CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY

Bono finally found what he was looking for...

Actually, Julius... Make that more "cry me a motherfucking river"...
Shame, did you get a spank-botty from the big boys? Did they take away your toys and your privileges? Are you in the kak of the "hit the fan" variety? Boo fucking hoo! Can't pay your debts now that the purse strings from an evil and corrupt government YOU helped secure been cut? Feeling a right pillock? Now imagine what all those people feel like who voted for you fucking idiots all these years.

Luckily you'll be able to live off your fat reserves for at least until you can coerce some fat-cat money-man to pay for your medical parole...

In other news, I have been cheated. Not only is the SABC so dismally and utterly worthless that they can't even put the gazillions of rondts bled from its viewers to good enough use to get the rights to broadcast HOME test cricket, but the highlights late at night have horribly restrictive sound problems. Fuck you, SABC. Also, New Zealand were so rubbish that 4 entire days were lost because they got such a hiding. South Africa won without having to bat twice in both matches. I smell a rat.

On a much brighter note, I have online training at work - today and tomorrow. This will account for you not having my undivided attention. My apologies. The joy.

So what did you get up to this weekend? Mine was filled with not watching cricket, running in the noonday sun, and finally, braaing at the in-laws, which was awesome. Coincidentally, I have come to the conclusion that I must be a mad dog, since I am not an Englishman in any other way but the broadest definition. A very red mad dog, it has to be added. A new hue. Rabid Red. It would probably make quite the seductive shade of lipstick.

And speaking of dogs' penises that resemble lipsticks, The Parlotones have just jetted off to become astronauts elsewhere on the planet. Finally. Good luck, 'Mericuh!

It's a good news day! Tarty Farty Tequila Party made it back home in one piece last night as well! She's been playing "colonialist-colonialist" all holiday. Can't wait to read all about it!

NGDG: I had a dream last night about the woman I'm going to marry. Never seen her before.She made a joke at my expense in the only way it's possible to do so without me writing you off like a bad debt. And it was set, in the dream, in a summer that seemed like it belonged in the past. I'm scared I may have perved over a friend's mom in my childhood.

Spread The Love. What? It's Lost? Ok... Fire At Will.

YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

Well hello there, you bunch of gorgeous gangsters!
It's Friday! And that can mean only one thing. A little irreverence, anyone?

Let's start with these devilishly handsome gentlemen right here. Th'DamnedCrows' much anticipated NEW SINGLE 'Blue Eyed Devil' has been unleashed upon the interwebs today for free download. For FREE! Mahala! Nothing! Not only is it fucking brilliant, it also is a good-looking head and shoulders above the stuff currently out there. These boys have raised the bar. It's sweaty. It's swampy. It's sexy. It's groovy and it fucking WILL kick your lethargic arse. The perfect tune to get you started this weekend. Go on. Be naughty. Indulge in the devilish delight that is Cape Town's freshest wrecking crew.

And then onto something else that came up recently... Why do we set so much store on the success of other peoples' relationships.
Is it because we are basically always going to be more loyal to one party than the other? Lines drawn in the sand? Is it because break ups usually provide us with a target on which to paint our moral indignation? Or is it merely disappointment that a couple that were seemingly perfect for each other proved your misguided belief in romance worthless, and so ultimately, your own romantic goals? Just something on which to ponder...

In this humble scribe's pompous and puffed out opinion, these things happen. One can't be held accountable for no longer bearing a flaming torch for someone you were once very attracted to. This is why casual flings are so popular. Both parties understand the fleeting nature of the arrangement.

Anyway, once again there is test cricket to be savoured, football to be enjoyed, and ice cold beer to be greedily guzzled. Yes, ladies and germs, it is - as that other irritating blonde wanker puts it - the weekend, baby!

NGDG: Bloody Vodacom. I don't see card machines dropping signal when shops want my money.

Spread The Love. Sticky And Icky Does It.

PSYCHO... EEEH... EEEH... EEEH...

So. While Tarty Farty Tequila Party is swanning about on her Nothern Adventure, the rest of us concerned citizens started to get a bit worried. Heaven only knows the terror the poor border patrol police might be facing right now. So, with the help of social media and various other ways of communication, we tracked her down at Beitbridge, where she is readying herself to pounce on unsuspecting law enforcement and to re-enter the country that calls her one of its children. Her poor dogs must be frantic with excitement. Anyway, the moral of this story is the power of Facebook, Skype and mobile telephone technology. None of which are available in Zimbabwe. Apparently.

Apparently it is also funny that the concerned citizens that number among her horde of friends were concerned. Not that I had any doubts, mind you. That Tarty, she's tough. Like Nandos...

