DISABLED DICKS

I'm not talking about that friendly tannie that sits outside the Pick'n'Pay collecting change for charity. I'm talking about real cripple cock-blasters, the type of persons who wholeheartedly embrace the notion that the world owes them something. Our national hero, Oscar, being a case in point. At the time of his teary trial, or hearing, or arraignment, or whatever, I very carefully steered well clear of writing anything about it, but since the story has all but been forgotten, the coast is now clear. Apparently he was a colossal asshat. Ok, so it's not much of a story... Please refer to the end of Monty Python's 'The Meaning Of Life'.

No, all this is about what I just saw. Enter Mr Legless Luge Guy. Hand operated bicycle on which you lie down - check. Inappropriate cycling shorts - check. Ridiculously expensive Oakleys - check. Helmet - check. Regard for own life - not a fuck! We all labour under the misconception that disabled people are nice, or at least careful. Notafuck! This oke - cruising along Beach Road in Sea Point - was actually a bit of a turd. Actually, make that a presidential candidate size pile of festering turd turds. As I drove past, I was immediately awash with the default reaction to seeing someone so successfully overcome adversity. I felt like I could respect this man for not allowing his lack of perambulatory equipment hinder his lust for life. I then stopped at a red traffic light, as you do, you know, one that straddles and very successfully regulates the flow of traffic across a four way intersection. Apparently, like all bicyclists, this tit deemed it entirely unnecessary to stop at all, never mind even slow down to see if something was coming. Now, I was standing right there, idling away a month's salary, I saw it happen. He is no more than 2 feet off the ground, hands a churning. The chances of a car crossing - rightfully - the intersection and not seeing him are approximately 100%. Apparently Deathwish Dave is made of Titanium. It got me thinking. So what if he had some poor bastard plough into him as he blithely bombed across the red light. Just another casualty, right? Put the arsehole out of his misery? But what about the distraught driver that hit him? It would clearly not have been his fault, but I guarantee you the general public and probably the public prosecutor may see things a bit differently...

Therefore, sir, today's award for being the biggest piece of shit goes to you, you unrepentant wanker! Disabled people are not all nice. I know this. I have just witnessed it first hand. The evidence is undeniable. I will now cast a suspicious, jaundiced eye over anyone in the special parking spot. I hope you're happy.

[Disclaimer: In no way do I intend to belittle the plight of the truly disabled. I most certainly sympathise. I might even empathise, as soon as I look up the difference. I too have various disabilities, not least of which is my rather frustrating inability to play the guitar at anything above funereal pace, hence the love of DOOM Merrills. I even have a variety of disabled friends, although they keep insisting that being a bit dof isn't really a disorder...]

On quite a different, more pleasant note, last night's band practice was tonnes of fun. Rose Thorn decided it was high time to stay over so we could get smashed/legless (see that?) together. And we did. It was a thing of rare beauty and I can't wait to witness the horror that is us recording us trying to sing the vocal arrangement we came up with for our new old song. Why is it every time I've had a lot too many, I feel the need to bellow along at the top of my lungs. Even the neighbourhood cats take cover.

It's a beautiful day. Yesterday's run went exceedingly well. Today I celebrate having legs and the fact that I'm not entirely an inconsiderate colostomy bag, and I do my "long run". If you see me hurtling through Clifton at the speed of dark, please try not to run me over or point and laugh.

NGDG: A Zimbabwean waiter once told me that Mugabe cannot die because he smokes marijuana and has virgin blood transfusions. Then the Lance Armstrong* scandal broke. Now I'm convinced the geriatric silk-screen enthusiast is sponsored by the US postal service.

*King of Disabled Dicks. Nice how Neal knew I was going to have this encounter today...

Spread The Love. Hug A Paraplegic.

I GOT A SHEEP TATTOOED ON MY FANNY!

Before I get started on the wonderful wonderfullness that was my spectacularly spectacular weekend, I'd like to take a minute to recite to you a thought regarding Nelson Mandela, as printed in the "Complete Kak" book, which I recently got back from a mate of mine. Especially in light of his failing health and the disgusting behaviour of all those around him in his final days.

