Wednesday, May 22, 2013

MOM, WHAT'S A DONKEYPUNCH?

Aaah, me so horny!

Why Timmy, that's when one man loves another man... Oh go ask your father.
Thanks Neal, for inspiring today's word diarrhea. It's one of those days. I need a starting point. Either there is nothing interesting going on or there's too much sickening shit that I'm overwhelmed and have shut the world out temporarily. You decide...

Well, the one thing that's just come up is that I will never be allowed to become a Methodist minister. If they find out I'm a lesbian, all hell will break loose. Then it's each man, woman and child for themselves! Much like real life, where acts of selfless service are so few and far between that they may as well not exist.

Do I sound a little dejected today? That's weird, because I'm actually in quite a jovial mood. Not Santa Claus jovial, just normal jovial. I reckon he's only like that because he gets all the little children to sit on his lap. As for me, I still view kids as lemon targets. It disinfects and smells fresh.

Ah yes, that was it. It's officially World Goth Day. Happy happy to all the little darklings. Hope you're all suitably glum and beautiful. Much maligned bunch, the black clads. I love 'em. The best thing that ever happened was when so-called gothic music decided to formalise its insidious union with the far more brash metal. I'll never forget the first day I heard Paradise Lost. Part Sisters, part Metallica. I shat a little. And never looked back. Then of course the Cape Town underground scene pretty much took on that exact same vibe, with all the big bad metalhead guys ending up with all the pretty little goth girls. Like it says on the t-shirt, Those Were The Daze.

Which reminds me of my good friend, confidante, co-conspirator, and honorary little sister, the wonderful Miss Rose Thorn. You see, back in the previous century, before paint was carcinogenic and the real world was simulated on your Playstation, we used to love throwing people into pools at parties. So good at it were we, that we even had a system of nominating the next victim for an unexpected soaking. Long story short, on the night when we achieved our record of about 14 or 15 young ladies in the pool, we also added another twist. In as heroic an act as our nerdy little lives had ever produced, we actually dived in and joined them. There must have been something in the punch that night, because they all miraculously became topless. Anyway, Rose Thorn's wonderbra ended up taking permanent residence on a friend of mine's TV aerial the minute he got home and I was - of course - blamed. She'd gone home wearing, among other things, my Playground tshirt, since all her clothes were obviously wet. She has refused to return it since. And for the last number of years has claimed that it is gone. Presumably presiding over the island of lost socks...

Anyway, Those Were Indeed The Daze.

So, your homework for tonight is to go out, find a Goth celebrating World Goth Day and hug them and cover them with happy thoughts (just like Teddy's crotch unicorn) and tickle them and tell them they look particularly gaunt and pale in the haunting moonlight. Wonderful bunch. I'm a real bastard though. No really. Too goth to be metalhead, and too metalhead to be goth. And both and neither. It's a wonderful place to be. Except of course that time Fifi The Princess Of Darkness asked me (in broad daylight, horrified outrage and the middle of The Gardens Centre) why I was "out of uniform"... My resulting laughter probably didn't win my any brownie points.

If you can't find one tonight, then why don't you look to spread the love on Saturday? My good friends are putting on the party to end all parties. It's the Cape Town World Goth Day Party and I know a little something you don't know... I know who is going to be there. I know who is going to be spinning the best tunes all night. It promises to be an awesome night of delicious decadence, a super stylish affair with more than enough flesh for fantasy. Do it. It may even be better than the night I provided the soundtrack to the end of times. And Slappy earned her name. To this day neither of us knows how or why...

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 Columbia that I was given free by the bookstore owner because he knows I like random stuff.

Spread The Love. Go Make A Goth Laugh. They Like It.

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