GIVING HEAD LIKE A GROUPIE...

Mind Control...

This morning I had the immeasurable pleasure of being woken by the catastrophic cacophony of a group of fucking cats in my back yard. Rarely has such a beautiful sound graced the airwaves and entered the ears. Not even that time I got drunk at band practice and sang along in full booming voice. I love cats at the best of times. I'm also tremendously good at bending the truth. It can only be a deep and lasting affection, since I stopped short of purchasing a toy gun the other day. Those things hurt...

Speaking of almighty caterwauling, Saturday night's WAR ENSEMBLE was, in a word, awesome! The performances by some of our most talented musicians would have left jaws on the ground if they weren't attached to bobbing and swinging heads. Although it must be noted (before I go on) that there were quite a few so-called fans very conspicuous in their absence, I'll refrain from ranting about the sorry state of affairs when it comes to supporting that which is worthy of support. Nevertheless, the venue was nice and full and those souls who braved the cold were treated to one of the most spectacular tribute shows, if not THE best one, I have ever had the privilege of experiencing.
Now some may say that a band with the far reaching influence and iconic status enjoyed by SLAYER the world over should be left well alone and that any attempt to emulate their music is ill advised. I feel that way about The Cure, but I've been proven right over and over again. All things considered, this just made the already mammoth task of filling the biggest shoes in metal all the more daunting. And the lads pulled it off with no small degree of aplomb, not to mention style, intensity, accuracy and a million fucking tons of honest heart! Watching mates of mine rise to the occasion and rip through such "untouchable" classics with such conviction and ferocity not only got my head banging, my fists pumping and my feet stomping, but left me with an incredible feeling of pride and a very sore throat the next day. Not what you're thinking...
Special mention has to go out to Jacques Hugo, Marcus van der Tuin and Art Pereira, not only for organising such a great tribute to Jeff Hanneman's legacy, but for the exceptional level of their musicianship, the former two impressing with their fretboard wizardry and the latter living up to the almost impossible expectations of delivering a drumming performance of such magnitude. Equally impressive were the insane virtuoso performances by Chris Hall and Ian Watson, shredding like bastards - a class act all of them.
As challenging as the guitaring in any SLAYER song is, it is always going to be the distinct aggression and power of Tom Araya's vocals and the sheer bombast of both Lombardo and Bostaph (as the two long serving drummers) that will draw the most comparative judgement. Adam van der Riet, out of vocal retirement for this show, prowled and howled like a man possessed! And Mark Olwage, not just looking the part, pulled off the signature screaming like he was born for the role!
Which brings me to the tub thumpers. Adrian Langeveldt is no slouch behind a kit. For anyone lucky enough to have been to any of his drum clinics, or to have seen him go all Muppet Monster live, will know exactly what I mean. But SLAYER is on another level, perhaps not in the modern ultra-extreme technical sense, but very few acts can boast such sustained intensity, and he delivered! If SLAYER carry on with their current silly personnel issues, I see a future in which I can call up for back stage passes... Biggest congratulations, however, I am reserving for Art Pereira, a guy I don't even know. He pounded the living shit out of the kit and the long laundry list of classics, probably half killing himself in the process. It was as if I was in the presence of Lombardo himself. And no higher praise can be given, so I'll leave it at that.

All in all, it has to rate as one of the most enjoyable live experiences I've had. Perhaps it was in part due to the long day of braaing and drinking, but I'd say mostly for the great vibe, the astounding performances, Heineken, and the awesome friends with whom I got to share this experience. Thank you one and all.

Also DrHellCuz was here visiting. It was fun, but now I'm brokened. I think I'll have an early one tonight...

NGDG: The World's End released in London last month. We get it in November. I'd say this feels like the 80s all over again if it weren't for the fact that even Lebanon gets to see it before us.

Spread The Love. From The Lacerated Sky.

SPUNK TRUMPETS

It's ok! You can come out now! UNTAG is here!

I shit you not! Have a good look at the picture. (For once, the title and the pic match. Eerie...)

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Unless of course it's pornography and the lovely young lady's mouth is otherwise occupied, but you get the idea. This picture, although using less than a thousand words, says it ALL!

