CRAPTICAL JOKES

South Africa's youth is fast tracked to stardom!

Wow! Did The Hot Girlfriend and I feast last night! At the expense of my fingertips, which are now burnt. On the plus side, I have historically never missed an opportunity to damage my hands just before a recording session, and I can deal with this level of discomfort. It could have been a lot worse - and if my past is anything to go by, I was expecting something worse. Let's pray.
Anyway, back to topic, I made some food last night that would render Nigella, Gordon and Jamie obsolete in a matter of a few mouthfuls. The result was spectacular and worth all the grunting and swearing while trying to debone a half frozen chicken, something I will never try again. Fuck that.

Anyway, it's been quite a busy ol' day on the intrawbnets. I know I'm supposed to be focused on more productive stuff, but today I've spent most of my time lost in YouTube and suchlike. Nothing much else to report, unfortunately.

Except the quite heartwarming rally to my aid when I posted a plea for help regarding fake blood. Seems the people in my Faeceboobsland are all quite the experts. Disturbing? Not really. Deranged delinquents, one and all!

And I've been purposely staying away from the news after I read quite the most horrific opinion piece on why homework is a kak idea in Souff Effircer. The man was clearly impressed with his new best friend, the Thesaurus. If only he had felt it more prudent to take his own school work more seriously, perhaps he wouldn't have come across as such a halfwit mouth breather. One doesn't need to employ poorly executed verbosity in order to prove one is a fuck up. One can merely say "I'm a fuck up, hey." Or "Hi, my name is Luis Suarez."
With a title like "Set SA kids free!" you'd have thought the focus would be on making the general environment safer from violent crime, getting more kiddy fiddlers behind bars, improving the quality of health care and living standards, maybe even MORE homework! Set SA kids free! Free to enjoy a better quality of life because they are suitably educated to not only live full and productive lives, but to contribute to the upliftment of their communities and this country. But no. Fuck homework. Spelling is clearly already redundant. Your cellphone does hard sums. And we're content with a new tshirt and the chance of some affirmative aerobics every 4 years.

And typically, just as I get the brilliant idea of quoting a "guest star" today, since Neal has been a little on the quiet side (and also because Tarty said the best thing ever this morning...), he comes up with another doozi. But you'll have to wait 'til tomorrow for that. So, as a special treat to all, here is the first (but probably not the last)...

...Tarty Farty Tequila Party's Daily Gem: "Never too early for sausage or beer, dear."

Spread The Love. Sausage And Beer?

T.I.T.S.

This pic has nothing to do with anything. I just love it.

What does the current state of anything mean to anyone? I don't know. If I had the answers I wouldn't be writing on blogspot, effectively providing toilet break fare and an alternative to Angry Birds on your lunch break. I'd be raking in the big bucks in some swanky office, being wined, dined and celebrated as a successful writer and observer of the human condition. If you asked me about this "human condition" my succinct answer would be "crap" and I'd refer you to 'The Human Centipede' and popular music.

But all is not doom and gloom. With the exception of last night's great band practice, of course. I've had quite a weekend. Well, long weekend, given that the ladies were given a day. One day. Out of the year. Sammitch shares plummeted. Don't get me started.

It was The Hot Girlfriend's birthday. What a celebration it was! There was fancy eating out. There was brunch on the beach. There was dinner courtesy of Princess Pants and LordDoom. There was an entire Sunday of gorging on roast, cheese, wine and a variety of traditional Dutch cuisine. There was even a pressie or two in the mix. And of course, there was the Deftones concert. I think most people that went would all agree how utterly smashing that was. I was particularly impressed with the end of the Manchester Orchestra set, which resonated this whole Swans uber-intense, sonic wall of death vibe, and the professionalism Deftones displayed when faced with a less than capacity arena. And Cape Town's notoriously sponge-like audience. Vociferous applause at the end of each song, for 15 seconds, then blank expectancy. Same goes for when Chino got them to clap or participate. I'll tell you what, though. The boys certainly looked like they were enjoying themselves. Almost as much as the group of laaities next to us who decided to do a mini, but manic, mosh all through the show - much to the disgruntled disgust of some old Tannie leaning on the railing and practicing her contemptuous death glare at every little shove. Idiot.

My Brother In Awe was having a similarly raucous time, trying his best to rack up official warnings from the security staff. I don't blame him. A venue that hosts large scale rock concerts and doesn't allow smoking is pretty fucking lame, as is the choice of beer for a show of that magnitude. Or lack of choice. I fully understand that having only one brand available makes sense, otherwise vendors would be swamped with complicated orders, but if you're going to serve "beer" at a rock concert, the prudent choice would surely be Black Label, not "Piss Sucked Out Of A Homeless Person's Soggy Trousers". Or as SAB likes to call it, Castle.

