ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...

...contrary to popular belief, is not my two front teeth.

There are a number of things. Mostly things that didn't make it onto a wishlist - as gift buying, much to my disappointment - has been severely curbed this year.
Some of the things I want can't be bought. Even some of the tangible items are usually a bit too rare to find easily. But here goes anyway...

• I want the Grinches to give Christmas back. I love Christmas and the magical veneer of hope and generosity it instills in even the most pessimistic of people.
• I'd like me some World Peace. Real, actual, non-hippy end to the incessant fight for domination of others.
• More birth control.
• An end to abuse. Abuse of power. Sexual abuse. Domestic abuse. Most of all abuse to animals.
• I want my friends back - too many are scattered across the globe.
• I'd like Cape Town back - the tourists are already making it unbearable, and that's just on the roads.
• I hope that more and more people find love.
• I wish for the friends of mine involved in making music to enjoy the success they deserve. This includes the friends involved in my various projects as well.
• I want the pain from the sunburn on my knees to stop.
• I would love the superpower of "no hangovers" and an unlimited supply of Johnny Walker Black Label.
• Less restrictive laws regarding exposed boobs.
• All programme directors should be subjected to their own playlists and forced to endure the same hell as radio listeners.
• An end to celebrity obsessed society and more recognition for real artists.
• A black Audi A3.
• More time for renovations.

Modest hopes, I'll grant you, but they're mine.

Here is wishing all of you a wonderful festive season and may all your wishes come true in a prosperous New Year. Thank you all for taking the time to read the criminally crap tirades, stories and reviews.

NGDG: Over a dozen presents wrapped. Were their recipients good? Am I feeling festive? Who cares? Finally, my home is free of all that Avon shit. There are bottles of mens stink left. They're so weak I could give them to the homeless as cocktails.

Spread The Love. Merry Christmas!

FOREVER REMAIN

Thanks Sid!

Only people with the most exquisite music taste will get the reference. But really. It's for all my friends (well, three of them...) who have a strange tentacle fantasy thing happening. And it's Christmas. According to Shoprite and Canal Walk, it has been since Easter.

And as I do every year, I have compiled, because you, my dear beloved reader cannot possibly be expected to keep up with all my mindless drivel, a best of. Below is a list of posts I've made throughout the year, reflecting the least pointless. This is not a statistically correct list. It is not derived from number comparison. Rather it is my own favourites. And since I win 'Narcissist Of The Year' every year, it's reasonably accurate. (Don't tell my dad, I hate it when he gloats.)

Here. It's me. Filling your stocking:

1. Yet another opinion on the current state of the music industry.
2. Priscilla, Queen Of The Desserts.
3. Tattoos 'n' shit.
4. Now I Wanna Be Your Dog!
5. Bad day at the office.
6. Menage a trois.
7. How to be less like you.
8. Bergie business boom!
9. You will have great sex with a gorgeous person forever and ever
10. Sixty-nine! Sixty-nine! Sixty-nine!
11. On Defecation Boulevard!
12. The only REAL Scandal in this country is the soap opera by that name.
13. Penniless for your thoughts.
14. I should have treated Kulula like the Porta-potty it is...
15. NOT a phrase I heard in high school.
16. Beggars Banquet.
17. In which Will Smith punches an alien.
18. Lolcats is not a Cure song.
19. Sonic Tonic for the tone deaf.
20. Why so serious?
21. I predict a riot.
22. Michael Stipe is a visionary.
23. A silly way to use the C-word whilst not using the C-word.

See, I would have made it a nice even 24 - 2 for every month of the year - but I'm not quite convinced I have finished writing Top 24 material just yet for the year. So I'm leaving a space open for one more doozie! The rest all get "Participant" rosettes.

NGDG: Pet hate # 4 (I'm not a hateful person so it barely runs to double digits): chilling on Facebook at night and folk take your being online as an invitation to call or message you.

Spread The Love. Not The Cheeks. Well...

BOOTY CALL

Wow. Been away for some time now again. Seems my writing - or at least my motivation to write - is now more in tune with the phases of the moon than my nutritional requirements. Also, it may have to do with the fact that I am still obstinately offline when not at the office. I lie. I find myself getting more and more involved with my smart phone. I'm continually impressed by her features and her astounding ability to entertain me on the toilet. That is, of course, between the mirthful machinations of one David Thorne.

One such feature that recently impressed is the video recording. In a symbolic gesture no doubt mirroring my future, I handed all my valuables to The Hot Girlfriend. With the request to please record video for at least one of the songs I was about to perform. What I got back was amazing. My pocket-calculator-moonlighting-as-a-glass-snooker-table actually takes better video than some of the cameras we had scattered around the event.

I'm trying ever so subtly to tell you I played a show last week. Two, actually. The first was the (you have no idea how) long awaited launch of my main band SUBVERS. It has been a million years in the making and finally we were able to share our music with the brave crowd that made it through the daunting Madiba traffic. To everyone who came out to share this occasion with us, thank you! We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. [*A large portion of relief also contributed to our afterglow...]
Judging by the after show drinkfest that lasted (for some) until 5am, on a school night, it was a success all round. I certainly can't wait to do it all again, especially for those of you who weren't able to make it. Catch us at Metal4Africa's Summerfest '14.
Also, a huge thank you to Paul Bothner Music and Mercury Live. Without their continued and very kind support many a live act would not be where they are today.

And then there was Symphonaire Infernus II, the labour of love in which we present Doom Metal classics close to our collective little black hearts. I had tonnes of fun! As much fun as a boy can have with his pants still on. A particular highlight for me was being able to perform VOD's classic 'If I Had A Soul' sharing a stage with the band's original drummer, Paul Blom. It was an honour. Also to Mein Sohn, thanks for all the help! You fucking rock!

Anyway, not to be too much of an arse about it, but I am glad that the media circus surrounding Tata Madiba's passing seems to have come to somewhat of a halt. I truly believe that the man and his legacy should be celebrated forever, but the fashion in which far too many opportunistic vultures treated the entire affair left much to be desired. Clearly what the man achieved in his life has had a profound impact on us all. And if anything, let his passing at least have opened some peoples' blinkered eyes to the gross ineptitude and scandalously transparent inability to give a fuck of our beloved ruling party. I quite liked the way the "Booze For Zuma" campaign backfired, though...

Anyway, it's the final slog. For some, the holidays have already started. I know a certain Princess Pants who is pleased as punch to be here in Cape Town. Her home. Far away from the murky drudgery of the Big Shitty. Next to LordDoom. She makes him cheerful. It's something we're all still getting used to. We braaied there last night. On a school night. I'm not capable of much today other than following the cricket and longing for a swift, painless death.

And on that note, adios muchachos. We're already 2 overs in.

NGDG: Saw a guy at the mall in his EFF beret, all pilled and fluffy. I've seen Ramones merchandise with better durability. Not that I advocate anyone promoting the Ramones in public.

Spread The Love. What Would Tutu Do?

PROJECTILE PANTIES

Much like the insults and boos flung in the direction of Zuma, it is THAT time again!
The time to divest yourself of your saucy undergarments and fling them onto a stage in an uncontrollable fit of hormonal lust and in-the-moment insanity. Scream if you like...

Yup. It is here! Bigger than the World Cup and without all that unnecessary and undignified falling about. Tomorrow night the likely lads of SUBVERS will give you a show the likes of which you haven't seen in a long time - if ever. I must cut myself short here. Before I get too carried away with shameless self promotion and miss the point of today's post. And that point is just BE THERE.

If you miss out, you can't go back. You will forever be that guy that couldn't make it and regrets it for the rest of his miserable life. Don't give your friends ammunition to gloat. You know the very quality of your future existence depends on it. Don't be foolish. Don't be lazy. Don't leave your happiness to chance. Don't resign yourself to a life of regret. This is your chance to be part of history.

So do yourself a favour. Go out and buy yourself something nice to wear. Spoil yourself this festive season. Take your time. Doll yourself up for the most important night out of the year. Make sure you have enough money for the bar. Remember to pack in clean underwear. And treat yourself to a bit of SUBVERS...