And speaking of ingesting semen, I give you "Baking with ball-batter!" I recall two friends of mine being particularly enamoured with Flanby at one stage not so long ago...

Delicious AND nutritious? Shall we ask the lads on the poster?

And on a related topic, just to get you all in the mood for tomorrow night's festivities, here, go and watch Entombed - Albino Flogged In Black. You'll thank me. In a Universe-inverting twist of affairs, I actually prefer their version to the one done by Paradise Lost...

So, you miss me? Has your world been sorely lacking my misguided musings? I fucking hope so! Apologies all round for disappointing all 3 of you with my online absence. You are legion? Well, I've had a pretty up-and-down week, and haven't felt particularly like spreading the love, so I abstained from my usual daily screen-jizz. For the sake of keeping the content classy, you see...

Well, I can report that Saturday's recording session went particularly well. It started off with scones and coffee, and the awesome surprise of seeing my first band's poster still proudly displayed (blocked and mounted, nogal!) in the studio from when we recorded there 13 years ago! Made me all warm and mushy. From there, it just went swimmingly. DDD moered the living shit out of his kit! I'd almost forgotten how loud acoustic drums can go. Definitely way past 11. I didn't fuck up too badly, LordDoom was superb. (I shall refrain from making any "slapping" references, mainly because I still don't know exactly what it means...) And Wikkle Poon broke his "real studio" cherry with aplomb! All in all, a wonderful day and all round great experience. You will, naturally, hear the fruits of our labour in due course. We like to keep you waiting. Do you even believe me? I'm in a BAND, baby!

That's the good news. The bad news is that my car, the one I love so dearly, is currently beyond resuscitation. The poor dear has been standing outside my work like an ailing, aging hooker for two nights now. Do NOT get me started on the "service" provided by my insurance's affiliated tow truck brekers. They have called me no less than 50 times since yesterday and they still haven't gotten their shit together. I await with very, very feint hope that they will finally be here at the designated time this morning, like Valkyries, to carry the old girl to Valhalla. Sorry, been watching Vikings and listening to Amon Amarth. The BeardGod would approve, and probably rip me off about it, since I often - and very publicly - state my distaste for Barrel Merrils.

Speaking of Merrils. Tomorrow night! I'm so excited! (You read that like in the Pointer Sister's song, didn't you?) Yes, tomorrow night. Tomorrow night a group of grumpy old farts otherwise known as the cream of local metal musos, pay tribute to a fallen idol. Jeff Hanneman's tragic passing will be paid homage in the only fitting way - by playing his music FUCKING LOUD! And of course, by attempting drowning ourselves inside out with Heineken. So if SLAYER has played a part in your life in any way, and I can't think of anyone who hasn't been affected by at the very least South Of Heaven, Reign In Blood or Seasons In The Abyss, then get your saggy arse on over to ROAR and enjoy a night of awesome metal the likes of which you will probably very rarely ever experience again! I'll be there. Getting "fieslik faktup" whiff mah DrHellCuz. He'll be the doos in the Lars Ulrich shirt. See you all at the War Ensemble!

Here is the part where I alienate myself from everyone that has ever loved me. The entire internet is losing its mind over the fact that that guy from Jersey Girl is supposed to be the next Batman? Really, who gives a fuck? Clearly EVERYONE! Except me. I don't like comics. If I wanted to experience people in dodgy leotards making life better, I'd go and sit outside the glass walls of the aerobics class in the Tygervalley Health & Racket circa 1991. And before you accuse me of being a Jozi Shore style lifter in my youth, here is a fun little story of the time I tried...

I used to do a lot of gym work for swimming. The swimming itself lasted until puberty and the realisation of the fashion sensibilities of a Speedo collided. Anyway, so my scrawny arse is in the pit surrounded by biceps and popping veins, thinking perhaps my arms and legs could do with slightly more than the skin tautly wrapped around them. I stroll nonchalantly over to the squat apparatus and put on the weight I remember being able to handle from a few years before. Ready, steady, squash. The thing had me pinned with my knees next to my ever-more-crimson ears. I looked like Amber Rayne in one of her more risque scenes... And I had to be helped out of my crushing predicament by two 'roided up stevedores, who were doing their best to stifle their chuckles. The thing about glass walled aerobics studios is the leotard ladies can see out as well. After a hasty departure which probably resembled Flash (to completely labour the point), I have never been back in a gym again...

