BREASTS, BEER AND BLOODY BEDLAM

The internet was invented so that nerds could whack off in the privacy of their own little cyberworlds in peace. It was also intended to become an all-encompassing vehicle of communication used for benevolent and worthwhile endeavours. Instead it was hijacked by so-called "stars" who have used it to ruin the music industry. Now we're all forced to whore ourselves on the information superhighway for the meager scraps of attention and adulation left over.

I'm playing a gig tomorrow! I'm playing a gig tomorrow! I'm playing a gig tomorrow!
I'M PLAYING A GIG TOMORROW! I'M PLAYING A GIG TOMORROW! I'M PLAYING A GIG TOMORROW!
I'm so excited! And I just can't hide it! I might wee!

You see, dear reader, I still do this music thing for the love of it. (Read: realised I was too crap to do it seriously but not crap enough for people to call my bluff, and then basically gave up on my dreams of being the one to beat the odds...) I still genuinely enjoy assaulting other peoples' senses. I LOVE being on stage, and since I am no good at dodging rotten vegetable projectiles in a comedy club, I've stuck with the guitar.

So if you want to know what all the fuss is about. Or even if all my time, effort and determined commitment is worth it. Or maybe you actually enjoy awesome live festivals with loud, kick-arse music, and even louder, kick-arse people having a great time, perhaps you should mozy on over to Summerfest'14 tomorrow. 9 of Cape Town's top metal bands will be "presenting their art" and it promises to be a wonderfully hedonistic melting pot of blood, sweat and beers. So come one, come all! You can rub shoulders with Wildernessking, who are going to tour Germany this year, or wag chins with Adorned In Ash, all the way from Joburg, launching their stellar new CD. Arc Reactor will blow you away and the lads from Sindulgence will tear you a new one good and proper. More than ably accompanied by Thread Of Omen, Rukuz, Beeldenstorm and Nebula Disrupt, you are guaranteed a night you won't forget! Unless, like me, you're a bit too fond of the sauce. But, wait! That's not all...

If you call now. Well, go tomorrow...

You'll get a chance to see SUBVERS! Live! On stage! We promise it'll be something special. If you haven't yet, go and grab an earful of our online demo 'Flatline'...

See, the internet is actually for shameless self promotion! My mom would definitely chime in, because she wants the whole world to know how amazing I am, but she is still afraid of computers...

NGDG: I AM ON LEAVE. I shall be drinking beer in the sun and looking at the brush for an animal retarded enough to show itself in daylight. I may also check in occasionally to monitor any potentially libelous fabrications posted in my absence.

Spread The Love. It's Called The SHOCKER!

HOLD ONTO YOUR NIPPLES!

This lock will not work against the WarIngSuid.

Since we're in such a rich vein of form - band-wise - these days, let's discuss the unholy trinity of Cape Town bands about to unleash their beasts on an unsuspecting Joburg crowd. Yes folks, it's shaping up to be quite a fruitful time for local merrills. The Emalyth Art Expo is once again upon us and the organisers have seen fit to include The Warinsane (our very own porn protagonists), Ing (cavalier commentators on all the woes of this putrid planet), and Suiderbees (Bees.Poes...   wait for it... Brutaal) in this year's line-up. Keep an eye on your drinks and your daughters. Forsake all hope all ye who submit to their collective sonic insanity. And hold onto your knickers!

This is not a drill...

I've often contemplated seeking employment at a hardware store JUST so I could lurk about with an angle-grinder and inform unsuspecting D.I.Y enthusiasts just that.

I'm sad I can't go and witness the destruction my friends are going to cause up there. Nothing would give me greater pleasure then having a chilled beer at the bar and a quiet chuckle as the gathered masses choke on their own disbelief before being swept up into the madness that is never far from The WarIngSuid, as they are now affectionately known.
Alas, I have some of my own marauding to get on with. SUBVERS will be gracing the Klein Libertas stage on Saturday. Or rather, disgracing it. We're particularly proud to be included in this year's Summerfest and plan on showing you a thing or two. If your mind didn't immediately plunge gutter-wards, then you are reading the wrong blog...

