist remark, pro or con. You will be deservedly told to fuck off. Politely. After we all point and laugh at you until we find something more amusing. Like paint.]

NGDG: It's been a long day. Kick off those shoes and do a hopscotch in your steamy socks on the cool laminate flooring. See the footprints? Like a dance-instruction chart. Everyone needs a little tango in the evening.

Spread The Love. Hou My Vas Of Ek Skop n Goal.

Thursday, September 13, 2012


Remember nagging your folks in the days when people still packed their cars full of children, frikkadels, hard boiled eggs and a flask of coffee? My little sister (and the other half of the magnificent DSW) was known to utter "How many more kimmoliters to go?" plaintively. And ad nauseum. Personally I think she just did it to see my mother's ire rise quietly as we bounced through the Karoo.

Yes, the Karoo. A hotbed of speculation and the centre of the fracking debate. Regardless of how harmful or not harmful it is going to be in the long run, I can't help but get the feeling that the stake holding parties are being rather hesitant to allay fears. They have chosen to focus more on the "positive spin" of alleged job creation and contribution to the GDP - a sure sign that not all is kosher. I don't have the time to go and read in every fine detail the procedure and ramification - especially environmental concerns - but I do know this. If some fat cat motherfucker is motivating a proposal to do something that someone closer to the situation is up in arms about, it's generally bad news. So - for the sake of adding my voice to the many vociferous detractors - for once - FRACK OFF!

Has anyone heard of Septembeard? It's like Mo'vember, only more lumberjack and less paedophile. The look at any rate, not the cause, which is supposedly also to do with eradicating prostate cancer and the need for anal probes. Unless you're Cartman. It's ironic that, in the case of so many absolute douchebags, men around the world now get a chance to protect their sphincters by growing facial hair...

And speaking of beards. And now we're talking of BEARDS, why not take a virtual stroll over to Metal4Africa and find out what the MEN from Juggernaught are up to in this exclusive interview. Apparently they're bringing the meat back, what ever that could mean. All I can think is that someone finally had the sense to take a rifle to Lady Gaga and managed to escape with the back part of her dress before the Hollywood media hyenas ripped the still warm carcass apart.

And speaking of musical behemoths, another monumentally bright star is once again performing her acclaimed set of shimmering songs right here in the Western Cape! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the wonderful, warm and witty Shannon Hope is here this week to share her solemn siren songs with you. And with no small dose of grace and bewildering beauty. Check out the touring schedule for her current outing alongside guitar legend Dan Patlansky and get your soon-to-be-mesmerised arse on over to a show that's guaranteed to leave you breathless.

And a very happy birthday to Florence Nightingale! Happy happy! Bake away!

NGDG: "We saw some of the para-Olympic athletes" she said and everyone thought it was marvellous. I sniggered because it was a perfect set-up for: the rest of them were in their suitcases.

Spread The Love. Sha'monne!

Wednesday, September 12, 2012


So today I learned a lot about back up protocol and the possibilities involved with the industry of data recovery. To fill you in (he said in his sexiest faux-Spanish, all-cheese accent) I am no IT Guy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But the people I work with are even more technotarded than I, leaving me to glean knowledge from hastily typed Skype conversations, cries for help over a telephone and in extreme emergencies, my own trial and error. Mainly error...

So today when the shit hit the fan good and proper, the IT bar was raised well beyond my meagre level of expertise. To cut a long story very, very short: there were tears, there were anguished wails, there were frantic phone calls and there was me. Having to deal with it all. I left.

When I got back I called the first data recovery service I could find using good ol' Google and they assure me the problem will be looked at, and probably solved, tomorrow. I need a beer...

Anyway, the plumbing issues at my residence still have not resolved themselves. Armed with a brand new hose, I proudly strode into the kitchen ready to Tim Allen the fuck out of the dishwasher connection. An hour, a lot of swearing and some beer breaks later I felt confident enough to turn the water back on. Blasted pipe had a leak. If it had been my fault I think I would have gone insane. Luckily it was a manufacturing fault and I was able to replace it today. I'm not sure if my frazzled nerves have the fortitude required for that operation again today. I think I'll just stick with the beer and wash everything by hand for the next while.

Sorry, like the corrupt drive, my brain is absolutely fried. So if I seem like I'm rambling, please just go with it.

Ok, that's it. I've been sitting here staring like a cerebrally challenged Paris Hilton impersonator for a few minutes and I'm tapped out.
Tonight it's band practice again, at least there's that to look forward to.