"Please, for the love of everything that is good in this land, can people stop using Nelson Mandela's name for personal or commercial gain? The man is quite literally our last steadfast point of integrity and decency, and every time a foreign celeb rocks up to have a picture taken with him, or a businessman names a diamond the "Madiba Diamond" as a publicity stunt for his new investment company, or someone tacks together a sports magazine that looks like Die Son 'in celebration of Madiba's 90th birthday' or the ANC rolls him out for an election rally because they're a bit worried about turnout, they're just taking advantage of his good name and trivialising his deeds. And making themselves look like money-grubbing exploitative pieces of shit." - 'Complete Kak' - Tim Richman & Grant Schreiber.

Seems the doom-mongers (not those of us who play really slow merrills, but the nay saying sensationalists) were right when they predicted the shit hitting the fan the minute he passed. Except who would have thought it would be radiator fans? And they're flinging a shade early as well. Personally, I think it's all a well orchestrated campaign by Max Barashenkov, to deflect the media's attention off him.

And now that I have that off my chest, I would like to bring to your attention the worst thing I have ever seen. The Valleys, a reality show similar to Big Brother, The Apprentice and Jersey Shore. They take 8 kids from what's known as the Valleys in Wales and stick them in a house in Cardiff with the aim of starting careers in the entertainment industry, etc. If this is representative of young people today, the world has precisely 3 years and 87 days until it comes to an abrupt halt and only the cockroaches are left to keep Wall-E company. Mainly because if you can't afford to board the SS Atrophy, you'll kill yourself instead of spending one second being subjected to these people or their language or behaviour. I watched 4 episodes on the trot, I couldn't take my eyes off it. It was fantastic! Go and experience it for yourself. You won't thank me and you won't hit me. It's so awful you'll want to throttle the life from me but will stop short of doing so just because I seem like the coolest motherfucker in the world by comparison.

Ok, so rewind a little...

Friday, and the rain looked like it was going to ruin our football game. Thankfully it stayed away just long enough for us to have one of the best games of football ever. I haven't enjoyed myself that much wearing long socks and short shorts since I was a toddler!
Then it was off to a late Dinner Club out in Marina Da Gama. That's very far, but the food was worth every second on the rainy roads.

Saturday was interesting. It started when The Brother-In-Awe and I attended a wine tasting for breakfast. I have to tell you walking out of a booze dealership with several boxes of wine made me feel particularly adult, even if most of the boxes were his. At least it was a good run up to the rest of the day.

Which was spent being all metal and shit. Not metal like the pirate from the good ship lollipop who was at the front of the bus, just normal, not-fucked-up metal. Boarding the party bus along with the usual crew of miscreants, we settled in for our "booze cruise", which was unfortunately interrupted when our bus driver seemingly aimed for a very damaging item of steel in the road and successfully got it lodged in the tyre. A tyre which he had no means to replace. And no airtime, a trivial little fact that I learned after being stuck in the rain for more than an hour in a parking lot in Goodwood. At least I won the worst cd ever recorded. Pity I had to down Mokador for the privilege. Anyway, after giving him my phone, we were shortly on our merry way, looking forward to yet another stellar Metal4Africa Winterfest. It did not disappoint! The bands were all on top form. To my eternal horror I have to admit to really enjoying With Dawn. They were fucking good! I also remember bearing witness to Bile Of Man, who simply bludgeoned the bollocks out of the audience and Megalodon, who had the same effect as a rather large meteor collision. Wargrave was also fantastic, although I can remember far less of their set than the others. I blame people and their incessant need to converse.
I also remember making a very public, but very sneaky ninja bomb. Being old is a blessing and a curse.

Well done to all at Metal4Africa for a superb time! The only complaint I have seen or heard about is that it was too metal, so you've done an amazing job, as always.

NGDG: "We're doing something dangerous," says the man in the Maserati. It sounds like we work for MI5.

Spread The Love. But Keep It In Your Pants.

NICE ARSE!

This is a drawing. Unbelievable? Believe it!