There is no other news. Nothing particularly newsworthy, at any rate. Some old biddy was caught canoodling another old biddy in what has become a media frenzy and apparently has something to do with local politics and how unfair it is when people combine their resources to combat the glaring inadequacies of our current incumbents. Looks more like a Madonna-Britney publicity stunt to me. Someone please make a YouTube parody to the soundtrack of James' favourite Katy Perry song. Please. Actually, scrap that. Let's have some McCartney/Wonder love in the house. God knows we need it.

We'll get there one day...

NGDG: Headline of the day: "Syria only 'weeks away' from Bono charity single, warns UN."

Spread The Love. Together. In Perfect Harmony.

POST ORGASMIC THRILL

Moshpit mania...

Now THAT was a weekend!

Having taken Friday off in preparation for the Lamb Of God show that night, I managed a bit of a sleep in and was lovely and refreshed and ready for the big day. Actually, I took the day off so as to get away from Damian's "Spam Of God Day". Hooking up for a few predrinks at Roxy's set the mood perfectly and then we sauntered on down to the venue, the magnificent City Hall and dutifully stood in line after all the obligatory hand-shakes, hugs and "how're you"s. Well, cut in line more like. And a damn good thing we did as well. Our compatriots standing in their original queue position missed most of The Drift's set. Let's just say that getting through the door proved a little trying, but I'm not going to get into the negative aspects of the evening. I'm sure most of the little niggles can be attributed to the last minute venue change and for that, dear reader, YOU have yourselves to blame. I will however make one small observation. Bar staff. They're there to serve me beer. Preferably within 5 minutes of me realising I'm stood there like a pillock with an empty glass. Not the glass-eyed vacant stares of those who clearly couldn't give less of a fuck. There were refreshing exceptions, but let's just give you one example. After patiently waiting for roughly 20 minutes I finally got the young lady to officially recognise my existence and ordered 3 beers. Beers are R25 a pint. She had been slinging these all evening. Not only did I have to wait another millennium for the beers AFTER I paid for them but the paying itself was quite the eye opener. She informed me that my three beers came to R135. That's not even divisible by 25. When I calmly countered with the correct answer, R75, she looked perplexed for a minute and then, I SHIT YOU NOT, worked out 25 times 3 on a piece of paper. She even carried the one. I swear I almost fainted, and not from dehydration!

Anyway, armed with my libation and manfully ignoring the aroma of feet, it was time for the show. The Drift impressed many in the crowd, and given their status as Cape Town virgins, that's no mean feat. Next up, local heroes, Mind Assault set about tearing us all a new one. Even injured, they blew us away! Their characteristic intensity is even more evident when they are given the chance to shine on a larger stage and the crown loved it! Horns up, pit swirling, and the guys doing us proud!

It was however, the main course everyone had shelled out their hard earned money to come and see. And Lamb Of God did not disappoint. From the moment Chris Adler assumed the position behind his kit (I thought I saw Damian actually pee himself...) the crown went tits-out ape shit! I'm not the hugest fan, but I recognised the classics such as 'Desolation', 'Walk With Me In Hell' and was by the time they encored with my favourite 'Redneck', I was completely and utterly having the time of my life, in awe at the ferocity and totally won over. They were pretty much flawless. I have to say that I think their brand of metal translates better live as I've found some of the guitar production on some of their recorded material a bit thin. But live it's MONSTROUS! And Mr Waggoner filling in for Mr Morton did a sterling job! Anyway, they lifted up a clearly enraptured crowd and shared an evening of perfect metal mayhem. Another thing is the overwhelming sense of humility radiating from the stage. Randy Blythe couldn't stop telling us how much of an honour it was for them to play for us. Some would call that showmanship, but to me it seemed honest and heartfelt.

To RAM Touring, Dawid and Liny, bravo! And a huge thank you!

Saturday brought with it its own challenges...