And on that delightful note, when you've had the chance to dab your cheeks, I'm out. Have an awesome weekend, all of you! Especially Ou Vrou. Hope you have the best birthday today!

NGDG: The heartwarming story of a pop star who hugged a vagrant. Lady Gaga. I wouldn't hug that. She's probably covered in salmonella.

Spread The Love. Swallow!

A SIXTH SENSE OF HUMOUR?

This morning Tarty Farty Tequila Party decided to challenge me, and our friend the other popular and opinionated wordsmith TSAR, to a war of words. 6 words or less, actually. We are to come up with ten "Six Word Stories". Unfortunately my initial attempt of "Once upon a time - the end" was dismissed out of hand. Apparently the point is to allude to something having happened or describe an event using innuendo. Or something.
So here, after a few minutes of quiet contemplation over ham and tomato sammitches, are my humble offerings to the gods of prosaic proffering.

1. I hate looking for love.
2. Stopped to smell the roses.
3. Dead leaves fall on open graves.
4. As passion rises, so does man.
5. For wanting affection, she sleeps alone.
6. Went through Hell. Found God.
7. You'll never leave me without hope.

Fuck, this is hard...
8. Lawyer drops case as bar closes.

Um...
9. Counting sheep before shearing season.

And last but by no means least...
10. "Why wait" also refers to vocation.

So all this existentialism got me thinking. Here's a question for all the ultra-Conservative right wing Christians in the world. You have a firmly held belief that every human person on this Earth is descended from one couple. Actually, one couple at the beginning of it all and then one couple AGAIN. This makes us all family. Explain rampant racism. Please. Now don't get me wrong, I am in no way attacking Christians. That would go directly against my strongly held opinions on tolerance and that everyone is singing the same song in a different language, bar some insignificant semantics. I am attacking racists who hide behind doctrine. And I'd like an answer. Any time...

It's Friday. Irreverence is in the air. Can you smell it? For most of you it probably smells like a series of farts trapped in an air tight office, but here where I am it smells like sweet freedom!

Freedom tastes of Old Brown Sherry. It tastes of running around on a football pitch occasionally kicking a ball. It tastes of a night in - watching movies and packing gear. It tastes of deep concentration in the recording studio tomorrow. And then it's going to taste of Slappy's Seasonal Soup Celebration! So long, suckers!

NGDG: The scanner tells me there are no foreign bodies in the sleep pod. Which is lonely, but it takes longer to get to know a foreigner. Especially when you're both anaesthetised with somnolent vapours.

Spread The Love. In Six Words Or Less.

SHITTY MUSIC

A movie should be made...

I know. I know. I carry on about this all the time. But it's one of the things in life that irks me the most. Not just the fact that shitty music exists, but the fact that it's globally accepted as good enough to dictate programming, playlists, commercial endeavour and fashion trends. Shitty music has always been around, but it was looked down upon, not celebrated. In the old days, you had to be super talented and committed even to be allowed near a studio. In fact, if you were that good, you were actively sought out for your prowess and paid for your time and talent. Nowadays, all that list of attributes will get you is a spot in a local metal band and the right to bitch about poor crowd response and industry feedback. (Not in my case, obviously, I'm the king of feedback.)

Anyway, in yet another attempt to right the skewed scales of the music industry, my cohorts and I are hitting the studio this weekend. I'm so excited! (Hang on, that one's been written already, hasn't it...) It's been a while since recording was done outside of my home studio. Broadcast quality awaits! He says, holding thumbs, and contemplating having his hands encased in perspex incubators like that guy in Zoolander. I still have 2 whole days to avoid a major paw injury.

And so starts yet another eagerly anticipated season of hope. Perhaps this time we'll crack it. Will we ever learn? At least we have the fall back of being able to proclaim we do this for the love of music and not the almighty Rondt, although I'd be lying if I said a few bucks wouldn't help. Fuck, even the days of swooning groupies seem to have faded into hazy memory. Clearly Kurt Motherfucking Darren knows some shit we don't. That oke permanently has that "I just now very recently got a blowjob" smile all over his face. Bastard.

