Phuza Thursday

TGIT.

It’s the Weeeeeekend, BABY. It’s times like this that the UAE is ahead of the rest of the world (by a whole day).

Tonight’s Sleaze Party (or ‘Night of Sleeze’ as Korn so endearingly put it in his appropriately tasteless PowerPoint invite) will be a messy one. What it essentially involves is everyone dressing like slags and getting absolutely trousered around his bar. Too early to say whether it will culminate in anyone wrestling in a blow-up pool filled with KY, but if we all get out alive I’ll be shocked. We’ll tell filthy stories and I might throw in the bum-dance.

The theory behind it all is that we’re deprived of smut because of the apparent lack thereof in the UAE. It wasn’t so long ago that the bioscope censors here pounced on smooching scenes in movies, extracting them like they were erupting goiters.

The Fun Bus is simply refusing to stop thereafter. On Friday, Faithless, fun suppliers to people everywhere, will be playing in Dubai. The last time I saw Maxi Jazz and Sister Bliss dropping the pressure like it was illegal, was at V Fest in the UK last year. I was wearing a black bin bag. 100,000 pissed poms in a downpour and I was on the Boxman’s shoulders. My mates The Goons were dancing like praying mantises that had been sprayed with Doom. It was crazy.

Anyway, I’m more excited than an SA health minister in a garlic field at the thought of flicking a hoof with those bad boys on the decks.