Currently in Turkey, and I'm way behind on the blogging. I'll try to catch up in smallish installments.

I don't have a cable for my camera (I borrowed my brother's to post the animal pikchurs), sorry folks. Anyway, leaving the Kruger Park.

We stayed in the Kruger Park longer than we should have.We wanted to leave, but MORE BLOODY ANIMALS kept showing up and demanding that we look at them. An hour or so late, we left the park and got on our way to the next sop--the Sudwala Caves.

I'd been to the caves twice before, as a child--once with my primary school, once with my family. I LOVED going to see the caves--which contain the largest dolarmite formations int he Southern Hemisphere--but I haven't been there since the 1980s.

I recognized the exterior--the wrought iron grid over the rockface--but I was shocked at how familiar the interior was. Everything was familiar; every stop off and every formation: King Kong, the amphitheater, the Devil's Workshop, the Rock Serpent, Fairyland, even the Shadow Soldier. I remembered wanting to climb into the areas where the tour didn't go, as a child, and I mentioned this to the guide. She told me that they actually have tours that allow you to go climbing through that muck for hours, first Saturday of every month. Which of course is right after I leave here, but next time I'm in the country I'm gonna do it. Living the dream, baby.

There's a dinosaur park outside the Sudwala Caves, just like Jurassic Park, only instead of CGI, the dinosaurs are made of concrete. I remember it fondly from my childhood, but we didn't have time for it--we had to get back to Johannesburg, because none of us much wanted to drive through the city late at night. We got on the road and I floored it.

Winding through those mountain roads in daylight was an altogether different proposition than at night. The posted speed limit is 120, but most of the traffic does 140 or more,  dodging buses and trucks on the 2-3 lanes of highway. I put my foot down and we went. Twilight fell and the razory African light turned rusty. It was clear we weren't gonna make it back before dark, but another problem presented itself--fuel. The quarter of a tank that should have taken us the distance, but none of us anticipated how quickly you can burn that up when traveling down the freeway at 140-160km/h. When the fuel light came on I was alarmed, we were right up against Joburg and it was dark. I moved all the way to the left and slowed to 80. The exit for Benoni came up and we limped off in search of petrol.

Benoni is a small city right outside of Joburg. Its claim to fame is that Charlise Theron grew up there, 'on a farm'. I can see why somebody might have thought that, it was full of pickup trucks ('bakkies') and  windowless bunker burger joints with massive neon signage. Not a goat or an mealie (ear of corn) in sight... but they had petrol.

We gassed up and I roared back into Johannesburg without anybody even shooting at us.

Caught up with my cousins in the evening. The following day we drove to the airport and flew to Durban, the big city in the semi-tropical Kwazulu Natal province.

To be continued, ay yay.

-- JF

Ok, we seem to be back in action here in Joey's Burg...

Continuing with the road trip, this time with more pictures and less talk.

Additional stops en route to the Kruger Park:

God's Window, a mountain outlook with, literally, a view for miles... but when we arrived all that was visible was a wall of white vapour.  We walked around up there for about an hour waiting for the clouds to burn off (it's that high). Here's what it looked like:

The Three Rondevals--gigantic rock formations that are shaped like traditional round houses:

The Lisbon Falls--a small but pretty waterfall:

Then on into the Kruger park. We arrived late in the afternoon, checked in at our camp site (Pretoriuskop) just long enough to drop our bags and then tried to see some stuff in the 45 minutes remaining before the gates closed. We saw some young deer, a mongoose, a hare, and some birds that looked sort of like cormorants in that time. I didn't get any photos.

Up at 5 the next morning, and we saw tonnes of stuff. Baboons inside the camp site. Various kinds of deer: impala, kudu... almost as many as we saw trees. We saw a warthog. We saw crocodiles. My brother managed to get photos with his honking big camera, but my little Nikon Coolpix was inadequate to the task. I did, however, get a few decent shots...

Technical complications wth the internet access in my hotel (ie wireless is busted) have prevented me from posting the photos I had intended. Hopefully I can blog that up tomorrow. For the moment, I thought I'd talk about what I'm seeing in the news here in South Africa.

The election strife in Zimbabwe is item #1. Seems that everybody wants Thabo Mbeki's government to do something aout their neighbour to the north. Thabo Mbeki, however, has bigger things on hismind, such as renewing the just-expired contract of his mate, the police commissioner... who is presently on trial for corruption.

