GALLOWEEN - HANGING LIKE A BASTARD.

Yup kiddies. It was Halloweekend again. Plenty of ghouls and ghosts and witches and werewolves and vampy little vampires. Thankfully precious little glitter...

In a rare attempt to save myself for Saturday's festivities, I opted to stay in on Friday night and indulge in a much needed session of sofa-snoozing whilst pretending to myself to watch the cricket. Once again South Africa manfully managed to chuck a match and a series. Chokers belong on hauntingly beautiful young women, not on Kingsmead.

Saturday night got off to a bang. I walked into one of my oldest haunts, a place that holds many, many dear and fond memories for me - The Purple Turtle. It had been done up to fit the theme quite nicely and was full of dressed up darklings. The barlady informed me - after I grew a set of mummy bandages, I waited so fucking long for service - that beers were basically 2 for the price of one. Cue frantically trying to organise a lift home. I was quite prepared to leave my car in Town overnight. Hats off to Bulletscript who did a great job in organising a thoroughly enjoyable event. Only gripe - the sound guy should be shot. Not allowed a chance to try and improve or attend more sound guy courses. Simply shot. Dead. In the face. Obviously his ears aren't of any use. To anyone. Ever. Anywhere. Even despite that I was particularly impressed with Bulletscript's set. I was really looking forward to seeing them as I had yet to do so. Thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed it! As usual Mind Assault was the life of the party and A Walk With The Wicked Grooved us all to Death! Not even the appearance of The Palooka In A Black Plastic Dress could dampen the spirits.

Anyway, next we toddled off to Music For The Masses up the road at what is probably one of my favourite of the "old daze" venues, D'Elyzium. The place has undergone some renovations and is simply put, amazing. It is well appointed and well equipped to host a large variety of events, from dj parties to live gigs. DJ Reanimator and our friend electric, Stephen Green, did a wonderful job and the dancefloor was pumping for the most part. Everyone was having a whale of a time! More of that please!

Sunday was greeted with bleary eyed trepidation and upon deciding that the only decent cure for a hangover of tectonic magnitude was a jumbo boerie dog from Builders Warehouse, I somehow ended up back at home with a couple of new plants...

...and the realisation that I might still be drunk.

So, Happy Halloween everybody! Tonight I will trick myself into believing that I don't have anything pressing to attend to and treat myself to an early night. If you believe that, there's no hope for you.

NGDG: "The Origins of Halloween... Bollocks! I'll tell you - a poor cobbler was preparing a humble repast of raw pumpkin when he slashed off a finger. Oh how the wee bairns did laugh."

Spread The Love. Boo!

IRREVERENT FRIDAY - A HELL OF A HALLOWEEN!

So here we are - on the eve of Old Hallow's Eve - a weekend it seems that everyone has earmarked for festivities of the ghoulish and ghastly kind. In other parts of the world young kids are getting excited and getting their home made costumes ready for a spot of trick or treating. In South Africa, our youth has just finished its monu-mental march on the Union Buildings to 'trick-or-treat' their very own leaders into nationalising everything. Everything! Not just the mines, but the banks and all other institutions of public interest as well! Can you spell "communism"? Hardly surprising. Anything must be better than their current plight. Marches fix everything. You think they'd settle for a handful of sweeties rather?

On a lighter note, I'm actually quite keen on seeing what people are going to be wearing this Halloween. Tomorrow night I will definitely be on the look out for my personal best dressed. I just hope I can uphold decorum enough not to make a very lecherous point of letting the finalists know in person. Doubtful. I hope I at least manage to escape unscathed with what little dignity I can muster intact.

Especially since I'm considering leaving the house dressed as the March Hare from Alice In Wonderland. Bit nippy for 'no pants' though...

It's been a thoroughly, and pleasantly, lazy Friday so far. I have been particularly blessed to have shared some quality time (no - not THAT sort of quality time) with the DrHellCuz and the 2IC Sidekick online today. Can't wait til the World finally officially accepts that I am the supreme ruler of all - we're gonna make some awesome amendments to existing laws of social interaction and fashion sense.

Too numerous to mention, quite naturally, but the penalties for being a douchebarf are going to be exponentially more harsh than these lax times. You have been warned! I'd start by re-evaluating your grammar, spelling, music taste, attire and attitude towards others.

Just saying.

This game is more fun than "what I'd do if I won the lottery" or "naked jello twister".

In other news, the Honourable Neal Goldwyer informs me that his Halloween costume is, much like Twister, going to turn heads and other body parts. Anyone who sees him prancing about the streets of his local town, pictures please! Speaking of the devil,

NGDG: "T minus 20 hours til the Grapes of Wrath pistol-whip us Gaddafi-style. If I rouse on Sunday and successfully obtain my greasee-paint and green pumpkin I will reward myself with something."

Spread The Love. Dead Girls Don't Say No.

DON'T NEGLECT THE BALLS!

So the most hypocritical burke in existence, the one who sees fit to build houses for himself in Sandton to the tune of several millions of tax-payer's rondts and flaunt his ill-gotten wealth in a very "let them eat cake" manner, is organising a march to make us aware of the plight of the poor and down-trodden? Fuck you, sunshine! I am all too aware of the plight of the poor and the down-trodden. Every single time I am assaulted by wave upon wave of people convinced I need MORE coat hangers or fake sunglasses, every single time I stop at every single intersection...

Let's not get into the laborious mud-flinging fiasco we're currently witnessing as the various political entities jockey for position leading up to what I suspect to be some important election of sorts - you could set your watch by it. It's a genuine pity that so few (by comparison) actually realise what's going on right in front of them. Even more of a pity that the status quo is set to continue due to the apathy of the 'haves', the ignorance of the 'have nots', and the avarice of the 'totally, like, have way too much, hahaha you insignificant little people down there we don't care about any of yous'.

I'm not a political creature, but we should really stand up for basic human rights, shouldn't we? Like insisting that they bring better bands to our shores. Also, I'm going to organise a march insisting on the immediate cessation of hostilities from the Parlotones.

I suppose, like Herr Juju, the less attention you pay them, the sooner they'll wither and die? Ok, I'll give it a shot. That's the last of it.

Speaking of shots, Tarty Farty Tequila Party is living it up in Durban-by-the-Sea having a lovely time on holiday. Making steak chips and eggs for dinner - in Durban - on Diwali? No sacred cows there! I am sure you will be regaled with wonderful tales of her whacky adventures upon her return, but in the meantime, where the fuck is your List, madam? We've all been waiting months, if not years! So take some time, take some shots, and take aim at the less fair of the sexes and let us know what it is you're using as a list of criteria, so we may amend our wayward ways.

And speaking of Durban-by-the-Sea. Shannon Hope is about to commence her hugely anticipated country wide tour in support of her exciting new album 'Fight A New Day' and the Cape Town show is going to be huge. There will be champagne. There will be a grand piano. There will be the mesmerising voice and style of one of South Africa's most endearing and engaging acts. I'm donning extra socks for the evening - as I fully expect mine to be knocked off! This is all going down at the Fugard Theatre on 5th November. Do not disappoint yourself.

And as a precursor to the magical eargasm courtesy of Shannon, I am going to indulge in a weekend full of ghoulish tunes and grim costumes.

