Tuesday, February 17, 2015

AMATEUR BONDAGE - FIFTY SHADES OF FUCK OFF.


As the more astute of you would by now have realised, I recently took up farming. It was a timely combination of a chronic addiction to wine and the fact that Julius is currently more concerned with Zuma paying back the money than killing any boers. Anyway, in the spirit of the entire world airing their laundry online and posting pics of their darling babies all over the net, MY KIDS ARE SICK!

Yes, my vines have developed what my discerning eye can only describe as "yellow leaf with little holes in them" or "the jaundiced cancer plague of death". I'll find out more on Sunday when I visit the nursery.

So in the wake of the country's second largest shake up ever, what are y'all up to? A quick glance at social media has the world back to business as usual. Entirely dissipated is the outrage and the disbelief. We're back to worrying about bills and branding our offspring uniquely gifted. When I have real kids one day - and yes, I plan to assault the earth with my genetic superiority - I'm going to post glib little updates like "Johnny called the chemist" and see if anyone gets it...

In other recent news, we tracked some more vocals for the hugely anticipated SUBVERS album last night. It is hugely anticipated in my universe, thank you very much. But almost as exciting is the return of Champions League football on the telly tonight! Granted, the competition lacks a little lustre without the brilliance of United, but it's fun to watch anyway. With any luck we'll be back where we belong next season. And Liverpool can return to nicking hubcaps.

Speaking of... ah yes, the feelgood story of the week. Nick Becker left his beloved saxophone in his car and it got nicked. Stash it, don't flash it, Nick! But as a fellow owner of musical instruments (note, I didn't lump myself in the same category, as Nick is a real musician) I empathised hard. If something had happened to any of my angels, I'd have gone homicidal. In fact, to the fucker who stole Julie 8 years ago, I hope you died an excruciatingly painful and profoundly sickening death, and thank you for all the replacement gear from my insurance pay out. One day she will be mine. Once again. Oh yes!

And yes, all my angels have names...

My mother never understood why I needed more than one. Actually my father actively discouraged me from owning any. He may have had a point. If I'd avoided the immeasurable expense, both financial and emotional (not to mention time) I'd probably be a damn site further ahead on the "suggested aspirations for a successful life" curve. If I ever make enough money for a property big enough for a dog, I'm naming it Plutus. The dog, not the property. Do you think Disney will come after me? That is of course, after I've acquired a few new angels.

And today marks the birthday of one of South Africa's music industry's true legends. He may not have the album sales associated with commercial success, but a more revered figure you will not find. Cult following for every band he has ever led from the front. Numerous critically acclaimed releases over 2 decades. Overseas tour. And the respect of everyone who matters. Happy birthday Fatboy! \m/

Spread The Love. Julie, I Miss You! Come Home!

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