FLOGGING A DEAD HORSE - THE MUSIC INDUSTRY TODAY

She's not a dead horse...

Look, I know it's the information age, and that I should be embracing change and making it work for me, but I will have this to say: If bands spent more time honing their craft instead of begging at the false altar of Faeceboobs for fake votes to get them onto bills that provide exposure, then we'd all be better off. Unfortunately, as it stands, it is already too late. The lowest common denominator has already been victorious. Any and all mainstream broadcast entities are testament to that. In that light, I will NEVER ask one single soul to "vote for my band" so that I can win anything at the expense of my integrity, or that of my band or my music. Not for recording contracts. Not for a slot at an event. Nothing. And fucking shame on those that do. You're part of the problem. Don't be. This is the true meaning of selling out. Not the cool one, where Steve Tyler was once quoted saying "Yeah we sold out. Stadium... after stadium.... after stadium..."

And on a very related note, why can't we all just pull in the same direction? Yet again, I witnessed some smug little prick - more than likely boiling over with jealousy - have a dig at an up and coming band. Ours is not a music scene. Ours is a fragile, fragile microcosm of ego-fuelled wankers. You know the saying "Big fish in a small pond"? And conversely (and very often used to dissuade our local artists to venture overseas) "Small fish in a big pond"? Well, I have news for everyone. This is not a pond anymore. It is a series of small festering puddles. And instead of beauty, we have Bilharzia.

The truth of the matter is this. We have wonderful, world class venues at which to play. We have some of the best festivals in the world as well - huge, well run and fantastically attended. The internet and the telephone and the printer have revolutionised YOUR ability to spread the word of your upcoming shows. Electricity and the advent of software have made it possible to get a reasonably good product to people - at virtually no expense to the "artist". Trust me, it was way more difficult in the good old days.

If you're not getting onto the stages you want, or not getting booked, ask yourself who is really to blame?
How about you put in some effort and keep the petty bullshit out of it. Not helping anyone. Be the positive difference you'd like to see in everything around you. And by that I don't mean wear hemp and live in a hut made of pooh. I mean stop being a negative dickhole - and, yes, I am looking each and every one of you square in the fucking eye - and do something to help. Not hinder.

NGDG: The bumper sticker said "Baby Blue Bull on Board". Fools! It's called a 'calf'.

Spread The Love. We All Stand Together! Dum...Dum...

2 GIRLS, 1... NO WAIT HANG ON. 4 GIRLS, 2... SHIT THAT'S NOT IT EITHER...

It's a duck blur...! Thanks, Mo-With-The-Mostest. No idea where you got it...

Well, well, well. Who'd have thunk it. Today, and indeed this very post, marks the FOUR HUNDREDTH time you've been forced to endure my ranting, my commentary, my opinions, my views, my reviews, my silly diatribes and my peep hole glimpses into what it is that I do with myself. Take your mind out of the gutter.

Thank you for keeping on reading. I wouldn't bother if it weren't for you, my clearly erudite and "cool before it was cool to be cool" readers. My friends. NOT my family. If they ever read this, they'd shit. Except obviously the better half of the DSW, otherwise known as The Little Sister.

So this being a landmark entry, perhaps I'd better make it interesting. And... right on cue... I have sweet fuckall to contribute. Not to the literary content of the intrawebnets or humankind in general. Nyet. Nada. Bupkiss.

OR, I could go all John Cusack on your ass and start making 'High Fidelity' lists, seeing as it's a numbers game today. Let's see. Let's make four lists of my Top 4 something-or-others today. This may require some thinking...
Ok, the rules are, I'm not allowed to do too much premeditative analysis, just the first 4 things that pop into my head when I have thought of a heading. Here goes.

Top 4 songs with the word 'for' in their titles:

1. For My Fallen Angel - My Dying Bride
2. For You - My Dying Bride
3. For Whom The Bell Tolls - Metallica
4. Forsaker - Katatonia

Top 4 things to do when drunk:

1. Make derisive comments about shit music and/or bands.
2. Embarrass the balls off of anyone in the vicinity with loud, belligerent and more often than not, lewd observations about anyone and anything.
3. Lose my beer and accept that I have to go and buy another.
4. Giggle like a little girl and not remember anything the next day.

The 4 most terrible things in the whole world:

1. Birds.
2. Bad music.
3. Other people and what they are capable of inflicting on one another.
4. The unstoppable march of progress, since it has resulted in nothing more than more greed, less manners and the utter annihilation of conventional spelling.

And last but by no means least - and by that I mean "I can't think of anything else"...

Top 4 of my posts over the years:

1. Gut Busters
2. The List
3. De Agony Of De Feet
4. Shake What Yo Mama Gave Ya.

Oh, go on! You KNOW you want to click and find out if my boastful assertions are true...

And that, in no particular order, is nothing more than a very entertaining break from your mundane little lives. Enjoy! I'll be back again tomorrow with more, like it or not.

Also, as it was Doom practice last night and NO FUN is allowed, you'd be surprised how many derivations on movie titles you can come up with by substituting a word, or part thereof, with the word "pooh". I sometimes marvel at the adolescent sense of humour displayed by my growned up friends.

NGDG: Phone's battery is about to die. Still, I will pretend to FB long after its tamagotchi-death-throes so weird man in takeout queue keeps himself, if not his eyes, to himself.

Spread The Love. Forgive, Forget, Fornicate. For Fuck's Sake.

SNOOZE BUTTON!

So, I had quite a weekend. What with avoiding the Tattoo Convention like the plague, attending a shit-kicking gig at Mercury with Sabretooth and Bulletscript, and a hangover of monumenstrual proportions, I think I may just have come out of it alive.

Add to all that the fact that I bought a new computer, and suddenly it's looking quite a success. Typically, though, I got home with the pc, unwrapped it and stood and stared at the shiny new box for a while. I'm not a girl, I'm just excessively technophobic. I will need one of my many IT-mad friends to come over and install stuff. I can tell you this, though. It has 5 gasquillians of those jigglemahwhatsamacallits and a terrible harddrive. Or something. And it's all shiny and new, so I don't want to fuck it up quite yet.