Friday night sees the mighty, majestic Sleepers take up their traditional slot on Old Hallow's Eve at Mercury.

Saturday morning the delightfully diverse duo of Natalie & Matthew from Witness To Wolves will be entertaining us with an intimate set at Paul Bothner in Claremont.

After which A Walk With The Wicked, Mind Assault, Bulletscript, Infanteria, and Junkyard Lipstick will all do their best impressions of devillish little demons as they entertain the gathered masses at the Purple Turtle for Halloween Slaughter II.

DJ Reanimator, Curious Robot and co will be spinning their best dancefloor treffers as they Jack-o-Lantern Jukebox their way into the witching hours and beyond for Music For The Masses at the old D'Elyzium. I'm sincerely not looking forward to Sunday. If I'm lucky I may just have turned into a pumpkin. Pumpkins don't get hangovers.

NGDG: "Having to wash dishes after cooking a tasteless meal is like having to cuddle after bad sex."

Spread The Love. Or I Kick You In Your Ghoullies.

THERE ARE AWARDS FOR THIS SORT OF RUBBISH?

My own horn. I be tootin'...

I wish.

So somehow I have been entered into SA Blog Awards. What I mean to say is that I entered my very own self into the SA Blog Awards. As in, I believe my own press clippings. Or droppings, as it were.

Now I have no idea what happens next. I assume they'll just shower me with little statuettes and praise. Maybe even a free drink or two. Ah, I can feel the adulation already! Red carpets, flashing cameras, annoying reporters...

Or maybe not. Perhaps I'll just continue dreaming about what might have been from the confines of my stuffy office. And carry on entertaining and enlightening all of you, my faithful and refined readers. You can experience the joy of teaching yourself to become a domestic goddess second hand! You can vicariously live the life of a drunken, aging rockstar! You can even manage to stifle a barely audible chuckle from time to time...

But wait! There's more!

Actually, no there isn't.

(I probably have to go and investigate how to go about winning this thing, eh. Possibly some sort of voting system. Watch this space...)

Onto the harrowing topic of Halloween. I hate Halloween. I'm expected to dress up as a "ghoul", when the only thing I am usually capable of looking like (realistically) is of course, a "girl". I never know what to do with all this damn hair! Perhaps it's time for that little Heather Graham bit I was alluding to earlier... Might be a touch nippy.

NGDG: "I am absolutely terrifyingly shit-scared of Winex. We may die."

Spread The Love. Vote For Me Like I'm The DA And The Only Thing Between You And Absolute Bankruptcy.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

I have quite obviously been watching far too much 'How I Met Your Mother'...

I do own the Barney Stintson Playbook. An ex girlfriend of mine bought it for me. Wonder what she was trying to tell me...

The challenge, as put to me by Sheik Yerbouti, in response to "give me something random to blog about - I'm fresh the fuck out of ideas" is the following:

Ham and Leek Pie.

It was a very quick response as well. I suppose what occupies the plate in front of you, occupies the mind as well. Entirely.

I have since been presented with the following alternatives: 'How amazing and versatile potatoes are', and 'Stripper shoes and why they are so appealing to men'.

The second one is easy:

1. They make us think of strippers.

2. They make women's legs look better.

3. One of the best poses in the known universe is the lie-on-your-stomach-and-grab-your-stripper-heels-behind-your-back-while-blowing-me pose.

Just saying. It's merely an observation.

On the versatility of potatoes, well, they're obviously VERY versatile. I don't think anyone has enough time to get into that. But let's count the top 10 quickly, shall we?

1. Chips.

2. Crisps.

3. Shoving them in thine enemies exhaust pipe.

4. Mr Potato Head.

5. Potato salad.

6. Potato bake.

7. Roast potatoes.

8 Grade school science assignments.

9. The movie 'Spud'.

10. The Simba theme song "I wanna be a Simba Chippy!"

There.

Onto Ham and Leek Pie. Now on face value this would be quite a difficult topic on which to pontificate. Until one starts looking beyond the seemingly banal facade of your average Ham and Leek Pie. First off, it contains the one animal product that actually unites Muslims and Jews. Pork can solve the problems of the world whilst still giving you a Sunday morning bacon-smell hard-on. All the warring factions of the world need realise is that they actually do have something in common. Neither of them is allowed to partake in that most unclean of animals, le piggy. The sheer magnitude of the sense of deprivation they must experience should precipitate them burying the hatchet and uniting against the oppressive hamless society in which they are forced to eke out a joyless existence.

Then there's the humble leek. A product of Wales slightly more successful than their rugby team and less likely to break into 18 part choral harmonies. If you look these astonishing vegetables up on the "intrawebs" you will be dumbfounded at the political significance of the common leek. Go on, just type in "Wikileaks" into your browser and see what happens...

And all this was wrapped up in a delicious layer of puff pastry conveniently on a plate in front of a friend of mine waiting to become the latest subject matter of my inane ramblings (and hence the latest internet craze!)

Ham and Leek Pie! The new Angrybirds!

In an amazing twist of fate today's Daily Gem from Neal Goldwyer goes like this.

NGDG: "I'm eating vegetables and making clothes. No, I'm not a politicoeconomic dissident. Payday is a few days off and I'm preparing for Old Hallow's Eve. Ooga Booga."

Spread The Love. Grab Those Stripper Heels.

POMPED

Jeeesh, what a weekend! I'm pomped. And I have an entire week to get through...

I had the distinct pleasure, privilege and honour to be in the same room as the legendary John Cleese on Friday night. And by room I obviously mean auditorium at the Cape Town International Convention Centre. Even when he's being pointedly droll he's funny. The show was fantastic, revealing interesting insights into his illustrious career and life. Particularly his eulogy at Graham Chapman's funeral. I am forever in debt to the lovely B.O.B for being kind enough to take me to this awesome show.

Saturday evening started with a bunch of smses inquiring why I had not yet made an appearance at a very important birthday party. I was referred to, among other things, as a "douche-canoe". 10 points for originality! Needless to say, by the time I got there, things were in full swing, the birthday boy already 16 sheets to the wind and fighting a losing battle with gravity. Fun times! Entertainment provided! I especially liked the part where I had to apologise to the rather good-natured next door table as he attacked them with his foam pirate sword!

Quote of the evening? Apparently "Is routers like fried chicken?" the answer to which is quite naturally "No It's what makes your computer internet."

Shit went downhill from there...

Sunday was greeted with a diabolical hangover. I got up to make coffee. I made coffee. I reached into the fridge and grabbed the carton of milk. I poured this into the coffee. What I thought was the carton of milk was indeed the very similar looking carton of cooking wine...

And then it was a race to get to the mate's house where we had decided to watch the Rugby World Cup Final. Enjoyed the game, unfortunately there had to be a winner. As Richie McCaw gave his post match interview, he said "I'm absolutely shagged." I looked and looked, but couldn't find ONE sheep. Liar!

Started a fire and set about getting tucked into the beer. Toasted the All Blacks against my will, with Jagermeister, which is at least blackish. We'd probably have had Springbokkies were it not for that effing ref... Great fun was nonetheless had by all, especially our generous host's 2 year old son, who was packing a water squirting pump action pool noodle and taking great delight in soaking all present. "Nat hol" indeed...