Anyway, that was the glorious long weekend then. Back to the very uninspiring grindstone yesterday, and coupled with the lovely Cape Town winter, a very tough time getting out of bed, it has to be said. Also, I'm barely dealing with my guilt at not going running, but I'd probably get blown out to sea in this weather. It is awesome to stay in and do other stuff though, isn't it? Tonight I make the special dinner for The Hot Girlfriend that was hijacked by Princess Pants over the weekend. We like stretching occasions out and milking them for as long as possible. I'm sure you'll hear all about my successful culinary exploits tomorrow.

NGDG: Not all the Guinness in this world can make this place enjoyable.

Spread The Love. This.Is.The.Start.

WOMAN'S DAY

In the spirit of Woman's Day, hope you all have a great weekend!
Burn those bras!

And a special happy birthday to The Hot Girlfriend for tomorrow! Love you!

Spread The Love. I Made You Look.

GIVE YOU THE GUN - BLOW ME AWAY

The clue to understanding me is in the heading somewhere. Hidden subliminal messages are as subtle as happy ending massages...

Unsurprisingly, I have some opinions on current musical (and some definitely unmusical) events.

So Jack Parow is in the "tjoekie" for doing an Enya cover. So what. Is he even in jail or is it just another cheap shot aimed at dimwitted punters to up his rating? Newsflash, South Africa! Jack Parow is a prankster, not a gangster.
He is tremendoosly good at what he does. What he does can thankfully not be classified as music by any strain or stretch of the imagination. Rather, his talent lies in manipulating culturally deficient morons into bouncing up and down as he vomits on himself on some stage. YOU put him there, not me.

Which brings me to other bands in our neck of the woods. There is a certain trend among bands, especially those of the metal variety, that is starting to piss me off. I lie, it's actually always been around and it's been pissing me off from day one. Here are a few handy hints to make your and my life infinitely more tolerable, although putting these into practice may affect your connection with any angst and anger you feed off in order to pen your world class lyrics:

1. "My band is SO good, why doesn't everyone get it?" No it isn't. People are sheep, but they also know when someone is shoving turdburgers down their throats (for the most part - unless you admit to liking Jack Parow). Some honest introspection and self analysis would save you a lot of embarrassment and me a lot of suffering. Be more critical of your lovingly crafted art. Why are so many musicians so harsh on their "peers" when they seem impervious to the stench of their own fetid offerings?
2. Ixnay on the naivitay. The music industry is, like it or not, a business. And whilst so many of you have long since given up on the ideal of making a living by pretending to be Zack Wylde, it's astonishing how many fail to see the wood for the trees. Those who understand the machinations of the business WILL get further. It's elementary. Being involved, having hard won connections, rolling up your sleeves and getting things done... these are all things which will land you the slots, which will get you in the glaring (often mostly just jealous glares) spotlight. Not one single motherfucker among you is entitled to anything. There have been recent exceptions to this point, I'll concede, but questions of style, savvy and so many other considerations go into these choices that sometimes things need to be accepted. Which brings me to point 3.
3. Why is South Africa stuck in the past? I am as guilty as the next guy. The music that defines me is old. Obviously to me it's relevant, but in all honesty, why would some snot nosed toddler decide to pick up a guitar and do My Dying Bride style covers of Cure songs? Yes, I know there are revivals on all the time, but they're short lived. In the eyes of the generations that have come and gone and carried your precious metal forward, this is the basic break down, if you'll excuse the obvious reference. Iron Maiden ceased to be relevant when Metallica and SLAYER brought their fresh, fast and frashy sound to your earholes. Similarly bands like Pantera and Sepultura raised the ante, and paved the way for the generation that followed. Pushing the envelope, bands like Morbid Angel and Deicide gave way to Meshuggah and, a few misguided guyliner applications and jorts purchases later, we have whatever is popular now. It means something very powerful to the kids of today. At least give them that. Or don't. My question is "where do the loincloths fit in?"
4. Luckily everything I deem worthy is steeped in rich tradition and unsurpassed class.

And tonight I get to watch one of the few bands that has not only managed to capture the imagination of the youth for many, many years, but has somehow steadily grown in stature and even managed to win over new fans regularly. I was not a fan. Then I heard 'Change (In The House Of Flies)'. Then I tried my best to ignore them as I was far too impressed with my own vibe. Then they did 'Diamond Eyes' and the scales finally fell from my own eyes. Now I'm one of the panting masses. See you at Grand West tonight!