And while I'm on the topic of all things kak, I had a very interesting discussion with a mate of mine earlier and he brought up a very valid point. I'm only repeating this because I doubt he will. He pointed out the obsession people have with posting pictures of animals online. He has come to the conclusion that there remain only 2 types of animal on the planet and that all Noah's noble efforts were ultimately in vain.
1) Mutilated/abused/tortured animals. 2) Cats.
He isn't wrong. Or alone. What is it about seemingly intelligent people that find memes of fucking cats so funny and then compels them to share the most unoriginal, shit, stupid pictures of the damn things over and over again? You're one step away from owning 'Kaptein' in your cd collection!
And then the bleeding hearts... I get reposting pics of lost pets - there is a point to that. I am painfully aware of the plight of our endangered animals and am as horrified as you by their wholesale slaughter in the name of a handful of Chinese shiteaters who can't get it up. But posting and reposting these disturbing images to my wall is almost having the opposite effect to that which you so benevolently aspire. It's pissing me off and desensitising me. Enough horror will make anyone unshockable. It's no longer effective. Besides, you're preaching to the choir, unless Umfufu Mainman Poacher is on your friends list. Assuming I was vehemently opposed to abortion, as an example, how would you like clicking onto Facebook, ready to tuck into your lunch, and be subjected to gory pictures of, well, you get the picture...

So, that's all I have for today. I hope you enjoy your lunch.
And to help you do that I have compiled a list of feelgood notes to make your day better. Call me the doctor:

1. Local metal lads Infanteria got to go to Wacken. There IS hope.
2. Speaking of, Shannon Hope has just had her musical works transformed to a full scale dance show!
3. Sabretooth has brought out a new single for those of you who are ready to rock!
4. Th'DamnedCrows will still be releasing their long awaited debut album early next month - even though they have postponed the live launch.
5. Dead Lucky exists. Thank the heavens.

Back to life, back to reality. We live in a world where the depths of talent will remain untapped and unfathomable, while the pond scum rises to the top. You got to get wet to find the good shit...

NGDG: Apparently an 8/10 service rating reflects badly on the consultant. I think it reflects badly on the rating system that deems my original, and very generous, 8.5 an unacceptable response. How about we give the bugger a trophy for bothering to show up at all and I send you, his fucking nanny, an apology gift basket for being a pesky customer?

Welcome back, Neal. You've been missed.

Spread The Love. Or, In The Vernacular, Span Die Seile!

CRAPTICAL JOKES

South Africa's youth is fast tracked to stardom!

Wow! Did The Hot Girlfriend and I feast last night! At the expense of my fingertips, which are now burnt. On the plus side, I have historically never missed an opportunity to damage my hands just before a recording session, and I can deal with this level of discomfort. It could have been a lot worse - and if my past is anything to go by, I was expecting something worse. Let's pray.
Anyway, back to topic, I made some food last night that would render Nigella, Gordon and Jamie obsolete in a matter of a few mouthfuls. The result was spectacular and worth all the grunting and swearing while trying to debone a half frozen chicken, something I will never try again. Fuck that.

Anyway, it's been quite a busy ol' day on the intrawbnets. I know I'm supposed to be focused on more productive stuff, but today I've spent most of my time lost in YouTube and suchlike. Nothing much else to report, unfortunately.

Except the quite heartwarming rally to my aid when I posted a plea for help regarding fake blood. Seems the people in my Faeceboobsland are all quite the experts. Disturbing? Not really. Deranged delinquents, one and all!

And I've been purposely staying away from the news after I read quite the most horrific opinion piece on why homework is a kak idea in Souff Effircer. The man was clearly impressed with his new best friend, the Thesaurus. If only he had felt it more prudent to take his own school work more seriously, perhaps he wouldn't have come across as such a halfwit mouth breather. One doesn't need to employ poorly executed verbosity in order to prove one is a fuck up. One can merely say "I'm a fuck up, hey." Or "Hi, my name is Luis Suarez."
With a title like "Set SA kids free!" you'd have thought the focus would be on making the general environment safer from violent crime, getting more kiddy fiddlers behind bars, improving the quality of health care and living standards, maybe even MORE homework! Set SA kids free! Free to enjoy a better quality of life because they are suitably educated to not only live full and productive lives, but to contribute to the upliftment of their communities and this country. But no. Fuck homework. Spelling is clearly already redundant. Your cellphone does hard sums. And we're content with a new tshirt and the chance of some affirmative aerobics every 4 years.