Having eaten enough meat to make a vegetarian spontaneously combust, we skedaddled off to the folks for a leisurely lunch. Aaah, that is what all Sundays should be about. Overeating...

And then the heaven's parted, celestial lights streamed down, angelic choirs raised in deafening chorus...

... and Greame Smith scored a half century. So did the rest of the top order, and the South African Cricket team were suddenly on top of the world again, giving the Aussies carrots. (It gives me unending pleasure to say that.)

NGDG: "Being drunk all weekend is an art. Well, I don't know if it's art, but I know what I like."

Spread The Love. Artfully.

MY FIRST KISS

Ha! I see all of you leering at this post thinking I'm about to divulge a very intimate and personal detail of my sordid life. Think again! A gentleman never kisses and tells.

A friend and fellow intrepid blogger, Barrulus, has started this gallery of First Kiss stories, where you are required to do just that! With any luck the experience was mind blowing enough to have stuck in your memory, and not been slowly blown away into the foggy mire of the back of your mind, such as it is. Also, let's hope it wasn't recent enough to still be fresh...

So go ahead, try and remember who the lucky girl or handsome stud was and go and submit your blood-curdlingly sweet story. It's kinda romantic and nostalgic and don't even try and pretend you're not sitting there with a smile on your face recalling your first smooch. Except my Cuz. He probably got a slap across his chops.

Do it now! Apparently the Rapture is scheduled for this afternoon. Which is like the Kiss Of Death. Or the Final Kiss. Kinda apt then...

Click here and Spread The Love. I Did. I Never Claimed To Be A Gentleman. See If You Can Guess Which Story Is Mine...

NOT ANOTHER END OF THE WORLD SCENARIO!

My friend, Mr Blackheart, posted this pic up and I simply couldn't resist.

Good morning and welcome to another perfectly pert Irreverent Friday. Tonight I walk my silly arse into the wonderful world of Mr John Cleese. I hope it's perilous. There may or may not even be a spanking!

And then tomorrow night it's the turn of the one and only Wikkle Poon to celebrate his birthday. Not only is he the latest guitar-slinging hero in Cape Town, but he is also Francois Pienaar's stunt double. Let's hope that bodes well. It may even get him a "Lay".

Don't you find it particularly annoying when people prattle on about people you don't know and inside jokes when you have no idea what they're on about? I have a friend who does that all the time. Strange that there are still complete unknowns in this day and age. Information being as freely available and all...

Good Sir Neal Goldwyer The Virtually Immortal posed a rather interesting quote for the day today dealing with his, and everyone else's demise...
NGDG: "If the world has to end, I'd like a large asteroid to shear the planet to bits, small enough that they can't generate their own gravity, so I fly off (mercifully unconscious from concussion) to freeze in space, where an alien toddler with a butterfly net will pluck me, and eat me before its mother scolds him. How would you like to go?"

To which I quite naturally responded: "In a deluge of beer n blowjobs." Duh! Quite an interesting question though. How would you like to go? What would you like to see achieved or have accomplished yourself before the final curtain? If you knew the end was imminent what would you be doing differently? Would you streak through the streets exhorting people to repent, grow beards and live off locusts and honey? Not me. Deserted islands full of rum and Kiera Knightly spring to mind, after her boob job of course. I was almost going to go into a whole schpiel about doing all the things you've been putting off like apologising to your cousin for that incident with the dildo, and generally righting all your wrongs, but it is Irreverent Friday, so I'm going to stick with "Get hammered and get laid." I do believe Mr Blackheart would agree with me.

Ps. I hope you don't have that REM song stuck in your head now... See what I did there?

Sunday is the final of the Rugby World Cup. I hope both teams lose. Fuckers.

Spread The Love. Beers. Blowjobs. The End Is Nigh!

ASS BADGE

As in "I am an Ass Badge."

This morning I committed one of the 7 Deadly Intraweb Sins.

Casually logging onto FaeceBoobs, sipping only my second cup of coffee for the morning (because it's imperative I find out what's been happening with each and every single one of my gazillion friends overnight), I spy a story about the daft responses a bunch of Miss USA Pageant competitors had to the question "Should we allow maths to be taught in schools?" The YouTube is hysterical, but alas, a parody. Alarm bells should immediately have gone off, considering the, erm, quality of the women on show. Pagaent material they were not. More like Wall-to-wall Wal-Mart. Anyway, what does Mr Clever Clogs do? I fucking "share" this link and write some incensed rubbish about how fucked the world is and so on.

Luckily a friend of mine in the States hastily informed me of my blatant faux pas and I quickly deleted it. She's a member of MENSA so I don't feel that bad, actually...

Anyway, if you were wondering what the 6 other Deadly Sins of Intrawebs usage are, here goes:

1. Failing to write "LOL" or "ROFLMAO" or ":)" every single time one of your fwendies says something vaguely funny or even remotely intelligible.


2. Not having at least 23 out of focus shots of you doing the pout-looking-up-at-shitty-camera-fone pose.


3. Spamming the crap out of the entire Universe every time your pathetic fucking band needs to win a poll to be allowed to spread its cancerous aural filth on some shitty little stage in some crappy little club no one will ever go to anyway.


4. Not having a BlackBerry and not complaining loudly every time RIM packs up.


5. Not having a natural affinity to anything and everything to do with cats, their pictures on the net, and all their wonderfully fucking annoying applications.


6. Sharing pics or links of fake scares and/or funny videos and then ranting about how kak everything is in as indignant a tone as you can muster from behind the relative safety and anonymity of your keyboard. (See yours truly above)


7. Not having a ridiculous fake middle name that is somehow supposed to shed some light on the inner complexities of your mildly deranged psyche.

Anyway, that's just how it seems to me, considering the mean...

So, there you have it. Oh by the way (excuse me, I surely meant "btw") a friend of mine is taking me to go and watch John Cleese at the CTICC and SBITU. Whaaaahoooooo! Do you have your tickets yet? If not, tough patootie! They're sold out. I'm so excited I could write ":)"

Ja, and go read about the whacky adventures of Tarty Farty Tequila Party at Mocking The Meisies. Corking good stuff!

NGDG: "Death to tyrants!!! This Colonel clearly lacked any secret ingredient to keep his brand of madness going indefinitely. Now who's next? Someone needs to do a 'Columbiana' on Radovan in his cell methinks."

Spread The Love. Until You Walk Funny.

ALL'S QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT

Actually I mean "All's quiet on the Atlantic Seaboard" but who knows what the rent boys are up to... Probably vandalising those awful statues of little girls on the Promenade. I've often wondered what the fuck the council was smoking the day they thought THAT was a good idea.

Anyway, today has been very, very quiet. With the exception of the frenetic typing as I have had many conversation on the interwebs. Bless my friends for having mind numbing jobs as well.

Ah memories! I was reminded earlier of some wonderful memories whilst making a final decision on my plans for Halloween. There is a super duper metalocalypse happening at the Purple Turtle - one of the old bastions of Cape Town night life. As Jacques from Bulletscript points out "It's been nearly a decade since the Turtle has seen any decent metal." The event is called The Halloween Slaughter II - go check it out.

