25 WHORES IN THE ROOM NEXT DOOR...

Ball skills never looked so good...

We're now firmly in the grip of World Cup Fever, so here is a video for you, my faithful and fantastic readers. It celebrates everything in life that is worth celebrating. It puts into perspective what's really important in life. It's also a little NSFW. Enjoy!
Let's just hope that the poor in Brazil do not suffer the same consequences as those suffered by their South African counterparts.

And - speaking of local heritage -  now we will take a silly, and often very laboured look at idioms that take on entirely new meanings in Benoni:

• Your goose is cooked = Your girlfriend is crazy.
• A pitcher is worth a thousand words = Tequila makes you talkative.
• Eager beaver = Overzealous slapper.
• Keep your nose clean = Check for residual blow before exiting the tawlet.
• Necessity is the mother of invention = WHAT you say about my mother, boet?
• Spanner in the works = Mah cousin is gainfully employed.
• Walk a mile in my shoes = Some doos stole my shoes and is already 1.6km away.
• You scratch my back, I'll comb yours = Self explanatory.
• And my perennial favourite, Tune the radio = Howzit, Radio!

So Oppikoppi has announced that Wolfmother will be playing the festival this year. Naturally, knowing how big a fan my sister is, I waste no time hopping onto Skype and letting her know. Her simple response? "Fuck me", to which I immediately reply "If you incest".. Bada!Dssssh!

Yes, I know...

Anyway, on to the news section of this pitifully pathetic post. Last night the fruits of my labour didn't illicit as much uncontrollable laughter as I'd anticipated. You see, I have such an awful singing voice - and haven't EVER hit a note - that I am actually banned from a microphone in my own studio. Which sometimes presents a bit of a problem, since I do the lion's share of writing and arranging lyrics for the majority of the bands I'm in. It also leads to a lot of embarrassing encounters with vocalists who can barely contain themselves when I 'present' my vision. Usually I go through the pieces in installments, one verse or chorus at a time. However, the last work that I completed required me to record the entire song so that I could show the rest of the band at the next band practice. So now the evidence is preserved. I was dreading the playback, but at least TDB had the good manners not to burst out into maniacal mirth, a courtesy not extended to me by the ever honest Rose Thorn. After wiping away their tears, though, it was agreed that I'd "done good" and now I can't wait until we get it into an acceptable format to ship off to our vocalist, who has forsaken us for the greyer pastures of The Big Shitty.

Anyway, seeing as I am about to embark on my annual attempt to avoid death by alcohol poisoning, usually known as the 'Malcoholocaust', I might as well bid you adieu for the week. Tonight the 5 day back-to-back partying starts with a nice warm up - a civilised dinner with Rose Thorn, Commander Conker, my Brother-In-Awe and the better half of the DSW. Fun times. I probably won't be in the mood (or shape) to report tomorrow.

So. To everyone reading this, one last little thing. I know a lot of you don't check your Facebook invites, but please go and see if you've cracked the nod to be invited to my birthday party. It's a big deal this year and I've invited a lot of people I'd like to help me celebrate this milestone. If you can't find your invite, suck it.

If there is anything left of me next week, I may attempt a bleary eyed online appearance.

NGDG: As grateful as I am that Joburg Water has sent guys to fix the collapsing road, I wouldn't wish the job of being knee-deep in sewage, in the cold, in the dark, on my worst enemy. And not just because I wish on my enemies a permanently lit room with Cannibal Corpse playing incessantly at 200db and with no chance ever again of gainful employment, a pot to piss in or access to even cholera-fouled water.

Spread The Love. For All Things Brazilian!

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST

Imagine all the different captions or headings vying for attention as I spotted that picture. The various permutations of "suck"... Or even the tantalisingly obvious "From the horse's mouth"...

Today looks like it's shaping to be one of those days again. My desperate need for validation among my near-peers is eclipsed only by my debilitating inability to give a flying fuck. I have such great schemes and plans and aspirations and they all struggle for breath in the same mucky ennui of a life spent treading water between fun events.
I sometimes have so much on my plate, it's impossible to focus the ever more feeble mind on anything other than staring out into space and hoping it'll all just collectively hike up its skirt and leave me alone. So I can watch and rewatch Big Bang Theory until I'm overgrown with cobwebs.
Or perhaps I should just finish the damn doom album. Let's start with that then, shall we? Without giving too much away, TDB, Rose Thorn and I are a few lines of lyric away from completing the entire album. We even have excess baggage. The current (and second last one to be finished) song is kind of "To All The Girls I Loved Before" but without the optimism. It's a good thing we have a penchant for ridiculously long songs. Anyway, this is what I will be concentrating on for the next 2 days. After that it's sensible underpants time!