NGDG: Small mercies #353: not being the owner of the car upon which bricks rain down from the demolished complex wall where a drunk driver slams to a stop.

Spread The Love. Like The Kids Of Today Say. Back Up! Back Up!

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


...three to get ready...
...Oh for fuck's sake!

Inspired by Elvis. If obese, sweaty druggies barely capable of operating the most basic of their own bodily functions is your thing...

So today is the anniversary of the atrocities committed on 9/11. Without going into the world of conspiracy theory, I find myself asking this question: Would religious zealots have allegedly bombed American strategic targets if America had just left them and their oil rich land alone? Did they not consider the possibility of reprisal from the greatest military might ever assembled under one flag? Seems a little short sighted to me... Also, if you're going to pay tribute or respect today, it's about the victims and not about whodunnit. Many, many real people lost their lives because one group or the other designated them expendable. I don't know who did it. To be quite honest I am not sure if anyone will ever find out. But hear this. Whoever it was, I hope and wish with all my heart and soul that there is a hell of unspeakable suffering and torture and that you have secured yourself a one way ticket. Do not pass begin. Do not pass the Pearly Gates. Do not get 72 Virgins. There. That about covers it.

To heap misery onto tragedy, last night a water pipe burst in my kitchen. Thank goodness I was awake and able to deal with it quickly. Thank goodness the Hot Girlfriend grabbed every towel to staunch the flow down the passage towards the studio. Thank goodness it isn't funny seeing a slipper and dressing gown clad metal head down on all fours on the driveway turning off a stopcock. Make of that sentence what you will.

In breaking news: Prez 4 Lifebouy has gone and made another jaw dropping utterance. Between pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose continuously in a barely veiled middle finger fuck you (trademark stuff, that. I wonder if Mugabe's jealous) Zuma maintains lack of service delivery is apartheid's fault. I also want a nice fresh 18 year old democracy to fuck until it can't take any more. On your knees South Africa!

So let's see, all good things come in fours. According to me anyway. What could today dish up to complete the set?
Let's make it All Fours Tuesday! Ah yes! That's it! Some utter pillock over at EMI records has given the go ahead for a record to be released featuring the classical music that apparently inspired the literary monument that is 50 Shades Of Grey. Chosen by the author herself. Probably because these pieces of music have some subliminal message about throbbing thrill hammers or whatever kak it's supposed to be about. Personally, I'd have taken some nice 70s wah-infused disco lite, but I suppose that's like real porn, so isn't appropriate.

At least there are some cool birthdays today. Happy birthday to The Big Cheese and MNL. Hope you both have a day filled with all the things you love!

NGDG: If someone likes you, sleep with their friends. That soon puts an end to that nonsense, in my experience.

Spread The Love. Fuckin' All Fours Tuesday!

Monday, September 10, 2012


Jumping Jews Of Jerusalem! What a weekend! I hope the rest of you managed to make it. I almost didn't.

Friday started with a visit to the Hot Girlfriend's place, seeing as it was all systems go for studying this weekend and I was going to be left to fend for myself. Then off to the house of TDB and MeSwifty for a braai aimed at welcoming back R Kelly The Sound Engineer, who has been convalescing in Pertorier. Also in attendance were a number of the usual suspects, including Timmeeeeeh! and The Eloper. And their better halves in some circumstances. There was even salad. There was also a lot of happy chatting and cold beverage consumption - just the way I like it. Happy days.

Saturday was one of those "where am I?" moments to start off with, as I woke up in the execu-suite (also known as the spare room). A quick drive home and back to bed. Then a hearty breakfast consisting mostly of grease and cholesterol and I was ready to head out to the main event. Tarty Farty Tequila Party had organised a pub crawl for her birthday. It was in the theme of The Amazing Race. Not the most engaging fare on the telly, but a wonderfully novel concept when you are yourself participating.