Just before I sign off and wish you all a happy Women's Day, and flying directly in the face of everything I just mentioned, who in the name of fuck though it was a good idea to book a second-hand Blink 182 for tonight? I bet you it was the booze vendors. "In a genius marketing ploy to sell more beer, The Spur and Grand West Arena teamed up to bring you Yellowcard, so that you may take a break between Manchester Orchestra and Deftones to get yo' refreshment on". Unfortunately there are probably just enough Jack Parow fans to make their inclusion worthwhile...
I bet they have a nice little team swoggle before going on stage. Gets 'em nice and amped...

NGDG: Autoreply: Out of offers.

Spread The Love. Hey, Jack! Is Jy Nog Steeds Die Ou?

EVERYTHING IS VIRTUAL AND WE LIVE ONLINE.

Wow! How did I miss 2 days? You guys must have been frantic with worry!

*Tumbleweed...*

Actually, I'm quite disappointed no one sent for the National Guard, or whichever local equivalent would have bungled the search horribly, but at least amusingly. Fuck, even just Lassie would have done. Except I wasn't in a well and my name isn't Timmy.

The truth, dear reader, is that I haven't had much on which to report or muse. I have been enjoying my nice content little life. Nothing extraordinary has happened. Moaning over the contents of the news has surely become old hat by now. So I decided to restrict my vowel vomit to only those times when I have something of value to contribute to your mundane existences. Except for today. Today's excuse is I'm fucking bored at work. Ok, I know some smart arse is going to pipe up "Hey, why don't you do some work, then?" You know what... Fuck off.

It's probably the weather (another white hot topic that never seems to bore the tears out of the public) being all wintery and shitty. I've successfully powered down into genuine hibernation mode. Beer has been substituted with red wine and hot chocolate. Well, the red wine was also always there, but it sounds better the first way, ok? Soups have taken over from salads, etc. Which brings me to the weekend that passed like a ghost train in the night in the middle of the Karoo - virtually unnoticed. For the most part I stayed indoors. Except for football on Friday. And braaing on Saturday.

Oh what a braai. The neighbours were rather good sports. I had 3 Banshees as guests. The Hot Girlfriend, Tarty Farty Tequila Party and Slappy combined to a convincing chorus of demonic proportions. Imagine Satan's nails dragged across a spectral chalk board - the screeching hell sound magnified to ear-splitting volumes... Just add wine.

I was left in peace to braai enough meat for a small battalion of meat eaters - whoohoo! Leftovers for the entire week! Life is kak.

Tomorrow I'll probably muse about the Deftones concert and how I predict a bad turn out. I really hope not, but being the student of social media that I am, things don't look all that rosy. I say student. I mean whore.
Which reminds me, I have to learn how to take a selfie...

NGDG: Autoreply: I am out of the office.

I wish.

Spread The Love. Not The Rockets. Skates, Maybe...

DAEMON EXIRE DEBENT PENIS DE SANCTO MEO

Good, clean living leads to eventual success.

Here's the dealio. Infanteria are not my favourite local metal band. I like them, don't get me wrong, I just don't enjoy their brand of thrash above all others, and I prefer my dose of daily deafness to be more dirge-like. That being said, we should all take a moment to GO FUCKING BONKERS at their recent achievement. They were chosen to play Wacken Open Air Festival in Germany and put on a show worthy of much praise. So to each and every person GOING FUCKING BONKERS about The Deftones or Lamb Of God coming to our shores, it works both ways. Here is the perfect opportunity to show your appreciation for the immense amount of talented, hard-working, professional (attitude, not "getting paid") musicians we have right here under our noses. We CAN give as good as we get! Do your bit to help build our local music scene to something that can compete with the industry worldwide. Being based in Europe or the US may make it easier to sustain a career, it doesn't necessarily make you better by default. So go on, go and at least congratulate Infanteria on their phenomenal feat. As a wise man once said, Spread The Love.

Now onto the weird, twisted and spectacularly unsavoury world of evangelical orgasm-haters. I was exposed to a little excerpt from a video, wherein 3 teenage girls from 'Murica are interviewed about their "crusade against cock". Apparently you can get a demon in you through sexual transmission(ary). They go around driving demons out of people who have been sexually abused or just plain ole like to fuck. Does oral sex count? I'd have liked to have experienced someone speaking tongues on my balls (when I was younger, obviously, not now...) Who remembers "Teabagging For Jesus"? Anyway, I am at a loss to describe how fucked up and funny this shit is, so go look for yourself. I would, however, like to point out that I am all for holding onto one's virtue. The youth of today is fucked beyond belief and a little circumspection would not go amiss, but radicals be radicals and that's some fundamentally fucking dangerous shit. One day these fine upstanding young ladies will discover the biblical ecstasy of getting railed good and hard. Let us pray. Let us pray they never find THAT Marduk picture. They'll have ammunition to justify their cause. Oooooh, I think I have to go and find that Jill Kelly scene in 'Forever Night'...