I may just be tempted to put fried chicken in it so I can get it to "internet"...

And in the biggest news of the weekend, I have cramp. Lego is apparently a young man's game. I recently got all my childhood Lego out of storage from my folks' place. Yesterday was the big day. I decided to spend some quality time rediscovering my youth, hunched over tons of Lego spread out all over the lounge floor. Wow! Time literally does fly when you're having fun. I felt like a kid again. Except I was drinking beer - a thought which occurred to me at the time as "Fucking awesome!" Anyway, after roughly hours of being lost in a more pleasant time, I went to bed and - much to my horrified surprise this morning - was in agony! As I sit here right now, I can hardly feel my legs or turn my head sideways. Can't wait for the next instalment. Also, in my infinite wisdom and excitement, I rushed headlong into it, constructing individual sets from the picture on the front of the box. Which is a lot more taxing than you'd imagine. FINALLY! Something I can use my engineering degree for. My ol' Mum would have been so proud. As it turns out, I'm just a stupid pillock, as I found the package of plans as I was finishing up, which resulted in another hour fixing the slight "box cover vs plan" miscalculations.

Anyway, that was my weekend. I hope the week stretched out ahead (and I mean streeeeetched with no fucking end in sight - isn't it always like that when you have big plans for a weekend?) is a smooth ride for you all. Sweet dreams...

NGDG: Did these Dylan Moran DVDs have holes in them initially or did I do that?

Spread The Love. It's Coming Up To February... Ominously.

I HAVE A NEW ARSEHOLE.

Please. We're British...

Yes, ladies and gentle-weepers, I am sporting a rather fetching new ("spanking", if you will...) orifice. Pretty adjacent to 'Old Faithful'. Why, you may ask. I'll tell you why. Oh, I'll tell you. Courtesy of the kind lads at Bulletscript - who very generously tore it for me. On Friday night. At United Underground II. At Mercury. And then to add insult to injury - literally - I was greased up for some Steel Panther sexy time by the Sabretooth boys. Add a couple of Black Label Drafts and a few tequilas and it's no wonder I ended the evening informing the car guard she was wasting her time and should rather concentrate on beauty pageants.

So, it would seem heavy metal is alive, well and kicking in some fucking teeth. The bands sounded glorious courtesy of Ian from Hellfire. The lighting was once again fantastic. Mercury Live - what a venue! The atmosphere couldn't have been better. Bulletscript opened proceedings with their trademark mid-paced ferocity. A sound as reminiscent of classic era Entombed as it is a burly, bastardised riff-o-rama of other influences, the boys did not disappoint. Obviously not pandering to stage theatrics or any discernible fashion statements, they allow the music to do the talking. Or rather, the barking and roaring. George "Teethgrinder" Schoombee on vocals is a stellar performer, his bulk, his experience and his sheer focused energy transforming every track into a venom fuelled anthem. Guitarists Jacques Hugo and Matt HT display the kind of impressive, intricate riffing that gives new meaning to the term "duck's arse", both occasionally deviating into a tasteful solo or single string accompaniment.  Don't get me started on the drummer. The guy's a demon. And clearly these boys are into it. Not just a little bit, they're INTO IT, into it. The grooves are MASSIVE and the intention is clear, tonight Bulletscript is going to bludgeon you into submission. And you - and even more importantly, they - are going to enjoy it! And even more impressive is the fact that their own songs are as good, if not better than, the Carcass cover they included in their set. Take it from me, this is not the norm. 'Portent' was monumental, 'We Owe You Nothing' even more so, and the new stuff they closed the set with was simply the monstrous cherry on the cake! Perhaps it's just because I identify with that particular brand of metal, but I'd like to think that over the years I have developed an ear and an eye for something special. Look out for these guys. If THIS is the state of metal in Cape Town (or even the country) right now, we're in for a serious treat. Catch their next performance at this weekend's Metal4Africa Summerfest '13. I'll be there, singing their praises.

And then Sabretooth came on. Hair, hard-ons and harmonies, these guys are the ultimate band if you're into melody-driven metal that will either leave you dry-mouthed and awestruck or jumping up and down having the time of your life. They look the part, they act the part, but more importantly they PLAY the part. Never before has there been such a veritable who's who of virtuosos under one name and one banner. Horns held high, the crowd certainly appreciated another impeccable performance.

By this stage I was already well into the belligerent phase of my evening's alcohol intake and so shall refrain from repeating what I had to say about the other acts. Mike, I love the fact that you understand, mate! You're a scholar and a gent!

Black Label Draft, fuck you! But I love you...

More to follow this afternoon.

Spread The Love. It Puts The Lotion On Itself...

WHO'S BEEN A NAUGHTY BOY?

Afternoon ye landlubbers! Hope it's as nice where you are as it is here in the Mother City. Soon to be renamed the Motherless City, as it's almost beer'o'clock for some of us.

As the inked hordes descend on the annual Tattoo Convention, the rest of us (and others) are going to be at Mercury tonight for UNITED UNDERGROUND II - a celebration of musical diversity in the dark, damp, dank underbelly of the underworld. Or, in more sensible terms, a great big fuck-off shiny gig featuring the best of metal and punk playing alongside each other on one stage on one night. Isn't it glorious! Representing the metalheads - in the red corner - are the saviours of swagger and shred, Sabretooth, and the bullies of brutal bottom end, Bulletscript!
And in the blue corner - taking up the cause of the punk(ish) fraternity - the highjinkery of Half Price and the sonic sweaty stomp of 7th Son!
And at the bar, stationed right by the Black Label Draft tap (I know... I'll never learn) and propping up the bar between shots with Sidney (greatest bartender on the planet), this old git. Pretending the music is too loud to hear what you're yelling at me...