So after a quick lunch with Rose Thorn, who had very graciously agreed to pick me up, we sauntered off to the starting point, Perseverance Tavern. The usual bunch of miscreants greeted us with the usual level of "drinking in the sun happiness". A quick pint for luck and we then drew names from a "hat" to figure out random team selection. I was, quite naturally, on Team Black Label. So was The Dean, Slappy, Up Side Down Girl, Tube Screamer, our captain for the day Shades Of Grey's Anatomy, and of course Animal from the Muppets. We all got onto a party bus and were whisked off, beer in hand, to the first of our pub stops. At each stop we had to figure out 2 questions - the answer to the first going onto the answer sheet and the answer to the second resulting in a clue to the next destination. So off to &Union at a combination of gallop, stroll and much backwards jogging exhorting we went. We got there first! For every "leg" the team arriving there first gets a designated round for free. So it was with some smug satisfaction that we watched, as 15minutes later, team Hansa came trundling in, red with exertion and promptly left as they saw us enjoying our reward! Pity they were such bad sports about the whole affair, as I believe the idea was for everyone to join in and have a drink at every stop...
So obviously they beat us to the next stop, the Irish Pub O'Dricoll's and won themselves a pint of the Black Stuff each. Which they very unsportingly shared with us to buy some time, otherwise it would have been leapfrog from there on in. They also got to the next stop, Slug & Lettuce marginally ahead of us, but this time, very sportingly decided to stay and enjoy a drink, giving over their slender lead to the deserving Champions. We got to Roxy's roughly an hour and a bit before they even open. That's how well the race was going! Eventually collecting our round of victory Springbokkies, everyone settled in and ordered some drinks and food, happy for the temporary respite from being cajoled along by the more competitive among us. Or so we thought. THAT team of cheating buggers snuck off without anyone noticing and edged us to the final pitstop, Kimberley Hotel. Successfully having completed the team task of downing Bergie Bombs and handing in our final answer sheets, we could finally relax. The competition was over and now the name calling could commence in earnest. It did. At DecoDance Pool Bar. Mostly from my belligerently drunk mouth to the procession of "grootbek" challengers who - one after the other - slunk away from the pool table with their defeated tails between their legs. I'm famous for that shit.

And eventually onto Percies again for the dinner and cake and pressies and shots and speeches. Well, I speeched. Standing on the table. There were balloons. The cake was made out of tequila...

To Tarty Farty Tequila Party - what a magnificent event! Happy Birthday - we all love you, you certifiable loon! And to Team Black Label - congratulations on a well fought, much deserved and in no small measure foregone conclusion victory! Group hugs, high fives and a happy dance!

And the biggest moment of the weekend was the radiant smile! I'm glad it's back!

NGDG: In the movies writers always sit hunched by a fire, swigging whiskey while setting their manuscripts aflame in a hearth. Dumping the whole derivative mess in the sink works just as well. And you get to strangle your dreams as it were as you wring the wet from the pulpy mess.

Spread The Love. Does Anyone Remember The Balcony Scene In 'Tomcats'?

Friday, September 7, 2012


He of the explosively bedraggled coif and the slashed in distracted anger lipstick. He of the subtle whimsy and the anguished vitriol. (No one in this world does spitting, loathing spite quite like him). He of the oversized clobber and shy, but sharp, introspection.

He - even if it was one of his schmaltzier moments - on 1992's album 'Wish', gave us the instant radio hit and weekend classic 'Friday I'm In Love'. You don't even have to like the Cure to have sung that song quietly to yourself while counting down to the weekend on a Friday afternoon.

So. It's Friday. I also happen to be pretty much head over heels. I don't think people should shy away from expressing their feelings, heaven knows I don't usually. Probably why I can't seem to convince people I'm actually quite a cool guy. Really. I promise. Anyway, I have an amazing girlfriend and I love her very much. So whela! And it's not like I need to make up for something I fucked up or anything. I just feel like saying it!

Anyway, tonight we braai! Yes, yet another couple has floundered from the nest in the bosom of The Mother City and fallen head first in the guano that is Table View's sprawling suburban wasteland and soul vacuum. It really is a very nice house, it must be said. Apparently TDB has "scooped everything out well" and this is supposed to convince me to climb into their jacuzzi...

Tomorrow, would you believe it, Tarty Farty Tequila Party celebrates another year on this earth, and in some style too! We all have to convene at an undisclosed location in time to be whisked away by bus to another secret place. We then draw to decide on teams and embark on an afternoon of frivolity and boozing - The Amazing Race style Pub Crawl. Fuck, I love my life! I imagine this will involve clues to the next watering hole, challenges and prizes. I hope everyone comes armed to the teeth with cameras. I'm taking my Swiss Army Knife and a small Cape Coloured phrase translation book in case we need directions.

Speaking of, does anyone remember an expose on the telly once about the homeless in Cape Town? In one scene this one gentleman was informing the other equally motherless gentleman the well known and well worn phrase "Jou ma'e pu mah bru!" It was very hard to understand these guys as the speech was heavily slurred and the broadcaster would probably have raised nary an eyebrow if they hadn't included subtitles in the program. Seriously! "Your mother's c***, my brother!" In all its glory! Without the little Scope stares!

And on that sufficiently salacious note, have a good 'un!