Unlike the writer of this drivelly drivel, I'll keep this short and sweet. Last night I had the pleasure of witnessing the rare, more tender side of Juggernaught. See what I did there? Meataphorically speaking. Anyway, the blues jam was actually just that. Not so much the humpin' and hollerin' one would associate with these guys, but a wonderful night enjoying their virtuoso splendour, and some of Cape Town's finest to boot! Snake Hips blew his harmonica. THAT saxophone player was other worldly! And The Hair blazed a trail of shredding smoke all up and down his fretboard. I shudder to think how bad the arson damage would have been if he'd remembered his industrial strength fan...
Also, I watched The Search For Sugarman before venturing out. Wow! It has to be some movie to impress me as much as it did, considering how much I hate and loathe Rodriguez. It was a truly heartwarming and touching tale - a story that resonated very strongly with my own flagging hope of one day being recognised for my contribution to the world of music. Although, truth be told, perhaps it's a good thing I haven't found the acclaim I deserve, since it would most likely be in the form of stocks and public humiliation involving rotten fruit.

And then there's this delightful individual - check out Dumb student asks for Nirvana video message. I don't know. I really don't.

There was also a whole shock/horror episode today involving pedophiles who don't want to be viewed as monsters. A lengthy debate arose wherein we discussed the desire to act on sexual urges involving minor versus the mere attraction to minors. No resolution has been reached. Some argue that it is a sexual orientation, much like LGBT, proposing that you cannot help to whom you are attracted. There may be merit, but I'm going to call them sick motherfuckers anyway. Call me a bigot. Publicly flay me for not understanding these poor afflicted people. I mean, I dress up as a fairy occasionally. And The Hot Girlfriend is half my age. And I recently attended a Michael Jackson party... But these okes are something special! I had written a whole bunch more, but I'm not getting into it anymore.

I'm off to play football in this ghastly weather. Let's hope I don't melt like the salt pillar I will undoubtedly be turned into for all my blaspheming and rabble rousing.

NGDG: I will finish all 600 grams of this pork ribs. Insh'allah!

Spread The Love. Just Leave The Fucking Kids Out Of It.

GET THE MEAT IN YOU!

Juggernaught! Actually today's post is about more than just the almighty Juggernaught, who happen to be playing tonight and have me more excited than a typical American teenage girl (the only virgin in her class) who is about to go to Prom with her quarterback boyfriend!
Today is all about music. Heavy music and all the glorious upcoming events. Obviously the whole internet is abuzz with news that Lamb Of God have confirmed 2 South African dates, but in my world that means 2 rather more important things:

1. My mates in Mind Assault get to expose themselves (more than usual) to a HUGE audience and rock their tits (al die lekker fokken TIETE!) off.
2. I don't have my news feed clogged up with shit jokes about some or other inconsequential sprog who's been born into a life of privilege and luxury. Who cares. Citizens, not subjects, motherfucker!

Not only that, but this weekend it's Metal4Africa Winterfest time! Last time I passed out on the dance floor. Let's hope a more appropriate level of decorum is observed this time. Looking like a homeless person who accidentally stumbled into a rich kid's party and then drank all the free punch is not becoming...

Anyway, back to tonight. Tonight is Bluestown Sessions, a firm favourite and weekly event at Mercury. Tonight we get to stomp around to the man(iacal) rock of Juggernaught, as they "bring the meat back". Clearly this means they're reintroducing what it means to traditionally be a real man, none of this guyliner shit. None of this emo she-doesn't-understand-me-now-I'll-pretend-to-understand-Poe shit. Just a bunch of beer-guzzlin', whiskey-chuggin', bearded dudes showing you bunch of chops their face-melting, erm... chops. Not only that, but a rare treat in the form of an all-star collaboration is also on the cards. I'm especially keen to see what The Hair and Snake Hips (from Sabretooth and Th'DamnedCrows disrespectively) come up with. It should be quite an education, especially if RamFest was anything to go by... No wonder that beer tent was so empty after a while.

Not to mention the greatest band in South Africa (oh no, wait, that's the other lot...) had a really good practice last night. My studio (in which I was NOT touched) was almost littered with the top half of all our heads. Life is good!

I wish the weather had the internet, then it would see how wrong it is right now and feel ashamed and go somewhere else.