Which brings us super conveniently to last night's dinner debacle. There I was. House freshly scrubbed. Fresh ingredients bought. Beer fridge fuller than usual. About to metaphorically roll up my sleeves and start choppin', when the phone rings. A rather sheepish voice on the other end informs me that "I got he dates wrong and already cooked for everyone - would you mind coming here instead?" Luckily they caught me just in time and I was whisked off to an evening of festivities that included the biggest leg of lamb I have ever seen. I almost saddled up and went to town. Anyway, now I have to make the wunder-meal planned for yesterday, tonight, lest the perishables, um... perish. I will probably be eating the same thing all of next week. Good times!

Ok I'm just going to put the cricket on - and that's me for the afternoon. Cheers everybody, have a wonderful weekend. And, in the words of my wise Dad "If you're not in bed by 10, go home".

Oh, that reminds me of a wonderful line I gleaned from an article on how fucked up the youth of today are: "Grow a backbone, not a wishbone." Or something like that. Priceless.

NGDG: Stop it! Stop the war! Naughty!

Spread The Love. What, Like In The Back Of A Volkswagen?

ROAD HEAD

Just another heading in an ongoing experiment, in which I aim to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that all internet users (at least those that know how to use the internet) are raging pervs. Hi. YOU clicked the link because YOU thought you were going to get some NSFW goodies, didn't you! Have none of you seen 'Thinner'?

Anyway, here we are again. Another day - another death - another disgusting show of moronic everything on the news. Today I skip that all and - having passed Begin and collected my R200 - proceed directly onto the awesome evening that awaits me on this fine ass day in the Mother City. Tonight it is my turn to Gordon Ramsey for the hordes. Well, I probably will never be able to emulate his culinary exploits, but I can curse like the proverbial motherfucking sailor. And be a real rotter of a dick, given half a chance.

I'm also going to visit the convalescing Rose Thorn, who is bedridden with stitches in her. The plan is to make her laugh as hard as possible to test the integrity of the stitches. Probably where the saying comes from. Although, I doubt mopping up blood will win me any humour prizes.

Also, I have successfully purchased my Fetish tickets. Whoohooo! This time I am going to watch the entire set. Make no mistake. I also have in my grubby paws my Metal4Africa Summerfest '13 tickets including the bus pass. THE bus pass. They put dozens of metalheads on a bus and allow us to drink all the way to Stellenbosch. Genius. Sozzled by the time the opening band starts!

And in the one scrap of good news for our tip of Africa here, our football team played some actual real live football yesterday. We beat our neighbouring Angola - a repeat of a very long war we fought in real life a few years ago. How times change. I'm glad that these days differences can be settled in 90 minutes on a lawn with a whistle. And the most offensive projectile one has to worry about is a vuvuzela flung at you by a disgruntled cabbage ravaging savage. I've NEVER understood the significance of suddenly producing coleslaw when a goal is scored...

But the day draws to a close all too quickly, and I have to go and clean my house and cook. If Martha Stewart issued capes...

NGDG: The Yuppie Nuremberg Defence

Spread The Love. Road Trips A Good Place To Start.

FETISH. AND PAPER PANTIES.

In today's outpouring of schmaltz from the loftiest little virtual soapbox in the whole of intraweblands, we check out - firstly - a proudly South African form of exercise and wage negotiation. It is a tool most often used by tantrumming toddlers and disgruntled workers when the loudly declared phrase "I want! I want!" isn't doing the trick. In this segment, we learn a valuable routine and classic part of indigenous culture - How to Toyi-Toyi.  Please refrain from the more advanced routines, which include muscle toning through bin tipping. You're still a novice and might hurt yourself.

Secondly, The Car Guy shows all the would-be "photographers" out there in intrawebland how it's done on his recent trip to photograph the Dakar Rally. He even slipped in a naughty little word in his blog about it. Naughty, naughty...

And then, as all good things come in threes, Fetish go and publish their tour dates for South Africa. Everyone knows I worship this band. I'm as excited as a fat kid in a huge cup cake having to eat its way out, when mine eyes cast downwards and I spy the support act for Durban. Well, "support schmapport", either way - it is the incomparable Miss Shannon Hope. Seeing Michelle Breeze and Shannon on the same night would render most music lovers catatonic, but THIS music lover? Plans are afoot to make a wee road trip. (I'll probably make a wee as well...) We'll see if I survive. With Tarty Farty Tequila Party as a travel companion, I'm sure shenanigans will be the order of the day.

That's enough about you. Let's talk about me. Tonight I record the next great SubVerS mega hit with my co-conspirators at Studio Swag (Fuck, I hate that word, but that's for another blog altogether). Alas I might not fit the dreaded running in before, so I'm totally gutted about that.

Rose Thorn was a model patient and escaped from her surgery - obviously not unscathed - but successfully. She is in fact well enough to complain about the paper underwear provided her and posting pictures of hospital food. So I don't think we have anything to worry about. Welcome back to the land of the living. Having an appendix removed is one hell of an extreme way to shed a little weight, luv. Don't do it again!

I suppose it's not all that bad. Paper panties beat rock panties. And I'm sure rock panties beat ones made from scissors. Although, there's a grooming product idea to look into...

NGDG: Damned if you do. Damned if you don't. But the perdition is exponential if you ask what the hell is going on.

Spread The Love. Little Hearts...

DROPPING TROU LIKE GALILEO DROPPED THE ORANGE...

From online web comic CTRL+ALT+DEL. Used without permission.

Some of you may have missed my post yesterday - considering it was SO exciting that I posted it really early. I couldn't help myself. And then I failed to link it up on most social media sites. I was clearly overcome with the prospect of your sheer delight at reading it.

That has sweet fuckall to do with today's post. Which, as usual, in fact has sweet fuckall to do with just about anything. The cricket is about to start, the telly is on in the office and I had better make this quick (see how devoted I am to you?)