All of which culminated in The Fonz's Bachelors. After having taken the wrong effing bus on the insistence of the friendly but wholly misinformed MyCiti lady, I legged it to The Harbour's Edge Hotel from the Waterfront and finally hooked up with the lads for a bit of a piss up. I was greeted by a clearly intoxicated and amorous bachelor boy (in fluffy hand cuffs) and several shots of Jagermeister. Lots of catching up with old friends. Lots of chatting, drinking and the like. Then, more than mildly hammered we hopped in a couple of taxis and were whisked away to The Dubliner. Clearly by this time common sense had long ago left the room, so I somehow managed to get myself coerced into joining the idiots at Mavericks. I hate strip clubs. Unreservedly and with all my heart. Let's just say I paid R130 for a Black Label beer and made my way home swiftly. Other than that, I had a great time. Thanks to all involved, even the nice hippies with whom I split a cab.

Today's usual 'Neal Goldwyer's Daily Gem' has been replaced with this gem from TSAR:
Homophobia should be renamed gaycist - it's not fear, it's a prejudice.

Spread The Love. I'm Still Waiting For My Sex Orgy.

THIS IS A MOTHERFUCKING INTERVENTION

Puritans. No fun...

So. We get to experience Lamb Of God live on Friday here in our little fishing village at the southernmost tip of Africa. Well, close enough. Land of opportunity. Home to the greatest democracy on Earth (on paper). We have one of the best constitutions ever - bestowing upon each and every citizen the right to stuff. Not actual stuff, just the unalienable right. Before that, no bands ever came here. We were the toilet of the world, even though our rugby and arms manufacturers were world class. Since discarding the safari suits and sock combs in favour of a tenuous veneer of brotherhood, international acts have flocked here in order to squeeze a few more dollars from failing, flagging careers. We've even been privileged enough to see some relevant bands. Depeche Mode, at the pinnacle of their career, were here in 1994, a day I shall never forget. We NEVER speak of that other band who cancelled their show at UCT...

And now - thanks to the tireless efforts of our dear friends at RAM Touring, we get Lamb Of God. Cue the religious fanatics going all Old Testament on us. Westboro Baptist Church style. Now, I've been listening to so called "evil music" for as long as I care to remember. I can understand from some of the antics, lyrics or even the idiotic way that some of these artists choose to dress, that one may think of them as 'evil'. It's all relative. Certainly some of it is very much intended to be as blasphemous and as upsetting to organised religion as possible, most of the time as a direct reaction to something they find equally offensive from the so-called 'good' side.

You gotta see these okes, though. Please have a good chuckle at these knuckle heads of the Lighuis Bediening:
"this is urgent Its about a heavy metal band.. the lamb of god.. this is a name that blasphemys our Lord Jesus ..they are going to be in jhb next Saturday with many satanic high priests joining them. they plan to do sexual orgies, and sacrificeing to satan. this past weekend a murder took place at the site the concert was held.. they are planing to pray over south Africa for the elections to be full of violence. They sing songs like "walk with me in hell". Our aim as Christians should be to pray against all things like this, they are happening right under our noses. Please go to prayer."

Fuck, really? I want in on the sex orgies!

Without so much as a glance at what they are shooting down - not one iota of effort into understanding - they crusade like rabid maniacs to condemn a band just because it's metal, and by their narrow definition, evil. Don't get me wrong. I am religious myself. I do not religion bash. If people can find solace in whichever form of spirituality, then I say good for them. But I am embarrassed to death by these ignorant arseholes. Can such archaic belief still be tolerated in today's society? Are we all just bowing to the overwhelming heathen tendencies of the world? Or do you have a comb in your sock?

Next, you're going to be telling me that Mind Assault are demonic. Mind you, the prank they pulled on their rhythm guitarist was utterly diabolical. Genius often is...
I just got so brilliantly duped that I have to share it... and share my relief!

