Well. It's that time of year.

The time of year when all right-thinking folk set out the Santa traps on Christmas eve, hoping for a big, juicy Santa (and not the scrawny weasel we caught last year, jesus, no meat on him at all) and the traditional charcoal spit-roast Santa in the back yard with all your mates and beer a-flowing. Done just right, the flesh falls right off the fucker's bones and melts in the mouth.

Preferably with apple and cinnamon sauce, but maybe that's just me.

Truth is that, while I heard a lot of wonderful music this year, I really don't feel up to delivering a Top Ten. Sure, there are some which leap out, but I didn't really listen that widely, I don't think. And I hardly went out. All were reviewed, look 'em out if you don't believe me.

I mean, look:

Gigs to remember:

The Animals and FriendsThe Animals and Friends
Gang of Four
The Gig of Glory (which I didn't review, but was the same line-up as the Banned from the Fed gig, but with the immortal Sean Tilmouth bringing up Fear and Loathing to international status, and the proper line-up of the Filthy Gypsies - ditto international status)
Cradle of Filth
Chickenstones
The Drama Dolls

.. no, I really didn't get out much this year, did I?

Albums: 

Lost Talk – “Tenterhooks”
Shifting Sands – “Crystal Cuts”
JP Shilo – “Invisible You”
Boris - “Love EVOL”
RGD – “Million Reasons” 
Bomber Down – “Bomber Down”
Masuak – “Address to the Nation” 
Cornish Wreckers – “Lurid Tales of Wrecking and Repose” 
The Filthy Gypsies – “The Second Cumming” 
The Black Bombers – “Vol. 4”
Shark Arm – “Any Port in a Storm” 
Chickenstones – “Mystery Train”

There are more, I'm sure I've missed. They're the ones which spring to mind. I've not heard the new Scientists stuff yet, and there's a swag of others which lie in drifts around my increasingly cluttered room.

Which brings me to 2020.

I need excellent vision for next year, so I won't be doing any reviews.

Also, everything I wrote above was written before I'd been to a National Government Re-Education Camp.

I renounce all my former friends and music. They are reactionary filth, intent only to bring down the Glorious Modern Australian Democratic Consitution of Now Australia.

I am deeply, profoundly repentant that I have ever mocked our Glorious Prophet, His Most Exalted Honour, Peter Dutton. And as for Saintleader Scott Morrison ... words fail me. I was so irresponsible. I said dreadful things, dangerous to the state, and thought worse. And, if not for my prompt internment, I would have thought even worse things, things which might have caused the government to fall. And you know where that leads.

Yes, that's right. Chaos, where every ignoramous would have an equal say, and in a democracy, you just can't have that. I mean, can you?
You must agree, there has to be someone to tell us what to do, otherwise ... world disorder!

Some critics might say that I am only saying this because I no longer wish to have 5 kilo weights tied to my feet, or that I am tired of being forced to look ahead at a blank wall for days on end.

Not at all! The more weight, the merrier, for I must be punished for having undemocratic thoughts!

And as for staring at a blank wall, bring it on! For months! It's just wonderful! It might sound a bit boring at first, but once you get used to it there's just so much to see and do.

Also, a National Government Re-Education Camp (as endorsed by our Glorious Leader, Saint Scott Morrison) is a tremendous way to lose weight. You just don't eat as much, or as often, and only drink water (well, lick condensation from the wall, when you're allowed to). Food? I'd rather have a pin-up of Lissome Goddess Michaela Cash in one of her sparkly outfits. Much more nourishing, and so politically correct.

Anyway, after all, I am only a miserable foreign citizen, and have no rights, no rights at all, and I must be punished. My right hand got injured lifting large heavy stones from Glorious Point A to Sacred
Point B, and back again, over and over, for several months. Now, there's a red streak heading up my arm, but the nice guard told me that they're sure to amputate soon.

While I won't be with you in 2020, then, I shall be working hard to earn enough Goodygoddy Hillsong points to earn that Lissome Goddess Michaela Cash poster. I do wonder about one thing, though:

How am I going to hold up her poster with one hand, and masturbate with the other?

Robert Brokenmouth is an Adelaide-based author.