Here's a little taster. Our online demo 'Flatline'. Enjoy...

NGDG: Thailand's prime minister is called Yingluck. Reminds me of Nigeria's Goodluck, or our own - Shitouttaluck.

Spread The Love. Fling The Knickers.

REAL BOOBS - NO FAKERY HERE...

I'm often accused of using boobs to increase traffic on these hallowed pages.

I'm no political analyst. I just calls 'em like I sees 'em. And what's going down in the wake of Madiba's death is as tragic as it is contemptible. The vultures have gathered en masse to pick clean the bones of a great legacy. Where once, as a nation, we had a father figure, we are now left with a lecherous uncle that forces you to fiddle with him in the bathtub. The parasites are clamouring for a piece of the action and the sickening saccharine insincerity flowing from every set of lips that still draws breath makes me want to shoot myself through the ears and then the eyes.

Other than that, I had an awesome weekend, thank you.

Kick ass rock'n'roll, both on and off the stage, were the order of the day at Kuduchild's EP Launch at Ragazzi. It was hot and sweaty - just the way it should be - as the capacity crowd was treated to a night of seriously groovy tunes. Once the openers (the alluring Galactidactyl and the immense Dirt Boxes) had swept the crowd up into a heaving frenzy, Kuduchild took to the stage with their trademark stompin' brand of desert rock and rocked the SHIT out of an excitable and very receptive crowd. No one was spared as they "gave it horns" only the boys from Kuduchild know how to do, a truly memorable and mammoth show. Onward and upward as these guys blaze a trail through the dusty heartland of SA's burgeoning music scene and into our collective conscience.
There was even a sideshow, inside and out. Apparently there had been work functions before the show that day, the effects of which were still being felt by some of the more rambunctious patrons... Tarty Farty Tequila Party and UpSideDownGirl, I'm looking at you!

And then on to the main event. Sunday marked the union of two of our closest friends, the ViKing and his bride, Sheik Yerbouti. The only thing more beautiful than the stunning setting was the ceremony itself - one that included air punches and a plastic monkey. The words were heartfelt and beautiful. The bride and groom clearly could hardly contain their excitement - infectious to say the least! Everything was as it should have been on their special day. The speeches, the food, the music (a fond subject at weddings) and the family and friends all made for a wonderful occasion. We, as guests sharing this auspicious day, could not have hoped for a more perfect wedding - as I'm sure it will be forever in their hearts and memories. Congratulations, you two! May your future be forever blessed.

Which brings me to the most expensive little bag of potatoes ever purchased. My little sister (and vastly superior half of the DSW) has a long held theory on potatoes. Apparently our home grown variety doesn't come close to the quality of its Irish counterpart when it comes to mash. I politely disagree.
Anyway, making my way to Canal Walk to take advantage of a particular gift buying opportunity, I was at once filled with the holiday spirit of giving and the insurmountable dread of having to survive a trip to a mall in the grips of Yuletide fever. Usually I plan it pretty well and manage to get in and out before being overwhelmed by a compulsion to commit genocide.
The thing I was after was sold out...
So in order to make my trip worthwhile, I bought the one thing I needed for dinner. A small packet of potatoes. Walking back to the car as quickly as I could it dawned on me that the parking cost more then the little bag of tubers in my hand and that I had effectively just wasted an hour of my life and paid more than double for something that - upon getting home and finding potatoes in the cupboard ANYWAY - turns our I didn't need. Online shopping, here I come.

Anyway, here's to a short week! I have taken the liberty (precaution) of taking off a few days so that I may prepare for and recover from the 2 gigs I have coming up later this week. The all important SUBVERS launch showcase at Mercury is on Wednesday, followed by the sumptuous Symphonaire Infernus II on Friday at ROAR. Hope to see one and all there!

It's even made the press. If you haven't had enough of my opinions yet, Metal4Africa asked us some questions...

And last but by no means least, a huge HAPPY BIRTHDAY to two extraordinary people. Biffy, wish you were here. Miss you. And Charles - hope you have an awesome one, mate.

NGDG: Noah. The Movie. Relax, it's Aronofsky. It has Emma Watson in it. Possibly two of her if I remember the story right. It's every guy's threesome fantasy.

Spread The Love. 'Tis The Seasoning.

ORPHANED LAND

Live to honour what he stood for, son.

Today we are collectively saddened by the report of the passing of a man depicted as the saviour and father of our nation.

I'm saddened by the grossly opportunistic politicking.

I am saddened that, eventually, Madiba died of a broken heart. I would too, if I was forced - as he was - to watch my beloved South Africa violated with such reckless, remorseless abandon.

I am saddened that his passing was reported on the eve of the premiere of a film celebrating his life. Would anyone be that callous? It's not only hard to digest, but hard to believe and smacks of the rankest collusion between those that have been reported as withholding the truth and all the would-be profiteers.

It saddens me that on this day, so many will not remember the countless others who have died, leaving behind families and loved ones.

It saddens me that ours is still a society rife with rampant racism and incredible inequality. What goes down at Mzoli's and Caprice, a thin veneer of brotherhood enjoyed by socio-economic peers, is hardly representative of the divide in our country. The united front so proudly paraded on the news is but a band-aid over a gaping wound that has yet to heal. A wound filled with the feasting maggots of our current leadership.

I am saddened by the fact that I do not have the answer.

I shed a tear, not for the passing of a great leader, but for seeing his legacy trampled under the feet of those who purport to uphold his ideals.

It grieves me that so many will write glowing tributes today and forget tomorrow.

It saddens me that I am not the saint I think I am and that I am just as guilty of all of the above as you are.

NGDG: I drew a happy cartoon when I was ten featuring Mandela and De Klerk. I wrote a paper about him in 1994. The teacher said 'Ok, let's say you respect the man for standing up for his ideals but don't forget he is a terrorist.' I don't forget the class parroting Mr Combover. I don't forget these same people reading LWTF two years later and suddenly changing their tune. I don't forget you johnny-come-latelys. This is why I won't have children. So they don't have to go to school with the children of the people I went to school with.

Today, above all days, Spread The Love.

HOT ASS!

I went to Clifton yesterday after work. With The Hot Girlfriend. We played beach bat and lazed in the sun. What did you do? My life, eh?

Then it was off to the home of the Brother-In-Awe and the Better Half Of The DSW for a fish-flavoured dinner club. Never has something from the ocean tasted so good! Coupled with copious amounts of booze and frivolity, a grand ol' time was had by all. If only I didn't feel all Kraken-inversed right now... You know, instead of me having eaten the calamari starter, I feel like I got swallowed whole by some tentacled beast from the deep. Like that Japanese Tentacle Porn I wrote about some time ago...

Interesting times.

We live in a Chinese proverb. And I'm not talking about the crumby fortunes we endure.

So everyone's talking about it. The big march! Never before has it been so evident that the masses are being manipulated for political gain than now. The so-called leaders of the Informal Settlements Housing Something Or Other yesterday announced to a hall full of would be looters that there would be no march. Must have come as quite a shock to those born between February and April. Anyway, it transpires that our likely lads are still out on bail for flinging pooh and that participation in an illegal march would contravene the conditions of such. So much for defending the poor and standing up against the indignities they suffer. I truly feel for the disenfranchised. It is no secret that we have a disproportionate amount of downtrodden in a land that is struggling to heal itself post the inhumanities of the past. It is however, mystifying how those in power haven't been publicly lynched for their crimes. I don't buy the "keep 'em dumb" schlock anymore. It's presumptuous and condescending. Desperate people will resort to desperate measures when their cries fall on deaf, unsympathetic ears. Put yourself in their position. Just don't chuck shit all over the place. That's counterproductive, as our mates Andili Lili and Loyiso Nkohla have just found out. Yeah, boomerang pooh, what a terrifying concept!

Today, I once more bestride the football pitch! Them old bones have some vigour in them yet. After which I think a nice quiet night in with the Hot Girlfriend and a date with a tube of Deep Heat are called for. Later on this weekend I get sucked back into the soulless vortex that is Tableau Voi so I need to keep up my strength...