I have since found out some more about this "cut yourself for Bieber" nonsense. What evil is perpetrated by some disgusting motherfuckers. It's sickening that those that would have you believe that they are so high and mighty and superior would plumb such depths in order to point out the weaknesses of others or to make make themselves feel better about their well hidden inadequacies. Basically some dickheads reacted to pictures of Justin Bieber - the lad(y) everyone so loves to hate - smoking a joint. A hashtag campaign soon went viral encouraging Bieber fans to cut themselves in a show of concern and solidarity against his "drug abuse". Clearly this group of fans consists largely of young, very impressionable kids. Rag on Bieber, but how can you be so fucking irresponsible as to jeopardise the safety of children? You may think it's funny, but if that was YOUR little sister? Educate, don't discriminate. Yes, I fucking loathe the little tit as well. But pop stars of his ilk have been keeping your precious underground metal off 5FM's charts since long before you learned how to be a doos, so think before you do something as grandiosely stupid again.

But then we do live in a world largely populated by people who make the utterly ignorant look like Einstein. Fuck the bell curve. We're ALL number one! That you are, my fellow human beings. A bunch of piss ants. Only the very few deserve the title human being, come to that. Compassion is no longer the commodity it once was. If it EVER was...

Enough of that. It's ruining my day. This evening Commander Conker and I once more park the Trojan horse that is the Flooring Depot panel van outside the mountain and lay siege to its slopes. With any luck I'll make it back to tell the tale. Then it's off to the first Dinner Club of the year - expertly hosted by the sister and the Brother-In-Awe. No cooking for me tonight! Whoohooo!

NGDG: I have a fan in my room; and woke up feeling the exact opposite of Charlie Sheen in the same situation.

Spread The Love. #dontbeacunt

MISS BLOWJOB 2008. APPARENTLY...

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SHAVE-YER-GUAVA

The best dick pic in the interwebs! Say hi to our Prez 4 Lifebouy. A true dickhole of an individual. Uncle Bob, our friendly northern neighbour, approves.

But enough about this fool, let's talk about something else for a change. I've had enough of this pessimism and continual focus on how fucked we all are. Let's get a bit more lighthearted. Let's talk about Doom Metal. Yes, Doom Metal.

Last night's band practice was a barrel of laughs. And anyone familiar with our super-serious bassist will know that could end in fatality. He goes by the name of (on this blog) The Big One. Incidentally, every time someone says "Oh, that sucks the big one" I descend into paralysed hysterics. Anyway, his laugh is not only possibly the most infectious thing this side of the flu, but it reaches a pitch and a volume that is dangerous to the normal human ear. It's probably a good thing our collective hearing is shot to shit after so many years of hiding our music from everyone then. Furthermore, not only does his laughter induce general sympathy guffaws and the occasion wet cheek and/or pant, it has an effect on a tectonic level. You literally feel the earth move when he gets good and going. Last night was one of those nights. I think the word anyone casually observing the scene would have used would have been "incongruous". But now I'm just showing off. You can use "megalol"...

I jest.

All this after a mildly successful flinging of limbs along the Promenade and back. By "mildly successful" I mean "I didn't die". In fact, I finished the run in record time. There's no explanation, since I haven't run in forever. Perhaps I was so out of it, I read the time wrong. Possible. Even probable. Tonight we take the fight to the mountain. THE Mountain. That slab of beautiful, unforgiving cruelty, who mocks you and then spits your spent frame out like a scorned lover. I will conquer that bitch one day. With the help of my trusty personal trainer/mountain goat, Commander Conker. He'll be the one prancing about elegantly from rock to rock, cheerfully grinning at the mass of cursing flesh falling upwards behind him...

And then a nice chilled evening at home with The Hot Girlfriend. We'll watch movies. I have been very fortunate this Christmas again. She bought me a whole bunch of Kevin Smith flicks. Fucking awesome!
Also, I intend to investigate this "cut yourself for Bieber" malarkey. Will report back any findings.

NGDG: Operation Buy-any-but-the-most-obvious-Tom-Waits-album-from-anywhere-in-Joburg must be declared a failure.

Spread The Love. Every Colour, Culture And Creed.

SOUTH AFRICANS ALL CHANGE THEIR NAMES TO MONICA LEWINSKY.

Yes folks, I'm complaining again.  Man, I have missed my little virtual soapbox! South Africans are applying en masse for a name change to Monica Lewinsky, because it's the closest approximation of what the president is doing to this collective rainbow nation. I would suggest Ben Dover, but in these times in which we're strangled by a dependence on celebrity culture and an absolute lack of lateral linguistics, I decided to be far more straight forward. Never mind the cigar. But, if like Monica, you go down... (you really should...) then you should go down to the woods. Today.