Yes, folks, once again the clock strikes 13 and I celebrate another year on this planet. Those near and dear enough to have cracked the nod will know I am celebrating in fine style this year as the apparent milestone warrants extra special fanfare. So between the birthday band practice tomorrow night, the birthday dinner club the next, the Brother-In-Awe's birthday on Friday, my "fabulous" bash on Saturday and having the family over for a day of opulent cuisine and whatnot on Sunday, guess who's going to be absolutely knackered come next week. I don't think they have come up with a strong enough Prohep yet...

I made a wishlist if anyone is interested:

1. End world hunger, violence, political manipulation and the all-consuming pursuit of power at the expense of all that is good in this world.
2. Please make the above sentence not make me come off as some sort of tie-dye wearing hippie who lives in a pooh hut.
3. Please make the music industry the legitimate reflection of talent, passion and authentic artistic genius it once was - even if it means I am therefore marginalised. Oh wait...
4. Please rewind time and deny 'Achy Breaky Heart's' phenomenal success. This will in turn ensure that the "Face On The Lunchbox" doesn't get to commit this abomination.
5. The same applies to cheap, self styled prison tattoos and ridiculous leopard print peak caps combined with high pitched whining and the first ironic snor.
6. Also, I want the motherfucker(s) who saw fit to steal my diving watch and my My Dying Bride hoodie to die in a fire. The sentimental value of these items is beyond calculation.
7. The winning Lotto numbers that correspond to the correct date and draw. Juan Dei is Juan Dei.
8. To avoid injury, illness, pestilence, incontinence and halitosis a while longer.
9. A dog. I'm having real trouble not adopting my dream hound.
10. And last but most definitely not least: I pray with all my heart that my dear friend Evie makes a full and speedy recovery. We all love and miss you terribly. And Bear, you keep strong and remember we're thinking of you every second of every day. She'll pull through. 

I have everything else in life. Thank you to each and every one of you who know what that means and know who you are.

NGDG: This spinach and mushroom risotto means I've inadvertently supported Meat-free Monday. It's like that Yom Kippur when I caught myself in my zipper.

Spread The Love. As Soon As I Can Afford A Super Sexy Sport Car, I'm Having My Midlife Crisis.

HOT DOG! I'M AN ECO-WORRIER...

I have a question. Actually, I have many questions. Like 'How is it possible that humanity has allowed its own entertainment to devolve so dramatically?' or 'How come no-one's thought of a boob-burger yet?"

But the topic I'd like to address today is animal testing. Now before you gear up to go all teary-eyed-indignant-PC-animal-crusader on me, thereby confirming your status as self appointed guardian of all things humane and ruler of the online higher ground because you know where the share button is, let me stress that this is not a post in which I am attempting to make myself look like a bleeding heart who lives in a pooh hut in Joostenbergvlakte surrounded by a gazillion rescued shelter animals. On the contrary, I live in an urban dwelling too small to house the dog I so crave. Or dogs, plural. I don't even like cats. And am pathologically terrified of birds. Also, for the sake of avoiding any accusations of hypocrisy, I am an avid meat eater and although I am painfully aware that a lot of the meat I eat is more than likely from a source which doesn't always practice the most humane farming methods, I still braai as often as I can.

So here goes... And I'm hoping for a cogent argument, for or against, as I am trying my best to understand why this is still allowed to happen in this day and age of apparent enlightenment. How is it still necessary to use domestic animals for lab testing to ensure that (mostly) cosmetic products are safe for humans to use?
My feeling is that the basis of all cosmetics - the ingredients and the formulas - are pretty much established and have been for many years. Surely the active ingredients that form the chemical building blocks of these products are by now documented and used universally. Anti-aging cream... Same shit for everyone bar the packaging - or am I wrong? What then remains variable? Colour? I'm not convinced the giant cosmetic firms have teams of scouts scouring the Bornean rain forests discovering new toad venom that may or may not help Edna with her bunions. So the chances that new "secret ingredients" (a ruse to fool rubes, incidentally) being discovered on such a consistent basis is very low, if not non-existent. Then what in the ever-loving fuck are they still testing? We know humans eventually develop emphysema from tobacco smoke. We know that poking your eye with a mascara wand will lead to tears. We know that too much hydrochloric acid in your hand cream might lead to some discomfort. Surely the decades of brutally cruel testing have yielded such vast and conclusive results that they cover every eventuality. Is the market so competitive that manufacturers are forced to up the ante by adding nitroglycerin to their eye drops just to move units? For fuck's sake, even Jacques Kallis's ex wipes snail slime on herself for Verimark or whatever... Botox hasn't killed Helen Zille yet, you can release the monkeys!