But the most fun is reserved for the Bachelor's Party I'm going to attend tomorrow. I can't go into details, but don't worry, it's not one of those "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas scenarios" - I just don't want to spoil the surprise... 

And speaking of all things "so hot right now..." (thank you, Mugatu) Lamb Of God's much anticipated Cape Town debut has been moved to the indoor venue of Cape Town City Hall from the sprawling outdoor Hillcrest Quarry. This means, in the height of Cape Town's summer, that it's going to be kinda smelly. Unless you take advantage of the lovely executive boxes available at a very decent price (and the fact that you're a lazy no-good deadbeat who hasn't paid for a ticket yet). Get some mates together, and for far less per head than I have already paid, you can swan away the evening in sophisticated decadence - they'll even provide you and your guests with your own exclusive waiter! Go on! Make a memory!

NGDG: The old crone who bequeathed Chairmanship to me is still nestled in her poky flat like the busybody Mubarak supporter she is. I phone a plumber. She tells him to come back tomorrow. Then tells the gardener not to let him in when he does, just to spite the managing agent. Then says she 'have call ay nuthah playmer." I swear I'd start my own Tahrir revolution but I'm too pretty for jail.

Spread The Love. Like Sunscreen. On A Hot Ass.

LOST PROFITS

Excuse my super cynical generalisation, but the Vatican must be confused as hell. On one hand, they can now claim Ian Watkins as a convert to kiddy-fiddling and on the other, there goes the cash cow. Ethical conundrum...

Ok, here's where I set the record straight. I do not mean to belittle the situation and especially the victims of these alleged crimes. Look how I used "alleged" as if I work for the SABC. But since the NSA is more than likely going to report me for sharing pictures of Nkandla, the Not-Compound, I had better cover my tracks. What this man admitted to doing (even if only in its capacity as "attempted") is so depraved that it doesn't even bear contemplation. What that other hunter chick (see? last week's news already...) did was rotten and appalling. But legal. What this guy, and the so-called ("alleged") mothers of these children did is so far beyond the pale as to be almost inconceivable. MOTHERS! Anyway, I am at a loss for words. I don't care what happens to him. There is nothing on this earth, as incalculably cruel as humankind has shown itself to be, that could be tortuous enough to exact any level of vengeance. Having said that, I disagree with all the citizens of internetland calling (or hoping) for his rape in prison. As it is sickening to have attempted to subject his victims to such a foul and vicious act, so, ultimately, it is to wish such a fate upon him...

Which brings us to the Department of Basic Education. Who, in their infinite genius, after finally delivering schoolbooks to some learners, included in a matric exam a question requiring scholars to describe how they would portray a rape scene using only a loaf of bread and a broomstick as props. WHAT!?!?! The reference is from a play by Lara Foot called Tsephang, which I am sure, in context, is a work of artistic integrity and probably morally profound. But to cull a portion and use only that to conjure up a question so criminally insensitive is a new level of fucking stupid. Not to mention just another dagger to the heart of victims of this crime and those that campaign to curb its proliferation in our "alleged" society. We're already desensitised, don't make it worse, you utter dumbfucks! How can we, as concerned citizens, allow these fucking buffoons to inform and educate our youth?

Oh yes, and then there's the protest march organised by ANC dissidents planned for Friday in Cape Town. They applied for a permit to walk from The Grand Parade to Parliament so they could pass on a note. The last time, this peaceful activity included some gentle assault, some considerate theft and some delicate damage to property. So their request was denied. So, obviously, building on the principles of our wonderful democracy, they said "Fuck you! We're gonna do it anyway. Try not to be in pooh-flinging range come Friday." Most of my friends will simply fuck off and have a long weekend, outraged and incensed by televised reports, but I feel for the illegal Somali immigrants who can't afford to stall their trading for a day. Houdja Lakem Apples and Haile El Igal Cigarettes are going to have a rough day...

The good news? The good news is that I had an experience last night that, had you informed my 20 year old self of it, I would never have believed you. No, not finally getting laid... Let's just say I played a guitar and some other people played some other instruments. It was glorious. Or at least, it will be.

NGDG: I'm in the parking lot and see four big black dudes in shades and suits besides a black Bentley, Range Rover and Lexus with personalised plates. I crouch, draw my finger and go pew pew. No wonder they didn't have a sense of humour. They never had a chance against my superior marksmanship.

Spread The Love. Help Thwart Rape Culture.

NCUNTLA

Who says your money isn't earning compound interest?

Or however you choose to pronounce it...

Apparently everyone misunderstood the parliamentary ban on publishing pictures of our nation's most shameful leader's ostentatious abode. As long as you don't Zuma in on the specifics with your big Melissa Bachmann telescopic lens, inadvertently causing severe breaches in security, then all is well and you may show these pictures to anyone on the internet who wants to feel morally outraged.

This guy Shane Janse van Rensburg probably feels all sorts of injustice has been heaped upon him. He of the terribly trite blog (I apologise - I should know better than giving him any more online traction) who recently rose to interwebnet superstardom for being a bigoted dickhole and inflaming opinion against people who were here long before my forefathers settled in this Eden. Not only were his statements (claimed as fact) grossly inaccurate and purposely derogatory and heinously racist, but his tortured abuse of my beloved mother tongue almost coaxed me to leave a comment, something to which I am particularly averse. Anyway, this Steve Hofmeyr wannabe got schooled good and proper by a well articulated and thoroughly dignified (and researched) response from a guy called Brian E Ebden. Alas, I can bet you anything you like the vast majority of his supporters will see it as nothing more than an attack on their moral indignation, and dare I say it, their sovereign stipulation of "no flag, no country!"

Anyway, I don't live in South Africa. Obviously. I remain blissfully unaware of the mass genocide inflicted on every single white farmer in the country. I live in Cape Town, and on a Friday afternoon in Cape Town - especially in THIS weather - it's beer o'clock.

[*Just to avoid any confusion, I am being a little facetious and sympathise with anyone who has suffered bereavement at the hands of violent criminals in this country. And by anyone, I mean white people AND black people. I'm sick to death of people proudly presenting skewed statistics like the first oke in the class who got pubes.]

Perhaps we should try concentrating on the common enemy. The fat cat bastards who pillage the coffers I so almost honestly inflate every month. They are the motherfuckers that deserve our unrelenting vitriol. Denying our children decent education, our sick proper medical care, our hungry nourishment, and our destitute any form of recourse are the real crimes in this land. Everything else is merely an indication that something is very wrong and that shit gathers momentum on its way down.

But having said all that, my personal (and perennial) favourite axe to grind is how the masses simply accept the kak, manufactured schlock otherwise referred to as popular music. It brings me to my knees and my body shakes uncontrollably with wretched weeping when I think of how far beyond the pale it has been allowed to get. We can only recommend and administer the antidote in small doses...
Tomorrow the real deal is brought to the V&A Waterfront Pavilion in the form of Long Time Citizen, a band you do not want to underestimate. So get on down, grab a pint and then a seat, and enjoy some true quality for a change.
Then if your thirst for authentic entertainment has still to be quenched (highly doubtful) Saturday night boasts the comeback of all comebacks. Underworld (the same people that brought you all those wonderful goth gatherings in and around Cape Town for so many years) is back! If you recall the amazing parties at the Crypt and the like, you dare not miss this ICONS PARTY! Hosted at the newly renovated Decodance Underworld, this is an event that is sure to have you dancing until well past the witching hour...

Anyway, like No Friends said "Sun, wash over me..."
It's weekend.

NGDG: I'm an optimist. I see a better world on the horizon free of war, poverty and crime. That's the perfect time to enter the arms trade and become rich as hell.

Spread The Love. "We Gather Thorns For Flowers"

THE WORST FUCKING TIME

Impending DOOM. And not the good kind either...

It's funny how the advent of the computer/information age is impeding human progress. Unless of course, you - like me - see the natural progress of humankind as cyclic. As we become more enlightened, so we become more narrow minded and catastrophically average. And numb. As we are equipped with the tools to improve our education, so we increasingly misuse search engines and social media. We as a species are becoming more egocentric, less tolerant of others and, well, just plain fucked up.

