NO WONDER THEY'RE CALLED "MEMBERS" OF PARLIAMENT

The HOFF - illustrating the dynamics of a black hole.

You cannot unsee that!

So, Friday then, you say! Well, I don't know about you fine collection of... hey! Stop staring at the Hoff's recurro-sack! Where was I? Oh yes. Friday. A sprinkling of irreverence, a light at the end of the tunnel and that first post work beer so close you can taste it...

Sound good?

Fuck it's difficult typing with the Bay Watch Boomslang coming at me the whole time!

Also, in a radical departure from my normal structure I am going to wish a few good people happy birthday before the end of the post (assuming I find something to write after this - let us pray...). Firstly, it is my great pleasure to give a long distance shout out to the wonderful, whimsical and all-round awesome Princess Pants! Happy happy from the heart of my bottom! I hope you have the most awesome day. It's a tragedy that you have chosen to forsake us by introducing such a great distance between us.
Also to the Sound Guy Extraordinaire, hope you're rocking your milestone, sir!
And for tomorrow, to my good friend JDP. Veels geluk liewe maaitjie. In the parlance of your people: "Main." The pic above is just for you...

Ok, seeing as we can't avoid it anymore, let's discuss how the politicians in this country we all hold so dear are taking the piss, defecating on the legacy we were all so proud to embrace in '94. I don't think we're in for wholesale anarchy and plunder the minute Madiba actually drifts loose this mortal coil. That shit's already happening. And they're pretty fucking bald faced about it to boot. No, what bothers me is the imminent political fiasco that is no doubt going to follow hot on the heels of our nation's father's passing. Already the family is doing the vulture-hop around his still warm body, in a re-enactment of any number of tacky 80s films dealing with inheritance. And now some utter shitgargler has banned the DA from participating in a prayer vigil for Mandela in Tshwane (wherever the fuck that is...). Thanks for perpetuating the divide, you ignorant cumrag.

In fact, this gentleman put it all into perfectly logical perspective. Thanks, MSG... Fucking brilliant!

Anyway, let me not get too worked up. I have a fantastic weekend ahead of me. Curry, movies and The Hot  Girlfriend all to myself tonight. After footie, of course. Then braaing in the burbs tomorrow. Then who knows what secret delights Sunday holds? Could be anything. Could be nothing...

Have a safe weekend, everyone.

NGDG: Mandela is like The Matrix. There are those who say 'BESTMOVIE EVA!' There are those who urge you to judge it in light of the whole trilogy. You don't want to be these people. Just know they won't remake The Matrix in your lifetime. And we're all very relieved that it wasn't another Johnny Mnemonic.

Spread The Love. Go Hug An ANC Member.

UNKNOWN PLEASURES

So apparently Deftones will be playing at One Night In Cape Town, as expected. The Mother City is a'plutz with excitement and the weird and wonderful ticketing site the organisers have chosen to go with doesn't seem to be handling the volume of orders very well. But that is neither here nor there. I get to see them without having to travel a million miles to the border of Zimbabwe. I know my friend the Voi Vixen is very happy. Anyway, after reaffirming my faith in their brand of music with Diamond Eyes, I'm there like a bear. I just wish I could find the review I wrote on that album - seems the site which originally hosted it is down. Fokkit. So be it. I think I'll survive.

Your entertainment news for today:

Ok, some of these genres I haven't heard of yet, but this is pretty asstastic and darn funny. These two guys make a song that spans 26 genres within 3 and half minutes. Lawd have mercy!

And I wasn't going to comment, but this little gem from our very own SABC News really just plops the cherry right on top of yesterday's kakverhaaltjie.

Oh, and speaking in the mother tongue, the new FOBLO Bulletin is out. Anne Hirsch, you beauty.

Well, there's really nothing much else on which to opine. My carnival of flailing limbs is temporarily on hiatus while my injuries are given a chance to get better. (I put my neck out lifting my head off the pillow... don't laugh.) Hopefully by this time tomorrow I'm ready to prance around like a gazelle - I have football to play!
And tonight is yet another instalment of that hallowed tradition known as dinner club. In other words it's someone else's turn to feed me full of food and booze. Halle-Loob-Jizz!

Oh yes, and then there's Gumtree. I went on there earlier looking for a beginner guitar for a mate of mine's daughter (she of the lemon incident) and happened upon a treasure trove of second hand wonders. If I didn't have to pay off that damn stupid fucking shitty extra flight ticket, I'd have been in possession of a little some'n some'n...

There you are, walking around all rebellious in your high-heels, mohawk, pop-up collar, eyeliner and cuffed sleeves. I know what you're thinking. You're all steeped in history aren't you? And there's a good reason...