Then just up the road is a place called Platinum Lounge, which used to go by the name of D'Elyzium. Aaaaah, good times... I remember having to fight off bouncers as they tried to kill my very drunk buddy for peeing on them from the men's toilet upstairs window. Or having to slide carefully past Richard as he was invariably chatting up some little goth tart at the entrance of his DJ box, conveniently between the lounge area and the dancefloor - the only route between the two. He usually took up ALL the space...

I can't wait to go to this, Halloween: Music For The Masses. In fact I'll be skipping between the 2 all through the night - should be amazing fun.

Just like old times...

Except now I can actually afford the copious amounts of booze I am planning on having and a nice clean taxi home.

NGDG: "I figure that if you're standing in the road and your boyfriend wants to fight me, I'm also gonna run you the fuck down."

Spread The Love. Like Sunscreen. Or Lube. Hello Summer!

THOUSANDS OF WORDS

Today we start off with a picture and fill in the words as we go along. Expect a post so full of literary genius as to be worthy of repeat prints. Through the ages. Like a Tom Sawyer. Or something by Orson Wells. Rather more like a "leeuvel tiertert"...

In keeping with the "au naturel" theme, you see.

And in pushing the envelope even further, I feel compelled to report the green fingers I now possess. Mastering renovation, house-keeping and cooking it seems, is not enough. I have now taken to horticulture. I replanted my jasmine plant yesterday, a most manly endeavour, and I am pleased to announce the green pepper plants I am growing from seeds have ALL sprouted. Can you imagine the culinary delights I will be able to concoct? Wow, that's an awkward word.

Anyway, the picture above pretty much sums up how I feel today. Like you could pour me into a coma. A kind of sloth-like decrease in heart rate and lust for life. Content to just occupy space and launch drivel into the Universe, such as it is. Which brings us to Riaan Cruywagen minute:

1. Today marks the birthday of the Meyer Of Awesomeville - happy birthday your emineminence! Hope you have the best day ever! Will raise a glass in your honour this evening.
   


2. John Cleese is coming to SA - performing at the Cape Town International Convention Centre and Slowest Bar In The Universe.
   


3. Terry Pratchett is set to release another book into the world, actually I think it may already be available. I believe it's called Snuff. He will also be visiting our shores in the not too distant future.

Ok, so that took way more than a minute to type, but knowing how proficient you rabble rousers are at reading, it's a fair trade off.

It's hotting up. Yes it is. Silly Season - and this time I'm referring to the time of year bands prefer to play live shows, and festivals are inundated with requests for the same thing. What happened to playing, winning over fans, making a record, winning over some new fans and losing those that first discovered you (that's how it goes...), and being chosen to play on merit, popularity and the ability to perform a set of entertaining, engaging songs?

Why do bands have to be voted onto bills by internet poll? It's like promoters have discovered this fascinating way to pit bands against each other and are sitting back on their lofty perches having the fattest laugh at the peasants scrambling for scraps off their celestial tables. Don't get me started on the amount of spam this creates either, with every "band" and their mother pleading, begging and promising sexual favours just if you'll go and fancy their chances with a simple click.

It smacks of Idols. Same concept and it can't possibly be good for the industry.

I suggest spending your time honing your craft and then eventually letting your music speak for you. Ha! What a joke. You'll never get anywhere like that! Everyone knows you have to spew out whatever kotch-core is en vogue that week and then whore yourself shamelessly on FaeceBoobs.

Then you can spend the rest of your time waiting for the adulation to come pouring in. Or begging for validation online...

On a far more positive note, I'd like to thank modern society for allowing such a remarkable degeneration of moral accountability to entrench itself in our lives.

NGDG: "I bought my own birthday present. Something tells me no one would immediately answer 'Tomas Transtromer' to the question 'What would Neal like this year?' "

Spread The Love. Click "Schmaak" For EVERY Band For EVERY Festival. Confuse EVERYONE!

THE BIT BETWEEN FRIDAY LEAVING WORK AND MONDAY GETTING TO WORK...

Welcome back to you working week. I sincerely hope it's unpleasant for you as it is for me. My recovery time has taken on what can only be described as "epic proportions" and I fear I may not get entirely through all this before I am obligated to punish myself once more.

Jees, am I glad the Sibling only has a birthday once a year...

Friday started off nice and sedately. The folks came around and dropped off some heirloom furniture and bits before loading me into the back of their bakkie and buggering off to the Sibling's house for civilized dinner. I was kinda wondering why my mom was in hysterics as I sat there like a casual labourer. Turns out she was vividly reminded of an unfortunate incident from my youth, when I went on a very ill fated date. You see, I was so besotted and head-over-heals in love (I thought) with a certain young lady throughout high school, that I turned into the gangly, bumbling, acne-ridden idiot of the universe whenever I was within spitting distance of this wonderful girl. No wonder, in hindsight, I never got her to agree to a spot of "doctor-doctor". Anyway, lest we dredge up some long buried anguish and I have to start paying a therapist to listen to my silly sobbing for the rest of my life, let's cut a long story short.
By some miracle I managed to convince her to join me on what passed for a date back then, before budgets and one's own 4-wheel transport. I went all out, lemme tell you. Cycled down to the local florist to buy a bunch of roses and came back with a single forlorn looking carnation, much to my disgust, but I was going to make it work for me! Had even sorted out a friend's older sibling to pick me (us) up in something fancy resembling KITT from Knight Rider. Sorted!
Imagine my face when this doos pulls in with a bedraggled khaki Datsun bakkie. Sitting in the back of that fucking bakkie with my stupid little fucking carnation on my way to make an utter arse of myself with the girl of my dreams AND having my mother howling and shrieking with laughter was not doing anything to brighten my murderously foul mood. Ah! Memories...

On a far lighter note, Saturday the various members of Axxon assembled to start rehearsals in earnest for the upcoming show, War At The Warehouse II. It was as if we hadn't taken a break at all. My fuck it sounded awesome! Can't wait to don the toight pants of awesomeness again and strut our stuff for all of you. Incidentally, A Walk With The Wicked, Cape Town's grooviest Death Metallers have announced themselves as the final band in the line up. And they WILL own your soul!

Saturday night and another trip to the Sibling's, although altogether less harrowing and in the driver's seat this time. There were beers. There were shots. There was a lot of noise and even more people. There was even a "boob-off". Bless my life. Even if the participants were either family or not particularly someone whose boobs I'd like to see. I think I had quite a few shots round about this time. There was apparently an "incident" in the bathroom, although I plead innocence due to not remembering anything. There was a camera. Uh oh...
Sunday morning came streaming through the window like a rapist on tik, and we drove home without sunglasses. Murder.

Somehow the SABC contrived to once again re-enforce why I refuse to pay a TV Licence. It's the Rugby World Cup and they could be bothered to obtain the licence to broadcast a semifinal (one that we would have been in were it not for Bryce The P**s) live on their hallowed list of stations. Thank goodness we found Percy's open. It's amazing that some people still support Australia. Not only were they getting thoroughly moered, but this joker (probably from Parklands) also felt it necessary to make the gathered masses understand that he knew the rules of rugby, and in so doing, that he was an utter pillock. You know the type: pop up collar and wears a cap indoors, and uses words like "china" and "bru" without any ironic intonation. All his mates have names that end in "ty" or "ro"...

Let's not get started on the drunk M.I.L.N.F that was more interested in discussing the nutritional benefits of yoghurt instead of shutting the fuck up and watching the game...