The nxt item is the police strike. Yesterday, as part of a wage dispute, the Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department blocked off the M1 and M2 motorways, preventing motorists from getting into downtown. And by preventing, I mean macing and 'sjamboking': a sjambok is 5' long rubber weapon that resembles a club and a whip at once. The South African Police Service intervened and a massive firefight broke out. Massive gun violence is not unusual in downton Jo'burg, but it's not USUALLY the JMPD fighting with the SAPS. "Practising for the World Cup in a couple years' time," my father suggested.

Other news is more sedate: incest, gang rape, embezzlement. A 'takkie thief' ('takkies' are tennis shoes) received a 5 year prison sentence. And, I've saved the best for last:

Escaped Torturer on Rampage

Happy times,

-- JF

George Carlin's gone, huh? 72, that's tragically young--I always thought George would be taking names for a couple more decades. Damn.

Anyway, onwards. Adventures in South Africa--with pictures.


JASON, OF THE BUSHVELDT

My brother's friend Felicity was supposed to join us from Durban before we went off on our road trip... but massive delays incurred by flooding and a British Airways jet that skidded off the runway forced her to take the bus. She took the bus and arrived at 5am instead of 5pm.

Next problem--the travel agent booked our rental car for July, not June. We called all around Johannesburg, walked up to Hertz down the road from the hotel... nobody had a vehicle for us. Eventually, Avis at the Hyatt admitted to having a free vehicle--an A series Mercedes. Gavin, Felicity and I gleefully asked for 3 driver authorization andunlimited kilometers and set off in our shiny silver motor machine for the Kruger National Park, South Africa's famous game reserve with an area bigger than the state of Israel.

Getting out of Joburg wasn't quite so easy. A wrong turn on one of the interchanges I mentioned had us turning back, skirting Alex township as we tried to get onto the correct motorway. You might have sen pictures of it recently on the news--that's where the anti-foreigner riots started. There's a wall around it with big signs that say 'Controlled Area'. Even by daylight, Alexandra Township does not look like a friendly place.

We headed north and east. When it was dark, we pulled into the town of Nelspruit to grab some dinner. We sat at an outdoor table at a restaurant/pub called the Keg and Jock. Charcoal braziers provided light and heat. Nelspruit, I thought, seemed much more relaxed than Joburg. There were black and white patrons and nobody seemed particularly tense.

I took over the driving after dinner. The waitress' directions on how to get out of town were a bit vague and we pulled over to consult a map. Sitting on a dark street with the dome light on and my brother in the passenger seat poring over a big fat tourist map, I noticed a number of passers-by paying a bit more attention to us than I liked. I pulled back into the road and demanded that he turn the light off.

We found our way out of Nelspruit easily enough, in the end, and headed north towards Sabie to find a hotel. My first time driving in South Africa; doing 120km/h on winding, unlit country roads. We took the first hotel we found in Sabie.

Next day we headed out early. Our first stop was Pilgrim's Rest--a place I remembered by name from my childhood, though I couldn't remember what was there. Basically, a handicraft market, a couple of old buildings, and a restaurant. We parked the car in the wrong spot and somebody wound up washing it for us--a rental car that we were planning to take into the Game Reserve.

Well, boys and girls, I'm now officially on vacation, and have been for a few days. Currently in the Natal province in South Africa. I'm going to blog it out over several posts, as I get time, before I syndicate them to www.jasonfranks.com. There will be photos in coming installments, and I will have to eventually go back and log up my visit to Stockholm... but for now, Africa.

The first new Blackglass book for 2008, ROBOTS ARE PEOPLE 2.0, is now available!

>

Followup to Greg Vondruska's 2007 book, ROBOTS ARE PEOPLE, TOO!, this book contains eight stories about robots and artificial intelligence by Jason Maranto, Lou Copeland, Fran Matera, Mace Markham, Dan Boyd, Greg Vondruska, Gary Culler and Jason Franks.

Edited by

vondruska_draw

 

28 pages, B&W interior, colour cover by Fran Matera.




-- JF

The new Blackglass Press site is live!

New look, new web store, finally my comics home on the web looks like a real website. Please check it out, love to hear what you think.

Stand by for the official announcement of the first new Blackglass book for 2008.

-- JF

I'm pretty hard to offend.