And do the HIGHLY EDUCATED and therefore, I assume, not complete fucktards administering this barbaric torture - because bunnies and beagles are more expendable than humans - not feel the pangs of compassion like a red hot sword through the heart? Do they go merrily into work every day, after kissing their immaculately made up wives goodbye, and joke around the office and eat their polony sandwiches as the rats whine and cringe and scream and suffer? How long does one need to work in a lab like this before you become desensitized? Or is the orientation video enough?

If someone can offer a cogent argument for this practice I am more than willing to listen. I will not label you monster or super villain. I am genuinely interested in finding out if there is any valid reason why this should still be of any necessity. I am of course a layman in the world of animal torture testing, but at least I understand a little of the workings of a laboratory, having spent 5 years making coffee in one and distracting the Jewellery Design students whilst sitting very near a lab for many more. Anyone?

Activists - please refrain from using this as a platform upon which to further your own agenda. We are as painfully aware of your compassion as we are of the heinous nature of the topic under discussion. And it is after all just that, a discussion. And the entire point is to see if there is another side to the story, no matter how unpopular. Just remember, onions and lentils suffer as well.

And just because you've had the patience to make it through this entire diatribe without vomiting, and to make up for causing you any personal discomfort, here, have a video of cute dogs after being rescued from a lab testing facility. It's a feel good romp the likes of which haven't been seen since the holiday montage in American Pie and the reason I put finger to keyboard this morning.

NGDG: My only complaint about Playboy's Facebook posts is the lack of articles.

Spread The Love. Test On Animal Abusers.

666 TIMES AS MEAN...

What a charming smile...

You know, some days you just DON'T want to get out of bed. There doesn't seem to be any point. You feel like shit and you're convinced your participation in the running of the world (further down the sewer) wouldn't be missed - at least not temporarily. Then you realise that you eek out an existence for a split second on a speck of cosmic dust and suddenly your will to leave the comfy confines of your duvet fortress takes a jaunty saunter straight on over to "Don't-Give-A-Fuck-Ville" and that short trip between bedroom and cold bathroom seems like the Comrades.

And then there's that pesky disorientation of waking up without a hangover - that alien feeling of confusion and a body in a state of shock. But you chose to experiment with sobriety last night, so you resolve to make the most of it. With chest out and chin jutting upward you take on the day. Until you realise today is the day you've booked your car into the auto-electrician because you're too cheap to invest in the newer wheels you've been eyeing for years. Luckily you come from a monumentally advantaged background and you have the use of another family car, otherwise you'd be forced to endure the shame and potentially fatal contact diseases related to using public transport. This also affords you the luxury of jump starting your own stricken vehicle in the rain. Once you have booked the beloved old girl into the car doctor, the prospect of a nice brisk walk back home in the fresh morning air motivates you to be positive and as you stride out into the new day, the Arctic wind blasting through your hoody onto your wet hair instantly deflates you into a shuffling mess of bedraggled, cursing hobo clutching your only worldly possession - a random handful of cds you didn't want to leave in the car - stoically to your heaving breast.

You haven't even started the commute to work yet. You know, the traffic is much worse an hour later than I usually travel...

Then you get to the office, which is thankfully devoid of the physical catpoop which usually greets you, but not the smell. A cup of coffee later and you're happily ensconced at your desk behind your computer catching up with the events of the day and using every zen mind trick to stop yourself gouging your eyes out with a pen as you read the vomit that currently passes for news coverage. The social media that has been the saviour of your sanity over the last few years - you just cottoned on - has also deteriorated into nothing more than a collection of moronic pseudo-observations, reposts of shit long since irrelevant, incensed activists bouncing up and down in anguished indignation and triumphantly linking half the story, and every band in creation pushing their own half arsed agenda. Your own disenchantment is echoed by your equals and that is even more disheartening, so you decide to shake things up and try something different. You actually try to do the work you're adequately paid to do, but after a few seconds of delving through the shit-avalanche of emails that up until now have remained mercifully unopened, you come to the swift conclusion that everyone in the world is a fucking gigantic asshat - especially those in your company's employ - and start thinking about the nap you so clearly deserve when you get home this afternoon. If only to get away from the aural abuse offered by the apparent skinning of cats on the airwaves.