I'll have none of that!

On with the body count... And I do mean actual body count. I was far too knackered yesterday to go running. I think I may have been overdoing it, and much like the little darlings in the paragraph above, I am saving myself for something altogether more ecclesiastically enjoyable. Yup, you guessed it - tonight's football! Anyway, we did have Dinner Club, a bi-weekly celebration of the senses and culinary highlight. We were joined last night by Commander Conker and the ever lovely Rose Thorn, and this morning by our old buddies Debilitating Hangover and Deathgrip Deathwish. It was clearly an awesome evening. Tomorrow its Tarty Farty Tequila Party's turn...

So in summation, on this beautiful Cape Town Friday:

1. Go say well done to the lads of Infanteria and get out to local gigs more. Clicky, clicky...
2. Substitute your sinful lust for something in the nice clean Demon Dildo range, lest ye catch some diabolical diseases.
3. Bring me a fucking Panado and some Re-Hydrate.

NGDG: Tried to take a photo of this very arty Keanu Reeves gallery I was invited to in my dream last night. Of course, I can't take any decent pictures with this piece of shit Samsung.

Spread The Love. Just Don't Have Any Sex.

RANT RANTY McRANT RANT

Busbeys - the hides to seek...

Is not something I am going to do today. Life is good. It's filled to the brim with wankers and Kardashians, but it's good nonetheless. The sun is shining. Cape Town as a general populace has embraced the fine weather as if it's tourist season. The masses are out in full force on the promenade and I am feeling content, sweaty and fucking broken...

...yesterday's run was possibly a little on the ambitious side. Fuck, I nearly keeled over. What's the point of doing one of the most scenic runs on God's green earth if you can't see through the dizzy red haze of bloody death swarming in front of your half mast eyes, all but obliterating the view? Of course it has the opposite effect when some spandex clad filly comes cantering along, seemingly effortlessly, and you suddenly turn into the Bruce Fordyce of Clifton, not wanting to come across as the cardiac candidate you, in fact, are. Bounce, bounce, into the sunset...

Oh, hang on. Let me just get up and put on the Ashes.

Speaking of bands (only a few of you will get that one), last night's practice was an absolute cracker. I can't wait to share the fucking amazingness with all of you. Not long now, my flock...

So, what else is rotten, eh Denmark? Robert Mugabe is still alive. Well, animated enough to be rigging elections, at any rate. He kind of puts me in mind of the sand-driven Nazi fuck from Hellboy. The bastard just won't fucking die. Perhaps he IS the Chosen One. Even so, he wears a tea cloth. Fuck him! Vote for the other guy.

And now let me explain about the internet. The internet is for porn. Then, like everything else, mainstream conscience went and done tooked it over. Now it's for shameless selfies and shameless self-promotion. It allows any old idiot to have a voice. It allows the free access to any information, song or movie. It allows, according to some, the complete enslavement of the free and the civilised societies that make use of it. Hahaha! I operate under a pseudonym. I'll be allowed to spread my muck and filth as long as I want! But it's changed the way we do "life". People are becoming more and more pallid. One very positive thing that has happened is the ability to buy shit without going to a mall, for which I am eternally grateful. Perhaps shares in FedEx or Mr Delivery are a good option...

And here is the portion of today's vent that makes me sound like an old woman with a damp panty. To the person who sees fit to steal my and my friends' shit at parties and similar events, pray to fuck I don't find out who you are. I am not by nature a violent person, but I would be very hard pressed not to bliksem you good and solid if I find out you're the one who has my very, very valuable watch (monetary and sentimental). You have made those people around me very upset, and as a result, very wary of relaxing in places and situations in which they should be enjoying the atmosphere instead of worrying about which scaly fuck is going to make off with their valuables. Stray Tupperware at a braai is one thing, my 21st gift from my parents, not so much... And that's not the only thing.

And on to more pleasant news. Tonight marks the inaugural Dinner Club with new members Commander Conker and Rose Thorn. We've reached the stage in our lives where we are forced to play musical chairs in order to keep up a steady circle of friends, the regular pregnancies taking their toll on social interaction. So, quite excited then about that. Until, of course, it's my turn to be shunned from the trough of plenty because I have a lightie on the way. I hope that I'm not forced to give up the footie one day. That would qualify as a true travesty.

Anyway, here's hoping you have a grande old day. Yes, you!

NGDG: Fascinating architectural trivia: the turquoise mosaic used in the great mosque of Samarkand apparently acts as a natural fly-repellent.

Spread The Love. Bring My Shit Back.