I work in the internet security field and I know that spam and malware are, at the end of the day, just business. Just a numbers game. It costs a spammer nothing to violate a hundred million inboxes. If .001% of the people exposed to it are dumb enough to click the link and by the penis pump, the spammer has made a profit.

But seeing spam comments advertising child pornography arrive in my old blog posts tis morning has really pissed me off.

I don't know what Livejournal has in place, but it doesn't seem to be doing very much. There are PLENTY of antispam technologies available that would have filtered that--I should know, I worked on one of them.

Not good enough.

-- JF

Lots to say about my trip to Stockholm; expect it to appear in a travel journal some time (no, I haven't given up on those). In the meantime, however, Franks' advice about how not to be an asshole tourist.

1. OPEN YOUR EYES
Look at the stuff around you before you start snapping photos. I mean, stop and really look at it. It looks different when you're not seeing it through a viewfinder.

2. OPEN YOUR GODDAMN EYES
Look where you're going. Don't just stare at the monuments and the buildings and the crazy fashions. Don't block any doorways or thoroughfares. Don't walk in front of other pedestrians, bicycles, trams, trains or semi-trailers.

3. LOSE THE MAP
Seriously. Know vaguely where you want to go, but orient yourself and then put the map away. For one thing, it makes it easier to accomplish point item 2 above. For another, you see all the coolest shit when you get lost.

4. KIT APPROPRIATELY
Aside from cameras and maps, the best way to spot a tourist is by their kit. Leave your gear at the hotel or the hostel, you don't need to carry it all at once You don't NEED a giant backpack filled with drinks and food and maps and eighty camera lenses unless you're out in the jungle or you're a very serious photographer. And you're extra annoying when you stumble around in crowds with it, taking up space where there isn't any, smacking and shoving passersby with the bulk every time you turn. A small satchel or shoulderbag  to put your map and camera, sunscreen and shades in is all you need.

5. CONSIDER YOUR CHILDREN
If you have children with you, try to consider their needs--they can't walk as far, they need food, they get bored. And the corollary: learn to control your screaming, shitting, stinking spawn in public.

6. SHUT YOUR MOUTH
Close your mouth. You don't need to loudly compare everything you see to your home country in your big Yankee or Aussie accent, you will only attract criminals or drunken blowhards who want to argue with you about John Wayne or Steve Irwin. You don't need to keep shoving food into it. You don't need to read aloud from your guidebook. You can get away with saying surprisingly little in countries that don't speak your language and it's generally less trouble all around. People don't have to know you're Not From Around Here; whatever you might think it does not make you special or endearing.

7. DRESS APPROPRIATELY
This can be more difficult than it sounds. Dress casual and practical. Jeans and a t-shirt (or some other kind of shirt) in flat colours will serve you well everywhere you go. Avoid anything that has your home country's flag or name on it. Avoid the latest fashions--they're not the latest where you're going. Hats are also a dead giveaway. Socks are surprisingly telling: in the American south, they gotta be white. In Scandinavia, they have to be dark.

I get by most places in tennis shoes and hiking boots, but here in Sweden I'm the only one wearing boots in the summer--but I refuse to wear loafers or socks and sandals.Still, one never knows when steel toecaps are gonna be handy.

(Ladies, I got nothing for ya on this one--women's fashion is way too difficult for a geek like me)

Happy travels,

-- JF

Been so madly busy the last week that I haven't had time to catch up on livejournal, let alone post. Went to Stockholm for a long weekend of IT-free sightseeing to decompress a bit.

Anyway, some things happened last week that I wanted to have a say about, so here they are:

Bo Diddley is dead. I saw him perform a couple years ago at the Tampa Blues Fest with Clarence Gatemouth Brown in support. Eighty thousand fuckin' years old and he apologizes for the fact that he will sit for this performance, he had back surgery the day prior. One of the true progenitors of rock'n'roll, Diddley kicked arse and took names right to the end. Hats off, Bo, you are indeed the gunslinger.

Barack Obama wins the democratic primaries. Whiel I admit that the messiah complex makes me uneasy, I'm glad it was him: Clinton's rhetoric always sounded scripted and insincere, she lied like a certain Republican to make herself seem more experienced, and I simply don't believe you can trust a supposedly liberal politician who made her bones demanding censorship. America needs to put that kind of kind of cynicism behind it for the moment. Whatever his flaws, Obama presents himself as an idealist and an optimist and, true or not, America sure could use some of that right now.  In any case, the sideshow is over now... time to see what's under the big top.