So, this yank phones me up, which I considered plausible at the time because it is such dirty work he was set about to that I'm sure ***** would not have had the stomach to do it himself; starting the conversation with the question of "what exactly is the translation of 'Mag Verkrag'?", and then proceeding to inform me that LOG management needs us to whittle down our set to a meager 15 minutes because they've listened to our two new tracks and were concerned about quality; and so the band wanted to use more of the time for their own performance. Furthermore, they wanted all Afrikaans tracks excluded from the set, because they don't know what the lyrics are about. With my blood already close to boiling and my brain jiggling between fight or flight, I then asked if the same cut on time was being instructed of our fellows in The Drift; to which the shit promptly replied "actually, we'd like if they could also play longer..." which was my tipping point of outburst!!! The laughter on Don's side of the telephone call was something to behold 

Bastards! I'm still shaking like a leaf...

I nearly died...

But getting back to the Ninja Turtle burners...
The music you listen to does more damage to the youth of today than that band some kid was listening to when he went on a killing spree in his school. No one ever blames the misogynist message in hip-hop/pop/country for the rape/abuse epidemic in the world. But let one kid wear a Slipknot tshirt... They're not even that fucking hardcore. Imagine the evangelical outcry if they ever got hold of Gorgoroth, or Marduk, or the like? By the way, if you haven't seen Behemoth's new video, now's a bloody good time.

Ag, I suppose I should just shut up. No one is ever going to convince these clueless crusaders that they're wrong and that there is no threat to the sanctity and serenity of their myopic lives or the souls of their inbred offspring. Similarly, it's hardly likely that people brought up on a healthy diet of SLAYER and common sense will ever miraculously give in to the overtures of the neurotic naysayers. KISS does not stand for 'Knights In Satan's Service' any more than GOD stands for 'Goats On Demand' or BTW is 'Beelzebub The Wicked'....

Or for that matter, 'LOL' means 'Lemmy, Our Lord'...

So, instead of attempting to crucify something which may even contain helpful (if misunderstood) message for our times (sound familiar?), why don't you try and see beyond your own red mist of intolerance? And all you oh-so-clever Christian bashers, go and do some good, instead of sneering derisively from the sidelines. If everyone did one fucking helpful thing for someone else, instead of barricading themselves behind their own beliefs, we'd all be a lot better off.

NGDG: Eventually the only thing a Weylandt's customer likes more than  R69 000 driftwood is silicone titties.

Spread The Love. ERMEGEERRRDDD LERMEGEEERRRDDDD!

I FUCKING LOVE SEANCE

Meths. Difficult...

I've been watching a lot of Baking Bread lately. I'm constantly bemused at how easy it is to be drawn into the story and how we as viewers (or me, at least) become attached to, and even fond of or concerned for, the characters. I'm not that far into it, but they have yet to display evidence of what the meth does to an addict. Well, besides Wendy the Hooker, who has a set of gnashers that can only realistically be rivaled in Lavender Hill. But we have to remember these are manufacturers and dealers of drugs. Hard ass drugs that you wouldn't want your kid to take. Still, it's fuckin' enjoyable. I am pretty sure I'm addicted. Note, I finished that last sentence with "ted".

Here's a brain teaser that'll have you scratching your noodle for some time: What do a handsome mustache on an oversized bottle, the fraction of twenty two over seven, and spending time on a raft hallucinating about wildlife have in common?

Yup. Wonderful mathematics. Understood the world over, yet by only a few. Meth to math? I give you the djentrification of metal... Although even that has already devolved into something you can do on one stick. More baby-formula than the splendid example above.

I know. It was a real stretch, but somehow I managed to make a transition from the misunderstood splendour of calculus to the much maligned music that is heavy merril. Hang onto your knickers! Summerfest'14 is around the corner! And the good folks at Metal4Africa have once again put together a sampler compilation of music from the bands featured at the festival. Go on. Go get it!

And now that I have sorted out your entertainment for you, I shall take my leave. Friday afternoon lays before me like an inviting beach. I'm going to play football in the sun and drink beer afterwards. Who knows where that could lead...