The rest of Sunday was spent slouching on the couch. That is all. I felt like I'd been ravaged by a battalion of bloodthirsty badgers. The only consolation was that the T20 game carried on the pleasant theme of Australia getting a good kicking...

NGDG: "Here's a novel idea - "Occupy" a desk, draw up a budget, and see how many times 'bank', 'stock market' or 'executive remuneration packages' appear alongside 'restaurant, 'take out', 'car repayment' or 'buying stupid shit on credit'."

Spread The Love. Away From The Convicts And Psychos...

TIME FOR SOME MORE IRREVERENCE

So. It's Friday again. And while some people would exhort you to smile and appreciate the cleansing, relieving feeling of the woes of the week washing off you (not unlike peeing in the shower), I would rather get directly to the point of Friday. To be as irreverent as possible. I know it's something I am still trying to shepherd into mass acceptance, but at least it has the seal of approval of DrHellCuz. As he is nothing if not irreverent.

So go forth and piss people off this weekend (note shower reference). Especially if you see the popo. The bastards ambushed me in another roadblock last night. Luckily it was the one night a year I was actually under the legal limit. Booze to blood ratio, not statutory age of consent. Get your mind out of the gutter. There's barely enough place for mine.

Also, you are hereby ordered to hurl as much abuse as humanly possible at your television sets tomorrow and Sunday morning, during the Rugby World Cup semi-finals. Ja, ja. I've heard too many people say they're no longer going to watch since the all-conquering Springboks were so unjustly ousted, but do me a favour! Of course you're going to watch, secretly hoping the Aussies become the latest recipients of new exit holes. And that the underdog Welsh will perform unkind fornication upon the All Blacks in the final. Go on, just admit it.

At least we have a decent hooker for the next 4 years, even if he has a bizarre name.

Or am I just revealing my ignorance?

Other than the rugby, the weekend is shaping up to be quite the exciting affair. Tonight, as last night, I shall dine at the home of the Sister (and fellow DSW conspirator) and the Brother-In-Awe. Along with the folks. Best I take along the good wine.

Tomorrow Axxon is once again at it, with a fire-n-brimstone practice, all geared towards your self enlightenment. Nah I'm just kidding. It's for your aural pleasure. Ok, okaaaaay. You got me. It's so we can blow you away with a wave of awesomeness the likes of which you have (obviously) never before experienced. Your demise and rebirth are scheduled for the 5th of November (remember, remember...). Do not miss this. War At The Fucking Warehouse II...

Moi? Self indulgent? Perish the thought!

Over and above all that insanity and wearing pants and making pahty-pahty (yes Tahty Fahty Tequila Pahty will be there, naturally) I still have to find time to replant my jasmine. As manly an endeavour as any, I'd warrant.

Anyway, I think that brings us up to date, although I feel I may be a bit light on the Irreverence-o-meter. I think I need to go to DrHellCuz for a refresher course. People be unfriending us at a rate of knots on the ol' FaeceBoobs. More's the pretty.

NGDG: "It's a good job I watch so much Dexter or this pesky census worker could cause trouble."

Spread The Love. Pass The Bottle. Something's Not Right...

SILLY SEASON

'Tis the Season to be Jolly! Well, according to the shops, malls and the SA fucking popo "service"...

Roll out the jingle bells, fairy lights and extortionate prices, baby! And hold onto your elf hat, cos the consumer sleigh is about to take off! And not only is the obligatory gift haul gonna cost you dear, so is the drastic increase in traffic fines and police presence on the roads. It must be nearing year end and the popo need a few extra bucks to make budget, otherwise they won't get them fancy cardboard hats and party blowers this year at their annual Christmas party. And woe betide the populace if there aren't those nifty sprinkles on their doughnuts like last year!

The reason, dear gentle reader, for my enthusiastic putting down of the men in blue is as follows: The other night when I got home from football I realised I no longer had the work's keys on my keyring. Oh dear! I immediately call Daft Rob, who had earlier attached his car keys to my keyring lest someone nick them whilst we were playing football. Common sense. Somehow, inexplicably, he had assimilated the little book of calm into his system. Apologies. I got distracted. Ooh look! A squirrel!

Ok my work keys somehow unhooked themselves from my keyring onto his. He was halfway home when I called to ask if he was indeed in possession of the keys in question. He agreed to turn around and meet me half way. Which he totally zorched up and got lost. Finally after much calling up and down it transpired that he was being fined by the cops for "jumping a red light". Fair enough. I found him and asked about the circumstances. Apparently he had been waiting behind another driver, both of them waiting to turn right at a set of traffic lights. When the dude in the front finally got his turn to move forward, he did so slowly, leaving Daft Rob in the middle of the intersection faced with a bright red light. Obviously since he had managed to make it beyond the line and into the intersection whilst the light was still green, he scootched off as you do.

Not so.

Four (4 - for fuck's sake) popo orifices pounced! They were barely capable of stringing together a fucking sentence between them. The one "writing" out the ticket - in his best Grade 3 cursive - actually had to ask what colour the car was. The same car that was barely 3 feet from his face. Admittedly Daft Rob isn't much into the suburban Saturday morning wash-n-polish, but "blue" isn't too difficult to discern.

The moral of this little rant is "Be Careful." They're obviously out to swell the coffers. Take extra care and be on the look out for flashing blue lights. More so than usual. Reason does not work on these guys. Neither does incredulous humour, as I found out to my horror. Shame, I suppose they too have targets...

Perhaps the Minister Of Police could amend these targets to include, ag I don't know, arrests and convictions of bad people. We certainly have our fair share. Don't get me started on the deep seated social ills of our country's situation and how the appointed (and anointed) leaders grow fat on the back of the proverbial pigs. Pigs? Yup. The fucking lot of them.

That, and atrocious spelling and grammar. And cursive.

NGDG: "I will remunerate you accordingly just as soon as you can enlighten me regarding exactly what NQF level 'holding a plastic bag at an intersection' entails."

On a positive note, Tarty Farty Tequila Party has deigned, for the first time in 68000 years to entertain us with her formidable writing skills. Read all about her experience at Rocking The Daisies recently.

Spread The Love. Just Not The Way NWA Would Have You Do It.

WACKY WEDNESDAY - MY CUZ CALLS IT 'MEDITATING'

So I decided to treat myself to a Steers Wacky Wednesday burger special today for lunch. Nooo! Guess again! The queue in Steers was so long it negated the R26 you're supposedly saving by forcing you to drop R30 in parking fees. Conspiracy burgers, more like. Like the HellCuz and I...

Anyway, looking forward to tonight and the weekend. Tonight we make sweet music. And on the weekend the better half of the Demonic Sibling Wolfpack is celebrating her birthday. Cue fun festivities and lots of beer-in-face activities. At least it's not a fancy dress party again. No one got my get up last time... I, of course, thought it was brilliant.

So I've been pressie hunting. Is there anything more tyring than a) figuring out what the hell you're going to buy someone, b) making sure no one else has already bought it, if it's from a wishlist or c) trying to find an item once you've settled on something?

I spent half of my lunch (actually double lunch hour) searching in vain for a gift for someone (I tend to get behind) to no avail. Granted, the item I'm trying to find is not as common as a garden gnome, but you'd imagine in today's consumer market, all things would be freely available without resorting to the Greatest Easter Egg Hunt in history.

