WHY DOES AN ARROW-FIRING ANGEL NOT SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF YOU SINNERS?

Image courtesy of Occupy Bacon

Today is set aside specially for us to celebrate the attraction, love or lust we have for that someone special. Depending on your level of depravity and/or smitten-ness, it is something most people look forward to because it highlights the fact that we have the capacity to feel something other than despair and disillusionment. It also keeps Cardies and CNA in the red for the rest of the year. (See what I did there?)

Personally, I schmaak the fuck out of it. I'm making extra special dinner for my lady tonight and we'll be washing it down with champers and fancy wine. It's almost as wonderful as Steak'n'Blowjob day, which happens a month from now. For the unlucky. Those that don't celebrate it EVERY day.

I found myself wondering what I had to say last year this time, as I was profoundly single and still smarting from a run in with a potential suitorette (see Mall Rats). So I went looking. Nothing! Not a word. Apparently I was avoiding the public. What a big girl's blouse. If only we were capable of realising that things actually DO get better. And they do! Kyk hoe lyk hy nou!

Also, do yourself a favour and go and check out this "aaawwwwww"some blog by my good buddy and fellow intrepid blog-o-naut, Barrulus. It's all about first kisses. It's a place to tell the story of your first experience passionately pressing your lips to that of some equally spotty, awkward youth - and in the sickeningly sweet spirit of today - go and get your "aaaawwwww" on. Perhaps I should start a blog about peoples' first experience with actual real sex. With another consenting person. Can you imagine the hilarity if people were actually honest. "You got a shoe horn, baby?" or "No! Wrong hole!" The limb-twisting, contorted-faced possibilities are endless...

Oh wait a minute. I remember seeing a movie called 'Filthy First Timers' once. Or twice. Damn! Why do I always have to be the one that thinks up the good ideas too late...

NGDG: "I finally found a pair of jeans that fit my warped disproportionate lower half. But my upper-half refuses to shell out R2499 for them."

Spread The Love. Using Saccharine Pink And Red Symbols To Convey Your Everlasting Affection.

LIKE A GRINDSTONE COWBOY

I just got off Faeceboobs IM with Mad Rob. He's recently become a father for the first time. Like so many others. I was duly informed of all the various wonders of diapers and the vocal ability of his gorgeous daughter. Not to mention the slight lack of sleep. Given that he's genuinely a crazy motherfucker, I took his nonsensical babbling as par for the course...

Anyway, at least one good thing came from it. Our conversation, that is. I can now make a smiley face emoticon without searching for some link. And we know that the accepted symbol for a vagina lookalike gives you a thumbs up. Coincidence? I think not.

Anyway, time to catch up. What did you get up to this weekend?

I had the good fortune and wonderful company of a very clandestine figure. And my Hot Girlfriend, obviously. A friend of mine was visiting "underneath the radar" as it were - sorting out all sorts of life altering arrangements. Good news to follow, ladies and gentlefolk. Watch this space! He cut a dashing figure in his all black ensemble, as a clue. As if the vast majority of my friends aren't already pretty much always in black. Ah! The plot thickens.

Saturday it was time to turn my hand to some studio magic and basic engineering miracles again. Not having done so recently, I was required to set up a vocal recording session. All I can say is: Imagine me in a small confined little studio space, tangled in a million miles of assorted cable and making up new profanities - the likes of which would make a sailor and your ol' mom blush. And on top of that basically boarding up the "alcove" I lovingly refer to as my home studio to try and soften the impact on my neighbours' ears as the pair of demonic vocalists from Axxon howled, sneered and screamed blue, bloody murder into the mic all afternoon. Whilst the rest of the assembled cast relaxed in the lounge with a shitload of beer. Ah I love recording. Can't wait to hear the final product.

Sunday was met with less enthusiasm. In fact, apart form the best omelettes ever made, the day passed by in a musty haze of duvet and Southpark. Until my DIY & Roast date with Tarty Farty Tequila Party. The Hot Girlfriend was designated at puppysitter, while I drilled holes and swore some more and Tarty made a Sunday Roast. Great stuff. The Tequila Cottage & Small Animal Refuge is coming along nicely.

