J-Rab Takes a Spill

Today was a bit of a suck-ass day, J-Rab called me at about lunchtime in tears cause she took a bad fall at work and her elbow was all chewed up, so I jumped in the Red Baron and missioned off to save her.

Now she’s lying comatose in bed, they shot her full of Tramel, which is pretty strong stuff and I was jealous as hell.

Usually it’s me lying there, getting shot full of all manner of tranqs, muscle relaxants, anti-inflamatories and pain killers.

I’m a little accident prone. To put it lightly.

 

Skydiving - easier with a parachute (this isn't me in case you were wondering, just a random injured dude I found on the internet)

 

More than once I’ve stood in the wreckage around me, wondering how the fuck I’m still alive, praying to god that everyone else is too.

I’m a bit of a cynical fucker when it comes to god though. The only god I could ever believe in would be the ‘Deus Absconditis’ – the god who left, absconded from his throne.

He loaded the dice and left the game.

 

Moments later God left His creation to go fishing

 

Girls are gentle and delicate creatures. I always used to say to J-Rab she had bird’s bones, tiny and intricate and she would laugh and protest that she had normal bones like anyone.

Thing is, while we were waiting for her x-rays to be read today, I snuck out into the passage and found the doctor who was treating her staring at a PC screen with high-res pics of J-Rab’s x-rays.

I definitely nailed it all those years back. She does have little bird bones, I saw them.

It was really funny cause the doc looking at the x-rays was talking on her cell phone and not really paying attention to what was going on and the minute I saw J-Rab’s x-rayed arm I practically shouted, “HAH! BIRD BONES! I KNEW IT!”

 

J-Rab's X-Ray. I was right all along!

 

The doc stared at me like I was nuts. I wish I could say that was the first time, but doctors have stared at me like that more times than I care to count.

Especially on the day I took the biggest and best shit of my life, but that’s not really a topic I care to discuss right now, if you’re really interested maybe I’ll dedicate a post to it another time, your call. Stop looking at me like that.

So now I’m making supper, checking my mails and listening to the new Pearl Jam album. I might review it this weekend, doesn’t sound too bad, so far it’s an improvement on their last self-titled album, pretty stoked about that.

Better get back to my steak, it ain’t gonna cook itself 😉

-ST

Album Review: Arctic Monkeys – ‘Humbug’

Just the fact that I’m actually sitting (ok, lying) down to write this at the end of a long and painful day is testament to how impressed I am by what the boys from Sheffield have whipped out with ‘Humbug’.

 

Alex Turner - he's 23 and fronts the Arctic Monkeys. What a cool fucker.

 

I guess a couple of disclaimers should be mentioned before I launch into this and the first of those is that I am the biggest Queens of the Stone Age fan you will ever have the misfortune of coming across.

If a band had to write the soundtrack to my life, you bet your ass it would be QOTSA. They write dirty, sexy drug-fuelled rock music and are the best band currently recording and playing, and yes, that’s a fact.

So who gives a rat’s ass? Well, their frontman Josh Homme co-produced ‘Humbug’ (along with Simian Mobile Disco producer James Ford, but I know nothing about him, so back to Homme) and even if you’ve only heard a couple QOTSA songs, you’ll recognise his influence the second you hit play.

 

Josh Homme - Desert Rock God. Way cooler than Christ, even if the big JC could turn water to booze

 

Arctic Monkeys made a name for themselves writing infectious, energetic and surprisingly funny and intelligent indie music that was easy for people to get into.

‘Humbug’ is a complete departure from that. If you want another ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’-type album, something easy with a slightly poppy flavour, then run screaming now, cause ‘Humbug’ ain’t that album.

‘Humbug’ is dark and smooth. It’s the result of Homme taking a group of young and incredibly talented musicians under his wing and teaching them everything he knows.

I’d love to know how the relationship developed. Anyone who heard frontman Alex Turner’s side project The Last Shadow Puppets will know he’d already started experimenting with a more velvety vocal tone and darker sound before Homme stepped in, but the results post-Homme are phenomenal.

 

The Last Shadow Puppets - one of these dudes is Alex Turner, 10 points if you can guess

 

This album saunters into the room, kicking a dust storm up at its heels and calmly murders everyone in the bar. The production is slick and polished, everything happens exactly when and how it should, from the haunting organ pieces to the psychedelic Doors-ish interludes, it is almost instantly recognisable that yes, the boys from Sheffield have grown up. A shit-load.