I could easily go on about the utter farce that is local and worldwide politics, but I shall refrain, as it's nothing more than a variation on a theme. Although the following question raised itself the other day: Do the seemingly well educated citizens in America who voted to keep Obama in power only concern themselves with the ongoing domestic well being of their country, or are they aware of the reported war crimes against humanity that he and his ad-minestrone are being accused of throughout the rest of the World? Serious question. I cannot formulate an opinion unless I know what people are thinking.

Then there is the sports administration. And DO NOT get me started on the fucking commentary for the AFCON. I am an avid football fan and watch as much as I can, but if I have to hear "The beat at Africa's feet" or "Do you believe" from that delusional character again my new TV is in serious danger of death-by-projectile-beer-bottle. And then there's all the remonstrating with referees. Has anyone EVER seen a referee overturn a decision because the player in front of him was pleading innocence? It's like the players themselves have never heard of television coverage. I mean, come on! The cameras are so good these days, they can pick out what you had for breakfast a week ago. Am I an old fool, or is the only place for moral degeneration in front of a camera? On the set of a film with no story line...

Ok I suppose I can say something about it. First National Bank filmed a bunch of kids who gave individual  little State-Of-The-Nation addresses. Not like the make-believe utter wank we are forced to endure when the Prez 4 Lifebouy stammers his way through it, but the real on-the-ground version. They have now been accused of treacherous treason by the very ruling party that has been exposed by these youngsters, who were filmed imploring them to stop acting like such worthless c**ts and to start doing something to halt the rot that has set into our beautiful flagship of democracy. Fuck, I couldn't help myself. And the residents of Sasolburg were ALL filmed stealing and committing acts of vandalism because, well fuck it, they felt like it. It is worth noting that the looters all made off with armfuls of cheap booze, and not proper food for their households. If "Logic" were floated on the JSE, you'd witness the first commodity to plummet downwards from a zero start.

And in other - more terrifying - news, Rose Thorn is as high as fuck right now. She is going under the knife in a few short hours to have something of no use whatsoever surgically removed from her innards. We here at the offices of the Monster wish her and her long suffering male nurse, Commander Conker, the best of luck and a speedy recovery. I shall bring you jelly. As it is customary.

I've had enough. Screw these guys. I'm out.

NGDG: For a film about dwarves, it's awfully bloody long.

Spread The Love. Pass The Codeine And The Jack.

IT'S OK EAT FISH. THEY DON'T HAVE ANY FEELINGS.

"And it went wherever I did go..."

I don't give a fuck if you're gay, straight, black, white, Catholic, Protestant, short, tall, fat, skinny, wealthy, poor, political, hippy, whatever. I don't even give a fuck if you're a Manchester City supporter, as long as you don't act like a prize pillock.

Case in point, the gentleman who decided to make a spectacular scene on Friday evening. We would have nicknamed him 'Priscilla Queen Of The Desserts' if we weren't so pissed off or even if we'd thought of it at the time.
You see, dear gentle reader, it was about time to celebrate a lengthy chunk of time The Hot Girlfriend and I have been together. (I could finally afford a nice restaurant.) So off we did go to some swanky-ish eatery in our finest. Having been seated at a cool little corner, we started perusing the menu. Most of the right hand column was written in "trepidation" font. And then we realised the uneasy, tense atmosphere emanating from the table next door to us, as a seemingly normal middle-aged gay couple was making their way through their own hopefully delightful evening. Not so.
With much fanfare the poor waiter was summoned over and grilled about the fish. Dude, yes, it's "delicate". Yes. It's served with whatever. Yes. It's lightly cooked in what-what. Yes, sir, I assure you you will not be disappointed.

... 5 WHOLE minutes pass...

Feet start trippling uncontrollably under the table. Barely concealed howls of outrage at having to wait so long fill the restaurant. Patrons start to get uneasy. Glances are cast. The poor waiter, after explaining to the gentleman that he couldn't serve uncooked food was sent to summon the manager, who had even less luck with this doos. Freak out! "Just take me home! Please! This is ridiculous! Take me home now!" At this stage the partner was doing his best to blend in with the background like a chameleon.

Just then the food arrives...

One bite... ONE.

Hack! Hack! Hack! Hack! 20 Seconds later the plate that had contained on it a lovely looking piece of Kingklip and some sides was reduced to a large portion of marine Purity. And declared, loudly and vociferously to be "the most tasteless and disgusting plate of food I have ever had..."

In a supreme effort not to ruin my own evening by glassing this shithead, I asked if we could be seated elsewhere. Our mutual waiter was very accommodating. The Hot Girlfriend was very persuasive at convincing me to remain seated after Cock Master apparently told her off across the restaurant for glancing in his direction.

At long last he stormed out, his buddy skulking out of a side door, and to my eternal surprise, there was no applause.

What an awful human being.

Nonetheless, the evening was a resounding success. Our food was awesome. Our service even better. And The Hot Girlfriend was wearing a dress that could turn Charlie Sheen into an advocate of serial monogamy. Dayamn!

The rest of the weekend passed without incident. Went looking for cars and spent most of Saturday afternoon watching a card game I'll never understand.

And in the news today! I won 3 Tunes Of Dawn cds! Whoohoo! A huge thanks to Carrie Clevenger and Nerine Dorman. Now to wait until they announce me as the winner of a tattoo voucher as promised for getting 4 "likes" on a photo comment on Friday...

And for those of you that already require a little something to smooth your furrowed brows this Monday morning, Shannon Hope presents this haunting rendition of Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day'. Perfect.

NGDG: I know it's an irrational fear but I'm still scared that if one day I commit a petty crime I may end up being shipped to Australia.

Spread The Love. A Little Goes A Long Way.

...UP YOUR ASS!

Happy Irreverent Friday, one and all! A day of days! A day to insert foreign, shiny objects in your derriere...
You may have picked up that today is all about THE MERRILLS. Whatever floats your boat; Thrash, Death, Doom, Black, Speed, Power and all else in between. Actually now that I look at that list, I think I'll patent a "Metal Vibrator" and those can be the settings...
It'll have horns on it. Naturally.