Well, yesterday was the very strongly worded email (I'm such a keyboard activist) to Kulula. So that means today I have to recalculate all of the Cape Town City Council's attempts at working out billing from "actual" meter readings. Motherfucker! Like Aaron Stainthorpe says: "The pain never stops..."

Also, please go and visit Terminatryx's indiegogo account. They're busy recording what promises to be a great album and you can secure your copy by paying in advance! Imagine! You'll get your grubby paws on it and you'll already have forgotten paying for it. That's like getting it FOR FREE! And who doesn't like free stuff!?!

Anyway, you may have noticed that I have left this post in as many paragraphs as humanly possible. Only to annoy Neal Goldwyer.

But I'm still quoting him. He's like South Africa's own Oscar Wilde.

NGDG: Yesterday a recruitment consultant criticised every choice I've ever made, told me what I'm doing wrong in my life, and tried to push me into the same shit that's made me miserable for 5 years. (To quote Chris Rock: "Carreer? Most people I know just got jobs, muthafucka!") Don't give me advice. I'll hate you.

Spread The Love. I Want More.

A COUNTRY IN THE CRAPPER

Max Du Preez's diet proved too effective.

Well then. The theme for the day seems to be the disgusting state of the floor at Cape Town International Airport. Yes, folks! In yet another desperate attempt to destabilise the only working local government in South Africa, the bussed-in ANC masses - merely in our fair province as voting fodder - have taken to showing their disapproval of their living conditions by dumping pooh all over the place. It's not bad enough that Cape Town International was built adjacent to a very large sewerage works, and that international visitors got a foul whiff of lovely percolating shit as a first impression, now the disgruntled fecal freaks have flung dung even closer - ON the actual welcome mat...

Imagine what our tourists from Europe and Gauteng must think!

First off, the very people responsible for this shit shower are those that have been imported from "forn" parts so that Zuma can drag the legacy of the rainbow nation through his arse here as well. Instead of concentrating on uplifting the quality of life of those his party represents in parts of the country where it is their responsibility, it is clearly more important to create problems here in the Republic of Cape Town. One wonders how the culprits enjoyed bringing the offending matter in open plastic bags in their cars to the airport-a-potty. Can you imagine! "Drive faster, man! This kak stinks kak bad! Put foot, ek se!"

And then Mr Hanky and his entire extended family went for a swim at International Arrivals. We mustn't discriminate.

Afrikaans is such a wonderfully expressive language. No other tongue can quite so eloquently say "Nou is die drol in die drinkwater..." or like the one local newspaper "ANC jeugliga gooi poef in lughawe". Jeug, indeed!

Anyway, enough of this kakpraat. Although I will admit to finding any juvenile pooh jokes perpetually amusing. As do most of you, don't even try and deny it. That's like saying you don't enjoy sex. Although, in this context, let's keep the two well separated please. All you '2 girls - 1 cup' freaks can wait til the Wimbledon Women's Lawn Tennis Final for your jollies.

It's almost as if there hasn't been enough fucking excitement involving air travel and taking a shit already...

And speaking of which, why are we being required to do a whole flag vibe for the imminent visit of President "Fuck you I kill you!" Obama? What's he doing here anyway, we don't have oil and Oprah already did something magnanimous for us. Or perhaps we have just completely misunderstood the airport's new interior decoration as a tribute to welcome the world's Chief Turd.

Thank you for visiting our beautiful land. Salani Gahle! Baie Dung-kie!

NGDG: I actually cannot read articles on iOL. Is it a symptom of our tweeting, ADD-addled generation that young reporters automatically feel compelled to start a new paragraph after every sentence?

Spread The Love. Chuck Your Kak!

SUCK MY...

...CLOCK.

There's a positive deluge of international acts streaming to our little red-neck black-out neck of the woods. Eskom had better be on high alert, lest yet another unscheduled load shedding lay waste to the last vestige of  respect the outside world has for us. Deftones at Oppikoppi, and all indications are One night In Cape Town as well. Let's hold thumbs. Mainly because of the biblical shitstorm that will ensue should the organisers be brave enough to deny Cape Town their slice of Chino. All I can surmise is that they aren't naive enough to wait until it's too late, forcing people to book their OppiKoppi arrangements and only THEN let the cat out of the bag...
Then we hear today that Skunk Anansie and The Hives are coming as well. Rocking The Daisies and Vodacom City Night (or something like that in Jhb). The Hives... what I used to get when I got to deep into Obz. As for Skunk Anansie - I'd definitely go and watch them again. They were fantastic the last time they graced our little fishing village and I'm still a big Skin fan. Talk about a set of pipes!