Turner’s lyrics are as humourous as ever, only this time around they carry a kind of subtle menace and foreboding that will echo through your head the next time you walk a dark alley home alone.

The opening track, ‘My Propeller’ is just so fucking cool it’s scary. Just wait for the main riff to kick in, that’s Desert Rock my friends, the tone is unmistakable. But it’s Turner’s voice that’s really gonna blow your mind – he delivers an impressive baritone that flows like mercury and is sexy as hell (not in a gay way, just in a ‘Hey man, thought I would say’ way).

The first single ‘Crying Lightning’ (Track 2 on the album) has a bass line that snakes it’s way into your brain and almost feels like something out of a twisted carnival. Turner’s lyrics are at their most evocative on tracks like ‘Crying Lightning’ – ‘Your passtimes consisted of the strange / the twisted and deranged / and I love that little game you had called crying lightning’ – beautiful. 

You know that new Pink single about how ‘This used to be a funhouse, but now it’s full of evil clowns’? Well, the things that are lurking in the funhouse that is ‘Humbug’ would eat those ‘evil clowns’ for breakfast.

But it’s on track 3 ‘Dangerous Animals’ that the band really starts to flex its new muscle. The song’s main riff feels like a track off the QOTSA album ‘Lullabies to Paralyse’ (in fact a lot of ‘Humbug’ feels like that, spooky, intense), and yet it’s got a lot of the infectiousness of Arctic Monkeys earlier stuff, this is the track you’ll find yourself humming in traffic.

 

Definitely buy this if you dig Humbug

 

Track 5, ‘Potion Approaching’ takes progressive rock in a completely different direction from anything I’ve ever heard. It starts with a riff straight from the Nirvana song ‘Very Ape’ and wanders waaaaayyy out there into the desert as it slides into a down-tempo interlude that smacks of The Doors.

From Nirvana to The Doors? Can it be done? It can, and the thing is, it works. The sense of pace and timing on this album is exceptional – they are in no rush to get anywhere, they give the tracks on this album the space they need to breathe comfortably and they make damn sure when their choruses hit, they hit hard.

There are too many tracks on this album for me to go through it all, so let it just be said that I cannot fault this album.

The Arctic Monkeys have shown huge balls in taking a totally different direction musically and I’ll tell you this much for free, the happy-shouty, jumping-up-and-down, radio-friendly audience they used to have are going to drop them like a worm-infested Happy Meal about 2 minutes into this album.

But the rest of us, the few thinking, feeling people left who still believe that the primary function of art, and thus music, should always be to challenge us, bend our minds to new ideas and force us to look deeper into our own selves, the rest of us will love the shit out of this album.

Final Verdict: 9/10

Killer Sunday

Yesterday was definitely a pretty killer day as far as Sundays go. Back in school Sundays always used to depress the shit out of me, especially as it got closer to Monday, but once you start working, every free second you have to yourself is precious.

By the time I finished writing up that last post (how epic was that post?!? Fuck, I thought it would never end) it was already about 10 in the morning so I called up my buddy, Ex-Polar Bear Jon because I had to play him one of the best albums I’ve heard this year.

The Ex-Polar Bear and myself love talking shit endlessly about music. Thing about ExBear is that he eatssleepsbreathesshitsloveslives music. He works at ProSound and is one of the best and most badass blues/rock/acoustic grunge guitarists playing in Joburg right now.

So he comes over and we make some coffee and roll a few games of Backgammon (NEVER play Backgammon against me, I will destroy you). He plays me his favourite tracks from the new Pearl Jam, pretty good, pretty decent album, but then the gloves come off.

I start playing the album I called him over to listen, and it blows his mind, soft and slimey, all over the living room walls.

The new Arctic Monkeys album, Humbug, is fucking amazing. Sure, you don’t know me very well at this stage and probably you think this is what I say for lots of albums, but I assure you, it’s VERY seldom that I’ll give an album the accolade of being ‘fucking amazing’.

 

This album does not fuck around. I want it in and around my mouth

 

Tonight I’m gonna try get my lazy ass into gear and write my first album review for this blog, so I can properly explain how happy Humbug makes me on so many different levels, in the meantime, just buy that album, but it now!