Also stoked as fuck to announce that the almighty AXXON is confirmed for Rock The River - a festival held over New Years. We will be heralding in the new year with a number of other super cool bands at the Cape Town Ostrich Farm - only 20 minutes from the city. There! Your plans are now officially made. You don't have to worry about driving home, as you can happily camp. And drink yourself into oblivion. I'll be at the bar accepting bribes, gifts and any other adulation in the form of alcoholic loveliness. After our set naturally.

I must give a shout out to the new axe-murderer in chief, the brilliant guitar slinger from that band SubVerS (ja, ja, we'll let you know when...) for the pic above. Thanks Matt 'Little Spoon' Daemon.*

*not his real name.

And seeing as I am now in charge of deciding your social agenda for you, watch this space for important info on Halloween and so on.

NGDG: "10 million people like Slipknot. And that's just on Facebook. Iron Maiden have sold 85 million albums. Metal is winning people. Metal is winning. There are enough songs about goo goo ga-choo. We want songs about Romantic poetry, shrimp diseases locking girls in basements and Arnold Schwarzenegger catch phrases."

Spread The Love. In The Name Of Hammertime! Stop!

DESTROY ERASE IMPROVE

Just what the world needs in my hugely fucking pompous opinion. Too much of everything going on and too little of anything going on.

The latter could actually be a good thing for a change. It's been a hectic couple of weeks. The flames have met in the middle of the candle and now ALL the ladies are looking at me funny. And not because of yesterday's post either...

So it's traditional for me to harp on about my domestic prowess on the Tuesday following the Monday when it's my turn to cook for the band. (Hey, at least we aren't starving musicians...) A tradition I have every intention of keeping alive. Last night I made THE raddest food ever. It involved white sauce and I made the dish up on the spot. It was an incredible success and we're scheduling a ceremony for the weekend in which my Mother not only unties me from her apron strings, but hands over the entire apron to much fanfare and a 21 gun salute. We are contemplating releasing some doves, but with my acute ornophobia, we may have to cover everything in plastic. I am Martha!

I need eighties style sewn-in shoulder pads now...

Anyway, after dinner we actually DID make some music. As usual we couldn't remember what we did last week and Rose Thorn (who apparently has green blood) had forgotten the footage at home, so we were forced to resort to actually creating something new. It was glorious. It was grandiose. It was so amazing and awe-inspiring, it will probably have a working title like 'Wyrmberg' bestowed upon it. See, I do read...

For those of you that still require a peek into what it is we do on a Monday evening, besides sit around and brush each other's hair while someone brews something in their cauldron, and get artistically motherless, here is a brief definition of our music.

DJOOM = a musical subgenre referring to the combination of DOOM (slow, heavy, depressing and sometimes poetic) and DJENT (or math -metal, combining atonal discordant progressions and harmonies and irregular time signatures).

This is the best way I can describe it although I am sure some pencil dick will have a more eloquent version of either. Anyway, the bottom line is that we enjoy it and one day when we're all a million years old you may even get to hear it.

In other news, pretty much fuck all is happening. A lot of it. Too much and too little.

Perhaps Robert could put things into perspective...
Book 7 : Chapter 8 : Verse 7 - 11

Oh yes, and if I get one more fucking internet petition sent to me - I don't care how good the cause is or how well intentioned the people behind it are, my nipples will explode. In full Monty Python style, whilst I skip away toward the horizon, with only a bobby helmet on my flailing tongue depressor, singing 'God save King Julius' like so many slain bagpipes.

NGDG: "I will prise the caps lock keys from a thousand keyboards, put them in an empty coffee tin with gunpowder and semtex and send it to freakshow with a note that says 'Don't smoke while insane' and she, being sooo audacious and otherwise, will immediately light up a cigarette in defiance, saying 'Ha!' But only one of us will be there to append an additional 'ha' to the proverbial last laugh."

And on that rather contrived conclusion (according to the Rules), I bid you adieu for another day. Til tomorrow then, when I shall once again abuse you with my absurdities. No, not the one under the bobby helmet. His.name.is.Truncheon...

Spread The Love. Softly. Killing It. With A Djoom Song.

SHAKE WHAT YO MAMA GAVE YA!

So. What a weekend! Friday night was, as expected, quite something! I walked into ROAR to witness and hear something more foul than a midget playing dubstep. Oh no! Wait! No offence to the bloke, he seemed to be having a fair ol' time of it, but when you purposely mash up the greats of our time with nothing more than cheesy loops and "wubble-bass", whilst bouncing up and down behind a laptop, I hold no sacred cows dear. I'm far more offended than you could possibly be by anything that comes out of my mouth. I'm sure you're a really nice person.

Windernessking took a while to capture my imagination, I'll be perfectly honest. I think it may have been the kinda unique combination of influences they employ to make their dark, dangerous music. By the end of the second last song, as they rumbled into an earth-shattering. Sabbath-esque riff, and Keenan got almost the entire venue to headbang in unison, I was more or less won over. By the time they had delivered the stunning last song - a tune very reminiscent of something off Shades Of God (Paradise Lost), I was most certainly a LOT more interested.

Enter Ark Synesis. The earth moved. The crowd stood rapt, jaws on the floor, and started swaying and baying as if hypnotised by some far fetched religious cult. The sheer power and presence of the music washed over the packed dancefloor in waves of mathematically mesmerising sensory overload. It is truly astonishing to witness a band of this calibre up close. They hook you and reel you in effortlessly with their intricate, intense and innovative riffs, beats and atmos(h)pherics. If music be the food of love, life and everything else, then you lads may, nay MUST, play the fuck on!

Saturday was spent bumbling about seeing how quickly I could get rid of my hard earned money. Various birthday gifts and miscellaneous goodies for the house were purchased in a leisurely retail therapy session.

And we get to the big night out. Mesopotamia. A restaurant. A place to eat awesome food in return for money. No dishes. Generally an experience associated with a gentle ambiance and a pleasant, private(ish) time with those you love.

Oh fucking no!

First of all I was forced to sit on the ground. I am six foot three, barely able to bend my joints at the best of times and generally fucking grumpy. "Are you serious?" echoed around as I bellowed my incredulity. Much uncomfortable maneuvering and squirming around later and deftly removing my shoes, I was semi-comfortable enough to order a beer, which arrived with merciful speed. Seeing as I was with an assembly of my closest friends, at least we can deduce the conversation was top notch. I flicked through the menu. Not being too familiar with Kurdish Cuisine, I opted for the "spicy lamb chops, with yada yada yada" a mouth watering prospect. After having been rushed to make our order, the food took its sweet time, more beer was consumed and all were content in the knowledge that good food takes time and we were in for something truly amazing. Not so...

...3 forlorn little chops.

Three.

Three shall be the count. Once thou hast counted to Two shalt thou proceed to Three, but not to Four. Five is right out! Tiny! Like frog leg tiny. Don't even get me started on the yada yada bits. Looked like something out of a McCains packet just got dumped on the side with no artistic endeavour whatsoever. Admittedly it was kinda tasty, but I can make better food. And that's saying something! I may be Martha Stewart (in my mind) but I doubt I'd secure gainful employment at one of Cape Town's leading restaurants. But wait! There's more.