Which brings me neatly to today's order of business. The continent's leaders in metal community, Metal4Africa, are about to unleash yet another of their bi-annual metal festivals. The Metal4Africa Summerfest is once again upon us and beware your tarnished little soul if you don't join in the drunken, dirty revelry. Take it from a long time patron, yours truly. It is a thing of wide-eyed wonder and much horns'n'headbanging! If you manage NOT to pass out before the conclusion of proceedings you will be treated to the best South Africa has to offer. The guys really go out of their way to put on a stellar event every year. The entertainment is sublime. The merchandise supplied by Subterania is more than your brain can handle. The Party Bus is the shit (I'll be at the back raising hell with the usual suspects). The facilities are immaculate. And have I mentioned how cheap the booze is? It's a fucking joke. No wonder this event usually results in many a photograph being used for extortion...

Onto the bands. Highlights are a visit from beyond our borders. Overthrust are from Botswana and promise to bring their own brand of indigenous old-school death metal. Be prepared. Then Infanteria launch their much anticipated debut album 'Isolated Existence'. As for the rest of the day, it is left in the more than capable hands of such gargantuan bands like Warinsane, Bulletscript, Suiderbees and many more to pulverise and pervert you into a swirling mass of sweaty, stomping happy-happy joy-joy.

Don't believe me? I dare to you to put on your Big Girl Pants and come and check it out...

And in the meantime. To whet your appetite. And since it's so close to beer o'clock you can almost taste it, here is a Metal4Africa Summerfest '13 Free Sampler featuring tracks from every single band on show. Come on, you know you want to. If curiosity didn't kill the cat, then metal will invariably take the blame. We know it's unfair, so in the interest of maintaining our lily-white image in the commercial press, PLEASE download this...

See you strumpets at the fringes of the mosh pit. (I'm old - fuck off!)

NGDG: Gone and put Sheryl Crow in my head after yesterday. "I like a good beer-buzz in the morning." "I still get stoned / I'm not the kinda girl you take home." "What happened to me? I ain't done shit in years."

Spread The Love. Creepy Creepy...

COCK UP!

Or, for those of you who remember this famous scene from Thin Blue Line with Mr Bean...
"Your cock-up... my arse!"
THAT provided years of ever increasing levels of mirth in my post adolescence. What am I talking about!? It still does! Probably speaks volumes about my post adolescence as well...

So here we sit on a wonderfully balmy afternoon snuggled in the sweaty bosom of the Mother City, now thankfully almost entirely foreigner-free. School has started again, so with any luck the hordes of screaming, shrieking neighbourhood round-headed house pets will be more tired out in the afternoons and not so inclined to inflict high-pitched auraloscopies on me when I get home from work and want a bit of peace and quiet. I mean, they can be heard OVER the Machine Head that usually accompanies my cold beer as I put my feet up in the lounge. For pity's sake!

Have I ever told you about how much I loathe and downright detest musicals? I was reminded recently of this fact when a good friend of mine, Miss Cool, stated the same thing on Faeceboobs. And remarked - rather insightfully - how ironic is was (take notes, Alanis) that musicals are generally hated by musicians and lovers of music. Well, for what it's worth, I can't think of anything worse than an ensemble cast, or even just a lonely warbler, singing EVERY FUCKING WORD of a three hour movie. I give you Les Miserables - very popular at the moment. It's an engaging tale of poor people singing about their misfortune for hours on end. Kind of reminds me of  De Doorns...
I sincerely hope that these strikes bear some fruit and that the workers get a bit more out of the deal. I equally hope that this industrial action doesn't force the inevitable closure of some farms and businesses, thereby removing employment altogether. It's just happened to AngloPlatinum. What a pity (read horrifying crying shame) it is that the custodians of these poor, downtrodden masses, the useless fucking Union Representatives, do not explain the long term repercussions to the very people whose needs they are employed to care for. I REALLY should stop watching the news.

Dinner with The Tart was a roaring success last night. And I do mean ROARING. An evening - or any part of the day in fact - spent in the company of the delightful Tarty Farty Tequila Party is guaranteed to leave you  uplifted and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She has what's referred to as a "perma-chuckle". A guffaw is never far from bursting forth loudly and heartily from her lips. It's awesome. The food was good as well. And all the stories from Beitbridge to Botswana. Fascinating stuff. I'm sure you'll all read all about it soon enough in her blog. You know, the one in which she still owes us a "list of qualities a woman looks for in a man"...

I wonder if we'll ever see that...

NGDG: Sometimes your neighbour is having a raucous party and you want to complain. Sometimes they're blaring Rod Stewart and you want to ask if you can join in.

Spread The Love. Just Not Like On The Thin Blue Line.

PUMP ACTION - FOR THE LADIES.

Bet you can't take these puppies to the local basketball court...
They'd look bloody good at a fetish ball though. I wonder what happened to those. We used to have so many here in Cape Town. Miss that. I'd be the only boring git in normal clothes, generally pissed out of my mind, leering at the barely clothed beauties. Most nights I'd just get exasperated sighs aimed at me, or scowls of pity. One night I was very severely admonished for attempting to claim ownership of the resident flogger's whip. Luckily I didn't get on my moer with it...

The suspensions is where I draw the line though. I can't imagine what kind of catatonic shock you must go into to not pass out from the pain. No thank you. Me, myself and my gauche, leather clad arse would rather remain at the bar. Attempting a far more elegant form of suicide.

Anyway, as you may have derived from my utter lack of content today, I utterly lack content today. Absolutely nothing happened yesterday, funny or otherwise. I cleaned my living room and played with my lego. Really. At least tonight promises to be a fun evening jam packed with hilarity, wine and guffaws aplenty. You guessed it. I'm making dinner for Tarty Farty Tequila Party, to welcome her back from her Southern African Adventure.