Once I had thrashed ExBear sufficiently at Backgammon, he left in shame and (drum roll) I actually got my fucking hair cut.

Man-o-man, it was WAY overdue. I even feel lighter, like my head weighs less and my body temperature has dropped down a degree or two now that that large, dead animal no longer adorns my head.

Things are looking up.

I was a little nervous though cause by a slight coincidence, the last time J-Rab got her hair cut, it was by the same lady and without getting into details, J-Rab and I were going through a bit of a rough patch because I had been a total, total jerk.

J-Rab told the hairdresser some of the story which was why I half expected to walk out of there looking like a lawnmower had driven over my skull.

 

No one deserves a haircut this bad. No one.

 

I voiced this concern to the hairdresser, but she laughed and said no, she is a professional and as much as I deserve it, she wasn’t going to cut my hair and leave me looking like my parents are cousins.

After that it was lunch with the folks, same old same old. Our family has no traditions, none. We have no cultural heritage, no specific dress, no music, no art, nothing. We eat lunch. That is how our little tribe (which is only really my folks and me) bonds. Over snooty lunches in snooty restaraunts. The dining dead.

I picked up J-Rab after that and brought her sexy little ass home. I love that woman about as passionately as it is humanly possible, she just GETS me, she understands me really, really well, is just really fucking cool.

We did the domestics, other stuff too, and afterwards I by mistake called her ‘dude-babe’.

It was pretty hilarious, as I was leaving the bedroom and I meant to say, ‘Fuck babe, I don’t think I can feel my legs’, but instead I said ‘Fuck dude-babe, I um…’

 

This is what my mind conjurs when I think of a 'dude-babe'. Bleaugh.

 

‘Dude-babe?’ she said, laughing her ass off. Haha, so funny, I nearly called my girlfriend ‘dude’.

Freud would have a field day. Actually, first he’d have about four lines of coke, THEN he’d have a field day.

We laughed our asses off about that one, but the real gem of the evening happened just as we were about to doze off together.

I ask J-Rab if I can tell her a joke, so she says OK, and my joke goes like this:

Me: A termite walks into a bar
J-Rab: Okay…
Me: And asks, ‘Where is the bar tender?’

Silence. [SFX: Crickets]

J-Rab: Yeah?
Me: Yeah! That’s it, ‘Where is the bar tender?’
J-Rab: Haha, isn’t there more?
Me: No babe – A termite walks into a bar and asks, ‘Where is the bar tender?’
J-Rab: O-kaaayyy…
Me: Hahhaa, c’mon babe, think about the words, a termite walks into a bar and asks where is the bar TENDER y’know? Cause he wants to eat it.
J-Rab: Um… he wants to eat the bar tender?
Me: Hahaha, aaahh babe, you’re killing me, hahahahahaha!
J-Rab: What?
Me: ‘Where is the BAR TENDER?’ Cause he wants to eat the BAR, cause it’s made of wood and he wants to know where it’s TENDER, y’know, like soft so he can eat it!

We laughed so damn hard about that we both ended up in tears – best. Joke. EVER!

 

Termites: Funny as fuck

 

I couldn’t think of a better way of ending a really killer weekend and as I held J-Rab close and started drifting off I felt so calm and content, my mind clear and happy.

And that my friends, is love.

-ST

Rocking the Gardens

Hoo-wee, Saturday turned out to be, what me and my good friend Robert Crumb like to call: Cu-RAZY POPS!

 

Chaos Ensues

 

Picking up where we left off from: after my post yesterday I went straight back to sleep, I mean 8.30 on a Saturday morning, c’mon, you would have done the same thing.

Three hours later I found myself at my buddy Peggles‘ flat, drinking really good filter coffee and watching Muse to their thing on the HAARP DVD.

Graumpot was there too, getting his dirty paws on Peggles‘ X-Box games. Peggles, he’s a rad dude, but he shows me this documentary he spent his Friday night watching, it’s called Capturing the Friedmans and deals with child molestation.

I didn’t catch the details cause to be honest, there’s enough fucked up shit in my head already. I’ll definitely add a whole bunch more before I die, but not without at least some self-censorship.

I mean, to give you an idea, watch Visitor Q, it’s a Japanese movie that deals with domestic abuse, concensual father/daughter incest, necrophilia, heroine, rape and unbelievable amounts of lactation.