And typically, just as I get the brilliant idea of quoting a "guest star" today, since Neal has been a little on the quiet side (and also because Tarty said the best thing ever this morning...), he comes up with another doozi. But you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow for that. So, as a special treat to all, here is the first (but probably not the last)...

...Tarty Farty Tequila Party's Daily Gem: "Never too early for sausage or beer, dear."

Spread The Love. Sausage And Beer?

T.I.T.S.

This pic has nothing to do with anything. I just love it.

What does the current state of anything mean to anyone? I don't know. If I had the answers I wouldn't be writing on blogspot, effectively providing toilet break fare and an alternative to Angry Birds on your lunch break. I'd be raking in the big bucks in some swanky office, being wined, dined and celebrated as a successful writer and observer of the human condition. If you asked me about this "human condition" my succinct answer would be "crap" and I'd refer you to 'The Human Centipede' and popular music.

But all is not doom and gloom. With the exception of last night's great band practice, of course. I've had quite a weekend. Well, long weekend, given that the ladies were given a day. One day. Out of the year. Sammitch shares plummeted. Don't get me started.

It was The Hot Girlfriend's birthday. What a celebration it was! There was fancy eating out. There was brunch on the beach. There was dinner courtesy of Princess Pants and LordDoom. There was an entire Sunday of gorging on roast, cheese, wine and a variety of traditional Dutch cuisine. There was even a pressie or two in the mix. And of course, there was the Deftones concert. I think most people that went would all agree how utterly smashing that was. I was particularly impressed with the end of the Manchester Orchestra set, which resonated this whole Swans uber-intense, sonic wall of death vibe, and the professionalism Deftones displayed when faced with a less than capacity arena. And Cape Town's notoriously sponge-like audience. Vociferous applause at the end of each song, for 15 seconds, then blank expectancy. Same goes for when Chino got them to clap or participate. I'll tell you what, though. The boys certainly looked like they were enjoying themselves. Almost as much as the group of laaities next to us who decided to do a mini, but manic, mosh all through the show - much to the disgruntled disgust of some old Tannie leaning on the railing and practicing her contemptuous death glare at every little shove. Idiot.

My Brother In Awe was having a similarly raucous time, trying his best to rack up official warnings from the security staff. I don't blame him. A venue that hosts large scale rock concerts and doesn't allow smoking is pretty fucking lame, as is the choice of beer for a show of that magnitude. Or lack of choice. I fully understand that having only one brand available makes sense, otherwise vendors would be swamped with complicated orders, but if you're going to serve "beer" at a rock concert, the prudent choice would surely be Black Label, not "Piss Sucked Out Of A Homeless Person's Soggy Trousers". Or as SAB likes to call it, Castle.

Anyway, that was the glorious long weekend then. Back to the very uninspiring grindstone yesterday, and coupled with the lovely Cape Town winter, a very tough time getting out of bed, it has to be said. Also, I'm barely dealing with my guilt at not going running, but I'd probably get blown out to sea in this weather. It is awesome to stay in and do other stuff though, isn't it? Tonight I make the special dinner for The Hot Girlfriend that was hijacked by Princess Pants over the weekend. We like stretching occasions out and milking them for as long as possible. I'm sure you'll hear all about my successful culinary exploits tomorrow.

NGDG: Not all the Guinness in this world can make this place enjoyable.

Spread The Love. This.Is.The.Start.

WOMAN'S DAY

In the spirit of Woman's Day, hope you all have a great weekend!
Burn those bras!

And a special happy birthday to The Hot Girlfriend for tomorrow! Love you!

Spread The Love. I Made You Look.

GIVE YOU THE GUN - BLOW ME AWAY

The clue to understanding me is in the heading somewhere. Hidden subliminal messages are as subtle as happy ending massages...

Unsurprisingly, I have some opinions on current musical (and some definitely unmusical) events.