We deride tradition. Even (or should I say especially) the harmless, worthwhile ones. Slacktivists find reason in any poorly presented piece of shoddy journalism to vent their outrage without doing themselves and us the courtesy of even the slightest bit of looking beyond the sensational. Where there is a bandwagon, there is usually an angry mob of idiots tearing each other limb from limb for a spot on it. Opinion, as unconsidered as most can be, is the new currency. How easily we are swayed.

Don't even get me started on the grotesque mutilation of language. Are we not at a stage in our evolution where we are capable of literary greatness? Do we not have instant access to every example of the written word ever published? Instead we're overwhelmed by a deluge of self important teenagers and their obsession with instant gratification. Not to mention the popular culture of abbrv 4 da sk ov fit txt in sms wen it fre nyway...

When a manager of a football team loses a few matches he is replaced, at great expense, by another manager who has just been replaced at another club for losing a few matches.
When plans are not passed for the building of a mall, construction starts anyway.
When claims are made against your insurance company, a specialist is employed to tell you the reasons why you're fucked.
We while away our lives in a virtual world and use that very interface to bemoan the fate of the real one.

You may have noticed I'm a little peeved this morning...

Why can't life just be beer-flavoured uniporn? I can't imagine that I'm that special. The people in my life are fucking cool, but they can't be the only ones. It must be the minority that are fucking it up for everyone. But taking a look at the news and the feeds, I'm not convinced. Every single story carried online is one of horror, outrage and despair. Not a single government on earth, elected by their very own people no less, is doing anything other than scramble to maintain power at any cost.
Not a single person of influence is using that influence for the greater good unless their angle is the populist one.
The Mother Theresas of this world will remain unsung.

As much as I'd like to I can't just throw my hands in the air and say "Ah, fuck everyone!"
And I'm the worst of them all.
But I just can't get my head around how the almighty buck rules every decision on earth and how those decisions do nothing to enrich anyone but the most callous and objectionable.

NGDG: I'm a sex symbol. It's like a sex prince, but without the hits.

Spread The Love. Just One Meaningful Gesture. Today.

BITTERSWEET SYMPHONY

Say "Cheese!"

The outside was - as I am sure you have been made aware from the countless obligatory and entirely superfluous posts and pictures - wet. What the population of the interwebnetsland failed to inform you, dear reader, was that is was wet inside too! Just the way we like it! Steaming, heaving, sweaty and damp. I am of course, referring to the dark confines of ROAR and the assembled masses packed in tightly to bid a sad farewell to one of our most beloved group of bad boy retro-rockers, the inimitable SABRETOOTH. Sporting the traditional bandanas and backwards caps, they flew out of the blocks and soon had the frenzied crowd going, in the words of one Nick Holmes (and a surprising reference at that) "fucking nuts!"

Fucking nuts it was! Swirling mass of bodies, swept up in the momentous moment, the crowd lost their shit altogether in an evening of surprisingly poignant and raw emotion. Soaring melodies, mercurial solos, a battering-ram rhythm section, riffing that defied both the laws of physics and belief, and awesome vocals have typified SABRETOOTH'S live gigs (and recordings, come to think of it...) but this shit was on another level! I have had the privilege of witnessing these lads play many times, but on Saturday night they were simply out there. Known in equal portions for wearing their hearts on their sleeves and being stunning virtuoso musicians, they played their collective hearts and souls OUT! And STILL the crowd bayed for more! In a super-extended set, we were treated to what seemed like their entire impressive repertoire from over the years and some classic cover versions. An unforgettable, exhilarating, tearful, joyful send off!

To Charles, Damian, Nikolai, Mauri, Ryan and Dean: thank you for the mad memories, the good times, the outrageously rocking tunes, and the flamboyant follicular fare! You have etched a deep and lasting legacy and will be remembered with abiding affection by all rock and metal fans of South Africa.

NGDG: There's an old dude at the Wimpy wearing a tshirt that says "I'm retired. This is as dressed up as I get." I think he may be me from the future.

Spread The Love. Ain't Talkin' 'Bout It...

GRAN, WHY ARE YOUR TEETH SO BIG?

Appropriate...

It is with great sadness, but equal amounts of joy that I look forward to the final show of one of our most beloved bands tomorrow night. The SABRETOOTH EXTINCTION show at ROAR is a tremendously unhappy occasion, not only marking the demise of an incredibly talented and much loved group, but also because it so neatly highlights the shortcomings of the music industry in our fair land. I am however, grateful that I am able to make the show, as I wasn't going to previously and that would have been unforgivable.

See how I oh so very slyly inserted the word unforgivable. Like trophy hunting, a hot topic on the lips and fingertips of a fuming, incensed South African Faeceboobs public right now.

I like eating meat. I realise that the opinions of the militantly vegan and mine will never overlap in that regard. I accept this and acknowledge that some of the more unscrupulous operators in the meat industry dish out misery, terror and inhumane conditions second to none. This is one of the main reasons I refuse to eat fast food. It embodies the pinnacle of this beastly behaviour for profit. I'm fine with chucking a steak on a fire, though I am physically repulsed by the mere thought of killing an animal that is seen as a domestic pet, an apex predator or a symbol of a nation. There is nothing majestic about bovine indifference. Trophy hunting should be abolished. Everyone involved should seriously reconsider their intentions and picture their beloved Grandmother's head spiked on a wooden plaque hanging over the mantelpiece.
If you insist on using the argument that it is fulfilling a demand and creating employment, then you paint the participants as philanthropists. This is not the case. Otherwise they would donate their riches to worthy causes without resorting to the brutality of bloodsport. This kind of thinking has led to the demise of many, many (too many) species and mankind should feel ashamed. Flaunting your ability to kill using technology that tilts the scales so unfairly is nothing more than cowardice. Consider your outrage should your 6 year old little sister, daughter or niece be forced to scrum against the full Springbok pack - for her life!

So, being a meat eater (I also wear leather shoes and trousers) makes me the ultimate hypocrite in this argument. Where does one draw the line? Does one laud the hunter and condemn the barbarity of poaching? Have you taken into consideration the disparate nature of the two perpetrators? One is contributing to the economy, whilst one is desperate to feed his family? Do we condone the meat industry, but absolutely lose our shit when someone comes over here and shoots one of our lions? Would you have felt differently had it been a Kudu? Would your choice of biltong for the rugby have altered? The lines are blurred. Blood on sand tends to go that way.

I'll be enjoying my tasty lamb chop in quiet self loathing.

And just in case you are left feeling like I've been a shade too ambiguous in my ramblings, here is a succinct summary:

1. Eating meat is fucking awesome, as long as my feelings of guilt are assuaged by the belief that the meat I buy wasn't treated atrociously in its lifetime.
2. I draw my own personal line at hunting.
3. Poachers and the people that fuel the demand for rhino horn, ivory and the like should all be butchered unceremoniously and without mercy.

I suggest we offer convicted poachers (and those with erectile dysfunction and a hankerin' for muti) as the quarry in professional hunting! Two birds... ahem.

See you all at the farewell show of one of our own apex predators tomorrow night. Their manes and their melodies will forever live on! RIP the magnificent Sabretooth!

NGDG: When the manager offers you an 18 year old for your birthday you say yes please. When it's a whiskey that good you don't say you expected something else.

Spread The Love. It's OK Eat Fish Coz They Don't Have Any Feelings...

NEAL FOR PRESIDENT! A PHONETIC CELEBRATION.

What do "puff" and "kneel" have in common?