 

This is the movie that is going to win hands down the next time you and some random strangers are having a 'who's seen the most fucked up movie' conversation

 

Yeah, and that’s a sunny day at the beach compared to all the other shit in their already.

Graum left with Fallout 3 and me and Peggles played darts. I dig darts, it’s really just a complicated trick of memory and fine muscle control, neither of which I was really excelling at yesterday.

Dart boards always remind me of this one time I was at Peggles‘ folks place, they have a badass bar downstairs where I’ve been drinking and getting fucked up at since i was about 13.

I don’t know how it happened, but another buddy of mine, The Glaze and myself decided it would be fun to take turns throwing darts at one another.

Yes, we’d been drinking.

So The Glaze spreads his hand out flat, palm down in the middle of the dartboard and looks the other way.

I aim as carefully as I can and manage to peg the dart into the wall, about a foot away from The Glaze’s hand.

Then he throws and nails me right in the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. He threw really softly and the dart only just punctured the skin, then fell out.

After that I was justifiably enraged.

‘Fuck that shit!’ I said, massaging where the dart had hit me, ’round 2 asshole!’

And so, being the good sport he is, The Glaze put the same hand back on the dartboard. This time I didn’t hold back – that bit earlier about fine motor skills? I used none of them, I just swung my hand like I was throwing a punch and the dart pegged millimeters away from The Glaze’s middle finger, it’s entire 3cm tip sunk into the cork.

Everyone laughed, had that dart been any closer, it would have gone straight through his finger.

And so it was with some reluctance that I spread my right hand on the board.

I looked away and gritted my teeth, the room went quiet, The Glaze aimed like he never had in his life before, and…

BAM! The dart sails through the air and straight into the bone of my second knuckle, where it stuck.

‘AAAAAA FUUUCCCCCKKKK!!!’ was all I pretty much said, I had to flick my hand really hard to get the dart out and it bled like no tiny hole ever has.

Good times 🙂 Pity the scar it left was so tiny – let that be a lesson, don’t do something really stupid unless you’re at least 70% sure if it goes wrong you’ll have a cool scar.

 

Darts injuries - so not worth it

 

After Peggles destroyed me at darts we headed to this outdoor concert called ‘Rocking the Gardens’ at the Johannesburg Botanical Gardens to watch a bunch of bands; me Peggles and Pa-ool.

It was pretty funny when we first arrived cause while most people got the chilling part of it right (ie, they bought deck chairs and blankets and sun cream and umbrellas) they all either didn’t take their own booze (cause yeah, technically it wasn’t allowed) or they took bottles and busted by the rent-a-cops at the door.

We were smart, we decanted a bottle of Vodka into an empty bottle of mineral water and took 4 litres of Sprite and plastic glasses and they let us straight in.

I’m not a huge Vodka fan, but it’s the easiest thing to sneak into anywhere.

And so we found a patch of grass / dirt in the shade to sit on and started drinking. An hour later had found ourselves a place to invade and were sitting on blankets with Jenna-fuh (my flatmate who was there too) and her buddy [insert name].

It turned out to be a pretty cool day. The sky shifted endlessly, sometimes sunlight broke through the clouds, hot and strong until you felt like you were baking in your own natural juices, then a fluffy cloud would drift by and life would be easy-breezy again.

The bands were nothing special and I doubt half the people there were listening anyway. The Black Hotels played a pretty uninspiring set and moped off, 340ml were all chilled out and funky as usual (people seem to like that stuff) and Gang of Instrumentals had a few awesome moments.

My favourite were a band called Bed on Bricks, pretty interesting take on rock / funk, I’ve got both their albums, they’re one of the better SA bands playing right now, people just don’t know it.

Halfway through it all I had to pick up J-Rab from work, but I was pretty relieved to have her with me cause I get restless when I’m out and she’s not there to party with me. I just feel guilty cause she’s working and having a crap time and I’m drinking and having fun.

We got back in time to tuck into the whisky that was going around our little campsite and catch the last couple of bands.

At one stage, J-Rab, Peggles’ girlfriend (we’ll call her PGF until I can think of something better) and me went to get some burgers, not realising that every one of us was totally plastered.

The ensuing chaos at the burger stand was like something out of a bad Monty Python skit.