I'm going to have some lunch.

NGDG: We want the finest beer known to humanity. And we want it here and we want it now.

Spread The Love. Take Up Minesweeper.

OW! ME SO HORNY!

Despite Jack Parow's insistence to the contrary, he is NOT Dio. I only bring this up because I fucking hate Jack Parow and it's the anniversary of Ronnie James Dio's unfortunate passing and I feel like we should all be putting up the old horns today!
It's funny, but ska almost never existed. One day someone in a reggae/rap crossover band said "It needs more horns" meaning the guitar player should make it more metal, and was totally misunderstood. The rest is the Cape Town music scene's history.

It's Friday and I feel like being a little irreverent...

But instead I'll sit here slaving away behind my keyboard for your entertainment. And tell you all about last night. We had dinner at my sister's house. It was delightful.

So, the weekend is almost upon us. What are you all up to? I don't really care, actually. I'm having a Lovecraft themed party at my house for the honourable Herr Grun's birthday. I made a sign for the toilet. It says "Cthu-Loo". I'm also working on a spring loaded set of lifelike tentacles to come exploding out of the actual toilet when triggered by weight on the seat, but I doubt that'll be ready on time for the occasion. We'll see...

Now that I come to think of it, I do have something better to do. Grocery shopping. Cheers geeks! See you all next week! I'm going to spend the rest of my valuable time online to think up bad jokes with which to tease TDB about his exposed chin.

NGDG: I bought an antique from Ukraine on the internet and it made it to South Africa without being pilfered. On goes Life and Trade. Softly softly despite the bollocks.

Spread The Love. Put 'Em Up! \m/

THE SEX IN YOUR SOUL WILL DAMN YOU TO HELL!

Covers... some good... some great!

Last night was one of the best of my life! I shit you not!
I got to share the stage with actual fucking heroes of mine.

I don't even know where to start! Ok, I lie. I do know. Greg Donnelly, the ex frontman of the legendary Dolly Rockers and my first boss when I started working in the music industry (if you can call the humble beginnings as part time casual in a CD store the "industry") rocked out a few numbers with his current partner in crime - and man of the moment - Anton Marshall. The occasion was a 'Waxing Lyrical' evening at Mercury and Anton invited a bunch of miscreant musicians to collaborate with him to present a number of his favourite songs. Also included in the night's collaborative festivities were Simon Perry, of Them Tornadoes fame and Nick Turner, who I believe was with Sons Of Trout. Both performances were worthy of their respective reputations and I was left awe struck. Not something that happens too easily. Top musos and top blokes! It was, however, Anton himself who drew the wide eyed wonder of those in the audience as he fucking OWNED the Talking Heads track 'Blind'. I was gobsmacked and I wasn't the only one! Oh, and did I mention the rockabilly version of Public Enemy's hip hop classic 'I don't wanna be called Yo! Ni**a'?

Enter Nic Roos - he of the Sleepers and occasionally of Taxi Violence acoustic rumblings. The man is a guitar God! (The fact that, without planning it, I pitched up to sound check wearing a Sleepers t-shirt should put that into perspective for you...) He certainly performed on the lion's share of the tracks, a feat only eclipsed by MISTER Art Pereira, who played drums on pretty much the whole 2 sets. Legends, both! An 8-song Bruce Springsteen medley saw Cami Scoundrel join the guys on bass and once again everyone was left picking their jaws up off the floor as Anton channeled The Boss almost scarily too well. Other artists "given the treatment" on the night included The Waterboys, Hothouse Flowers, The The, Lenny Kravitz, and New Model Army...

Nearing the end, Anton, Nic and Art played a beautiful, haunting rendition of one of my all time favourites, Swans - 'Miracle Of Love', which Kevin Rule and myself bludgeoned to death as we joined in for the end crescendo. All set for our turn, and the last three songs of the night, we then launched into the raunchy Cult hit 'King Contrary Man' before really turning up the musical destruction with Ministry's 'Just One Fix'. And as if that wasn't enough - with a few people losing their fucking minds up front - we finished off with a monumental interpretation of another Swans favourite 'New Mind'...