NGDG: Just had an 8-year old say he didn't understand how my tattoos fit together. I told him that they don't really, and when he gets his first he must go as big as possible and think it all out beforehand. Sage advisor of youth.

Spread The Love. 69 > x.

HOW COME EVERYTHING IS NOW "SOMETHING"PORN?

Sucking at swallowing.

For some reason or other I have 'More Than A Party' stuck in my head. On loop. Makes me think back to the glorious Christmas of '88 when I got the videotape of "The World We Live In - And Live In Hamburg". I had spikey hair and a tan. I was Edward Street before it was uncool to be Edward Street. Around the corner from Edward Street, funnily enough. Seems the environment does influence the individual. Now that I live in Woodstock I am in danger of sporting some bum fluff on my chinny-chin-chin and acting on a sudden urge to hop on my bicycle and off for some overpriced coffee with a silly design in the foam. I once had a Guinness in an English pub. In England. The barman made a little shamrock in the head. It's a slippery slope.

So, here I sit, mired in the soul crushing world of reluctant IT guy. The office needs a new thingumabob so that the upgraded whatsit can do its thing. I'm no good at this and a new hurdle jumps out at every turn. Every time I think I have successfully dealt with the issue, some new and even more dastardly development makes me want to go next door and shoot the screaming child in the larynx. I swear it's a conspiracy. I'm no expert - this much is evident - but surely the simple purchase of a piece of equipment can't be that complex.

At least I have Facialboobs. Or rather, why is Facialboobs so bloody boring? It would seem that we have reached a point where all conversation is nothing more than the same recycled shit. It appears that everyone has grown tired of virtual socialising and is now using the platform for nothing more than stating a hackneyed point. We get it. Where's the entertainment value? Why aren't you lot keeping me from boredom induced suicide?

Do not get me started on the news. I am trying my best to avoid the news. I'd rather be bored than nauseated. Even then, one still has to make sure it isn't some spoof story. But then along comes Tarty Farty Tequila Hurricane and makes it all better. She is currently on some sort of "People Of Cape Town" project (nothing like Dali Tambo's obsequious production of a similar name) and posted a story of this fellow. Inspiring. Methinks it's time to start tagging along on her many adventures again.

Tonight 50% of the band (SoreFinger, Hungover and ForgotMyShitAtHome) get together and attempt to set some sort of record by playing through material that has been ignored for about 3 months. Not the kind of record we had in mind when starting out all fresh faced and full of dreams...

Before that, though, I will be attentively snoozing in front of the telly with a cold beer as Bafana Bafana take on Mali. If irony was tangible, it would indeed be heaped upon itself. I am driving home via Camps Bay to avoid the traffic around the stadium where it's being played!

Also, why don't hipster girls just do us all a favour and grow beards as well?
And why has the entire Universe decided to declare in one united voice that Lego is suddenly the coolest thing ever?

NGDG: My eyes feel like Bart Simpson's favourite TV show.

Spread The Love. Shotgun!

MORE THAN A HANDFUL

...if the prevailing opinion is to be believed, is a waste.

I heartily disagree. There is something magical about excess boobage that will forever enthrall the minds of men (and some ladies). Now this is not a slight on the slight - rather a big up to the buxom. Although there is such a thing as too big. I think the perfect ratio should be something like one cup size larger than your hand. Me? Objectify women? Nah. I'm just mesmerized by boobs.

Speaking of hands. I'm particularly sensitive... having to hold on desperately to the illusion that I can operate an instrument and all... If I had my way, I'd walk around like that hand model in Zoolander - paws safely ensconced in acrylic protective chambers. But then I always end up damaging them anyway. Like on Saturday. There was blood. Mr Cool over here decided to ignore the fact that there weren't any bottle openers and use the ol' spoon/lighter/anything available trick to open a bottle of beer. Not only did I spill beer when the top broke off, but copious amounts of blood as half my knuckle all but got severed completely. I felt more foolish than in real pain. That came later.