NGDG: So the shatons notices that the shitters get shat on by the really big shits and when the chief executive shits come to visit Neal gets a shot to shoot the shit with them. Weird and frightening conversation that leaves them convinced I'm a business maverick or a nepotistee.

Spread The Love. C'mon! It's Friday!

Thursday, September 6, 2012


Working truly is the curse of the drinking classes. I think it's high time I moved in on a career in politics. They really seem to have it all worked out.

Well, it's a lovely Thursday afternoon here in the Mother City (best Charles Fortune voice) and it's almost time to bugger off. Perhaps I'd be more suited to professional beach bum than duly elected criminal. But that's just a pipe dream. Yet another promising career option flushed down the uncorrugated privy due to my fair skin.

Speaking of careers, I studied for a very long time. The net result was a very larney degree in something highly respected and potentially very lucrative. Do not be fooled. I simply enjoyed student life too much. It afforded me all the time in the world to pursue my one true love, music. In highschool this would have been that other girl, but that's a whole other story. Anyway, I was lucky enough to be in a number of bands. Some people even remember them. Even if my dear ol' Mum never quite got to grips with the teething stages of my self taught guitaring or my more questionable musical influences.

So guess where I end up. Over qualified. Under experienced. And the bottom of the new dispensation's totem pole. This seems to be a current bone of contention among those fortunate enough to own computers and have the intrawebnets. It's been going on since the previously repressed of our brethren were given the opportunity to exact some form of redress. I am no bleeding heart, but the nature of humankind is hardly such a puzzling mystery. We live on a continent (and I daresay in a world) where atrocities far worse than the Employment Equity Act are carried out with carpet bombing monotony. Imagine being a middle class urbanite in Syria. "Oh fuck! We've got oil! Quickly, the Americans are coming!"

I'd say that we still have it pretty good, and whilst I empathise with everyone who opposes this nonsense on principle, I think it's a prudent idea to take a step back, utter the stress relieving phrase "whoooosah!", find out all the facts, form an educated opinion, vote with your feet and thank Heaven that you don't have to live in war torn regions, or even worse, Australia. You are in the enviable position of still being able to find gainful employment outside of the corporate sector, which is where all these evils lurk.

And always remember, if you are going to vote with your feet, do so fairly and consistently. Investigate where Fruit & Veg source their orange "close to extinction" fish. Find out if the clothes you wear are made in Oriental sweat shops. Do research on the lifestyle afforded the cow that gave its life for your shoes, jacket or steak.

Now imagine a white cashier at your local leading chainstore. You'd be secretly bemused or surprised wouldn't you?
Thought so...

This world is sick. It is overpopulated and everyone is in a mad, avaricious frenzy to literally squeeze blood from stone. There isn't enough to go around and it's starting to show. So instead of taking up a crusade, live like it's your last day on Earth.

Dance like no one is watching.

And fuck like you're being filmed.

NGDG: I absolutely loathe having to do even a meagre smidgen of work on a weekend. It brings back the misery of Sunday homework, without the benefit of instructional clarity. I probably don't have Mnet because subconsciously I can't abide the Carte Blanche jingle either.

Spread The Love. Shop Where South Africa Shops, m'kay?

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


Not to be confused with "moederloos" which is more often than not the case. No, today I lament the fact that I have to deal with such royal every day wankery. I have on many occasions before commented on how much I loathe personal admin. The grooming part I can handle - it's all the envelopes I get in the post that get me down.

Anyway, besides the droves of bandwagon passengers making their voices so vociferously heard against the despicable hiring practises of dear ol' Woolies from the safety of their office chairs, often also from behind the protective veil of a silly nick name, I am now also the victim of a rather large Municipal blunder. And I shudder to think what's in store for me when I pick up the phone and make any form of query. I already know the answer. My rates bill has been very badly miscalculated and has resulted in a monstrous amount due - one that I fucking flat out refuse to pay out of principle. However, they in their infinite wisdom, are going to insist on me settling the bill before attacking the problem with their 10 thumbs - half of which will no doubt be firmly lodged in their inept arses. I do not want to go to jail, but the chances of me maintaining a dignified level of decorum and not being tempted to turn to violence are slim indeed. I don't know if I have what it takes to get this resolved. That probably explains why I've been putting off the inevitable confrontation...

It's all fun and games 'til it's your turn.

Then there was the [insert noun describing an individual whose actions usually relate to pleasuring men with their mouth] in traffic this morning. I must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Usually I don't react with such voluminous expletives, but this oke was something else. He practically forced me into a 4m high solid concrete wall because he was too eager for that much cherished spot where I would have integrated into the flow of traffic. He clearly didn't agree with my remonstration.