And don't get me started on the news. I recently attempted to watch The Fountain. It's a very serious movie starring Huge Ackman and Rachel Weiss. And it's very, very long. And I didn't study film. And there was a lot of very fucking meaningful staring going on. It has 3 intertwining story lines set in different times. It's intensity is outweighed only by it's inherent sadness. I didn't make it to the end of the movie. It was far too sad. But NOTHING compared to the the news I watched last night. Just in general. Fuck, this country - and indeed the world - is so absolutely utterly fucked it's not funny. And although THAT OTHER BLOGGER keeps banging on about how wonderful it is here, and that is the only thing on which we agree, yesterday I found it really hard to maintain my optimism.

And on that delightful note I leave you, my learned and sophisticated reader. May your evening hold as much joy and laughter as mine is bound to.

NGDG: Seven return flights to France, all the pasta and Gatorade you can eat, $30m and Sheryl Crow's sweet loving. Who need integrity? And if he doesn't jump on Oprah's couch, he's already automatically not the biggest wanker in the USA.

Spread The Love. Get Them Heels In The Air!

DESIGNATED DRINKER

No idea who made this - used without permission. Fokken sorry.

You don't need tattoos or be an ex junkie to be cool...
There, I said it. I get it. Tattoos are meant to beautify, signify, identify. I have had the privilege of seeing many inspiring (and inspired) pieces and have the pleasure of counting some of the greatest local artists among my friends. With them I have no truck. I am here today to point out that tattoos are no longer the taboo subject they used to be. They no longer instill fear in the casual passer by. They no longer force worried fathers into chasing young men off their properties with their shotguns when they come a'callin' on their precious daughters. They do not make you stand out. They are not the reserve of the almightily underground or obstinately otherwise. A tattoo does not fill you with street cred or turn you into something "more than yourself".

Please, for the love of Mike, stop acting as if they do.

Now before you go all Sailor Jerry on my virgin-skinned arse, listen. I have nothing against tattoos, those that adorn their bodies with art, or the industry itself. I have a major problem with the few inkblots among you who act as if tattoos make them cooler than Jack Parow. Or more savvy, or more deserving, or more virile, or more anything. Please! You're not even less likely to find employment anymore. Tattoos are so commonplace these days that the person interviewing you most likely has a number of designs under his or her shirt.

You are not an original little snowflake. Stop acting like a dickhead and show the same respect you expect.

To those of you decent folk out there that sport beautiful body art - good on you. To those of you who sport the same fucking generic, picked-from-a-catalogue, unoriginal piece of shitty body art and have an undeserved attitude, kindly fuck off and go and pay some half-arsed excuse of a mouth breather to make it worse.

Also, just because Dave Navarro so heroically pulls it off, doesn't mean you're anything like him.

On that note (see how I tied in the coolest musician in the history of the world with skin art) the Cape Town International Tattoo Convention 2013 is upon us! Go check out all the gorgeous art and all the shady wankers skulking around in the background acting, well, like wankers.

But fear not, there will be entertainment abundant. There are three days of concurrent live music parties, featuring the likes of Th'DamnedCrows, Them Tornados, Long Time Citizen and a whole bunch more. Check it out here. Siren's Call.

And I haven't even got to the point of today's post. I am instituting a new social construct. I propose being the designated drinker. That way one of the mates is forced to refrain from getting shartfaced and will be rewarded with the honour of ensuring my safe arrival home, no doubt being regaled with many loud and entertaining anecdotes all evening. It will save that individual money. And judging by my well documented history, ensure a lot of embarrassment. But at least I'll be having fun with the rest of the inebriates. You may thank me for removing the yoke of social expectation from your already over-burdened shoulders later.

NGDG: You know what I was good at at school? Cursive. Penmanship. So confident I was one of the first to be graduated from HB pencil to ballpoint. Hella load of good that is in life.

Spread The Love. Unless Thy Neighbours Hath The Cooties.

CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY

Bono finally found what he was looking for...

Actually, Julius... Make that more "cry me a motherfucking river"...
Shame, did you get a spank-botty from the big boys? Did they take away your toys and your privileges? Are you in the kak of the "hit the fan" variety? Boo fucking hoo! Can't pay your debts now that the purse strings from an evil and corrupt government YOU helped secure been cut? Feeling a right pillock? Now imagine what all those people feel like who voted for you fucking idiots all these years.

Luckily you'll be able to live off your fat reserves for at least until you can coerce some fat-cat money-man to pay for your medical parole...

In other news, I have been cheated. Not only is the SABC so dismally and utterly worthless that they can't even put the gazillions of rondts bled from its viewers to good enough use to get the rights to broadcast HOME test cricket, but the highlights late at night have horribly restrictive sound problems. Fuck you, SABC. Also, New Zealand were so rubbish that 4 entire days were lost because they got such a hiding. South Africa won without having to bat twice in both matches. I smell a rat.

On a much brighter note, I have online training at work - today and tomorrow. This will account for you not having my undivided attention. My apologies. The joy.

So what did you get up to this weekend? Mine was filled with not watching cricket, running in the noonday sun, and finally, braaing at the in-laws, which was awesome. Coincidentally, I have come to the conclusion that I must be a mad dog, since I am not an Englishman in any other way but the broadest definition. A very red mad dog, it has to be added. A new hue. Rabid Red. It would probably make quite the seductive shade of lipstick.

And speaking of dogs' penises that resemble lipsticks, The Parlotones have just jetted off to become astronauts elsewhere on the planet. Finally. Good luck, 'Mericuh!

It's a good news day! Tarty Farty Tequila Party made it back home in one piece last night as well! She's been playing "colonialist-colonialist" all holiday. Can't wait to read all about it!

NGDG: I had a dream last night about the woman I'm going to marry. Never seen her before.She made a joke at my expense in the only way it's possible to do so without me writing you off like a bad debt. And it was set, in the dream, in a summer that seemed like it belonged in the past. I'm scared I may have perved over a friend's mom in my childhood.

