Wednesday, January 8, 2014


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.

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