The So Mangled Banner

 

An alternative anthem, to the tune of The Star Spangled Banner

Oh say can you see

By Eskom's weird light

How the stations are stripped

And the sleepers are stolen

Whose  broad rails and bright trains

Through the once peaceful  land

From the roadside we watched

Were so busily steaming

Now the tracers'' red glare

Bullets flying in air

Give proof through the night

That the Zamas are here

O say, does that so mangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free

Of the free-for-all

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The Chronicles Of Cyrus

 In the time of the Great Pestilence, Cyrus The Cautious ascended the throne. 

There was a famine in the land and Cyrus gathered his wise men together to take counsel of them. And one stood forth and cried out:

"Let every house be given, at each new moon, a piece of silver, that they may buy bread and start ice cream businesses."

And this thing was good in the sight of the king.  And it was done according to the words of the wise ones. The people rejoiced and did praise Cyrus for his wisdom. 

But in the fair land of rolling hills, the old king Jayzed remembered him of the days of his glorious reign. And his meat was as bitter herbs in his mouth, his wine as vinegar. And he cried out:

"For naught did these fellows cast me off. Did I not rule wisely and judge justly? Were not the hearts of the people knitted to mine?"

And in truth, some did lament with him, crying:

"Was ever a king so fair? Did we not sit at meat at his table and eat our fill? Who is a dancer such as he? Who singeth as sweetly?"

And many mighty men did cleave unto Jayzed. Chief among them were Asea the Magushalite and Kar El, a mighty warrior who  slew thousands in battle and spared not even his own kin. Great women, too, did minister unto Jayzed: Princess Lianda, cunning in all manner of healing herbs and salves and  Lady Endazed of the Zolites.

Now the River Ankol divided the land. On the western side dwelt the Ankolites and on the eastern side dwelt the Retites who loved Jayzed as their own son or brother.  And there were mighty men, too, who stood in the gates and by the pillars of the court of Cyrus. There was Gewad the Mantashite, Fixus the Jester and men and women of renown.

At that time, the Ankolite rulers brought charges against Jayzed. And they brought him in chains to prison. But the Retites were inflamed and they sacked the great city of Durb-An, bringing it to naught. And the Ankolites rent their clothes and some of the Ankolite officers hid them for fear. 

Then the governor of the prison, a man of great kindness, was moved with compassion for Jayzed.

"This man is stricken in years",  he said. "And he ails. I shall release him into the bosom of his family."

Then Jayzed's daughter, Dodia, prepared a great feast. And in the house was the noise of harps, timbrels and flutes. And Jayzed danced until the spirit of illness departed from him.

Then, at the time of harvest, spies came unto Jayzed and said:

"Oh, great King and mighty Dancer, knowest thou not that Cyrus hath hidden much treasure in his rooms? And he hath done so in secret, out of sight of the people and the nobles of the land."

And the Retites burned with anger. Moreover, there was no harvest in their lands, for the fields had been burned in the great uprising.

And the Retites arrayed them on the bank of the River Ankol. And they hurled stones, threats and curses at Cyrus the Cautious and his mighty men.

But Cyrus answered them not a word. He turned him and journeyed to many lands. And Charlash, king of the Anglites, Lord Machon of the Frankites, Lord Joash, son of Bidon, the Amerikite, all received him. And they showed him the treasures of their storehouse, for Cyrus did entreat them for the burden upon the land. And the darkness thereof.

But the Retites ceased not from howling with indignation. And the enmity between the Ankolites and Retites does rent in twain the Southern lands to this very day.

And the people of the land, sitting in darkness and in want, faint with weariness for the curses and the quarreling of the Retites and the Ankolites. 

And they pray for a champion, as of days of old, to quit them of the curse. But, alas, there is none.

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The Fearsome Red Pig Attack Helicopter

Dear  Fellow South Africans

I was delighted to learn that South Africa  has been quietly building a new attack helicopter, the Rooivark (Red Pig).   

A tweet announced the joyous news:           

"PC on Defence and Military Veterans touring the locally produced Rooivark attack helicopter as part of their oversight visit to the South African Air Force base in Bloemspruit"

Clearly, between tenders for smart toilets and half-stadiums, there has been some great work. Based, I imagine, on the technology of the Rooivalk (Red Falcon) but vastly superior.

Of course right wingers, fascists, racists and stratcom agents had to spoil the moment. They tweeted huffily  that this was a shocking typing error. They then lambasted all, including a gentleman who wore a red suit, surely in salute to the pig / bird.