Spread The Love. What? It's Lost? Ok... Fire At Will.

YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

Well hello there, you bunch of gorgeous gangsters!
It's Friday! And that can mean only one thing. A little irreverence, anyone?

Let's start with these devilishly handsome gentlemen right here. Th'DamnedCrows' much anticipated NEW SINGLE 'Blue Eyed Devil' has been unleashed upon the interwebs today for free download. For FREE! Mahala! Nothing! Not only is it fucking brilliant, it also is a good-looking head and shoulders above the stuff currently out there. These boys have raised the bar. It's sweaty. It's swampy. It's sexy. It's groovy and it fucking WILL kick your lethargic arse. The perfect tune to get you started this weekend. Go on. Be naughty. Indulge in the devilish delight that is Cape Town's freshest wrecking crew.

And then onto something else that came up recently... Why do we set so much store on the success of other peoples' relationships.
Is it because we are basically always going to be more loyal to one party than the other? Lines drawn in the sand? Is it because break ups usually provide us with a target on which to paint our moral indignation? Or is it merely disappointment that a couple that were seemingly perfect for each other proved your misguided belief in romance worthless, and so ultimately, your own romantic goals? Just something on which to ponder...

In this humble scribe's pompous and puffed out opinion, these things happen. One can't be held accountable for no longer bearing a flaming torch for someone you were once very attracted to. This is why casual flings are so popular. Both parties understand the fleeting nature of the arrangement.

Anyway, once again there is test cricket to be savoured, football to be enjoyed, and ice cold beer to be greedily guzzled. Yes, ladies and germs, it is - as that other irritating blonde wanker puts it - the weekend, baby!

NGDG: Bloody Vodacom. I don't see card machines dropping signal when shops want my money.

Spread The Love. Sticky And Icky Does It.

PSYCHO... EEEH... EEEH... EEEH...

So. While Tarty Farty Tequila Party is swanning about on her Nothern Adventure, the rest of us concerned citizens started to get a bit worried. Heaven only knows the terror the poor border patrol police might be facing right now. So, with the help of social media and various other ways of communication, we tracked her down at Beitbridge, where she is readying herself to pounce on unsuspecting law enforcement and to re-enter the country that calls her one of its children. Her poor dogs must be frantic with excitement. Anyway, the moral of this story is the power of Facebook, Skype and mobile telephone technology. None of which are available in Zimbabwe. Apparently.

Apparently it is also funny that the concerned citizens that number among her horde of friends were concerned. Not that I had any doubts, mind you. That Tarty, she's tough. Like Nandos...

I have since found out some more about this "cut yourself for Bieber" nonsense. What evil is perpetrated by some disgusting motherfuckers. It's sickening that those that would have you believe that they are so high and mighty and superior would plumb such depths in order to point out the weaknesses of others or to make make themselves feel better about their well hidden inadequacies. Basically some dickheads reacted to pictures of Justin Bieber - the lad(y) everyone so loves to hate - smoking a joint. A hashtag campaign soon went viral encouraging Bieber fans to cut themselves in a show of concern and solidarity against his "drug abuse". Clearly this group of fans consists largely of young, very impressionable kids. Rag on Bieber, but how can you be so fucking irresponsible as to jeopardise the safety of children? You may think it's funny, but if that was YOUR little sister? Educate, don't discriminate. Yes, I fucking loathe the little tit as well. But pop stars of his ilk have been keeping your precious underground metal off 5FM's charts since long before you learned how to be a doos, so think before you do something as grandiosely stupid again.

But then we do live in a world largely populated by people who make the utterly ignorant look like Einstein. Fuck the bell curve. We're ALL number one! That you are, my fellow human beings. A bunch of piss ants. Only the very few deserve the title human being, come to that. Compassion is no longer the commodity it once was. If it EVER was...

Enough of that. It's ruining my day. This evening Commander Conker and I once more park the Trojan horse that is the Flooring Depot panel van outside the mountain and lay siege to its slopes. With any luck I'll make it back to tell the tale. Then it's off to the first Dinner Club of the year - expertly hosted by the sister and the Brother-In-Awe. No cooking for me tonight! Whoohooo!

NGDG: I have a fan in my room; and woke up feeling the exact opposite of Charlie Sheen in the same situation.

Spread The Love. #dontbeacunt

MISS BLOWJOB 2008. APPARENTLY...

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SHAVE-YER-GUAVA

The best dick pic in the interwebs! Say hi to our Prez 4 Lifebouy. A true dickhole of an individual. Uncle Bob, our friendly northern neighbour, approves.

But enough about this fool, let's talk about something else for a change. I've had enough of this pessimism and continual focus on how fucked we all are. Let's get a bit more lighthearted. Let's talk about Doom Metal. Yes, Doom Metal.

Last night's band practice was a barrel of laughs. And anyone familiar with our super-serious bassist will know that could end in fatality. He goes by the name of (on this blog) The Big One. Incidentally, every time someone says "Oh, that sucks the big one" I descend into paralysed hysterics. Anyway, his laugh is not only possibly the most infectious thing this side of the flu, but it reaches a pitch and a volume that is dangerous to the normal human ear. It's probably a good thing our collective hearing is shot to shit after so many years of hiding our music from everyone then. Furthermore, not only does his laughter induce general sympathy guffaws and the occasion wet cheek and/or pant, it has an effect on a tectonic level. You literally feel the earth move when he gets good and going. Last night was one of those nights. I think the word anyone casually observing the scene would have used would have been "incongruous". But now I'm just showing off. You can use "megalol"...

I jest.

All this after a mildly successful flinging of limbs along the Promenade and back. By "mildly successful" I mean "I didn't die". In fact, I finished the run in record time. There's no explanation, since I haven't run in forever. Perhaps I was so out of it, I read the time wrong. Possible. Even probable. Tonight we take the fight to the mountain. THE Mountain. That slab of beautiful, unforgiving cruelty, who mocks you and then spits your spent frame out like a scorned lover. I will conquer that bitch one day. With the help of my trusty personal trainer/mountain goat, Commander Conker. He'll be the one prancing about elegantly from rock to rock, cheerfully grinning at the mass of cursing flesh falling upwards behind him...