So Jack Parow is in the "tjoekie" for doing an Enya cover. So what. Is he even in jail or is it just another cheap shot aimed at dimwitted punters to up his rating? Newsflash, South Africa! Jack Parow is a prankster, not a gangster.
He is tremendoosly good at what he does. What he does can thankfully not be classified as music by any strain or stretch of the imagination. Rather, his talent lies in manipulating culturally deficient morons into bouncing up and down as he vomits on himself on some stage. YOU put him there, not me.

Which brings me to other bands in our neck of the woods. There is a certain trend among bands, especially those of the metal variety, that is starting to piss me off. I lie, it's actually always been around and it's been pissing me off from day one. Here are a few handy hints to make your and my life infinitely more tolerable, although putting these into practice may affect your connection with any angst and anger you feed off in order to pen your world class lyrics:

1. "My band is SO good, why doesn't everyone get it?" No it isn't. People are sheep, but they also know when someone is shoving turdburgers down their throats (for the most part - unless you admit to liking Jack Parow). Some honest introspection and self analysis would save you a lot of embarrassment and me a lot of suffering. Be more critical of your lovingly crafted art. Why are so many musicians so harsh on their "peers" when they seem impervious to the stench of their own fetid offerings?
2. Ixnay on the naivitay. The music industry is, like it or not, a business. And whilst so many of you have long since given up on the ideal of making a living by pretending to be Zack Wylde, it's astonishing how many fail to see the wood for the trees. Those who understand the machinations of the business WILL get further. It's elementary. Being involved, having hard won connections, rolling up your sleeves and getting things done... these are all things which will land you the slots, which will get you in the glaring (often mostly just jealous glares) spotlight. Not one single motherfucker among you is entitled to anything. There have been recent exceptions to this point, I'll concede, but questions of style, savvy and so many other considerations go into these choices that sometimes things need to be accepted. Which brings me to point 3.
3. Why is South Africa stuck in the past? I am as guilty as the next guy. The music that defines me is old. Obviously to me it's relevant, but in all honesty, why would some snot nosed toddler decide to pick up a guitar and do My Dying Bride style covers of Cure songs? Yes, I know there are revivals on all the time, but they're short lived. In the eyes of the generations that have come and gone and carried your precious metal forward, this is the basic break down, if you'll excuse the obvious reference. Iron Maiden ceased to be relevant when Metallica and SLAYER brought their fresh, fast and frashy sound to your earholes. Similarly bands like Pantera and Sepultura raised the ante, and paved the way for the generation that followed. Pushing the envelope, bands like Morbid Angel and Deicide gave way to Meshuggah and, a few misguided guyliner applications and jorts purchases later, we have whatever is popular now. It means something very powerful to the kids of today. At least give them that. Or don't. My question is "where do the loincloths fit in?"
4. Luckily everything I deem worthy is steeped in rich tradition and unsurpassed class.

And tonight I get to watch one of the few bands that has not only managed to capture the imagination of the youth for many, many years, but has somehow steadily grown in stature and even managed to win over new fans regularly. I was not a fan. Then I heard 'Change (In The House Of Flies)'. Then I tried my best to ignore them as I was far too impressed with my own vibe. Then they did 'Diamond Eyes' and the scales finally fell from my own eyes. Now I'm one of the panting masses. See you at Grand West tonight!

Just before I sign off and wish you all a happy Women's Day, and flying directly in the face of everything I just mentioned, who in the name of fuck though it was a good idea to book a second-hand Blink 182 for tonight? I bet you it was the booze vendors. "In a genius marketing ploy to sell more beer, The Spur and Grand West Arena teamed up to bring you Yellowcard, so that you may take a break between Manchester Orchestra and Deftones to get yo' refreshment on". Unfortunately there are probably just enough Jack Parow fans to make their inclusion worthwhile...
I bet they have a nice little team swoggle before going on stage. Gets 'em nice and amped...

NGDG: Autoreply: Out of offers.

Spread The Love. Hey, Jack! Is Jy Nog Steeds Die Ou?

EVERYTHING IS VIRTUAL AND WE LIVE ONLINE.

Wow! How did I miss 2 days? You guys must have been frantic with worry!

*Tumbleweed...*

Actually, I'm quite disappointed no one sent for the National Guard, or whichever local equivalent would have bungled the search horribly, but at least amusingly. Fuck, even just Lassie would have done. Except I wasn't in a well and my name isn't Timmy.