Anyway, the hysteria of this morning is over and we're sitting here in Cape Town enjoying some nice watery sunshine. Long may it last, although all bets are off.

Fuckin' hell! You know you're a bit brain dead when you enter the search criteria for something work related into the login cell of the site you need to get into. I think I need some fresh air. Perhaps a brisk trot around the block would do me the world of good. Oh yes, now I remember. Can't. Neck injury. I'm flippin' falling apart here...

I think I'll try and extract money from Kulula, although I would probably have more luck convincing an American that Morgan Freeman isn't the ex-president of South Africa. I'm bored shitless, but I don't know if I have the energy to deal with the inevitable underpaid moron who couldn't give a fuck I'm going to encounter on the other end of the line. If I was forced to do work like that, I'd alleviate the overwhelming suicidal tendencies by granting refunds all day long and then watching the supervisors lose their shit. It's got to be better than learning the Spur Birthday song... And all that callanetics in OutSurance offices...
In reality, I bet most call centre employees spend the majority of their day huddled in their grimy cubicles playing Solitaire and trying desperately not to catch their neighbour having a surreptitious wank. Again.

And so the status quo continues. No, little darlings, I am not referring to half of what someone else originally said being plastered on your Faecesbooks. Look it up.
The lamentable descent of the Rand ensures another hefty petrol price hike come month end.
The deplorable state of our government and its contemptible, bald-faced corruption.
A youth with no prospects other than becoming Wall-E humans.
Rampant and cruel abuse of anything and everything over which we have any control.
Domestic violence.
War in the name of peace.
War in the name of religion.
The plight of the song writer, especially when faced with the monumental odds - up against the corporate sanctioned murder and mutilation of music.
Wholesale stupidity and apathy. (I know, I know... the irony coming from a Cape Town native...)
YoLandi Vi$$er's haircut.

Little wonder I prefer to stay in, then...

If you could all please say a little player for me as I stride out with brittle confidence that taking on Kulula will make an iota of difference. Hands Across 'Murica!

At least we have something to celebrate on this murky day. It's Rose Thorn's birthday! Happy birthday, you wonderful, beautiful human being. My life is a constant celebration for having you in it!

NGDG: There are bits of hair that are a midget's middle finger from fitting into a ponytail. Yeah. Your mother likes it.

Spread The Love. Starting With A Neck Rub.

THAT'S THE BUNNY

Thumper didn't realise just how prophetic her choice of play name would be...

Not like The Easter Bunny, obviously. Far too much chocolate and egg hunting and other forms of nefarious activity. No, I'm talking about good, wholesome bunny fun. The kind of stuff found in children's books, not the more sordid or risque publications favoured by Jim's dad for sex ed. That being said, bunnies do have a certain reputation to uphold.

As you may or may not have picked up, there is precious little on which I'd like to speculate or report today. All you need to do to find out what the weather is doing is turn on Faeceboobs. And yes, we all wish that mainstream media and the vulture-like family would leave this nation's icon the fuck alone so that he may go in peace and with a modicum of dignity.

I did get into a brief debate concerning the local alternative "scene" earlier, and thought briefly about taking that a bit further on these here hallowed pages, but then you've heard it all before from me. If you weren't paying attention, well, scroll back.

At least we had a pretty good weekend. Princess Pants was visiting from The Big Shitty, I played awesome footie on Friday evening in that exact hour that it didn't rain, developments on the band front look more and more promising, The Little Teapot had a party and I spent all of yesterday with an injured neck. I feel right old...

Let's see. Saturday's party. Started off all civilised-like with pre-drinks at my house. You know that's a kak idea. And it was. Well, it was a glorious idea, until the business end of the next morning, of course. A wonderful time was had by all, at my spot and at the gig at ROAR. It was loud, there was a lot of hair and hollerin'. And of course, a lot of drunken revelry.

Then there was the little soiree for The Little Teapot. Hosted expertly by Herr Grun at his new digs, the set of The Blair Witch Project, should the lights go out one day. I kept expecting a snot spouting terrified teenager to come bounding out from behind the avo tree.

And after a whole bunch of driving around, doing my finest impersonation of a stiff scarecrow or a Tory MP, I finally settled into a few beers at home with a potential new co-conspirator. Things they is a happenin'...

Then I overslept this morning.

See, I told you there's nothing to see hear. Please move along.

At least Princess Pants didn't do an Idiot Deluxe and miss her flight.

NGDG: Scientists say that people who will live past 100 are alive today. Hope it's not me, because that means there's another 30 years of midlife crisis up ahead. And ain't nobody got time for that.