 

It! Is! A! Dead! Parrot!

 

Burger Guy: What you want?
Me: Ok, it’s two cheese burgers, um, one chicken burger and one normal burger, I think? PGF, is Peggles having anything?
PGF: Yeah I think –
J-Rab: Isn’t he having a burger?
PGF: I think, yeah, he’s having one
Me: Are you having one?
PGF: Yes
Me: So what’s that?
J-Rab: What have you ordered?
Burger Guy: What’s the order?
Me: Sorry dude, shit, ok it’s two cheese burgers, um, two, no wait, three normal burgers, um a chicken burger – two chicken burgers?
J-Rab: What? Who’s the other chicken burger for?
PGF: How many is that?
Burger Guy: How many normal burgers?
Me: Wait, sorry, fuck, shit, how many burgers have you made?
J-Rab: It’s 5!
PGF: It’s 6!
Burger Guy: It’s 4!
Dude in queue: FUCK! I’M HUNGRY!
Me: FUCK! Doesn’t matter, just make it end, please, people hate me, I hate me, here, take my money, babe get the burgers, we’re leaving.

And that’s how I ended up getting everyone except me the wrong order, I just couldn’t handle the pressure, I buckled, handling complex mental tasks when you’re on the sauce is like trying to play golf underwater.

We left not long after the burger incident and J-Rab and I went home to eat left-over curry and watch Lesbian Vampire Killers, which I must say, is actually fucking funny as hell.

 

Kak funny! Cheesy, but in an awesome B-Grade way, watch it

 

It’s done very much in a Sean of the Dead vein, only with lesbian vampires, funny shit. I also bought the new Arctic Monkeys and Pearl Jam albums, but more on that later.

Today, I swear I’m getting my haircut. If I can’t at least get that right, then this entire weekend will have just added up to kicks and nothing else.

Wouldn’t be the first one, but I’m 25, not 19, I’ve got to at least accomplish 1 thing every weekend besides pickling my brain, partying like my life depends on it and sleeping in with J-Rab.

Fuck I wish she was here now, perfect day for DVDs, bed and about as much sex as you can handle.

Ahh, the good life 😉

-ST

Saturday Lands

I’m writing this in bed, it’s 7.50 on a grey Saturday morning and I guess the best song to describe the mood of today so far would be Foo Fighters ‘Stranger Things Have Happened’.

 

Rock stars - hairy and rad (except the dude on the left. He's a douchebag)

 

Dig that song, go find it right now, play that song and you will understand what great tone sounds like.

That acoustic guitar is doing everything it should, and the sound of that is so clean and bright, it’s like it’s playing right inside your head.

Something about the sound of a well played guitar sparks off and amazing feeling in me. It happened the first time when I was 11 years old, my mom bought me Nirvana ‘Nevermind’ for Christmas, and I’ve never been the same since.

 

Alright, I'll admit it, it's the naked baby-weiner that did it for me

 

The minute I slipped that cassette tape into my walkman and the first few chords of ‘Teen Spirit’ ripped through my soft and squishy brain, I knew something incredible was happening to me.

In some form or another, that monsterous four-chord riff has been echoing through my life ever since. The notes in those chords gave birth to hundreds of other notes, shredded at inhuman speeds, bludgeoned with viscious rage and strummed, slow and sweet on summer afternoons.

I’ve been haunted by reverb and ripped apart by distortion more times than I could ever count.

From time to time, and especially as I get older, I’ll listen to other stuff too, my only prerequisite when it comes to music these days is that it be excellent, I don’t care what genre it is, if it gets radio play or not, or if the singer is super-model gorgeous.

Just give me something I can sink my teeth into, anything.

Probably a large part of this blog will be dedicated to music and my pursuit of it. I buy it relentlessly, everything and anything, from either www.mp3panda.com or http://www.legalsounds.com– both nice and cheap MP3 sites.

That way if an album is a dud you don’t feel like you’ve been molested in the ass. Here in South Africa CDs are so expensive you feel like you’re taking a huge risk everytime you buy one.

And so I find myself lying here, wandering what to do with my day. At some point I’ll need to get a haircut. I have a dead skunk for a hairstyle right now.

 

My hair - yeah, it's that bad

 

Later on I’ll need to get J-Rab from work (that’s why I’m up so early, we share a car and she needs to be at work at 7 every second Saturday and Sunday and she works till 5. It’s fucking horrible) but that’s about it.