And lest I be left out of the intrawebnets and shunned for all eternity - and lest you have not yet been bombarded by the tasteless, and frankly there's only been one good joke so far, gallows humour - RIP Whitney Houston. Who fucking cares. That is a statement. Not a question. If you are truly saddened by her passing or that much of a bleeding heart, do us all a favour and go out - today - and do something good for someone alive who deserves your time and effort. Show someone you care before it's too late. All this after-the-fact pounding of fists into the ash and crying "WHY!" is too fucking incongruous for words. Not one of you silly bastards has given as much as one fuck since the chorus of "I Will Always Love You" finally drifted from your subconscious in about 1994 - and then you were grateful. Go and be simpering and insincere elsewhere. Don't get me wrong. It's a tragedy that she lost her life relatively young. My heartfelt condolences to her loved ones that genuinely grieve. But please spare a thought for the less famous and the less fortunate that perish day in and day out without so much as you batting an eyelid. Perhaps you could pretend you give a fuck about those people too - at least a little.

Oh, you want to hear the only worthwhile joke, do you?

Hardly appropriate don't you think?

Anyway, back to life, back to reality.

And tomorrow's Hallmark Holiday. I'm a big fan of Valentine's Day. It gives me an excuse to make my better half feel extra special. Not in the "make that a double scoop with a 6inch nail" kinda way, just I like spoiling her, if and when I can. I'll tell you all about it when all the dust has settled. Can't give too much away, I'm sure she reads these little diatribes.

So, have a wonderful day tomorrow. And an awesome evening this Monster Moanday Night.

I'll be doing my best impression of a combination of Keith Kirsten, Martha Stewart, Riaan Die Nutsman and Slash.

NGDG: "I don't use LOL much but when a random Indian dude at the ENGEN asks the cashier for assistance in choosing a condom brand I think it's warranted."

Spread The Love. It's The Greatest Of All.

PANTS.

As in FLIPPANTS. As in FLIPPANT FRIDAYS. Irreverently.

We reach the end of the week and the end of our patience pretty simultaneously roughly 4 times a month. We all hold hands and rejoice at the prospect of time away from mandatory activities only to engage in even more taxing ones, only to be secretly grateful to be back at work on Mondays to catch up on some much needed rest and Facebook time.

Without which we wouldn't have THIS wonderful little snippet of local parody action - quite fitting considering the day of the week. Especially in the romantic spirit of the upcoming Hallmark Holiday celebrating the secret stalking of a loved one. And if it's developed past the secret stalking phase, you are more than likely wishing it was back there...

Not me of course. I find myself happily in the pound seats, having inadvertently struck the jackpot. And seeing as it's Leap Year I wonder what fantastically amazing surprise the Hot Girlfriend has conjured up for our Valentine...

Anyway, yes. Friday. It's Friday. I can tell by the unanimous chorus of "TGIF" style statuses on the intrawebnets. The intrawebnets, a place where everyone can be precisely the same in their unique quirkiness. Pity it's so addictive. I don't know what I do with myself on weekends, I swear. Oh! Hang on a minute! I have mentioned the Hot Girlfriend, have I not?

Unfortunately tonight she is gonna have to share...

I have a visitor. A very special secret visitor. He may or may not have a title. He may or may not be from somewhere else. We may or may not drink a "few beers" this evening.

It's not the tooth fairy. Like that bloke in that Red Dragon movie.

And speaking of all things happy and springy and larky-abouty, this little group of people I know that seem rather keen on something called "Doom Metal" are going to be flexing their musical muscles in a show featuring classic covers of this "Doom Metal". Sounds positively delightful. Watch this space. Yours truly may even make an appearance. Do you think the collective would allow the iconic White Flip Flops as part of the ensemble?

NGDG: "The quality of one's day is directly proportional to how good one's hair looks."

Spread The Love. Lube-Bottomy Is A Dirty Word.

THE STATE OF THE NATION'S UNDRESS.

Because it's considered protocol to disrobe before receiving a thorough pomping. We as a nation of dumb-fuck voter fodder (one must consider the entire populous, not just the exceptionally enlightened who are fortunate enough to be reading this) have obviously been prancing around in a very suggestively short skirt and gaggin' for it.

I should have been hired to write the speech, although I fear that "Mr Push My Spectacles Up With My Middle Finger In A Thinly Veiled Fuck You To The Masses" would struggle with some of the bigger whedds.

I'm sure the opportunistic bastards currently sweating all over the seats of Parliament are quite capable of jobs or portfolios to which they have been appointed. I mean, look at the splendid endeavour they apply to enriching themselves with their "Let them eat cake" attitude. And getting away with it! You have to take your hat off to a group of people with the con skills to keep the masses happy on "we don't have anything, we're just grateful that we have the right to have something"...

Public service? Public service be damned! Public service is for people who care more about their constituents than their personal wealth or power. The last true high profile public servant was Mother Theresa. By definition a politician is "one who displays more cunning, artifice and despicably devious design to leech votes from the downtrodden proletariat."

So. To my version of today's much anticipated speech...