I sure wish it was Bo and Clarence.

-- JF

Still here in Sweden, stressed an exhausted. I have another 2 weeks here. By the time I check out of this hotel I will have lived here for as long as I have in my current residence in Melbourne. Boy am I getting tired of restaurant food, even the awesome quality stuff they serve up over here.

We're getting the job done, but it's not easy. I'm struggling to get some momentum up: but it's a big team with a lot of new blood and an office environment that's slow to get moving. Still, I'm finally starting to feel like I've got the lever lodged under the boulder--I'm just not sure I'm standing uphill from it yet.

Otherwise not much going on. Been out for a few low key drinks with my colleagues a few times, checked out some museums (the maritime museum and the radio museum, because I am big fat pencil-necked geek). There's a public holiday on Friday; I'm thinking of ducking out to another city. Copenhagen and Oslo are the closest; 2-4 hours on the train. I'd love to hit Stockholm, but it's too far to make it worthwhile for such a short trip. I'm going to miss the big metal festival when I head down to Africa, unfortunately, bu tI'm hoping I can still see somebody good while I'm here. Gothenberg metal, Baby.  Hail Satan.

Otherwise, the new comics are sitting at home and I'm sitting here, so I'm holding off on the launch until July. I've written a 10 pager for Tom Bonin's excellent occult adventure series, DICKS. Wrote a few more pages of the XDA ZAI story I put aside last year to focus on finishing up old projects. I've been cleaning up various and sundry other stuff in my spare time but I'm usually too fried to get much done in the evening.

Tomorrow I'm going to get up early and go for a run, although my mysterious ankle injury has returned and I'm now sure how far I'll get. I'm getting a bit of exercise walking to work in the sunshine every day, but it's not enough to get my heart rate up and I've already lost a bunch of fitness to the never-ending head cold and the massive travel time. Exercise is what I need to clear out the cobwebs and shake off the dust.

-- JF

I'm here in Gothenberg, safe and sound, getting over the jetlag, getting over the cold that's been dogging me the last few weeks. Flights were hellish, don't even ask.

I've had a request for some travel stories, and I have to admit I'm hard pressed. I'm here for work so there's not a lot of time for crazy. I didn't write much of anything after my trip here in January, and now I'm back in the same city... well, it's still kinda the same.

The big difference is in the daylight. When I was here in January I only really got to experience daylight at lunch time and on weekends: it was dark when I rolled into the office, dark when I rolled out.  Now, with summer coming, the sun sets around 10pm and rises less than a handful of hours later. When I work up on Monday night I had a brief panic--I thought I'd missed my alarm and I was late for my first day at the office. Then I looked at the clock it and discovered that it was 4am.

The only other story I have is from the flight here. I flew in on KLM, an airline I've never used before. Sitting on the plane listening to the announcements in a fog of fatigue, I thought to myself "Wow, my Swedish is improving! I can actually understand some of that!"

Wasn't til we were starting our descent that I realized the pilot was speaking Dutch.

-- JF

10 SONGS #8 "Liar" by Rollins Band, WEIGHT, 1994

I've been on a huge Rollins kick since he was here a few weeks ago. I first 'discovered' Rollins as a teenager when Rollins Band was at its most successful, but I confess that it's only since I've started listening to his stand up/spoken word that I've really started to take him at all seriously. I was too young to appreciate Black Flag or that scene when I was a kid, and I purposefully avoided it for years when those early-mid period punk bands suddenly became critical darlings. I mostly knew Rollins as the arrogant fuck who did a sound bite for Channel Red (which preceded Channel V as Australia's music television channel--our version of MTV having died in the arse long years prior). I knew a few of his songs and I'd seen him in some shitty movies and I used to think that the funny stuff I heard him say was unintentional. Course, I was wrong--it actually took an appearance of Rollins' on a Les Claypool album to make me realize it. Anyway.

"Liar" is Rollins' most successful single from his most successful 'Rollins Band' album. It's the first Rollins song I heard and I figured now would be a good time to reassess it. When I put it on I was immediately surprised.