Wouldn’t mind working on the animated series my buddy Wopna and I are trying to script and storyboard. I can’t write anything about it except that it’s gonna fucking rock the planet it will be so rad.

That is, if Wopna ever gets off his ass and finishes the storyboards. I understand they take time, but we’re now more than 6 months in and I think he’s sketched 10 shots maybe.

Time to mobilise. Same time tomorrow? You bet your ass.

-ST

Froo froo finger ding-alings

So last night J-Rab, me and some friends went through to this event called Taste of Joburg where you taste a whole bunch of signature dishes from the city’s top restaraunts and there’s booze there to taste too.

I like food, in vast quantities, so I decided to check it out. Also, my company does their PR, so we got free tickets (aahhh, the perks).

 

A typical froo froo finger ding-aling

 

All in all I enjoyed it. I got to taste some amazing venison like ostrich and warthog and this made me happy because I’ve got this wierd deep down desire to eat as many different animals as I can before I die and now I can tick warthog off that list – score!

It’s people like me that ate the Dodo out of existence.

 

Sorry little buddy, you were just too delicious to ever excel in this world

 

Best thing about the stand where they served the warthog was that at least two of the chefs manning it were very obviously wasted on coke and it was pretty damn funny.

The one came to our group to explain every detail of how they prepared the warthog and he was doing really well until he got to the carrots they had included on the plate.

His synapses were firing all over the place and as a result he just drew a total blank as he stared in mild panic at the offending carrot.

“And the carrots, um, ahh, hm, lemme think, um, the carrots we, huh, where is my brain today? Haha, the carrots are, umm, we, it’ll come back to me, the carrots…”

Ok Captain Kangaroo, take a minute there buddy, we can do this.

 

The inevitable outcome of any serious blow addiction. Scary shit

 

There were all kinds of dancers as well, the most impressive of which were a man and woman who were doing that kind of dancing / performance art where they hold each other upside down and back to front and somehow manage to balance themselves in these impossible positions, impressive stuff.

After they finished J-Rab and me got onto the stage and started doing our own interpretation of the previous performance, everyone around pissed themselves, that shit is hard, but we definitely nailed it.

It was a fun evening all in all, expensive as fuck (J-Rab and me dropped 400 bucks and still went home hungry) but worth it.

Which brings us to today, Friday, and the pile of work staring at me from my inbox, making me feel guilty. Better jump in there.

-ST

J-Rab

When I think back on it, through the soupy fog of memory, I can see us back at The Union, dancing together on a dance floor packed so full it was a wonder the wooden floors didn’t collapse, raining all our drunk asses down into the Day Kaif below.

I couldn’t have been much older than 18 back then, and I guess you could say I was still pretty green, still putty dough, soft and maleable.

And so I found myself dancing with her, the first time I think I’d ever tried dancing with a girl, and even back then I could feel some kind of force drawing us closer, our pheromones so thick in the air you could practically taste them.

We kissed for the first time on that rickety old dance floor back in University, surrounded by sweaty, drunk students on a crazy summer night that would change our lives in ways we could never have guessed back then.

Later I walked back to her res with her and we spent half an hour outside the front entrance, making out. I remember desperately wanting to get into her res room with her to finish what we had started, but she had reservations.

She’s a classy lady, she wasn’t going to let some random guy she had just met into her room, no matter how powerful our chemistry was.

We ‘dated’ for a grand total of about 2 weeks before I told her I didn’t think things were working out. I was retarded back then, full-retard, as opposed to the half-retard I’ve grown up into.

The irony is that I dumped her because after 2 weeks, we hadn’t slept together, even though one night she agreed to come back with me to my res room, spent the night sleeping next to me in my tiny single bed and I didn’t make a move.

Like I said, full-retard.

That night I was out at one of the four or five student bars where we used to get fucked up and I saw her across the room. Something swept over me at that moment, seeing her like that, the light catching and reflecting in her fiery red hair, her eyes hazel brown and wild behind her calm smile.

I wouldn’t realise it until years later, but I loved her from the day I dumped her.

I call her Jessica Rabbit, J-Rab for short. What you have just read is only the first chapter of our story, and trust me, it only gets better 😉

 -ST

Patty-cakes, patty-cakes