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Neon Knight celebrated his 24th birthday on the 19th of May, below is a short recollection of events.

My sweet friggin Sony Bravia TV and stereo. I bought this for myself in April because I am a ‘tard. It arrived on my birthday, happy days! SDC and I broke out the man sweat trying to put the cabinet together. Awful heavy it was. SDC had a quick 70’s porno break at one point while I made room for stuff.

Dinner at Pompadore(?) was a bit of a hit and miss affair. I thoroughly enjoyed my meal, while others were not so impressed, such as Sovereign. He protested by eating his salad with his fingers. There are no octopusses (octopii?) in the fish tank.

At Cowboy in the viaduct. You get hats. They were out of boys ones.

We were busy conforming according to Lana Cockroft who shouted at Avenger for staring at her. She got a decent earful back from a couple of the boys. She was super hot, but an awfully up-tight so-and-so.

Our drunkest superstar, Avenger, was inadvertently trying to make a beer swimming pool.

Some skanks shaking what gosh gave ‘em on the bar.

Come late evening, and everyone is sozzled. Brent arrived in town (after needing to duck out to attend a party at his own house) and he has his arm in a sling. Two hours ago we were sober, and relatively civil at dinner. Now, we have a broken member… heheh… member… Turns out bouncy boxing is not as safe as one might think.

Our most humerous casualty is a beautiful effort from Scarlet Avenger. Upon finishing his evening, he caught a taxi to Foodtown, whereupon he bought 4 ginger beers, and about $20 – $30 worth of frozen goods with the intention of whipping up a feast when get got home. Alas, as fate would have it, he would manage to drop his ginger beer in the lobby thing of the supermarket as he left, effectively obliterating the lot of them. He looks around to make sure noone saw, then bolted. Back in a taxi now, he arrives home, only to realise that the taxi doesn’t accept credit, so they continue on to a cash machine. SA gets some cash, pays the man and farewells him, only to realise once it was too late that he’d left his frozen goods in the taxi. So he gets home, starts up the oven and goes to bed.

Upon closer inspection of the receipt the next day, it would seem he didn’t buy 4 ginger beers, but infact a dozen were purchased. Also I believe the majority of the errant frozen goods were vegetable based.

All in all an enjoyable night had by all (except Lana).

Some notable quotes from the evening include:

“I got three words… I cant remember what they were though… Oh yeah. I got two words and a house. The um… cat.” – Sweet Dr Chocolate

“I needa shit my ass off” – Neon Knight

“Aaarrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeebaaaa” – Scarlet Avenger

Edit: For more of an explanation on the Lana Cockroft thing (Lanagate) see here.

Thank you,
Neon Knight

Fuck off Linkin Park.

I know, you read it right. I’m separating society and the rich. Gasp. I just read this article which, granted may not be factually accurate, but for the purpose of this post, let’s say it is. Also, please excuse the title. I’m all for puns, but in this case, Shut your dumn face.

The beef of the article is focussed on these 5-star jails in California. You pay a premium to be incarcerated there instead of a regular jail. But not just any old Richy Rich can lay his head there, no no no Mr Parnell. You must be ACCEPTED to stay there.

“‘Clients’ are permitted to bring in an iPod or a computer to work or frolic on in their spare time. They are given a cell with an ordinary door — no bars for these special clients”

“Clients might even be granted work furloughs, meaning they only have to come back to the jail at night.”

Has society forgotten one of the major purposes of jail, besides keeping those rapscallions off the street? To provide solid, entertaining television shows about scary people. Well… that and to deter repeat offenders who are of the mentality that “it won’t happen to me”. We all know the kind – they do stupid shit a lot, some of it very unlawful, but as soon as they’re given a good slap from the long arm of the law, they tone down, because they never think of jail as a real threat aimed at them. “That’s where bad people go, I’m not bad”. Or in this case “I’m rich and beautiful. I won’t go to prison”.