Also, I have been watching the footie. Why in the name of all that's holy do footballers feel is necessary to wrap white elastoplast around their wrists? Is it to remind them which part of their body they aren't allowed to use? Is it to keep their hands attached to their arms? Are they all recovering suicide cases? There has yet to be a feasible explanation.

Speaking of fun things to do with your hands, I'm convinced 'One Direction' is named in reference to 'The Human Centipede' and is an industry insider's joke for how we allow ourselves to be force-fed shit.

Anyway, this evening I attempt to right the many wrongs of modern day music in my own little way. Practice resumes in earnest for the year, lopped off finger or not. You may refer to me as Tony. Just don't wet yourself laughing at the absurdity.

NGDG: If I find the toilet occupied when I want to use it, I take my revenge by turning off all the lights.

Spread The Love. All Over The Cleavage.

FULL METAL JACK IT

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FANCY A BANG?

Kinda makes the dicks with "Check out mah guns" tshirts look like real lamos.

Looks a bit manipulated, dunnit?

Still, awesome idea...

Now that I have your attention...

Unlike the last few days, the sun has made a very welcome appearance here in the Mother City. You are probably well aware of the fact, but since I am just as much a part of the internet experience as the next wanker who thinks his opinion is worth something, I thought it was mandatory to inform you anyway.

As I am sure you have worked out for yourself by now - without having to resort to mouthing out the words as you count on your fingers - this has fuck all to do with anything. I am back in the office and bored titless. When is the Australian tour starting, now again?

As you all know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Then some more good intentions are littered on top of the paving. Even the signs try hard to please. Alas, it seems I am sealing my one way ticket to Lakus Sulphurus. The laundry list of things 'to do' in my home grows by the day. I am sure a lot of you are in the same boat. I remember working before the internet and social media became an all-consuming beast. I remember getting home and not feeling compelled to forsake everything in favour of a cold beer and finding out what Walter White's next misbegotten adventure would be. I've got a new idea. If I don't commit to something I can't be disappointed with myself for not doing it. I'm my dad and me wrapped into one neat little unit. I don't know HOW the parents among you do it. Or those of you with tidy houses. My home is like a favourite pair of jeans. Lived in. I use "entertaining" as an excuse to clean.

Like tonight. Tonight I'm having the lads from the band over to review live footage recorded in December at that greatest of all auspicious occasions. If you weren't there then that would explain why you don't know what I'm on about. And to plan our all-out assault on your senses and sensitive sensibilities for the foreseeable future. Ah, good times.

As one excuse crops up for a positive action, so it provides for the opposite as well. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Since the lads are coming over and I have to clean, I am forced to postpone my re-admittance to the select group of atheists about whom it is written "Only the Godless run when nothing is chasing them." Although vanity and narcissism are making me do it. One is even a deadly sin. Ask anyone.

I'll tell you a secret. It's not laziness that deprives my floors of a good regular vacuuming. It's my neighbour's kid. He vacuums his new car twice a week. For hours on end. The carpet is probably so worn it shines like a diamond in the sky. (If you knew him, you'd get that.) And without fail one of those times is a Sunday morning, when I am attempting to sleep in. The sound itself is enough to make a monkey bite its mother, but added to that particular injurious inconvenience is the insult of reminding me of my old man who used the lawn mower and the vacuum cleaner to make an early morning point when I'd be passed out drunk in my Docs on a weekend morning. We laugh about it now...

Anyway, next week it'll be back to more familiar territory as we get settled into the New Year and contemplate the many facets of news, boobs and maybe even the odd discussion on oral pleasure.

NGDG: Australia is home to hundreds of things that could kill you, including fires, snakes, spiders and accents.

Spread The Love. And Squeeeeze. And Release. And Squeeeeeze. And Release.

DICK PICS FOR YOU!

Used without permission. I wouldn't even know where to start...

So much for "Can I buy you a drink?" or "It must have hurt when you fell from heaven."
Or my current favourite "I'm gonna bone you 'til I own you."