NGDG: Machine guns in a Polo? I could kill that gangster Krecjik instantly. I'd just slip a note in his bodyguard's pocket that says: "Do you even lift, boet? Kisses, Radovan."

Spread The Love. Get The Meat IN You!

ON A SCALE OF ONE TO 10...

... you're a nil.

I find it very difficult to maintain any sort of inspiration. You know, in the every day goings on of one's life. I work, as we all do. Jeesh, that's the real test! Getting out of bed is bad enough in this weather, but schlepping one's unwilling arse into an office, no matter how luxurious or glamorous the situation, can be soul destroying.

Then we have our exercise routines. Well, some of us do. I've been neglecting the running of late - I blame the weather. I'm far too old (but clearly not dignified enough) to be flinging this carcass about in the rain. Cold I don't mind too much. It's running into the teeth of a storm which has me bolting for the car and a glass of wine at home instead.
Luckily the once-a-week football is still as enticing as always. Except, once again, when it's horrible Cape winter fare. But at least there are a whole bunch of other people suffering through the same appalling conditions with you, so that makes it bearable. It's like getting into the pool. Once you're cold and wet, you can't get any colder or wetter. And unlike with the running, you aren't afforded so much time trudging along a lonesome pavement to contemplate your drowned rat status.

I also occasionally make music. This is generally considered a team sport. We (all the various band members and I) all contribute where ever and when ever we can. No suggestions are overlooked or dismissed out of hand. But one still needs to mull over one's own contribution and sometimes one experiences what is commonly regarded as writer's block. Which is frustrating.
And just as common when your contributions to the well of written word mulch clogging up the internet is concerned. Some people attempt lucid, well formed arguments, but fail in the piercing flourescent glare of public opinion. Some stick to a hard-line, hard-headed refusal to budge an inch in their stubbornly held opinions. And then get kakked out by the wallowing herd. Some make light of serious issues in order to elevate themselves from the chewers of politically correct cud. And are shot down by indignant net-warriors. Correctly so, but to the perverse enjoyment of all onlookers. And some pick a pretty picture and start moering the keyboard until something with an alarming amount of fragment error emerges, hit spell check so we can't be ridiculed by the people we compulsively correct, and reluctantly send our cerebral diarhhea out into the wide world of the web...

And later get beaten with sticks for wasting approximately 8 minutes of our mates' time...

So to avoid getting chased out of town by a lynchmob of angry blog readers, I have some news for you!

Tonight I have band practice. I'm really looking forward to it. Playing the songs we have been working on for so long with a full compliment of skilled and motivated members is a feeling of indescribable wonder and so I will refrain from trying to describe it. But tonight is gonna ROOOOOOCK!

Perhaps something newsworthy will happen in the world shortly. Then you won't have to put up with all of this.

NGDG: Restaurant review: EAT. A saltier Beef Stroganoff hasn't been had since 1974 when Lyudmilla Ismailovna queued all day for beef, cream and mushrooms to find that the only produce at her village soviet was, da, salt.

Spread The Love. It's Smaller Than Three.

THE VURLD ISS DILDOS.

Skwisgard's first attempt at scatter cushions was a huge success in convents.

I really despair for the state in which the world finds itself these days. Your favourite chocolate and cereal manufacturer is killing cute domestic animals wholesale. Groups advocating this very cruelty (and hiding behind some bullshit Hitler said about all the little children) are allowed to exist on social media platforms. Shameless, shameful examples of human filth proudly post pictures as they stand over slain wild animals, their guns held in the air like rednecks at a cousin ho-down. And people are still expected to believe there is no underhanded agenda when it comes to the policy makers controlling our every day lives.

What to do? What to do?

Well, we could all sit and make wailey-wailey sounds, but that's not particularly productive. In fact, it's just about as productive as pushing the "unlike' button and hoping that it'll make the slightest difference. Whilst I am all for creating and spreading awareness, I find all too often that those in question just carry on regardless. It is, however, the one or two cases of success against bigotry, cruelty and stupidity that should inspire us to continue giving the ignorant and the cruel a hard time. Perhaps even consider stepping it up from clicking "share"... At the very least do something outside of the internet...