"Oh Hai! Is this thing on?*

Madam Speaker, Ministers, Ladies and Gentlemen, and The Nation.*

You're fucked. We're in bed with China and they hold the purse strings.* We didn't think that out very well, but a few job losses do nothing to deter us from our Africanisation of this Rainbow Nation.* It is all-inclusive.* Even the previously advantaged are fucked.*

I am glad to announce that we have managed to think of ways to fudge the crime statistics to show only marginal increases and bring in unsuspecting tourists that you can rob* - this will from now on be called 'Job Creation'.*

Going forward,* nothing will change no matter how clever Zapiro thinks he is getting with his counter-revolutionary cartoons.*

Goodnight* and thank you for blockading every single road in and out of Cape Town for 2 days, when I could just as easily have done this via Skype, Oprah style.*"

*[Pause for effect, the effect being that I can't read this shit in front of me. Give nationwide television audience the finger...]

And that, folks, is that. Anything else is an utter fabrication.

NGDG: "If I want your advice, I'll Google it."

Spread The Love. Your Nation Needs You.

GETTING YOUR GROOVE BACK.

My humblest apologies for my online absence. I can just see the lot of you sitting in front of blank computer screens, rocking back and forth, dribbling like doped up mental patients in the sun room of a sanitarium. Ok, maybe not so humble after all, but then the 8 people that read this already know me well enough...

Today we tackle the question of keeping up one's motivation (and mojo for that matter) in the same way Bakkies Botha would shoulder charge an Aussie loose forward who was ill advised enough to enter a ruck from the side. Hard.

I'm not exactly having any form of existential crisis, on the contrary actually, but I have been feeling a little bewildered at the continued uphill battle we call life of late. Just for the record, the first person to even think about making an "emo" comment gets their larynx pulled out via their gaping anus. And then gently skull fucked whist I weep into my "kuif"...

Ok, seriously. No person on God's green earth can be upbeat and happy all the time. Neither can they permanently be angry and malcontent. Once in a while, whilst taking a brief hiatus to smell the roses and question the futility of it all, one needs to be a bit more reflective. Now, normally I'm quite enamoured with all things reflective, being the narcissistic bastard you all know and love, but sometimes, only sometimes, the reflection is of some droopy tit in dire need of some re-motivation. Another point I'd like to make at this juncture is that I cannot stand those typical American-style, big smile, motivational morons that are always in your face telling you everything is peachy and it's all about your own attitude. I think I'd rather shoot heroin into my left testicle than deal with one of those. It is however true that from time to time, the tree of self awareness needs to be watered with the blood of blog-neglect.

So, dear gentle reader I have taken a few days to ponder it all. I have purposely taken time to relax and read. I have evaluated life and the part I play in it and come up with some, if not all, the answers. I have noticed in no uncertain terms that I am surrounded by the same mixed bag of circumstances as I was last week, and the week before. I drank quite a bit, but not to dull the senses to the general malaise, simply because I really like drinking.

I'm back. I could lie and say it is with a renewed sense of purpose and a pumped up vigour that I once again stride balls-out into your subconscious. But I would be lying. I need a holiday and for some fuck forsaken reason I have yet to be handed an unlimited supply of cash. But I'm happy. I am as fortunate as I've ever been. Once again my arse and the butter are inextricably linked - for better or for worse. Once again I will bulldoze my thoughts, fancies, opinions and general bunkum into the gaping maws of your receptive brains. Ooooh! I'm getting excited just thinking about it!

In closing: Look the world in the eye, distract it with (a) boobs or (b) a funny joke, then kick it in the nuts! And in a rather quirky take on an original classic...

"Live like there's no tomorrow, Love like you've never been hurt, Dance like no one is watching... And fuck like you're being filmed!"

Ps. I blame the ills of the world on its population's inability to think for itself and its warped obsession with sensationalism and faceless social media. It's more than likely the never ending stream of inane, dull, thoughtless comments, status updates, tweets, etc, that had my knickers so in a twist. To those of you who at least go to some effort, bravo! To the rest of you second hand hash-taggers, go live in America or stay the fuck off my feeds.

I'm off to do my recycling. They have real people working there.

NGDG: "They say you must fight for what you want. Why? If I want an Aero from the aisle I don't have to krav maga that; if I want to sleep an extra 15 minutes I needn't wrestle my snooze button. What if you fighting skills are dirty and borderline cowardly? Can we not have what we want then, us slap-em-upside-the-head-and-run-awayers?"

Spread The Love. Rehash Your Tag. Twit.

NORMAL PROGRAMMING RESUMED

I'll even get a little irreverent for you. If you're going to insist. If that's what DOES IT for you...