The songs starts out jazzy, even funky; the Band part of Rollins Band providing subtlety and texture that Henry claims that he himself isn't capable of. When the vocal comes in it's more a monologue than it is a song. Henry calmly explains to us how he manipulates some second party--a lover, an audience, a constituency--into trusting him by saying what people want to hear. The drums pick it up, distorted guitars lead in as Henry bellows the truth: I'M A LIAR. The drums pound, the guitars wind up a slow, brutal, minor-key assault that still somehow retains some of the opening funk. Henry threatens us with annihilation before subsiding back to his monologue, but now there's a nastiness in his tone while he explains what exactly he gets out of the whole thing. "I'll come to you like an affliction, but I'll leave you like an addiction."

After another massive chorus Rollins returns to us, contrite: he sees he was wrong, he's sorry, he's really a nice guy, give him another chance. He pleads for our trust one more time, but the the band betrays him; the more desperate Rollins sounds, the  more brutally the band coils the song until Rollins explodes with malevolent laughter. "Sucker! Sucker! Sucker!" he taunts us, gleeful as a schoolyard bully. "I AM A LIAR, YEAH, I LIKE IT, I FEEL GOOD, YEAH! I LIE!" He ends with a sincere promise that he will keep on lying. The band closes it out with a jazzy lick, a shimmery little flourish on the cymbals.

"Liar" was part of a trifecta of self-loathing alternative radio songs that I guess appealed to my teenaged self. Together with Radiohead's "Creep" and Beck's "Loser", I had every angle of low personal esteem covered, which I think is essential for every growing boy. Out of the three of those song, "Liar" is the one that got the least airtime. Since then Beck has gone from a busker to a savant and Radiohead have gone from maudlin rockers to... well, Radiohead, the visionary geniuses who've tried to disown their first hit, which is still perfectly a serviceable rock song (but I still like the long-faced bastards). Rollins, meanwhile,  has never matched that success again and he's now more successful as a speaker than a musician. But 'Liar' is a much better song than I remember--the truth is that I failed to appreciate it for what it is. All I remembered was that humongous chorus, but it's only the barest part of the song. 'Liar' is really a lot closer to beat poetry than it is to hard rock, and a much smarter and more challenging listen for all that.

NOTES: Rollins ditched his original backing band in the late 1990s, because, says Wikipedia, he decided that they were getting too jazzy and the sound was losing its intensity. He brought Mother Superior, a local LA band, to replace them, and recorded an album or two with them before taking a couple of years' hiatus from recording music. If I'm not mistaken he now has the original Rollins Band backing him again.

The BAD-ASS FAERIES anthology that sevenredblurs and I have our story "Shadowcutting" in is now available for pre-order from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1892669463/ref=s9_ri_wizard

It is also available in eBook fom at the following vendors:

http://www.ebooksabouteverything.com/ebooks/item/1892669471/search/Bad-Ass-Faeries-2--Just-Plain-Bad.html

http://www.booksonboard.com/index.php?BODY=viewbook&BOOK=226840

http://www.ereadable.com/scripts/browse.asp?ref=1892669471

http://www.mariettapublishing.com/db/index.php?p=getitem&db_id=1&item_id=28

Warning: if you're looking for heart warmign stories about helpful pixies and happy elves, this probably isn't the book for you.

-- JF

This draw yourself as a teenager thing that's going around is pretty funny, so here's my attempt, clearly inspired by (and distinctly inferior to) the amazing Joel Carroll's entry.


Of course, 9mmed already gave me the treatment in far better style in autobio the comic story he drew for me last year...

-- JF

I hauled my sick and sorry arse out of the house this morning to go grocery shopping.

Walking from my car int he rain with my collar pulled up I notice people staring. I feel like shit, I look like shit, I'm cold and wet... my nose isn't working right but somehow I can smell that 'sick man' stink on me, despite having just gotten out of the shower and shaved with a new blade.

In the supermarket people are avoiding me as I stalk through the aisles collecting the items on my list: orange juice, chicken soup, tissues. A small boy drops his Spider-Man scarf and I pick it up. "Excuse me?" The boy can see me but he's backing away after his mother, who is pushing a pram with a younger sibling in it. "Excuse me." I step it, waving the scarf. The boy's eyes are wide with terror. Surely he can see that I have his scarf. "Excuse me." I've closed enough distance that the mother can hear my croak. She turns around and I see fright in her eyes.

I offer the scarf. "Excuse me, is this yours?"