And since that, there has been a steady procession of dickholes traipsing through my space all day, not doing my mood any good. Not to mention an insurance company that has mistakenly double charged me 2 months running. We'll see how long that takes to be sorted out.

At least I have a superawesome band rehearsal to look forward to this evening. Heaven help us all if someone contrives to fuck with that...

Don't even get me started on the motherfuckers that insist on fuelling the fires of idiocy on the Ramfest page. Let it be. You have a choice. Supply and demand. You are but one of many, many thousands. Most of whom do not share your oh-so-exquisite-and-unique taste. Take it as a compliment and concentrate your amazing super powers on something positive.

And a very happy birthday to Snottie and Big Wally! Hope both of you party like it's 1999! With some red balloons for good measure. Hope the year ahead is filled with all manner of wonder for both of y'all.

NGDG: I need oven gloves like Mitt Romney needs a beatdown.

Spread The Love. Shoplifters Of The World, Unite And Take Over.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012


Nothing like the electric train set I had as a kid, which was admittedly somewhat lacking in the variety of tracks department, but more an observation on myself. When thinking of what to write (you know, sometimes simply reporting the events of a often mundane life just doesn't cut it) I have often come up blank. When pressed to find something of interest on which to make comment, most times the only thing that pops up is "Boobs". Or "Music". I think we've just covered - with some finality - the sum of my interests.

Ok, so I'll report on the last few days if you insist. On Friday I went to watch a couple of metal bands tear shit up at ROAR. Hellucifix were lucky enough to be on while I wasn't altogether black out drunk and so they get a mention. My old friend, the Tubthumping Trance DJ, pounded the skins like the old pro he is, having been involved in the metal scene since before most of you had pubes. Good to see him on the throne again doing his thing! Also, their cover of Sabbath's Warpigs was a thing to behold and experience. And was missed by the real Warpig... Wonderful!

Through the evening I had the good fortune to be in the company of some great people. I distinctly remember Oom Ben, another drumming demon getting firmly behind the gathering momentum that was my leglessness. Thanks for the shots, my good man, we'll do it again soon. Only this time I think I should get in a few rounds...

I waltzed in the street. Waltzed!

Saturday night was the trip out to Brass Bell for a birthday party. But not before I had the pleasure of yet another run in with the growing ineptitude so pervasive in our society. After hanging around on the forecourt of my local petrol station for 5 minutes (when I was younger and there were no locks on the pumps it was a lot more fun) before being served by the most vacant soul this side of Paris Hilton. I left almost half an hour later after watching in astonishment and growing disbelief as the cashier attempted to get my card to "work". My outrage was met with the bovine gaze of one with no interest in helping, much less what the fuck is going on. After an irate call (finally) to an absentee manager, I left without paying. They still haven't contacted me to arrange payment. Business today, eh...
Moving on to the main event. As usual the birthday girl's boyfriend was delightfully drunk by the time we got there and provided many happy hours of entertainment. He was ably assisted by a barely coherent local kreef fisherman and later an ungracefully aging trannie. Sorry, she was technically a woman, but only by a whisker. Not counting her libido, which was the human equivalent of a Maltese Poodle on Viagra but, I imagine, had some Tim Burtonesque cobwebs on display. Urgh. Mental picture...

Then Sunday arrived, and with it an apocalyptic hangover courtesy of Black Label Draft. The Hot Girlfriend mentioned, not once, not twice, but ALL DAY, that she was never drinking again. She did qualify the statement by adding the words "Black", "Label" and "Draft" every time she uttered the sentence, thank goodness. We braaied. A lot. I stood outside and drank beer while she stayed inside and kept the bed warm. Fire. It has a certain mesmerising charm.

Anyway, yesterday was thankfully uneventful, so here we are. Hope you have a fantastic day, all. Go and listen to Shannon Hope's single 'Being Brave'. It's the best way to become one of the cool kids. The ones in the know. Hurry. Also, go and order the Anathema album 'Weather Systems'. You will then own the best collection of music known to man. And by man I obviously mean me. And I am a total dick about music, so you have to trust that I know more than you. Or that my taste is superior. Hehehe.

When I'm not motherless. Then it's all Green Jelly and daft eighties classics. Ever Rick-Rolled yourself?!

NGDG: Favourite new find. Janis Ian. I only listen to aggressive evil stuff in my car. At home, I demand chilledness. With a modicum of sadness.

Spread The Love. Don't Be Scared.