The truth, dear reader, is that I haven't had much on which to report or muse. I have been enjoying my nice content little life. Nothing extraordinary has happened. Moaning over the contents of the news has surely become old hat by now. So I decided to restrict my vowel vomit to only those times when I have something of value to contribute to your mundane existences. Except for today. Today's excuse is I'm fucking bored at work. Ok, I know some smart arse is going to pipe up "Hey, why don't you do some work, then?" You know what... Fuck off.

It's probably the weather (another white hot topic that never seems to bore the tears out of the public) being all wintery and shitty. I've successfully powered down into genuine hibernation mode. Beer has been substituted with red wine and hot chocolate. Well, the red wine was also always there, but it sounds better the first way, ok? Soups have taken over from salads, etc. Which brings me to the weekend that passed like a ghost train in the night in the middle of the Karoo - virtually unnoticed. For the most part I stayed indoors. Except for football on Friday. And braaing on Saturday.

Oh what a braai. The neighbours were rather good sports. I had 3 Banshees as guests. The Hot Girlfriend, Tarty Farty Tequila Party and Slappy combined to a convincing chorus of demonic proportions. Imagine Satan's nails dragged across a spectral chalk board - the screeching hell sound magnified to ear-splitting volumes... Just add wine.

I was left in peace to braai enough meat for a small battalion of meat eaters - whoohoo! Leftovers for the entire week! Life is kak.

Tomorrow I'll probably muse about the Deftones concert and how I predict a bad turn out. I really hope not, but being the student of social media that I am, things don't look all that rosy. I say student. I mean whore.
Which reminds me, I have to learn how to take a selfie...

NGDG: Autoreply: I am out of the office.

I wish.

Spread The Love. Not The Rockets. Skates, Maybe...

DAEMON EXIRE DEBENT PENIS DE SANCTO MEO

Good, clean living leads to eventual success.

Here's the dealio. Infanteria are not my favourite local metal band. I like them, don't get me wrong, I just don't enjoy their brand of thrash above all others, and I prefer my dose of daily deafness to be more dirge-like. That being said, we should all take a moment to GO FUCKING BONKERS at their recent achievement. They were chosen to play Wacken Open Air Festival in Germany and put on a show worthy of much praise. So to each and every person GOING FUCKING BONKERS about The Deftones or Lamb Of God coming to our shores, it works both ways. Here is the perfect opportunity to show your appreciation for the immense amount of talented, hard-working, professional (attitude, not "getting paid") musicians we have right here under our noses. We CAN give as good as we get! Do your bit to help build our local music scene to something that can compete with the industry worldwide. Being based in Europe or the US may make it easier to sustain a career, it doesn't necessarily make you better by default. So go on, go and at least congratulate Infanteria on their phenomenal feat. As a wise man once said, Spread The Love.

Now onto the weird, twisted and spectacularly unsavoury world of evangelical orgasm-haters. I was exposed to a little excerpt from a video, wherein 3 teenage girls from 'Murica are interviewed about their "crusade against cock". Apparently you can get a demon in you through sexual transmission(ary). They go around driving demons out of people who have been sexually abused or just plain ole like to fuck. Does oral sex count? I'd have liked to have experienced someone speaking tongues on my balls (when I was younger, obviously, not now...) Who remembers "Teabagging For Jesus"? Anyway, I am at a loss to describe how fucked up and funny this shit is, so go look for yourself. I would, however, like to point out that I am all for holding onto one's virtue. The youth of today is fucked beyond belief and a little circumspection would not go amiss, but radicals be radicals and that's some fundamentally fucking dangerous shit. One day these fine upstanding young ladies will discover the biblical ecstasy of getting railed good and hard. Let us pray. Let us pray they never find THAT Marduk picture. They'll have ammunition to justify their cause. Oooooh, I think I have to go and find that Jill Kelly scene in 'Forever Night'...

I'll have none of that!