I’m sure if Paris Hilton were to be sentenced to a regular public jail, she’d no doubt be put in a minimum security ward anyway. This would be fairly cruisy as far as jail goes, but nowhere near the frightening halls of a maximum security lockup. Provided she lived through the experience, I’m sure she’d think twice next time she picked up the keys to Daddy’s merc after a booze-fueled bender.

If she ends up at this chic jail, she’ll obviously treat it as a hotel, and have a spiffy time with these other rich folk who were dumb enough to get caught, and rich enough to avoid the consequences. Share a couple of champagnes accompanied by some larger than life stories, engage in a couple of naked pillow fights (aww yeeah) and be on her merry way in 45 days. She’ll have learned very little about consequences or cause and effect. (I say that like I know about these things).

Conversely, there is a decent argument that she should not be locked up with the rest of California’s scum in a public prison. Celebrities do command special circumstances, solely due to the public’s fascination with a famous face [read: breasts]. It would be hell for a celebrity such as Paris to be in a public prison due to all the attention she’d get from other inmates.

I think what needs to happen is this 5-star jail should be a normal jail with no special privileges. Just keep the smelly riff-raff off our beautiful celebrities, but keep them close enough to the action to keep the heat on.

Society may complain about the special privileges celebrities enjoy, but in reality, it was society who brought about the need for these perks. But will Paris or [insert random celebriy's name here] learn? I doubt it. Have I come to a conclusion? Not really.

Thank you.
Neon Knight

Checking out the Eagles of Death Metal Website this morning I cross this tasty awesomeness.

Crikey! Our voyage through Australia has been sooo wondrous..

No longer are we just an ‘EODM show’, rather a majestic beast of boogie-woogie, decorated in a crown of get-down. The energy is immeasurable.

‘Like showing up to a dog park with a box of peanut butter…only simulates this stimulate.

Sweet on the first taste, enjoyable throughout and a guaranteed happy ending 60% of the time, all the time.

Commissioner Babyduck / EODM Producer issued this formal declaration:
EODM is in full season,
Jesse is up at bat… with two hands full of wood swinging at the sky.

The next EODM record explicates, embodies, and personifies EODM.

A bonified desert treasure.

Mean, Lean and full of protein.

From here.

Boy oh boy kids, I just can’t wait!

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Suck my dick, bitch
R’I'll beat you black’n’ blue.

G’bye! LOL ROFL!!!11

Here at Beer Tuesday, you may not always get poignant, hard-hitting news on current affairs or the like. But now, you can always count on seeing a monkey riding a dog – rodeo style.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1VHcFuNNUc]

What a wonderful world we live in.

It’s official (possibly?). Silver Sovereigns’ rumours are officially(?) confirmed. According to the website, Eagles of Death Metal are totally(?) coming to NZ. Auckland to be precise, Transmission Room. March 22. Right on. Although the Buy Tickets link on eaglesofdeathmetal.com doesn’t work right now, I’m sure it’ll be fixed. Surely. They wouldn’t tease. It’d be rude. Good times, see all you cunts there.

P.S. I’d just like to help J. Devil’s plight a little, by stressing the fact that Boots Electric plays exclusively Maton guitars. Yeah, he made a fuss about it on the front page of the website, made a big point, yada yada yada, so I figured I’d give him a hand by letting our visitors know this also. Ok fine, we’re not popular enough to make a difference but fuck you. I’m drunk, sue me. Unless you’re American, cause you probably would (god bless you etc).

Due to the company I keep, my flatulence has become progressively extroverted. It just loves to dance around with its little methane tap shoes on, letting everyone know it means business. I speak about my gas as if it has a mind of its own, and I assure you, sometimes I think it has its own little society in my colon, let alone a mind. At home, or around friends, this is fine – nay – encouraged. At work though, even though it’s not frowned upon, it can still get a little embarrassing when you’re bopping away to your headphones, drop a bomb, then realise the volume was a smidge too loud on the ol’ boombox downstairs.

That’s pretty much all I have to say. I realised I never really have anything interesting to say, but I often have little tidbits of goodies that I’ve decided to share with anyone who’s reading.