I have never been a fan of belly-dancing. It is not an attractive visual experience, since in my experience, it is the activity of choice for those ladies that shop at 'fashions for the fuller figure'. I hasten to add that I appreciate the fairer sex in all their varied splendour, but do not wish to be subjected to a rattling, shimmying quivering mass of excess body mass if I can at all help it. Thankfully this was not the case as the music was cranked up to earsplitting levels and tooth-gnashing frequencies. In prances a scantily clad young lady, all veils and coins-on-strings! By all accounts she was very good at this whole belly-dancing lark. I gamely watched and even clapped at the end of her performance. Oh would it be so! No. I was subjected to almost an hour and a half of having to hear and see the vast majority of women haul their variety of asses (all shapes and sizes) up from the floor on which they had been sitting and engaging in the largest display of audience participation since 'Rocky Horror - the play' was first performed in Green Point. Accompanied by - what I would imagine - the same shrieking hysteria, as the gyrating banshees treated us (and themselves) to a truly, if unwanted, memorable experience.

For those of you brainwashed by popular media, this was NOT Shakira! This was more like the Hippo scene from Disney's "Fantasia", although in this case, the "hips didn't lie" as the girls, many of whom seemed to be part of a bachelorette party, screamed, wobbled and stomped their way to ass shaking nirvana. On the plus side, I did finally find out the distinction between a bridesmaid and a Maid Of Honour. The one is married.

Anyway, my apologies to all the girls I know that enjoy doing the belly-dancing thing. Obviously you do it particularly well and are nothing like the Tiger-Tiger types so easily swept into a flesh-flopping-about frenzy.

Which brings me to the rugby. I don't even know if I should get into it here. I think the rest of the people with access to the worldwide web and an opinion (everyone) have said enough.

Perhaps our next coach will have improved media skillz...

NGDG: "Just when you thought the weekend had hurled its last pat of excrement at the wall of everything you hold dear, you read that Queen may recruit the Gag-worthy sirloin sartorialist to sing for them. *loads the breach*"

Spread The Love. Without The Arabian Nights Gedoentes.

TONIGHT! WE DINE IN... OBZ.

Well, not dine so much as get a thorough ear pomp. Grab onto your knickers and get your arse on over to ROAR for the coolest gig of the weekend. Rocking The Whats?

Tonight you will have the unique pleasure of being mesmerised in gaping wonder by the 4 (four) members of Ark Synesis pummeling your senses, pulling and distorting your sense of musical order and plucking at your heart strings. These lads deliver an instru-mental deluge of stunning variety, ranging from subtle introspective ambiance to bone-crushing, brain-chilling bombast and everything in between. Truly an act worth experiencing, you'd be a fool to miss these guys. I'll be there. Soaking up the creative, caressing carnage.

They will be joined on the night by Fun Toy and Wildernessking [the new incarnation of rock/prog black metallers, Heathens] and it promises to be a night filled with a veritable bag of musical delights and all-sorts. All this is happening at ROAR tonight and will set you back a paltry R20, incidentally what I paid for a single beer at last night's fetish exhibition.

More on that later...

So pack in your earplugs, booze money and best pick-up lines (chloroform and/or rohypnol) and join the REAL people in the know... Well, basically the more hardcore metal version of hipsters. Coz we do know more than you... You'll thank me. Hopefully by joining me at the bar for a drink.

See you all there later!

But first, this from another man in the know...

NGDG: "So fed up with the FB news feed. Clearly an apple a day couldn't keep the doctors away."

Spread The Love. Tongue In Cheek. Which Cheek?

A BONER-FIED DAY OF NET WANK

Thanks Carrie Clevenger for the pic - I eagerly await some clever little teenage vandal to alter the "L" in "WALKING" to an "N".

Jeesh, if I read one more update or R.I.P about that guy or one more pro/con comment about that band, I'll vomit in my mouth a little. It's like the collective conscience of our online society is one dimensionally focused and very narrow. What about me , damnit!

Anyway, let's not complain too bitterly. Instead let's make up our own chat-worthy lives as we go along. That's what I do, or attempt to, one dismal, fun, fuck up at a time. TEAM BURGER KING are almost all still complaining of hangovers - champions one and all! We may have accidentally made a pact on Tuesday night (or Wednesday morning) that if we win LMG Pub Quiz, we're jumping in whatever cars we have there and road tripping to Durban-by-the-sea. Personally, being the eternal optimist I am, I'll be attending quiz nights with a spare pair of sensible underwear, extra money and a toothbrush. You never know...

What an awful day in the Mother(less) City! I'm contemplating (on the strong suggestion of AntiNexus) to get nekked and run around the office. Pics or it didn't happen?

Seeing as this post should probably have something vaguely to do with all things intrawebnets related, what the Eitch Eee Double Hockey Sticks did we do before social networking and IM? I still do my work. Were my days that empty? Straight up, if it wasn't for those I'd go bonkers with boredom. And speaking of bonkers....

Book 10 : Chapter 3 : Verse 2 - 5

So as soon as I get out of here today, I'll indulge in a little run with Crazy Rob. You don't even want to know what he babbles on about. Most entertaining running partner ever. I do all the listening, like a horribly out of breath psycho-analyst. Or therapist of some description. Can you find the naughty word hidden in there?

NGDG: "Of all the comments about my ink, the most unusual by far is this, from a mall security guard: 'You have a nice body. Is like a spider.' "

SO I have received the call... The call to go drinking. From Tarty Farty Tequila Party. After footie. Margaritas at Fat Cactus, anyone? Ol' rubber arms over here will probably end up crawling through the front door at some ungodly hour again. Let's see if I have any resolve whatsoever...

Spread The Love. And Pass The Salt n Lemon.

SAME OL' SAME OL'...

Hangover. Check.

Podium finish. Check.

Most awesomest time ever had. Check.

I love LMG Pub Quiz Nights...

We WILL win one day. It's in the stars.

So, moving swiftly onto today, I do believe I qualify for a nap directly after work. Most definitely. Followed by a quick dinner and then more band practice.

And the good news keeps on coming - The Meyer Of Awesomeville is making an honest woman of his better half! Congrats, D'ave and 'Lissa. You've managed to add even more "awesome" to something already "overflowing with awesome" - don't know how you do it.

I promised myself I would join Commander Conker for a trail run this evening, but after prancing around the field twice yesterday before footie, I feel I may not be quite ready yet. Perhaps we can commence the torture next week.

And on that note, we celebrate all sorts of closure. We look toward the future, humbled and at the same time excited. We investigate the considered thoughts of your favourite chubby pop prophet and mine, Saint Smith Of The Wild Hair And Gashed Lipstick.

Book 7 : Chapter 6 : Verse 29 -35

Right, off to play a little on the internet banking - might have a wee rant later. I love giving money away. I just keep telling myself that it makes me a generous philanthropist. Personally I'd settle for just "pist". But let's not get started on THAT cycle.

NGDG: "The only man I want to see in a dress in the limelight is Nataniel."

Indeed. Interesting.

So, dear gentle reader, may your day go swimmingly and be largely devoid of amateur dramatics.

Spread The Love. Or I'll Spread It For You.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GET WHAT I WANT.