On with the body count... And I do mean actual body count. I was far too knackered yesterday to go running. I think I may have been overdoing it, and much like the little darlings in the paragraph above, I am saving myself for something altogether more ecclesiastically enjoyable. Yup, you guessed it - tonight's football! Anyway, we did have Dinner Club, a bi-weekly celebration of the senses and culinary highlight. We were joined last night by Commander Conker and the ever lovely Rose Thorn, and this morning by our old buddies Debilitating Hangover and Deathgrip Deathwish. It was clearly an awesome evening. Tomorrow its Tarty Farty Tequila Party's turn...

So in summation, on this beautiful Cape Town Friday:

1. Go say well done to the lads of Infanteria and get out to local gigs more. Clicky, clicky...
2. Substitute your sinful lust for something in the nice clean Demon Dildo range, lest ye catch some diabolical diseases.
3. Bring me a fucking Panado and some Re-Hydrate.

NGDG: Tried to take a photo of this very arty Keanu Reeves gallery I was invited to in my dream last night. Of course, I can't take any decent pictures with this piece of shit Samsung.

Spread The Love. Just Don't Have Any Sex.

RANT RANTY McRANT RANT

Busbeys - the hides to seek...

Is not something I am going to do today. Life is good. It's filled to the brim with wankers and Kardashians, but it's good nonetheless. The sun is shining. Cape Town as a general populace has embraced the fine weather as if it's tourist season. The masses are out in full force on the promenade and I am feeling content, sweaty and fucking broken...

...yesterday's run was possibly a little on the ambitious side. Fuck, I nearly keeled over. What's the point of doing one of the most scenic runs on God's green earth if you can't see through the dizzy red haze of bloody death swarming in front of your half mast eyes, all but obliterating the view? Of course it has the opposite effect when some spandex clad filly comes cantering along, seemingly effortlessly, and you suddenly turn into the Bruce Fordyce of Clifton, not wanting to come across as the cardiac candidate you, in fact, are. Bounce, bounce, into the sunset...

Oh, hang on. Let me just get up and put on the Ashes.

Speaking of bands (only a few of you will get that one), last night's practice was an absolute cracker. I can't wait to share the fucking amazingness with all of you. Not long now, my flock...

So, what else is rotten, eh Denmark? Robert Mugabe is still alive. Well, animated enough to be rigging elections, at any rate. He kind of puts me in mind of the sand-driven Nazi fuck from Hellboy. The bastard just won't fucking die. Perhaps he IS the Chosen One. Even so, he wears a tea cloth. Fuck him! Vote for the other guy.

And now let me explain about the internet. The internet is for porn. Then, like everything else, mainstream conscience went and done tooked it over. Now it's for shameless selfies and shameless self-promotion. It allows any old idiot to have a voice. It allows the free access to any information, song or movie. It allows, according to some, the complete enslavement of the free and the civilised societies that make use of it. Hahaha! I operate under a pseudonym. I'll be allowed to spread my muck and filth as long as I want! But it's changed the way we do "life". People are becoming more and more pallid. One very positive thing that has happened is the ability to buy shit without going to a mall, for which I am eternally grateful. Perhaps shares in FedEx or Mr Delivery are a good option...

And here is the portion of today's vent that makes me sound like an old woman with a damp panty. To the person who sees fit to steal my and my friends' shit at parties and similar events, pray to fuck I don't find out who you are. I am not by nature a violent person, but I would be very hard pressed not to bliksem you good and solid if I find out you're the one who has my very, very valuable watch (monetary and sentimental). You have made those people around me very upset, and as a result, very wary of relaxing in places and situations in which they should be enjoying the atmosphere instead of worrying about which scaly fuck is going to make off with their valuables. Stray Tupperware at a braai is one thing, my 21st gift from my parents, not so much... And that's not the only thing.

And on to more pleasant news. Tonight marks the inaugural Dinner Club with new members Commander Conker and Rose Thorn. We've reached the stage in our lives where we are forced to play musical chairs in order to keep up a steady circle of friends, the regular pregnancies taking their toll on social interaction. So, quite excited then about that. Until, of course, it's my turn to be shunned from the trough of plenty because I have a lightie on the way. I hope that I'm not forced to give up the footie one day. That would qualify as a true travesty.

Anyway, here's hoping you have a grande old day. Yes, you!

NGDG: Fascinating architectural trivia: the turquoise mosaic used in the great mosque of Samarkand apparently acts as a natural fly-repellent.

Spread The Love. Bring My Shit Back.