Sorry for yesterday's absence folks, I was out of sorts and no one likes a grumpy old fart expounding the lack of virtue that abounds in the world. We're all acutely aware of it in any case, considering most of you delicious bastards are the prime exponent of said lack of virtue.

Is it just me or has online traffic slowed to a virtual halt? Perhaps I need some new sites to check out. Any suggestions? I've tried a number of Web Comics and have gotten into a handful of them, but nothing excites anymore. The way it used to. Oh now I remember. Not allowed to download porn at work anymore...

And speaking of all things mega SEXXXY. In my all but humble opinion, the best band to come from South Africa (and that's a huge statement considering such acts as No Friends Of Harry, The Gathering, Evoid and anything Brendan Jury was ever involved in), the fantastically flawed, the eccentrically ethereal, the heartbreakingly haunting and desperately beautiful Fetish are set to deliver a once off reunion show at Mercury Live on Friday the 13th of April. It is a show of monumental importance. For too long have we been deprived of Michelle Breeze's surreal lyrical prowess and devilish and delicate delivery. I'm getting shivers just thinking about 'If' or 'Awkward'. If they play 'Leah' I promise to shit myself. Don't get me started on 'Shade Of Ghost' or 'I Might Fall'. If you missed them when they were tearing up stages back in the day, then you have no excuse. If you were there, I expect teams of wild horse couldn't keep you from this anyway.

You can thank me later.

My house is a construction site again. I have become a professional accumulator of renovation material. The only thing I still lack is the time in which to actually DO any of it. I blame a massive bent towards procrastination and the ever present need to spend 80% of construction time standing back and admiring my handiwork.

With any luck this weekend will be a little less ferocious than last. It took far too long to recover from Summerfest '12. We have another instalment of the infamous House Burning, which usually involves an ill-advised quantity of tequila. Hold the tomato cocktail please! Btw, I heard an interesting fact the other night. Apparently the hallowed and much revered Jose Cuervo is 47% cane spirit ans 53% tequila. Disappointing.

With that much cane consumed in my life I might as well find a nice dodgy suburb and accept my lot...

NGDG: "Maybe you wasted your life. Maybe you made mistakes. Maybe you put too much hope in the unpredictable. You're not the first. You're not alone. Stop acting so hurt. There's no final judgement. Anything you did differently would be equally forgotten by History. Chill. Put on some big girl panties. Enjoy the feel of silk against flesh."

Bless you, Mr Goldwyer.

Bless you, Miss Smart Tart.

Bless you, and gesundheit!

Spead The Love. Pass The Tissues.

LOOK MA - NO HANDS!

I lost my ongoing battle with personal demons and one or more pints of Black Label Draft last night. I have the hangover from hell. I am feeling like shit. I'm probably looking worse - sporting a kind of bedraggled wet dog chic. Charming. I would also like to complain vociferously about the distinct lack of cool in the world, starting with this "metal music". You know, that stuff only Satanists and confused, greasy, spotty, disinterested, wasted youth listen to. In stark contrast to yesterday's piece, which was ALL about cool...

All the cool has been sucked out of metal. Every single guitar player has taken to "shredding" his or her "axe" at roughly 6 inches above navel level. Everyone looks like a fucking jazz aficionado. And those musicians who choose not to make an attempt at "dressing up" a little all look like an emaciated Jason Biggs from 'Loser' on laundry day. Don't get me started on those that do, who all resemble role playing uber-nerds who ate ALL the pies. Ok, obviously I am pointing at the stand out examples, but it is helping to make my point. When did the "underground" become nothing more than a refuge for a bunch of opportunistic little tits who couldn't make friends in school, and who identify sub-culture as an easy way to be accepted and appreciated? Oh hang on, it was around 1995.

Having had my little rant, I'd like to thank those that continue to sustain my belief that not all is lost. The lords and ladies at Metal4Africa are doing a damn fine job of facilitating the continued well being of this much maligned form of music and, some would argue, "lifestyle". Also, Uncle Dave from Subterania Music, you are a true "stall"wart in the scene my good buddy. Also to all the other positive contributors, be they online mags, support groups, bands or faux-tographers, thank you.

Moving on... To the disastrous results from last night's LMG Pub Quiz. Second. Fucking SECOND! A-fucking-gain! Conspiracy! Collusion! Cockshiners!

And everyone who doesn't have a sense of humour can fuck off an' all.

NGDG: "Download Festival is very much like the economy: dominated at the top by the same crotchety old bastards who just won't die. With everyone else living in tents and filth, and realising when they go to buy tshirts that they've spent all their money on beer."

Spread The Love. Spreader Bars. That'll Do Nicely.