NO EYE DEER

Once again I have zippedee doodah idea why I chose this picture. Probably because today I have been saved from absolute homicidal boredom by my friends on Skype and FB chat.

I was going to call this post "LAST NIGHT A BJ SAVED MY LIFE" but that would obviously be a big fat fib.

Alright. Let's recap the last few adventure filled days for you - my dearly beloved readers.

Please be seated.

And open your prayer guides to the bit where it says Friday started out much the same as any Friday, with me raising a cold glass to your favourite deity and mine, Bacchus. A couple of beers later I found myself in the tequila dispensing kitchen of AzTart's Bike Haus and Small Person Emporium. Did I say tequila? Yup, obviously she was there...

I may have been a little mortifyingly obnoxious...

Saturday was Cricket World Cup Final day. This is a very important day and it was spent in the only way it should be. Have a mate over who is at least knowledgeable about the game and drink beer. Then braai. Man food. No salad!

Sunday I decided to test my hangover at Builder's Warehouse. I carried a metric ton of bricks from my front driveway through my house and stacked them neatly at the back of the backyard. I needed a beer after all that.

TDB came around and we made the best potjie ever made by mortal hands. I was under severe pressure to impress my folks, whom I had invited because they always bring wine. Anyway, I decided to call it "Prince Of Oranje Potjie", mainly because it had 2 orange ingredients and by that time I'd started on the wine.

In other news, 2 very good friends of mine got back together and I got to hear all the nasty ins and outs about their blossoming reunion. I'm very happy for both of you Rose Thorn!

Anyway, dear reader (on the internet, where my friends live), on that rather convoluted bombshell, tata.

Spread The Love. I'm still waiting.

STOP - HAMMERED TIME!

It's official. Phuza Thursdays suck. Especially since they appear to be linked to "Somebody-kill-me-please" Fridays.

Yesterday started off with the best of intentions. From this day forth I endeavour to start every subsequent day with the worst intentions, if this is the result.

Got home, played Martha Stewart for a while, got an sms from TDB which read "Bought a shit load of beer, coming round now." I stood at the front gate for almost half an hour.

No sooner had we got tucked into the beer than Tarty Farty Tequila Party informed us via many a Tequila Tweet how things were progressing at the Patron Silver Tequila launch party she was attending. A while later she pitched up with a bottle...

Good news travels fast, as another friend of ours out on the town for some form of boy's night was, along with his cohorts, also invited around. What a radical night. I eventually had to chase everyone away at some ungracious hour. This was entirely out of character, but I was blitzed, so that's my excuse.

Enter this morning. Fuck. My mouth is currently playing host to a rather ungrateful and mostly diseased colony of badgers. The only pain that's worse than that in my head is that in the rest of my body. I've had fuckall sleep. It feels like someone gave me the "Pitch Black" eyeball treatment with sandpaper. And I have this nagging feeling I may have done a Brangelina online. I may have to check my mail to see what nationality child I've adopted...

Also, to Surprise Phonecall Girl, hope all is well. Chat soon.

Spread the love. On a cracker. Then stick it up your arse. Get it?

Pay your TV Licence. It's the trite thing to do.

I have said it many times before and I will say it many times again. Fuck the SABC with their inadequate programming and ridiculous administration.

Take the cricket World Cup for instance. They managed to secure the licence to broadcast a whole 66% of the games from Supersport, a channel that actually employs people capable of stringing together entire coherent sentences and that have at least a tenuous grasp of the English language... (Some of them are Australian)

I had a TV licence all of my own once. It was a lovely little licence, and I even got to show it off to an inspector once. Due to eventual living arrangements it was no longer required. Guess how long it took me to cancel it. Come on! Guess! A year. One times annum! Including roughly 20 emails, a lunar month on the telephone listening to something awful by Celine Dion and about 5 trips to the local SABC office.

I'm fucked if I'm going through that again.

And why, oh why, do I require multiple licences for multiple sets?

They say I do not have the right to complain about the shitty service / programming / administration if I refuse to pay. I say I'll pay when it gets better. I know most of you are sitting there groaning loudly and yanking at your hair because I'm being an unreasonable git about it, but I am relatively honest in most other walks of life - I just hate those fuckers out of principle.

Anyway, ETV is supposed to be for free and they have those radical soft porn movies on late night on Saturdays. Or so JDP tells me...

Spread the love. Late night on ETV...

LOLLYGAGGING and TEABAGGING

* Disclaimer - the following musings are strictly meant as an educational narrative and are not meant to convey any offence. Like when I ask yo momma to do these things...

So. LOLLYGAGGING and TEABAGGING.

Neither of these represent what they appear to upon first impressions.

You can well imagine my utter despair and disappointment when I found out that "lollygagging" was in fact not a clever educational aid used to teach girls to deepthroat after a visit to the dentist.

Apparently it means "to dawdle or putter aimlessly"...

Luckily the flip side of the coin is true for "teabagging". It has nothing to do with the insertion of an actual teabag into piping hot water... repeatedly. Rather it refers to the obvious similarity in action when one "dunks" one's "junks" into the gaping maw of someone that up until recently I would have believed to be an astute student in the ways of "lollygagging".