Spread The Love. What Noise Do Bunnies Make?

PARDON ME, DO YOU HAVE ANY GREY POUPON?

Melinda forgot to take evasive action at her first rainbow party...

Not today, my good man. Today I'm feeling saucy! Schwing!

Last night's soup kitchen outing with Tarty Farty Tequila Party was once again a resounding success. We met at the Wild Fig (the scene of the Big Flap of 2013) and were treated to a variety of soups in front of the roaring restaurant fire - perfect winter evening warmth and enjoyment. The fact that I was washing it down with ice cold Amstel didn't even register...

And speaking of being irreverent... Because it's Friday and all...
We're busy sorting out the stupid PC of a colleague of mine. It's proving to be painful. I hate the fucking things. So I look around on the net out of a sudden acute case of "Oh shit! Best I try and make myself as inconspicuous as possible", I happen upon this little gem...

Ladies and gentlereaders, I give you Canada's latest attempt at world domination: The Pluk Party. That's like, real life Ken Park shit. I really missed out in my youth. First "rainbow parties" and now this. Fuck. We only had spin-the-bottle... What's next? Your kids will probably have plug'n'play tug'n'spray apps on their smartphones. It's all getting scarily Sandra Bullock mind fucking Sly, isn't it?

Anyway, that's me. I'm spent. I don't want to be here and I can feel it. At least The Hot Girlfriend is over her unfortunate bout of "exams" and Princess Pants is coming to visit. And I'm off to play football in this ghastly weather. And then to eat out with the Father for his birthday. Life, eh? The cherry on the cake, however, is the gig tomorrow night at ROAR. Come and make sure we get rid of Wildernessking for good (and say hi to Princess Pants and the rest of the Get Along Gang) by joining me at this event. Bring earplugs. It's gonna get loud...

...mainly because my Brother-In-Awe is going to be there and he knows where the bar is. Tarty also promised...

NGDG: Discovery Health AGM. Seven hours and no food. Let's kill all the members because suicide, boredom and starvation aren't PMBs that we're legally obliged to reimburse.

Spread The Love. Organise A Rainbow Party For ALL Your Friends.

KEEP CALM AND ON YOUR KNEES.

Well, there you have it then...

After exhausting my supply of news in one super-post yesterday, prepare yourself for all manner of nonsense and ear bleeds today.

I recently rediscovered 'Superbad'. It's a movie. It's as funny as hell and I do not apologise to any of my more learned friends or siblings for my appreciation of its crass humour. Especially the part where the fat kid with the afro gets tomato sauce on his leg.

Dooswyn is from now on to be referred to as Cardbordeaux. It is brilliant! It has been decreed. Thanks, New Orleans!

In the only pertinent news of the day - tah tah dah daaaaaah! - the latest D'aaaaw-Win Award goes to LordDoom and Princess Pants. Their incessant cooing has won them the latest instalment (it's only the second of all time, I think) of the much venerated award. Congrats, you two. Bask in the warm glowing warming glow.

And then we get to marketing focus groups. I love 'em. The person who convinced marketing companies to part with vast sums of money so that "demographically selected" groups of civilians can sit and nod, while being fed snacks, should run the world. Now that is marketing genius! Last night I made money simply for showing up, eating food, and telling someone in a smarmy suit and a false smile I couldn't afford his whisky. Oh, and being white and a drinker and the right age. And apparently because I own a dishwasher. Weirdos...

And tonight I once again swan about pretending to be larney when I join Tarty Farty Tequila Party on her quest for the perfect Winter Warmer Soup Experience. It happens to be at one of my all time favourite restaurants, so things are already off to a good start. It's attached to quite a fancy whisky bar as well. I'm quite certain the possibilities are endless. And that The Doors never get played there.

Speaking of Swans. Little Spoon! Fuck you! I looked up the line up for Hellfest. Good luck bumping into all those metal heads with your gigantic perma-boner. I should really have paid more attention when you were wittering on about going to France. I hope there are timing conflicts between your favourite bands, playing on different stages at the same time, and your head explodes. Nah! Actually I'm just super jealous. Hope you get to see everyone you want to see and have an awesome time! Le chat et sur le table.

Which brings me to more frustrating and irritating news. The cd I ordered for the Brother-In-Awe has finally arrived. Customs is holding the package hostage. Shitgarglers.

As always, it's been a huge pleasure.

NGDG: It's in the beast's instinct to chase. That being said, I discovered today that it's in your instinct either to outrun the rottweiler or find out if your medical scheme is the right one for you.

Spread The Love. With Atta-Girl Knee-Pads.