And then a nice chilled evening at home with The Hot Girlfriend. We'll watch movies. I have been very fortunate this Christmas again. She bought me a whole bunch of Kevin Smith flicks. Fucking awesome!
Also, I intend to investigate this "cut yourself for Bieber" malarkey. Will report back any findings.

NGDG: Operation Buy-any-but-the-most-obvious-Tom-Waits-album-from-anywhere-in-Joburg must be declared a failure.

Spread The Love. Every Colour, Culture And Creed.

SOUTH AFRICANS ALL CHANGE THEIR NAMES TO MONICA LEWINSKY.

Yes folks, I'm complaining again.  Man, I have missed my little virtual soapbox! South Africans are applying en masse for a name change to Monica Lewinsky, because it's the closest approximation of what the president is doing to this collective rainbow nation. I would suggest Ben Dover, but in these times in which we're strangled by a dependence on celebrity culture and an absolute lack of lateral linguistics, I decided to be far more straight forward. Never mind the cigar. But, if like Monica, you go down... (you really should...) then you should go down to the woods. Today.

And no, Big Mac Maharaj, we are not attacking the president every time he opens his filthy mouth to utter some new kak at us. We are ridiculing him. Learn the difference. We do so with a profound sadness though, as he should not be so easy to take apart for his fucked up rhetoric. There is no malice. Just a sinking feeling. And although I do not envy you your job as Spin Doctor To The Biggest Tit Ever, I do envy your salary. Have fun earning it.

And in a complete about face, it's Friday. To be more specific, it's Friday afternoon in the Mother City. There's test cricket on and cold beer waiting in the fridge at home. Things are looking up. Plans for the weekend involve a FOURTH Christmas day. Awesome! If only I'd known about this possibility when I was wide eyed and full of wonder as a child. Especially since my weekend has now opened up courtesy of Kallis and co. At least I can enjoy being away from the telly.

Ah, test cricket... When it hits a lull like the one we're trudging through now, you get some delightful anecdotes from the commentators. Like the one about the Australian lad who bet all his wedding money on Australia to win that fateful day in the famous 438 game at Wanderers (one week before the ceremony). Needless to say he lost his money and is now probably wed to a sheep. Got to love the Antipodes. Although, exactly why is anyone's guess.

And on that note. Happy Irreverent Friday. And hope the first weekend of the year treats you all splendidly. I'm going to buy cheap pants.

NGDG: A child screeches hysterically as his mother tries to wrench him from the bollard and onto the escalator. All the women coming down smile and somewhere in the recesses of their dark and twisted minds think 'Aw! How cute.'

Spread The Love. Does This Cigar Smell Funny?

A DOG'S LIFE. YOU HAVE THE IDIOM WRONG.

So now apparently owning domestic canines makes you a recceest. Fuck me! Really? Is it coz you're in bed with the Chinese, who have the forward thinking to consider them tasty delicacies? The same fuckers with small dicks ruining our tourism trade and our local clothing industry?

It needs to be said. Our Prez For Lifebouy is a fucking short sighted, self-serving cunt with no regard for the people who put him in power. History, my dear fellow, has a way of dealing with the likes of you. Read up.

In case you were wondering what I'm on about, Happy New Year to you too! I refer to the following:
Here's a picture of a Black South African with his pet Rhodesian Ridgeback. It was taken some time in the 1950s. By feeding and caring for this dog, this South African was, according to our president, turning his back on his culture and doing white shit. What's worse is that in an attempt to explain his behaviour, the president's spokesman, Mac Maharaj, said Jacob Zuma was trying to "decolonise the African mind" when he criticised animal welfare and looking after pets as "white culture". [Niell Le Roux]

I'd like to include looking after and nurturing some other rubbish like: education, the economy, health care, the old and frail, and any semblance of human compassion. Fuck you. I hope you die a gruesome death. Preferably from something symbolic. Soon.

Anyway, in brighter news, the New Year test match is going swimmingly, although I am glad I refrained from buying tickets for a lovely Saturday at Newlands watching the starlings.

As usual, there isn't all that much out of the ordinary to report on from this time off. I sincerely hope each and every one of you have had a restful, fulfilling festive season and have entered into the new year refreshed and ready to take on the shovels full of kak life is no doubt going to dish out with renewed vim and vigour. With a special blob of "chin up" cream and a cherry to make it all better for a special mate. You know who you are.

Do you make resolutions? Other than adjusting the refresh rate on your gaming screen? I did. Privately. I thought if I made it public, I'd jinx myself, but then I realised if I don't let everyone in on it, there would be no incentive. I propose to become a healthier (and by that I mean fitter and with actual pecs) person this year. So if you're ever in the uncomfortable situation where you're suddenly aware of a pained, tortured, ghostly apparition flailing and wailing itself in your general vicinity, gnashing and sporting new running shoes, fear not. It's probably me...

So, in conclusion. All the best for you and yours. Unless you're a greedy, stupid, fat fuck of a dictator. Then my wish for you this year is to be stuck in your own personal hell. Perhaps an emergency vasectomy at Baragwaneth. Just after they mysteriously run out of anaesthesia.

And DO NOT get me started on the Matric Results. Might as well just start dishing out school certificates and Diplomas Picked From A Hat when a child turns 6. It's not like they're going to learn anything at school worth knowing anyway. Unless they introduce "How to drive the teachers to suicide because I know they can't do anything to me" as a subject. Most would excel, but I'm afraid parliament isn't hiring at the moment.

NGDG: I want to secretly swap those red plastic rhino horns on car grilles with little yellow dildos.

Spread The Love. But Not To Animals. That Shit's Too White.