"Yes. Um, thanks."

I'm sweating as I take my haul to the self-checkout area. I ring my my back of mandarins up as bananas. I'm hot, I'm now embarrassed, andalthough I had my choice of registers there's suddenly a line of people behind me. I just want to get out.

The security guy comes to check the signature on my credit card.

It's not until the evening that I happen to glance in the mirror. My hair is fucked up, my eyes are a bit glazed... and when I turn my head I see that I nicked myself shaving. I've been walking around all day with dried blood caked on the right hand side of my face and neck.

Now I'm going to take some drugs.

-- JF

Yesterday's flurry of LJ activity was apparently the early stages of a nasty cold.

Today I feel like crap.

-- JF

I should have some really awesome stuff very very soon, but in the meantime, here is some stuff about going to the movies that sucks:

Reality TV
It's been 8 years since this craze started, basically because it's cheap to make and studios don't need any of those grabby  fucking scriptwriters who want stuff like pay for their hackwork. FOR FUCK'S SAKE, STOP WATCHING REALITY TV.

Gratuitous Sequels
Ok, the LORD OF THE RINGS needs three movies--RAMBO doesn't. And RINGS was an adaptation of a novel. Get some new fucking ideas.Hey, I know, hire a screenwriter!

Bollywood
I love foreign cinema; it's nuanced and daring and subtle and alien and everything that mainstream Western cinema isn't... but Bollywood is the exception that proves the rule.

Ironic use of Cartoons
You know that scene in every recent movie where something of huge dramatic import is going to happen and the hero walks past a TV screen on which an old school Loony Toons cartoon is playing? Well, IT'S BEEN DONE.  Enough already.

Soundtrack Blues
Emo and Screamo are even less suitable soundtracks for action films than electronic dance music. Action heroes don't whine about how misunderstood they are. I know studios are desperate, now that the audience has noticed that Blur's "Song 2", ZZ Top's "La Grange", and Drowning Pool's "Bodies" are in every preview, but I guarantee there's somebody on every studio lot who actually knows something about music. Go steal the janitor-kid's iPod or something.

Concept Theft
You know, when a film trots out some concept that's been a science fiction trope  for 70 years, beats it up like it's the most revolutionary idea ever, and still manages to get it wrong? I'm sick of that. And, while we're at it, let's get somebody who's actually used email and the internet before and who knows what a firewall involved in the production before the next Superhacker movie comes out. Pretty please?

Don't Be Lame
Okay, whoever shot the ad for the Beijing Olympics with Jackie Chan just doesn't get it. YOU DON'T CGI JACKIE CHAN. AC/DC refused to do the Sydney Olympics opening ceremony because they were asked to lip sync. They're still super rich and popular and they've never been lame. Now Jackie Chan is lame and I want to go away and cry.

-- JF

As you may recall, I wrote about Bruce Mutard's landmark graphic novel, The Sacrifice, a couple of months back when I read an advance copy.

The official launch was Wednesday and it is now available. 

I went along to the event. The launch was MCed by Bernard Caleo, writer, artist, editor, publisher and showman. There was a big crowd in attendance--Bruce's editors and many of the guys from Melbourne's comics scene, including Greg Gates, Phil Bentley, Colin Wilson, Bobby N, James Andres, Dillon Naylor,  Paul Bedford, and Mandy Ord. Probably more guys I didn't even see.
Bernard provides better coverage here and I'm sure Bobby will blog it before long, he was there with his new camera and he usually gives much better coverage of these things than I do.

There is a clear movement by Australian book publishers to produce graphic novels, much like Pantheon et al are doing in the US, and the Sacrifice is part of the vanguard of this movement... but never mind all that nonsense, it's a terrific, though-provoking work of historical fiction. Mutard's work is polished and assured, massively researched and highly nuanced; oversized in format as well as in scope.

If you live in Australia, you should be able to find it in any good bookstore, filed in the Fiction section under M--check it out, you won't regret it. If you're overseas... well, there are no foreign editions scheduled at this point but you can order it online from Readings  (or a number of other places, I'm sure): http://www.readings.com.au/product/9781741751178/the-sacrifice

-- JF

Ok, ok, ok. I dig She Wants Revenge but the joke's been told, boys and girls.

The next band I see wearing flowerpots on their heads isn't getting a whipping, they're getting a bucket of hand grenades.

-- JF