Today is some sort of crusade-to-raise-awareness-of-lung-cancer-day. Whilst I am all for the prevention of this all pervasive killer, I am equally pro smoker's rights. I grew up in a society where we were allowed to smoke in malls and restaurants (I know... it seems like such a foreign concept now) and until a few short years ago, I was the poster child for smoking. I will say this, I commend the approach these lobbyists are taking. Instead of trying to scare the masses into abstinence (face it, that will NEVER work), they have taken to telling people it is uncool. Not only are you now shunned to the outer limits of our known universe if you smaak to have a fag, but now some lady on morning television is telling you that resembling James Dean or Dirty Harry is for losers. I don't know, hey. The terror tactics didn't work. The astronomical cost increases did nothing to put any of us off. Perhaps the tannie tuning you people will think you're cool despite not puffing away incessantly might just work. I'll tell you this, all my misguided attempts at "coolness" were for naught. Sucking on a Stuyvesant, while manfully holding back the tears and the overwhelming urge to cough a lung out, did nothing to convince any of the nice girls to touch me on my own cigarette. It was a very expensive exercise in futility. But oh how I did enjoy it! I even considered changing my name to Nick before I turned 20. So I am now a non-smoker. I do not condemn those that still enjoy it. That would make me a hypocrite. To each his own. Don't blow rings into an infant's face. As with everything, be cool. Don't be a dick.

Which brings me rather smoothly to today. As you may or may not have noticed, I have been rather quiet recently. This is because I'm cream-crackered. I have been slaving through back-to-back band practices and an assortment of other fun activities for the last few weeks. Fun is taking its toll. I wouldn't have it any other way, but it has rendered me zombified at work. And since I obviously write these dismissive missives during office hours, I have been less inclined to spill my cerebral diarrhea all over your news feed of late. But today is a special day! Yes folks! That cynical social satirist, the one and only Neal Goldwyer [Esq.] celebrates his birthday today. So from all of us here at the Monster Offices, hope you have a happy, hedonistic, blessed and bloody indulgent birthday! Here are some pearlers from the past, to remind you why you love him so much:

NGDG: Getting to, into and away in your car from a parking lot without being spotted by a guard after money is about the most Jason Bourne feeling a law-abiding man can have.

NGDG: Titanic. A cautionary tale illustrating how a game of just-the-tip can end in disaster.

NGDG: I must be very liberal because the only thing I find disturbing about a girl with a lolling tongue mock-masturbating with a huge foam finger is that she looks eerily like Robin Thicke when he sits down with his crayon to write lyrics.

NGDG: Machine guns in a Polo? I could kill that gangster Krecjik instantly. I'd just slip a note in his bodyguard's pocket that says: "Do you even lift boet? Kisses, Radovan."

NGDG: I wore Gorbachev-style glasses and had a Justin Beiber haircut in 1988. You can't imagine the shit I went through. I wish I had a time machine. So I could introduce fin-de-seicle weapons banned by the Geneva Convention to the youth of today.

NGDG: If I ever get banned from square one, I'm in deep shit.

NGDG: So you backward Nigerian twats killed a drummer. St. Anger was 10 years ago.

NGDG: Did you know that Donkeypuncher is an actual job? It's a kind of a winch operator. (Reading a book about logging in British Colombia that I was given free by the bookstore owner because he knows I like random stuff.)

Spread The Love. Inner Thighs Of Virgins...

BEER, BOOBS AND BRATWURST!

Pic by Tarty Fart Tequila Party

There I was. Surrounded by media types and the general beer drinking public. Frauleins scurried up and down, laden with all manner of beery goodness as the strains of traditional Ooompah music entwined the raucous chatter of the soon to be inebriated masses. Snacks were served. Silly hats were donned and novelty facial hair applied. Heaven is a large beer hall filled with the sounds of happy revelry and clinking beer tankards!

Yes, ladies and germ(an)s, last night I had the enviable pleasure of attending the TOPS Bierfest in Newlands as the plus1 of Fraulein Tarty Farty Tequila Party. Everything was laid out for us, being "media" and pretty soon we were blathering away with our table mates, fueled by the never ending supply of top class beer and an assortment of traditional German snacks. Pretzel crumbs and laughter filled the air! The beer, a selection of Krystal Weiss, Munich Dunkel and something I can no longer remember the name of, was out of this world! Tatjana kept 'em coming and we kept knocking 'em back! Even the large fake mustache didn't stop Tarty from quaffing ale like a thirsty English coal miner.

The real Oooompah band replaced the recorded version and decided the assembled masses were just drunk enough to be exhorted into fun-time audience participation. In a horrifying deja vu moment from primary school, I was instructed to repeat the phrase "Oi! Oi! Oi!" every time they said something akin to "Tikka Takka Tokka!" It was all a little too "Ziggy! Ziggy! Ziggy!" for me and I decided to redouble my efforts to use up all the beer tokens I'd been given. I should have been grateful to the Oooooomph band...

...because before long they were replaced with a poor man's Noot-Vir-Noot ensemble, fronted by an over enthusiastic Nicholas Louw wannabe who thought he was Bryan Adams. The percussionist's enthusiasm bordered on psychotic, but came across like a short animated mop on hard drugs. Thankfully the main course arrived just in time to distract me. I could wax lyrical about the smorgasbord of Teutonic meaty ecstasy that mine eyes fell upon, but I'll leave you with the quote of the night, courtesy of Tarty, "Oooooh! I like the long sausage!" And then after some mastication and consideration, "But the short fat one is way more tasty!" Personally, I thought the Eisbein was the winner.

Then came the Jagermeister girls, tits akimbo and arses hanging out. Wearing barely enough to cover the rent, they turned all the men from their beer and into tweenage fangirls at a Bieber concert - hordes of grown men holding their cameras aloft in unison and shedding the occasional tear. I had a Jagermeister, but refrained from too much overt ogling. The poor dears, the only thing that apparently eclipsed the dearth of available cotton, appeared to be their combined IQ.

But oh, what a night! It was the night of nights! I drank so much delicious, heavenly, lip-smacking, awesome beer, I left sideways. Happiness, it seems, CAN be bought. The entire event was magical, foibles and all! The company was peerless, the food from the tables of the Gods themselves and the beer! Oh, the beer! Barley and hops - Heavenly Nectar be thy name!

We were even treated to a free ride home courtesy of the kind people at Goodfellas. Our driver was a lovely chap called Shiraaj Allie and he displayed remarkable patience and good grace dealing with two of the drunkest arseholes on the planet. Well, I was shitfaced, I can only assume Tarty wasn't too far behind. After being dropped at my house, we had a glass of wine. Obviously. As you do, when you have school in the morning.

Today has been hell...

Oh yes, and tonight we're off to see the fucking incendiary Sleepers and the mind blowing Ark Synesis, along with many others, at Summer Seance II. I'm gonna wee myself in public.

NGDG: They poisoned Arafat with polonium? Is this a joke? That stuff costs $10m for a lethal dose! That's pig money. Bacon the day, you'd just take a ham-mer to the guy's skull, boar a hole in his brakes, poison hi-swine.

Spread The Love. It Comes In Litre Tankards.

BACKSTAGE BLOWJOBS

By Stephen Green Design & Art

I know what you're thinking... You're thinking "Enough already! Why does he insist on harping on about the past all the time?" Weeeeeelll... A (variably sized) part of me would love to keep regaling you with tales of my former glory. Unfortunately, there comes a time in the life of every "over the hill" rock star when they have to admit to themselves and everyone else that these things are best left in the past. Thankfully I am not quite there yet. Fork in me, yes! But rest assured, dear reader, this old fart is not done by a long shot! Neither are my young cohorts. We do all however, have better halves, so the shenanigans have been shelved.

Self flagellation does not equal self promotion... That being said, we get to the meat of this post. I have been holed up for the last few years with 2 of them most amazing collaborators in Likkle Poon Daemon and LordDoom (real names withheld for their own personal protection - we don't want another "Beatles" fiasco...) creating some of the most groovalicious, rifftastic, foot-stompin', arse-kickin', howl-at-the-moon music you could possibly imagine. It all was sewn up like a duck's arse with the recent addition of our drummer, DanTheManMachine and now we are just about ready to expose ourselves to you.

That's right. Finally, after all the rehearsals, all the hard work, and all the wine, you will be able to savour the wonder, the splendour and the magnificence that is SUBVERS. We're here to feed your sinister urges...