Which brings up the following conundrum...

Which way around would one "teabag" one's lucky recipient? This can be argued both ways. For the sake of this missive, let's assume it is done whilst the young lady is on her back and not on her knees (which is also a possibility).

Is it better to "teabag" someone whilst the remainder of their torso is in front or behind you? Does one want to look them in the eye? Or does one want to inspect the elongated curves of their lithe bodies?

The answer of course, dear reader, is that the decision is not yours. It is entirely up to the young lady facilitating this most wonderful of experiences - if she wants a penis on her forehead or an eyeful of chocolate starfish. You should just be thankful she is willing to do what she is doing.

On that cheerful note, I will leave you to ponder the intricacies of this most delicate art form.

Spread the love. Gag the lolly.

PUTTING THE "FIST" BACK IN "PACIFIST"

Besides making fisting kinda awkward since 1979, there was a lot of the above going on this weekend...

We shall refrain from any commentary on the woeful display on the sub-continent.

So. Friday was a night of live metal bands at ROAR. I like going there. The sound is always good and the bar staff rock. I can't even call them that anymore either. They have become good friends. Speaks volumes about my view on "rock n roll lifestyle" then...

Also I live quite close, the road home has parking bays all the way for when one might suddenly need to cease driving due to flashing blue lights in the distance.

The Thundergods opened up proceedings with a tribute to Amon Amarth, after which the vocalist from Mind Assault (100kg plus) struggled all set long to wrestle the mic away from the Birthday Girl (less than 50kg, if that). Was highly entertaining and they still managed to deliver a monumental show. Great time with great friends. Even the EX was there.

Next day was spent convalescing in bed and watching the Sri Lankan cricket team gang rape another pitiful South African cricket team. The one that starts the game off singing "God Save The Queen"...

Off to ROAR again at full speed, only to "hurry up and wait" as is usual. Played an inspired dj set to 4 trannies sitting by the bar. Spent the rest of the night gleefully running up an almighty tab, hanging with the Guitar Guy and Daddy Long Legs, among others. All the while, quietly admiring in a very unassuming way, the wonderfully cute little lady in charge of the merchandise stall. Was very well behaved. Didn't do or say anything stupid. Left with my dignity intact, even after Tarty Farty Tequila Party tried some less-than-subtle persuasion tactics... (She frog-marched the poor girl over for a chat... Oh dear...)

And then she smelled my pants! Gotta love the Tequila Tart!!!

Oh, and Axxon once again had a blistering set. Gathering fans like Julius gathers anti-Julius tweets, that lot...

Yesterday was a write off...

Happy Monster Moanday.

Spread the love. And if you're the wonderfully cute little merchandise lady, my way please...

IRREVERENT FRIDAY

It's back. IRREVERENT FRIDAY is back! Whoohooo!

SO far today I have suggested a friend of mine try prostitution as an alternative to her current gainful employment.

I have suggested bulimia as a cure for carb intake.

I have poked fun at New Zealand's shepherds, but not nearly as ferociously as they... ag, nevermind, you get the picture.

I got to work with a mother of a hangover.

And I can't wait to get home so I can lounge in front of the cricket with a beer.

Also, you will once more be thrilled to be informed that I have reinvented the entire culinary art by successfully feeding no less than 6 people last night. What's next you ask? Let's see how long I can avoid seating arrangements and RSVPs...

So the plans for the weekend include going to a metal gig tonight to watch the awesome Mind Assault unleash their new cd upon us. They will be accompanied by Suiderbees and The Thundergods - all happening at ROAR in Observatory tonight. With any luck I will manage to convince a "wholesome" young lady to accompany me home.

Tomorrow night I am djing at the very same venue. With any luck I will manage to convince a "wholesome" young lady to accompany me home.

Enjoy your weekend one and all!

Spread the love. Like insurance... My Way!

ROUTINE...

Routine. What is it good for? I've been so out of whack with normal goings on - what with all my overseas friends visiting and a little holiday - that the mere thought of having to sink back into a mundane routine of "wake, wank, work, get drunk, go sleep" fills me with terror. Well, the wake and work part at any rate.

I have had such an awesome time of late that I don't wanna go all normal again. I enjoyed going to wine farms in the middle of the day in the middle of the week.

Alas, all the fun has come to an end now. Or at least, the overseas excuses have all left. One even found time to cut off all his hair while here - hair that for the best part of his last 18 years has been arse length. How the times they is a-changin'...

"What the fuck has any of this got to do with the picture up there?" I hear you ask. Well, dear reader, this is how I currently feel. Dear Miss Rose Thorn came over and made me dinner last night. We may have drunk a little as well. All under the very clever guise of having "band practice". Dinner was exquisite though.

I also managed to get back to reviewing albums, something I have been very slack with of late. So. I am getting back to a more normalised version of my life. Routine. If you will. Perhaps I should take tonight off and just relax, before I feel like the picture above again tomorrow morning.

So perhaps routine isn't such a bad thing after all. It may be the only thing that's surreptitiously saving us from a glorious yet untimely death...

Spread the love. Because love spreading is so NOW...