Bad Dreams

 'Oh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.' Hamlet 

Dear Mr Malema 

Having just woken from a disturbing dream, I feel compelled to write to you.

I saw, in the dream, Floyd The Ferocious, confronting a group of thugs.., sorry, looting gentlemen (slip of political correctness there).  He told them to eff off, as this is not the path to economic freedom.

Sir, it got worse. I saw you on a raised platform, craggy features lit by the lights of a dozen raging infernos. You were calling for calm and commonsense to prevail. You called on the ground forces to help restore peace and order. Also your air force and navy. The nice thing about dreams is that resources are unlimited. 

Then you joined with politicians of all persuasions to discuss ways to end the madness. In the background, were various comrades, soundlessly yelling 'Nooo'. You know the slo-mo, distorted-sound thing in dreams. You turned your back on them and stalked off in true CIC style. It was one of those Stallone / Bruce Willis type scenes. Explosions popping of behind you as you stalked into the sunset.

My own yell was stifled as I sat bolt upright, dripping perspiration onto my newly-changed sheets.

Sir, it was just a dream. Still, as you are often on my mind, I thought it prudent to check. Are you still sound in body, mind and spirit? I trust you've been keeping up with your regular medicals. Please let me know.

Yours in the struggle for economic freedom, land, peace, a united Africa, dialectical materialism and people's banks.

Richard