Although (like every other band on the planet) we sound completely and utterly unique, we are often asked to describe our sound by way of reference so that people can decide by association if we're cool or not. So a list of influences would include, but not be limited to, bands such as Rammstein, The Sisters of Mercy, Paradise Lost, Danzig, Fields Of The Nephilim, Deathstars and Ministry. Nifty, eh!

If you don't believe me, You may listen to, and download (for free) our first demo, a little ditty called 'Flatline'. I insist. Play it loud. Play it repeatedly. Play it to your Gran.

But more importantly, take note of the big fuck-off shiny showcase we're putting on. FOR YOU! We are already in negotiation for some big shows, but decided to put on a private affair for all the people who matter. Our friends, people from the industry, media. You are hereby cordially invited to share this most auspicious occasion with us. Mercury has once again proven its commitment to local musicians by making its venue, gear and expert technical staff available to us so that we can bring you a night of absolute awesomeness. I know it's not a real word, but then, I'm not a real boy...

Event details:
Mercury Live
Wednesday 11th December
9pm
Free entry.
Just stroll on over to the event page and indicate that you are "going" and your name will automatically be added to the guest-list.

It'll all be worth it. You get to see THESE guys strut their stuff! And you'll be left sockless!

 Uh oh! Beatlemania. Or is that Beatlejuice?

Spread The Love. Backstage...

TWERK OR TWEET - A MODERN DAY HALLOWEEN

Genius. Bit of a doos, but genius...

I'm positive I've used that phrase before, but given the subject matter and how it relates to modern culture and how the youth of today communicate and entertain themselves, I will sleep easy tonight knowing that short attention spans have won the day.

So, how are you enjoying your Hallmark Holiday? Did you get dressed up for work? Or are you waiting for an occasion this weekend? There are many options in the Mother City, too numerous to mention, but I'm sure that wherever you choose to go, it will be suitably scary and devilishly delightful. But I digress...

The appropriation of what is in essence a pagan celebration by the mainstream, is seen by many as nothing more than a hollow excuse to prance around looking silly and begging for chocolate. Personally, I like the tradition of dressing up to illicit fright. Mainly because to a large extent, this has of late included a particularly slutty element among the young ladies. Incorporating "lady of the night" into what was always "children of the night" costumes is brilliant! And then to add to the spectacle, the results are instantly available for the world to feast their collective eyes on. Cue rant about selfies, the degradation of morals, instagram and tweeting. Rant? Not a fuck! I say we should celebrate this! If I was a high school laaitie today, I'd be one internet connection and a few judicious minutes search from an informed decision of where to go in order to maximise my eye candy for the evening.

Reminds me of a similar dress up party we had once. There was a Hannibal Lector, the guy from 'I Know What You Did Last Summer, Freddie Kruger, Satan, the dude with the mask from 'Scream', the clown form 'It', 2 Frank n Furters, a very imaginative Rosemary's Baby, a variety of slasher victims and a priest who performed an exorcism on me. I went as Linda Blair's character and took great pleasure writhing around on the floor upon guests' arrival exclaiming "Fuck me! Fuck me!" in a sinister hoarse whisper...

The next morning, I shit you not, there was blood dripping from the lounge walls. On closer inspection it turned out to be a multitude of red wine spills. We figure it was a result of some indoor moshing and some "hopie le"...
Oh yes, there was also a Skeletor, who won the fancy dress parade, but also shed his bloody body paint all over everything in the house.

Anyway, have a happy Hallows Eve one and all. I'm off to enjoy a night of culinary creativity courtesy of Commander Conker and Rose Thorn. I hope it's themed. Otherwise I will be forced to whinge...

NGDG: Of course the only reason Paxman couldn't argue against Brand was because, like anyone having to listen to a cokehead, he couldn't get a word in, realised it was 3am already, and the only way out is to fake an injury.

Spread The Love. Stalking Is Just Creepy Love...

TYPE "FUCKED" INTO YOUR BROWSER.

"Yes, we can!"

"Give us house!" The sentiment echoed across Central Cape Town yesterday, as a group of disgruntled protesters threatened Zille and the very peace that brings thousands of tourists and their exchange-rate-skewed spending power to our shores every year. As it turns out, the only thing floating across Central Cape Town in the end was a few handfuls of pooh. Again. What is it with these people and flinging pooh? And the post-Marikana chastised police stood helpless, reduced to mere witnesses to the outbreak of violence. Evidently, if your cry for free housing is met with stone faced indifference, it's quite acceptable to settle for a box full of wine gums or a knock off handbag, as long as you waddle off with a defiantly smug look plastered on your face.

I'm going to attempt a social experiment. Clearly I have had the privilege of a good education and have been mollycoddled throughout my life, never really knowing what real discomfort feels like. I wouldn't change it for the world. And anyone with even the slightest human compassion in them feels empathy with the struggling, downtrodden masses. But here's a thing. Stop fucking breeding. It's irresponsible. Stop voting in the same bastards who purposely keep you under the whip of socio-economic slavery. It's counterproductive. Stop blaming everyone else. I know... I know... It's far more complicated and truly I empathise, but when I see the behaviour of a desperate proletariat, the indifference of a self righteous ruling party and the rest of the country's political vultures hopping from one foot to the other in bloodthirsty glee over the fast-rotting carcass of our once potentially great nation, I weep.

Politicians? Fuck 'em! The only way to get ahead in that game is to be a bigger shitstick that the other guy. And as in parliament, the same is true in every day life, unfortunately. Come on! Don't even act surprised. You have to admit that everything we do is governed (ahem...) by some level of politicking, be it family life, or work, or even the things we choose as hobbies, sport or interests. There is always some colossal fuckbag trying to better you. The meek shall inherit the earth... The not-so-meek are fucking it up so much so that I don't want it anymore, thanks all the same. Advocating mild mannered contentedness in the face of being taken for a p**s does not sit well with me. "Be happy with the right to vote, the right to believe the utter wank we sell you every year come elections, and the right to your free tshirt!" "We will mobilise the cadres against the evil that is (in our opinion so very ironically named) the Democratic Alliance! Death to the bitch and more disease and squalor to the few of our supporters left as we bus in more to share an already overburdened patch of sand!" Oh, well, at the risk of coming across insensitive, at least that one lady got her some wine gums.

And now I've completely forgotten what experiment I was going to conduct. Bugger. Probably something along the lines of going down to the Department Of Housing and demanding a free house of my own. Seeing as I'm one of the privileged colonial devils I'm supposed to be, perhaps government will see fit to cave in to my urgent plea. Or maybe not...

There is however, good news. Last night's DOOM practice went very well. It's a sign o' the times, folks. In a last ditch attempt to make something of our musical aspirations, we are scoring the evidently imminent downfall of the world as we know it...

And if this miserable little missive has left you feeling disillusioned and let down by humanity, just remember: we still have it mighty good compared to other parts of the world. There is still civil war, unjust law and American interference in for'n parts. Be grateful for the small mercies. Help a brother out where you can and little by little, we will eventually be alright. Unless we descend into further anarchy, in which case I'm going to form a band called the Beitbridge Bollocks Brigade and re-record the Sex Pistols classic in Shona and Ndebele.

NGDG: Joey Jordison should've kept the mask on.

Spread The Love. Let's See You Fuckers Out In The Rain Today.

BACKER THAN THE BACKEST BACK!

Yes, I'm back. With any luck, much like riding a bicycle and masturbation (not always at the same time), I won't have lost too much of my touch due to an extended absence. Wow! All kinds of innuendo there!

Apologies to my devoted and devout following. I'm sure all 8 of you missed me tremendously, although you probably saw more than enough of my ugly mug outside of the interwebnets. I decided to shelve the irreverence and the snarky remarks and the insidious insights for a while, feeling that I owed someone very special the respect. It just didn't feel right to jump right back into it. Sue me.