And no, Big Mac Maharaj, we are not attacking the president every time he opens his filthy mouth to utter some new kak at us. We are ridiculing him. Learn the difference. We do so with a profound sadness though, as he should not be so easy to take apart for his fucked up rhetoric. There is no malice. Just a sinking feeling. And although I do not envy you your job as Spin Doctor To The Biggest Tit Ever, I do envy your salary. Have fun earning it.

And in a complete about face, it's Friday. To be more specific, it's Friday afternoon in the Mother City. There's test cricket on and cold beer waiting in the fridge at home. Things are looking up. Plans for the weekend involve a FOURTH Christmas day. Awesome! If only I'd known about this possibility when I was wide eyed and full of wonder as a child. Especially since my weekend has now opened up courtesy of Kallis and co. At least I can enjoy being away from the telly.

Ah, test cricket... When it hits a lull like the one we're trudging through now, you get some delightful anecdotes from the commentators. Like the one about the Australian lad who bet all his wedding money on Australia to win that fateful day in the famous 438 game at Wanderers (one week before the ceremony). Needless to say he lost his money and is now probably wed to a sheep. Got to love the Antipodes. Although, exactly why is anyone's guess.

And on that note. Happy Irreverent Friday. And hope the first weekend of the year treats you all splendidly. I'm going to buy cheap pants.

NGDG: A child screeches hysterically as his mother tries to wrench him from the bollard and onto the escalator. All the women coming down smile and somewhere in the recesses of their dark and twisted minds think 'Aw! How cute.'

Spread The Love. Does This Cigar Smell Funny?

A DOG'S LIFE. YOU HAVE THE IDIOM WRONG.

So now apparently owning domestic canines makes you a recceest. Fuck me! Really? Is it coz you're in bed with the Chinese, who have the forward thinking to consider them tasty delicacies? The same fuckers with small dicks ruining our tourism trade and our local clothing industry?

It needs to be said. Our Prez For Lifebouy is a fucking short sighted, self-serving cunt with no regard for the people who put him in power. History, my dear fellow, has a way of dealing with the likes of you. Read up.

In case you were wondering what I'm on about, Happy New Year to you too! I refer to the following:
Here's a picture of a Black South African with his pet Rhodesian Ridgeback. It was taken some time in the 1950s. By feeding and caring for this dog, this South African was, according to our president, turning his back on his culture and doing white shit. What's worse is that in an attempt to explain his behaviour, the president's spokesman, Mac Maharaj, said Jacob Zuma was trying to "decolonise the African mind" when he criticised animal welfare and looking after pets as "white culture". [Niell Le Roux]

I'd like to include looking after and nurturing some other rubbish like: education, the economy, health care, the old and frail, and any semblance of human compassion. Fuck you. I hope you die a gruesome death. Preferably from something symbolic. Soon.

Anyway, in brighter news, the New Year test match is going swimmingly, although I am glad I refrained from buying tickets for a lovely Saturday at Newlands watching the starlings.

As usual, there isn't all that much out of the ordinary to report on from this time off. I sincerely hope each and every one of you have had a restful, fulfilling festive season and have entered into the new year refreshed and ready to take on the shovels full of kak life is no doubt going to dish out with renewed vim and vigour. With a special blob of "chin up" cream and a cherry to make it all better for a special mate. You know who you are.

Do you make resolutions? Other than adjusting the refresh rate on your gaming screen? I did. Privately. I thought if I made it public, I'd jinx myself, but then I realised if I don't let everyone in on it, there would be no incentive. I propose to become a healthier (and by that I mean fitter and with actual pecs) person this year. So if you're ever in the uncomfortable situation where you're suddenly aware of a pained, tortured, ghostly apparition flailing and wailing itself in your general vicinity, gnashing and sporting new running shoes, fear not. It's probably me...

So, in conclusion. All the best for you and yours. Unless you're a greedy, stupid, fat fuck of a dictator. Then my wish for you this year is to be stuck in your own personal hell. Perhaps an emergency vasectomy at Baragwaneth. Just after they mysteriously run out of anaesthesia.

And DO NOT get me started on the Matric Results. Might as well just start dishing out school certificates and Diplomas Picked From A Hat when a child turns 6. It's not like they're going to learn anything at school worth knowing anyway. Unless they introduce "How to drive the teachers to suicide because I know they can't do anything to me" as a subject. Most would excel, but I'm afraid parliament isn't hiring at the moment.

NGDG: I want to secretly swap those red plastic rhino horns on car grilles with little yellow dildos.

Spread The Love. But Not To Animals. That Shit's Too White.