Oops. I think I pressed 'enter' by mistake there. This heading will be up for as long as it takes me to write this. Like a disappointed lover, left high and dry. Like the last time I accidentally 'pressed enter' too early. Oh well...

So I promised another post, simply because I have lots to ramble on about today. It's a beautiful day in the Mother City, I'm going running, playing football and lead Team Burger King to long overdue glory (read "second place") at LMG Pub Quiz tonight.

So let's fill you in (nevermind...) on what's been happening. Last night we had dinner club masquerading as band practice. Rose Thorn has suddenly found out what it's like to have a modicum of responsibility at work and was running so late the fabulous five star meal she had promised to cook failed to materialise. Instead she took the megabucks she's now earning and spent it at Woolies for a lovely precooked and packaged meal...

Then we went about further de- and re-constructing the Tori Amos cover, a wonderful little exercise in bludgeoning any semblance of dainty class out of a song and making it into a wrecking ball. Also a lovely little exercise in having to watch video footage of what we did last time in order to remember what we did. Next week we'll do the same to remember what we came up with last night. I seem to remember being quite excited about the direction it was taking. I'm sure I'll be equally pleasantly surprised next week when I view the footage... What did we do before all these convenient handheld recording devices? And digital home recording studios?

So as promised before, let's take a peek into the weird n wacky world of our dear friend Neal...

NGDG: "Facebook's block function needs that CSI facial-recognition software capability so photos of people whose faces make you want to retch go to the same place as their words, opinions and whereabouts."

I should be boning up on my trivia and general knowledge, but instead I write. For your entertainment. For my sanity. Work is the curse of the drinking class.

Spread The Love. Jill Kelly Can Show You How.

UNDERPANTS ON HEAD AND PENCILS IN NOSTRILS!

"Wibble."

Yes, it's that time of the month again! The day we all so look forward to. The day of days! The first Tuesday of every month. Not only is it the day we usually fill our cars because the petrol price is busy crippling us and choking the last vestige of life out of our already strained budgets, but it is also the night TEAM BURGER KING partakes in that most enjoyable of events, the legendary LMG Pub Quiz!

Perennial bridesmaids at this awesome event, the TEAM has been finishing on the podium without fail for as long as anyone can remember (and memories are usually hazy, considering the fights we are prone to picking with out tipple of choice), but have never won. Much to our eternal dismay. Perhaps tonight will be our night. Perhaps the stars will align and Mike "MC Hammered" Smith will ask the right questions. Ones that have nothing to do with Canadia, the Antipodes or fish... Maybe the Music Sadist will be a little less sadistic and put forward music clues from genres other than "Aiden's little book of nostalgia". We live in ill-advised hope.

Speaking of music and hope. Happy birthday to the most talented and brilliant and "oh sjoe wow!" singer/songwriter/performer in our fair land. Shannon Hope - have a great day!

Go check out the page. Have you mind blown. You'll thank me.

Another singer/songwriter/performer, although certainly less attractive, has the following to say:

Book 1 : Chapter 9 : Verse 36 - 43

And that I think, after tonight, will probably be the last Saint Smith has to say about that.

Cathartic. Therapeutic. Fun. See? They should put me in charge of coming up with music clues...

Anyway - today is your lucky day dear, gentle reader. I intend posting more musings, ramblings and similar drivelly drivel later today, as the mood takes me or as I'm inspired to ruin your day with more brain bilge. So if you're positively dying to find out what going on in the sordid mind of your and my favourite philosiphiserer, the inimitable Neal Goldwyer, you're going to have to stay tuned...

Spread The Love. Let Us Win! Let Us Win For A Change! Please!

MONDAYS - YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.

So there I was. Doing my best impression of someone out and having a good time, engaged in random conversation, being personable and saying hi to people who I may or may not have met before. Dreading having to experience bands I have never seen before without the soothing, comforting haze of alcoholic numbness.

Well what do you know! The bands were freakin' brilliant. I'm always filled with a leaden sense of foreboding dread when I see a bunch of guitars randomly festooned over a small stage just propped up against walls or amps, even more so when one of the amps is used as the drinks table... *shudder* ... the horror! (Although it does at the same time bode well for a bit of good old fashioned rock'n'roll hedonism...) Anyway, long story short, Junkyard Parade were fantastic! Glued together by the rock solid and at times intricate licks and riffs courtesy of Etienne, they are a band with a particularly appealing sound. The rhythm guitarist cuts a John Frusciante type fIgure and is entirely immersed in the groove of the music, a contagious state to say the least! Aiden on drums beats the living daylights out of his kit very much adding to the Zeppelin-esque feeling created by the guitar duo. Layered in huge slabs over this, you have the decidedly funky bass lines and the sublime vocal delivery that carries no small dose of your daily requirements of Joe Strummer, and you have an eclectic, familiar, but fresh and exciting sound. For a young band they have a very bright future indeed. They delivered an ever-more-engaging set which culminated in a crashing crescendo and had the crowd going suitably bonkers. Well done, guys. I for one, will certainly be looking out for future performances.

Enter the main attractions for the evening, Dead Lucky. As they occupy the stage (and they OCCUPY it), you'd be forgiven for assuming you'd be in for a show of fuming, venomous, snarling punk-rock. Instead what you're faced with is a raw, raucous, almost rancorous rock that harks back to the good ol' days with strong songs referencing classic sounds that range from Golden Earring to Motorhead - a thoroughly unexpected and delightfully surprising experience. Do yourselves a big favour and go and enjoy these gentleman the next time they stomp their way into the hearts of an audience near you.

By this time the dancefloor was packed with bouncing, moshing bodies and everyone in the Jolly Roger was having a great time. Even I had shaken off the restrictive shackles of sobriety and was vainly attempting a serious conversation with Junkyard Parade's manager, but the Great Apes soon put a stop to that. Swanning around amongst the audience, the lead singer howled and hipswayed like a man possessed, leaving a little more space available to the musicians to deliver their devilish dose of in-your-face, off-your-face rock. By the end of it all, every person in the venue, bands and patrons alike, were out of breath and in high spirits.

That was a fantastic end to a fantastic Friday night, but wait. There's more...

Earlier that evening I had been persuaded to attend the We Love Real Beer Festival. Not too much of a push, I'd hazard... I almost got to the We Love Real Beer Festival. Almost. Read this review and then you'll understand why I didn't even make it to the queue to get in...

The rest of the weekend I worked very hard at successfully emulating a person in a coma.

Then when the weather turned toward the pleasant yesterday, I decided on an impromptu potjie. Great success! But enough of my Martharing, we're well into Monday. Hope you all have a great week. We're back to business as usual, with band and football and LMG Pub Quiz taking up their usual slots again. More on all that as the week unfolds.

Book 1 : Chapter 6 : Verse 1-2

Wonder what Rose Thorn is cooking up for us tonight... she said she was in the mood to make something mouthwateringly spectacular. No pressure...

NGDG: "Seen in Parkhurst: The only thing sadder than losing the Dungeons and Dragons tournament on Sunday afternoon, is having to walk home in the rain, wearing your favourite wizard's cape."

And on that bombshell, I bid you adieu til next we meet on these here hallowed pages, dear gentle reader. Have a good one and...

Spread The Love. With Abandon.