Anyway, I have so much to catch up on, I have no clue where to start. I could tell you about the hot water cylinder in my house causing late night (early morning) trips up and down a ladder accompanied by vast amounts of swearing that would make Amber Rayne's parents commit suicide. It was like Dame Edna on tik - with Tourettes. I could tell you about the delightful gentleman who, failing to correctly interpret very basic road signs or to even see my 1073kg car already occupying the space at which he was pointing his lorry, is still professing his innocence. I could go on and on about wine tasting and doing some Fred Astaire in dog pooh. But instead, as usual, I will resort to 2 of my favourite things:

Music...
...and me.

Specifically the music I make.

It was a balmy Friday in the Mother City as AXXON bestrode the stage of Mercury Live once again. Thanks to our cohorts - the terrific Terminatryx - the place was packed, buzzing, and had just been given a right royal going over. Barely allowed enough breathing space in which to recover, we assaulted them with our very own barrage of belligerent beats and rode roughshod over them with our trademark riffing and combination of clean/scream vocals. It seemed to go down a treat. The whole place went berserk, spurring us on to greater heights, gratefully feeding off a clearly energised crowd. Thanks to one and all - I thoroughly enjoyed the brief stay of execution from my fast-fading aspirations of rock stardom. I'm going to need a beer holster and an onstage neck masseuse soon...

Then there is the considerably awesome constellation of stars on display in December... Oh December is going to be a special month in local music. Not only will you get to experience the long awaited follow up to the gloomy glory that was the first Symphonaire Infernus show, but you will (finally) get to hear and see what all the fuss has been about and why I answer the question "Plans for tonight?" with the ever regular "Band practice..."
Since being ousted from my last serious involvement in a band, the almighty Revellus, I have been doing what I do best. Collaborating with ridiculously talented people, my trusty glass of wine as constant companion, and my jaundiced view of the world as inspiration. And graciously laughing at all the exceptionally witty permutations of anything and everything the new band could choose as a name. Not to mention no short measure of personal anguish. (If I whinge any harder, I'm going to have to concede that we should have called ourselves Megadeth, if it wasn't taken already...) It's been a long, long, LONG journey, but I am very excited to announce that I can almost announce our great big fat launch show. Keep your eyes peeled and the 11th - 13th December open, folks. You do not want to miss this most auspicious of occasions.

Another show you dare not miss is the very sad last show of the wonderful Sabretooth. I am sure that it will be with a heavy heart that we will say a fond farewell to a firm favourite and a hugely respected band. May your future exploits bring us as much joy and enjoyment as your years as the Sabretooth family did, guys.

Now that I have managed to pique your interest, I shall once again resort to the banal bollocks you no doubt expect of me (it occurred to me I have some more things I may want to tell you about). Let's see... I decided to become a wine farmer. Inquiries into the cultivar, characteristics, yield and price of single vines is about to commence. My ol' mum will be so proud - finally something those worthless pieces of paper can be used for. Also, I ended up at Caprice in an unprecedented venture into pop-up-collar-land one Sunday and got swindled by the bar-oke. I'm surprised they don't just have a weekly organised arm-wrestling competition. And a form the ladies have to fill in (before being granted access) that states they are willing to be subjected to arbitrary grading and that they are willing to go home with whoever wins the bicep contest. No wonder that guy making those spoofs is so popular.

For the life of me, I cannot think of any of the other things that happened. I think my mind is just in a state of shock at this sudden fervent bout of writing. So, to all the people that have so kindly been part of my life over the last few weeks (for the good times and the bad), my sincerest gratitude.

NGDG: Dilly dallying with dad, mocking the ridiculous R900 price tag on a pair of Lacoste moccasins in a shop window when mum destroys them like Russell Brand with this gem: "ah! Crocs."

Spread The Love. Get In Deep. Between The Folds...

WINE ME... DINE ME...

I recently had the absolute pleasure of tagging along on The Constantia Wine Tour. Yes I know people... I know important and influential people. People who get asked to do exclusive wine tasting tours in world renowned wine country. Then people look at me with jaundiced exasperation when I swallow instead of spit. I have theories on that...
Anyway, as with most things, I am no expert or aficionado, although I do try and bluff my way through personal wine tours when I take foreign visitors for a nice day out. And although I have a modest collection of outrageously expensive wines at home - they are more to impress than to enjoy.
So, it started off with myself and my far more illustrious adventuring partner being picked by our delightfully engaging tour guide and host, Blake. The man is a veritable fountain of knowledge and you are regaled with interesting anecdotes and historical facts throughout a thoroughly enjoyable day. We started off having coffee on the Steenberg Golf Estate, being afforded a glimpse of how the other half live. Thereafter, we were taken (in some luxury, I might add) to Groot Constantia, where we were given the full tour of the old farm house museum, coach house, and even the old disused cellar featuring an escape tunnel! Those guys definitely lived some exciting lives!

Our first "tasting" stop was at a small farm I have never heard of. In fact we went to a few farms that I'd otherwise never have found, oblivion being the language most spoken on our planet. The small farms are amazing! Far less "corporate" or "tourist orientated", you get a quite personal experience. The first of these was High Constantia, a small property just off Groot Constantia that boasts the best Methode Cap Classique in the country (and therefore, I assume, the world). Anyway, with my loyalties already firmly super glued to Steenberg and Simonsig with regard MCC, them were fightin' words, especially since the High Constantia MCC doesn't contain sulphites. I was very soon to be ingesting large slices of humble pie along with a simply incredible MCC. Bit pricey, but so worth it.

Having almost learned to bow to clearly more knowledgeable types, I was still going on about my own tastes, when the tour bus pulled in at Klein Constantia. We were treated to another very interesting and educational history of the wines and the region, including a tour of the facilities and an explanation of the wine making process, from beginning to end. Then my favourite part, more tasting. My fellow scribe and party partner was jumping up and down and about to faint in anticipation of the legendary Vin De Something-or-other apparently favoured by Napoleon. I definitely preferred their red selection.

Having worked up a rather pressing appetite, we were treated to a wonderful lunch at Constantia Glen, taking in seamless, spectacular views of the valley adjacent to the Constantianek Road and all the way across to Gordons Bay. The cold meat and cheese platters perfectly complimented yet another range of stunning wines, and we left fully satisfied, if a little more hazy...

Ending the tour off at one of my all time favourite exclusive little boutique wine farms - the charming Eagle's Nest - was a master stroke. The wines are to die for and the setting could not be more secluded or perfectly pristine. On top of their world-beating Shiraz, we were treated to a Land Rover tour of their entire vineyard, most of which is precariously perched on steep inclines and hard to reach hills. The views are also nothing short of sensational - the perfect end to an awesome day.

Well, not the end end. But I can't tell you what I got up to afterwards, if this has any chance of getting published!

All in all, one of the best experiences and a flat-out fantastic idea, speaking as someone who has had the dubious honour of having to drive his mates around from wine farm to wine farm, quaffing the Gods' nectar with scant regard for the consequences.

Thank you The Constantia Wine Tour.
Thanks you Blake!

If you'd like to know any more, please feel free to find them here:
http://theconstantiawinetour.co.za/

Or contact them directly:

Central bookings: +27 (0)21 794 4873
Email booking: bookings@theconstantiawinetour.co.za

Blake Gower: +27 (0)82 377 5233 / blake@theconstantiawinetour.co.za
Sean Wilyman: +27 (0)83 268 1204 / sean@theconstantiawinetour.co.za

Spread The Love. Complete The Phrase.

THIS IS NOT THE GREATEST SONG IN THE WORLD...

...THIS IS A TRIBUTE.

For Frankie Riester.
In fond remembrance of a full and wonderful life.

Anyone who knew Frankie knows what a generous, driven and passionate man he was. Not only was he a tremendously talented musician, having written, recorded and performed with great success in Europe and right here in SA, but he was also a very successful businessman and entrepreneur.

His dedication and devotion to all things musical was the stuff of legend. Never have I ever met anyone with such unquenchable enthusiasm and unbridled passion. Even if that passion spilled over into heated screaming matches at 5 in the morning after spending all night in the Rock Hard Cafe at his beautiful home, drinking and arguing about anything (and everything) musical.