I have rarely had as much fun.

The new guitar sounded immense. Once again, thanks in bucket loads to the sound and lighting crew at Mercury - they're fucking incredible! Also, to Kevin, Lisel, and L'ux, thanks for having us. But the greatest thanks goes to Anton for inviting us to join him on this magical musical night - it was a personal honour and a privilege. Thank you!

NGDG: Bringing out the winter duvet guarantees a warm cosy night, spent fighting a years' worth of dust from storage.

Spread The Love. Sexy Time! In Hell!

SUPER-HEROIN(E)

The Hot Girlfriend has a thing for superhero costumes.

That's not her. The Hot Girlfriend is waaaay hotter than the slapper in that picture. Honest! Also, she gave me a guitar, which I doubt anyone else can say. I'll be using that guitar tomorrow, when I melt your faces off playing some well-known, beloved tracks from my childhood. Trips down mammary lane, if you will. A tit of the hat to nostalgia and a fantastically misspent youth. Ah, I remember the days - fondly if not vividly. I loved the music and the night life and the carefree attitude with which we embraced it all! Not so much the universal shunning from the opposite sex. 

Maar kyk hoe lyk hy nou!

Must be because - out of desperation to impress girls - I relented and finally bought a guitar. Intent on mastering this new instrument that would ultimately guarantee me some action, I managed only to piss my parents off with the off-key, demonic hell-shrieks tearing from my speakers. Luckily I figured out that if you surround yourself with competent musicians and hide behind the smoke and mirrors of long hair and a flashy guitar, half the battle's won!

Nevertheless, I need to arrive at some sort of point on this here post, otherwise I could just as well have written "Look at the tits on that!" and have left it there. But I strive to be a little less vacuous than the Chive. (The jury is still out on the correct pronunciation.) So here it is. Despite my apparent lack of technical wizardry, I have been honoured with an invitation to share the stage with some of our music scene's most low-down-'n'-dirty dignitaries. Check it out:

Anton Marshall has for better or for worse been allowed to host a 'Waxing Lyrical' event at Mercury tomorrow night. So what does he do - he invites a whole mess of musos to collaborate on a whole mess of classic tunes and all of a sudden, Anton Marshall And Frenz brings you a night of aural sex (Greg Donnelly came up with that, not me)...

So if, like me, you grew up wistfully wiling your teenage years away in record stores, pawing at records you couldn't really afford, and frequenting horrific little dirty dives at night, trying your awkward best to impress the aloof goth goddess on the dancefloor, then pull in! Never in your lifetime did you imagine you'd see songs by Ministry or Swans played on a stage... in front of you... Now's your (my guess would be one and only) chance! So saunter on over to Mercury Live tomorrow night for a truly memorable night - see you there!

I'll be the guy having the fucking time of his life up on the stage!

NGDG: No wonder people vote for the same parties. It's like going into a new restaurant, seeing all these weird dishes with cilantro and sundried tomato, and saying 'nah, just a cheeseburger please.'

Spread The Love. The Miracle Of Love.

REBEL WITH A CAUSE

Photograph by Anneli Wiese

So I was invited to attend the FASt Forward Fund Charity Event hosted by Gerald Clark in aid of sufferers of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. (They use horses as interactive therapy and have published some unbelievable results.) The evening was a mouth watering affair featuring the creme-de-la-creme of our local musicians, who all kindly gave of their time and talent to collaborate with Gerald and create a truly magical night.

Held at the impressive Barnyard Theatre in Willowbridge, the event played host to the intrepid duo of adventurers, Tarty Farty Tequila Party and myself, along with a large crowd of generous punters. Quite naturally, upon arrival we made a beeline for the bar and were greeted by Gerald and his amazing PR lady, the inimitable Ice Carstens. Once shown around (and introduced to Heinz Wankler), we settled in around the roaring fires outside for some chatting and the like. Tarty tweeted. I didn't. I think tweeting is kak. Tarty also developed what she referred to as 'disposable thumbs', giving new meaning to the application of the word 'Voortrekker'...
Pretty much everything that comes from that Tarty's overactive brain - via a pretty much unchecked mouth - is pure gold. Blogfodder from the gods! That Tarty...