It's all gone a bit quiet, hasn't it? Almost no one back at work yet... The Vaalies have all left... School hasn't started yet... It's the perfect week.
Except of course yours truly is sitting in an office firmly planted on upturned thumb. I suppose there's some sort of metaphoric positive to that. Boredom is a bastard of a taskmaster. It saps the will to even slack off and write a blog post.

So, it's all come and gone in a flash. Christmas was over before I knew it. There was the usual feasting and suchlike. But then The Hot Girlfriend done gone and done a thing. I must be doing something right because this good little boy got the best gift ever! No, not a self-help book in large print... all will be revealed.

New Years was a low key affair - not the balls out knees up it usually is - spent with only a handful of friends at JDP's place and ending in alcohol fueled late night debate and horrendous 1st January cotton mouth.

I also watched all the cricket. Which was pretty much my aim.

Being away from Faecepoop was also good for the soul. But now we're back to the proverbial grindstone, a few kilos heavier and all our resolutions hanging on by a thread already. I vowed to start running again this week, but the weather gods are clearly not ready for the Promenade Apparition yet. Not that I'm complaining. I go home, do not pass begin, do not collect two hundred Rondt, and get stuck into the wine, while I watch recently acquired footage of all the gigs I played in December. Now, to edit the damn stuff! Also, I finally got around to unpacking the dishwasher and folding all my tshirts.

But the undoubted highlight of the holiday was the few times LordDoom allowed us to spend time with Princess Pants. There was a lot of beer, food, merry-making and general larking about. LD himself sporting a worryingly permanent grin. Cheshire Cats do not good doom metal front men make.

I also successfully avoided overexposure to any news, so have very little on which to comment. Except now of course we have the matric results. In an astounding about face, the Dept Of Basic Education has somehow managed to raise the pass rate across the board by a little too much to inspire any sort of confidence. Their track record is evidence enough. I despair for the HR departments and people having to interview and hire the product of our schooling system in the future. I watch on almost a daily basis cashiers with matric glare that non-comprehending glare of unadulterated hatred only the truly uninformed can glare at their till screens. Imagine giving them a job at SARS. Or anything that involves word blocks (letters) or money counters (numbers). Scrabble champions this current crop are not, despite the transparent assertions of our Angie.
And on that topic, seeing as how sexting has all but taken over the real thing, or at least fulfills a role in the foreplay section of the act, and given the fact that the youth of today have become all but illiterate and resort to abbreviated digital grunts, where is the romance?

But enough of that. Aren't we meant to have a positive outlook just because some poephol 2000 odd years ago decided on adopting a new calender and arbitrary starting date? I'm looking forward to so much this year. The look on The Hot Girlfriend's face when Randy Blythe jumps on to the stage in City Hall. The look on everyone else's face when SUBVERS take to the stage at Metal4Africa's Summerfest '14. The look on my sister's face if we get to see the greatest goth rock band South Africa ever produced do their reunion tour.
I wish I'd seen my face this morning when I discovered all that lovely Gathering material on Subterania's site. Thank you, Unka Dave. I thought I'd never find it again! Funny story actually. A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away. No, that's not it. But it WAS a time when I'd rather have died than be seen in shorts or not wearing Docs. I somehow managed to convince the drummer of The Gathering to record all their singles, the only copies of which she had were framed vinyls, for me onto a cassette. Wiki that. She very kindly, and obviously at great effort, obliged and for that I will be eternally grateful. But then what did I go and do? Driving along one day, blissfully entranced by the new Moonspell album I was listening to, I was shaken into sudden dread when, at the end of the album, the last strains of a Gathering song were heard. The realisation that I had taped over my precious Gathering collection was so sickening I almost drove off the road. So, Unka Dave, thank you mate! You've saved the day.

And in closing. I think Germans should just stay off the slopes.

NGDG: If the police force's preferred uniform supplier made 36inch trousers their biggest available size, there'd be less crime. KFC would report diminished Q1 profits, but it would balance out in the end.

Spread The Love. Practice Safe Sext.