His indomitable spirit and refusal to court failure resulted in Voice Of Rock radio, and together we conducted many extremely enjoyable interviews with some rather esteemed figures in the industry - and for that Frankie will always have my gratitude.

His hospitality and warm, open nature were immediately felt by anyone fortunate enough to make his acquaintance.

And lastly, but by far and away the most important, Frankie Riester was a loving and adoring partner to Kathi. Kath, we love you and all hold you in our hearts and thoughts at this most difficult time.

Frankie, your absence from our lives will leave a hole that can never be filled. It was a pleasure and a privilege to call you friend. May you find a peace and happiness in the afterlife as fulfilling as that which you enjoyed while still here with us.

I'm sure Ronnie James was standing there waiting for you with a welcoming smile, open arms, and a cold beer.

Go well, my brother, you will remain loved and will always be missed.

With all my love and respect.

BUTTSEX!

I heart you all.

Ok, it's time to put on your hats of Friday Irreverence and Political Punditry.

Here is a fellow who accused our Prez 4 Lifebouy of being "not well read". No fucking shit, Sherlock! That's like getting up behind a lecturn and informing the gathered masses that bacon is a bit tasty and mildly popular. Or that Milli Vanilli were shit.

Anyone with the merest modicum of common sense can tell just by turning on the news that our county's numbah wahn citizen is not the most erudite of individuals. Shrewd, yes. Learned, not a fuck. Fucking an assortment of wives, unfortunate taxi-fare welfare cases, and a country out of its dignity seem to come naturally enough. Just not presenting himself as someone who has read anything more challenging than Archie. And the speeches, oh, the speeches! Watching and cringing as our spokesperson blunders his way through even the most rudimentary speech. Perhaps the only reason he doesn't flinch at all the lies he so inelegantly spews, is that he doesn't even realise they're there, what with concentrating so hard at making the squiggles on the page into mouth sounds. And before anyone leaps aboard the finger pointing racism bandwagon, a cautionary fuck off, if you please. I despise the man for his lack of leadership ability, his blatant corruption and his unconcealed avarice, not his hue. He'd be a c*nt if he was purple. Oh, and then - if you have the strength - go and read some of the comments. I found Sikelele entertaining. He is what's wrong with this effing country. Him and my good friend, the diehard blowhard Juju, who is once again making waves. Blowhard. Now there's a concept, eh...

Anyway, enough of this. It isn't particularly well written. It doesn't flow very well. And I would like to offer it to a local politician for critique. On with Friday. Here's a helpful hint: The official meaning of TGIF is soon to be amended. Watch this space.

I'm only a few short hours from indulging in my favourite pastime. Then I'm off to play football. I hope the weather this afternoon is slightly better than last week.

Then tomorrow it's off to rehearsal in the forest. We can make lots of noise in the forest. And it's damp...

Next week I may just shit myself with excitement. Oh, man! I can't WAIT to show you all!

NGDG: Someone call Alanis Morissette. It may not rhyme with chardonnay but the fact that a stripper has been arrested for the decomposing corpse found in a car boot at the local casino sure is ironic.

Spread The Love. Unless You're Already In Adult Diapers. They're A Major Turn Off.

THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT...

So, what did you do for Braai Day? Or as it's known in its official capacity, Heritage Day... If you have any South African in you, I bet you lit a fire and tanned some dead flesh. Unless of course you are a vegan, in which case you have both my apologies and my sympathies. Of course WE braaied. On Sunday as well for good measure, after a rather challenging game of 'mountain goat, mountain goat', in which Commander Conker and I ran the long Cecilia Forest route while the rest of the out-doorsy types sauntered along in the mild afternoon sun.

Well. THAT was brief. And now I have nothing else on which to report. I don't think today is a rant kind of day. There is more than enough fuel to get me started, but I'm determined to hang on to my lovely good mood and I'm not going to let the woes of the world spoil it for me. Life is peachy. Ooooh, I went along to a friend of mine who is moving, and cleaned him out completely, walking away with most of his CD stash. I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness for the digital age! I'm currently tormenting my colleague with 'Competition Rules' by our very own grim gothrock favourites No Friends Of Harry. She's not enjoying this one bit...

Let's see, what else can we discuss? Ah yes, to the motherfucker that saw fit to nick my watch, I'm going to find out who you are one day. And on that day I will not hesitate to inflict as much physical harm on your sorry fucking waste of life as I can possibly muster. Same goes for the c*nt who stole my favourite hoodie. And all insurance companies as well. Red tape is a bitch. They effectively force you alter your story so that you can actually make a legitimate claim. Bastards, the lot of you!

And of course South Africa seems to have embraced the public holiday as a reason to "go slow" the entire week. Not that I'm complaining. But jeeeesh, could this day go on any longer? There is sweet fuck all happening and I wanna go for my run now. Before Cape Town decides to surprise us with some evil weather. Speaking of, football on Friday evening was played in the hail. It was awesome! It stung a little, but it was awesome!

Whoohoo! The Hot Girlfriend just popped into my work for a quick cup of coffee. I love my life. The question, however, remains... Run/nap... run/nap... run/nap? Perhaps I'll know with more certainty the closer 4'o'clock gets.

NGDG: Ordinary people would be faintly disgusted to defrost butternut and find chicken drumsticks inside it. The bachelor thinks: 'well, that's dinner sorted.'

Spread The Love. Louder Than Bombs.

SPARE THE ROD. SPOIL FUCKING EVERYTHING.

Yes. SPOIL. As in create rotten little fuckers. Not "Here Johnny, here's your toy fire engine for Christmas"...

So a teacher is assaulted by a bratty snot-nosed little pillock and can, for obvious reasons, not even defend himself. He is forced to skulk away from the altercation like a whipped dog, thereby affirming his lack of influence or authority. I was a laaitie once, I can completely understand the impulse to resort to violence as a form of expression. We are ill-equipped to deal with so many situations at that awkward age. Our instinct is to try and elevate ourselves socially by making attempts at alpha-dog style domination. Wrong! I may have thought about how cool it would have been, but knowing that I'd get moered for stepping out of line by my elders and betters was sufficient deterrent. I have, as a direct result, received an enviable education and have made a relative success of myself without having to resort to crime or being a complete dick. Imagine the tables were turned and it was the teacher who acted so inappropriately. Immediate suspension and I'd guarantee some sort of charge resulting in a prison sentence. But, hey, at least little Casper wasn't harmed, eh...

Corporal punishment was never meant to be seen as the sole means through which to instill discipline. It was merely the ultimate in a series of escalating punishments and formed part of a grounded and productive regime of child rearing (hahaha! I said "child rearing"). Unfortunately, as the fabric of our society has gradually unravelled, the basics have all but disappeared. Kids are no longer nurtured to the same extent at home. Teachers are woefully underpaid and couldn't give a rat's arse any longer. Leaving us with a crop of young people, disillusioned and lacking the life skills to pass on to the next generation. Vicious circle, when you consider that some of these go on to become the educators of your special little miracles. And parents themselves. Unfortunately, the bullet is through the church...

So much for "Children should be seen and not heard". Whilst I agree that slogans such as these are possibly a little archaic, they do allude to a set of values that are sorely lacking in today's society. Without any recognised form of social hierarchy, and the absolute dissolution of negative consequence for bad behaviour, what chance do we have? Or am I just an old fart who's stuck in the same "my days were better than anyone else's days" rut? Perhaps education via unfiltered media such as Twitter IS the way forward. Perhaps cretinous behaviour should be actively encouraged. Lord Of The Flies, ladies and gentlemen, Lord Of The Flies. Eventually mob rule will sort our dissidents. It's got to be better than healthy respect and a chance at a fulfilling career and future, no?

Fuck it. Too much negativity. I'm going to image google Amber Rayne and hope for the best.

And you know what? It's not all doom and gloom. At least we have Neal. And his charming, witty upliftment of humanity.

NGDG: Getting to, into and away in your car from a parking lot without being spotted by a guard after money is about the most Jason Bourne feeling a law-abiding man can have.

Spread The Love. Six Of The Best IS Love.