Anyway, on with the show...
Starting out with his core band (Schalk van der Merwe on bass, Tim Rankin on drums and Simon Orange on keys) Gerald was joined by, first Guy Collins, and then Luna Paige to treat the crowd to some stellar songs, grooving out and getting our fix of good old fashioned blues. At the risk of coming across as a bit of a nonobjective fan, it was magnificent! You know what the cool thing about music is? It's art. Art is meant to be digested subjectively. And true beauty being in the eye of the beholder, Gerald and Co are on another level, touching hearts with their brand of distinct sonic allure.
But wait, there's more...
Exit band, enter Valiant Swart - all by his lonesome with a humble acoustic guitar and a harmonica. Stripped, stark and without any pretence, his simple, vulnerable eloquence and haunting emotion mesmerised the entire audience. His delicate rendition of 'Sonvanger' re-instilled my belief in the beauty and majesty of music. You could hear a pin drop as he finished, before we were shaken from our reverie and rapturous applause engulfed us all. Sung with the humility of a true star.
After that it was time for the second course of bluesy brilliance as Gerald was joined by the insanely talented Natasha Meister, and together they almost brought the house DOWN! Almost... There was just enough left for Fokofpolisiekar to DESTROY! Even on a Sunday night, playing to an audience which included no small number of proper tannies, the boys gave it some serious stick! Gerald joined on backing vocals for a couple of numbers, including the brilliant 'Ek Skyn (Heilig)', before they wrapped up the evening with a rousing, rollicking, no-holds-barred 'Fokofpolisiekar'!

All in all, it was an exceptional experience, and Gerald and Ice are to be congratulated for putting on such a great event in support of such a wonderful cause. May there be many more!

NGDG: We can still party with the youngsters. We can't however avoid the pains the come from sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Spread The Love. Support A Charity Near You! 

DEUR-DIE-KAK-RACY

Another failed attempt to lure voters into booths.

Yes. South Africa offers its people unique opportunity, adventure and occasionally, a nice view. From an "open air" toilet. We live in a free deur-die-kak-racy and we may use our constitutionally guaranteed right to vote to ensure further progress, or attempt to thwart the rot that has clearly taken deep, deep root in our government.
Whichever way you choose to view the current state of affairs, it is your responsibility to make your little x on the ballot paper. I know a lot of people are bleating about the critical necessity to vote - I was always under the impression that this was a given. Why wouldn't you vote?
Because you can't find a party that shares your morals/values/vision? That just makes you incredibly fucking stupid and naive. I'd invite you to emigrate to New Zealand, but you'd probably fuck that up as well or worse, become an All Blacks supporter (if you aren't already one...).
Or are you just too damn lazy to stand in line to do your small little part for the benefit of the country and all its people? People that include your family, and heaven forbid, one day your foul offspring, should the world be that unlucky.
Or is it general apathy? Do you simply not give a shit? The sacrifices of so many to ensure your right to vote cannot be ignored. Do not belittle this right. It means a lot to the vast majority of the people in this country, and to all those who fought so hard for it. Don't be an entitled little doos. The internet may grant you the anonymous autonomy to "be all you can be" from the shelter of your bedroom or office, but for once do the right thing. Doos.
"But my one vote won't make a jot of difference..." I'm afraid that sentiment doesn't wash coming from a population and generation so far up its own arse that it collectively actually believes on an individual level that they are, to a man, the best and brightest of everyone. I'm number one! Well, no, you're not. But you can't be so self-absorbed, self-important and self-centred and then play the "little old me" card.

Besides, if you really want to go with megalomania, step the fuck aside. Amateur...

It's not about fighting the evil pseudo-imperialism of the Zuma led gravy-train ANC.
It's not about further entrenching the inept kleptocracy simply on the grounds of their venerable past.
It's not about "us" or "them" or any sensationalist bullshit politicking - don't believe the hype.

It's about your right to have your say.
It's about your duty to your fellow citizens.
It's about doing your bit to try and move toward a better future.

Unless you're a selfish, myopic little shithead. Then I hope you choke on your breakfast in bed, while I'm standing in line with my tatty ID book, about to have my thumb inked.

NGDG: Joke-ub Zuma will read anything on the teleprompter. You will get fired but Mr Maharaj, if you don't slip in a "Fuck you, San Diego", you have failed at life.

Spread The Love. Make Your X.