Also, to maintain some balance in your life, you owe it to yourself to make ample time for enjoyment. Personally, I prefer dressing up in discarded womens' clothing and making a right tit of myself on Saturday evenings in the freezing cold. It's invigorating!
Occasionally I make music with my friends. Like last night. Last night was good for the soul. I may as well let the cat out of the bag... There will be a sequel to Symphonaire Infernus. For those of you who don't know, Symphonaire Infernus was our wildly successful tribute show that honoured all our most beloved Doom Metal bands. Various members from various bands got together and put on one almighty show, playing monumental tracks from the likes of My Dying Bride, Theatre Of Tragedy, Type O Negative, Swallow The Sun, Anathema, Electric Wizard and Reverend Bizarre. The next one is going to be even more immense, if last night's impromptu first rehearsal is anything to go by. We have some awesome surprises in store for all you lucky little fishies!

And then there's all the other wonderful bands we can go and watch. Juggernaught, those meat-eating, whiskey-chugging, blues'n'roll man-rock behemoths will be playing in Cape Town this weekend, most notably at Mercury Live on Thursday as special guests at The Bluestown Sessions, joining an all star cast of stellar musos - not an event to be missed!
And then on Saturday it's time to board the bus (moving bar) and go to the annual Metal4Africa Winterfest! This year the tireless team bring us Bile Of Man from up north as well as a whole host of local talent for a night (and afternoon) that will leave you bruised, sweaty, deliriously happy and on the verge of giving up alcohol for good. I can't wait! Download the free sampler - featuring singles from every band performing - here.

I don't hold a lot of hope for Sunday...

NGDG: You know you're getting old when you have a spare R4000 and you use it to settle your credit card rather than buy a replica human skeleton from the Linvar medical supplies catalogue.

Spread The Love. Stop Killing Bunnies For Safer Snacks.

GRAB YOUR CROTCH AND SAY "HEEE! HEEEE!!!"

I've had just about enough of the kids moaning on the internet (he says, moaning on the internet). What's wrong with the back of the panel van? Things were so different in my day. (Hand me my Zimmer frame...) Here's a tip that's going to prove incredibly valuable to your possible growth as a human being. "It's not them. It's you!" Responsibility is not an ugly word. You're the common denominator in all your problems. People don't dislike you because you're different. They dislike you because you're a monumental pain in the arsehole.

Also, I had quite an awesome weekend!

Friday night's football was an exercise in fluid fantasy. No, not that kind. The kind that makes jaded fans believe in the beautiful game again. So much awesome skill on one pitch...

Then it was a race home to dive through a shower and get started with band practice. Well, I don't know what to tell you. You know you're finally doing something worth doing when grown men stand around in a room and grin uncontrollably at each other. That, or something sordid and very illegal. But for now, it's being kept firmly under our hats. Not that any of us wear hats. We're not THAT kind of band.

Saturday was the Big Day. Those of you who know, will know. Party decorations and gazebos were erected. Trays full of sweets were out - no doubt to lure the innocents to NeverNeverLand. Bubbles was even there, but not in the shape of a chimpanzee, rather just a machine. One or two decent attempts at Michael Jackson outfits and a handful of really half-arsed attempts did nothing to dissuade the judges from proclaiming yours truly - resplendent in a Tinkerbell outfit - the ultimate fancy dress winner! Well, unofficially. And if I was the sole judge... Damn it, I was cold! Much later, and with unrestricted access to the punch, I found myself snoozing on a couch. It's a strange ol' feeling being teabagged by a 20 year old girl, but there you have it. The Hot Girlfriend was being flung around the dancefloor by what appeared to be a seasoned skoffel expert, but what turned out on closer inspection to be Prince One El. Apparently the floor was the most popular destination for the evening, with most people making regular visits. I have bruises. But I'm in relatively good shape compared to the poor cake, which got mangled and maimed by a gang of bloodthirsty drunkards. Quite a shame actually. No, really. Needless to say, I spent yesterday recovering and manfully fighting back a refrain of "I'll never drink again!"

And that's all I have for you today, folks! It ain't over 'til Porky Pig sings!

NGDG: People say the Sunday papers are too depressing. Then don't read the property section.

Spread The Love. Heal The World.