I had already imagined a dramatic battle scenario:

"There we were, pinned down in the swamp, surrounded by the enemy. We were ready to sell our lives dearly. Then, above the noise of battle, came the distinctive 'whump, whump, grunt, grunt' of stubby rotors. Over the tree canopy, a beautiful sight: the fearsome, rotund shapes of a squadron of 'pigs'. They were coming to save our bacon. The crackling of the radio: 'Pork One to squad leader....' I saw the fear on the faces of the enemy troops as they strained skyward. Heard the frantic yells: 'It's the red pigs. Save yourselves!'"

There was no need to be so scathing. The parliamentarians are not defence experts or career military people. It is unfair to expect them to spot fine technical issues  such as the difference between falcons and pigs. After all most civilians wouldn't be able to tell whether they had leg of falcon or leg of pork on their plates.These things are for veterans.

At least they got the 'red' part right. Not a total disaster. How mortifying if it had been typed as 'Groenvalk' (Green Falcon). We could never have lived that down. Give that typist a promotion.

Of course, it's easy to see how one might confuse falcons with pigs. Okay, one is slightly bigger, a tad slower and doesn't fly so well. Still, in a darkened room, they are virtually indistinguishable one from the other.

It may not be a bad idea to adopt the red porker as symbol / mascot for the modern SANDF. Anyone can have tigers, eagles, leopards but the fearsome, fighting pig: now there's something to strike fear into enemy hearts. It also gives new meaning to the term 'grunts'.

Yours in the struggle for a modern, mighty military.

Richard

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Offal and Ankole: A Christmas Menu

 The festive season beckons. I once more sought out some expert advice on a jolly South African Christmas menu. 

"What is on the menus of our revered politicians?" I asked several famous chefs. "They of the discerning palates and gently rounded midsections."

"You must try our richly flavoured offal broth", said a KZN chef.  

Seeing my doubtful expression,  he explained enthusiastically.

 "Offal is hugely underrated and unjustly despised. Yet everywhere you go in KZN, offal is on the menu. Politicians and voters alike love it and gobble it up at every opportunity. You could say that KZN is full of offal."  

"Our broth",  chimed in his partner. "Is a hearty, slightly fiery marriage of finely chopped offal, shallots and KZN's finest chillies. Fire in your belly", he smiled.  "And a riot of flavours in your mouth."

 "I see you",  I replied.

 "Our fish",  said the Western Cape chef. "Is the champion. Some politicians favour the more delicate flaky flesh. Personally I find it just a little bland and uninspiring."

He paused and stabbed at a flopping fish with a stubby finger for emphasis.

"I prefer the firmer flesh that can be eaten off an intact backbone",.

 he said. 

"More flavour, more character."

"Some people",  his colleague said. "Would like us to use less white wine in the preparation." He shrugged. "It's the flavour of the Cape."

On the subject of white wine, some of the witty set have taken to calling it Cape Whine and make silly jokes about Western Cape politicians whining and dining.

 "Fillet of Ankole",  said the next chef I spoke to,  nodding emphatically. 

"Similar texture to buffalo, but infinitely richer in flavour. It's almost as expensive as Kobe beef and needs to be savoured slowly,  very slowly. 

"A sort of dining long game", I said.

He nodded. 

He steadfastly refused to disclose the ingredients that are used in the mystery marinade. "Some things should remain secret",  he said with an enigmatic smile. "Ideally,  he added.  "One should enjoy this dish with eyes closed, so as not to be distracted from the many subtle flavours. Eskom load-shedding provides the perfect ambience."

Chefs from the smaller and newer parties had great difficulty explaining cooking methods and ingredients. They seemed to to be experimenting with a South African variation on gumbo. I tried a few spoonfuls. For my taste, a very awkward, sometimes unhappy courtship   of flavours. One hopes that they hit on the right formula in time for Christmas. 

Mzanzi mess a variation on Eton mess (Limpopo bananas substituted for strawberries) is a popular dessert with some populist politicians. They will often invite friends from across the border to enjoy the mess with them. Diners have been known to break into spontaneous dancing and singing after a mouthful of mess.

As as for drinks, bloody Marys for some of our energetic populists, Russian Bear for other comrades. The DA people will probably stick with the Cape whine.

 Lass es schmecken!

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Ansie's Report Card

Final Examination 2022

Subject          Score

 

Dance                       A+

Drama                      A+

Vision                       F-

Planning                  F-

Nation Building     F-

Communication     F-

Projects                   Scores below F- not 

                                   recorded

General Remarks

Ansie is a skilled dancer and has a natural gift for drama. His performance in the remaining subjects is deeply disappointing for one who showed promise at the outset.

The reasons will become clear in the next sections of this final report.

Effort and Application 

Ansie has major problems with concentration and cannot seem to follow things through to conclusion. Much of his time is spent quarreling with classmates and arguing at length with teachers. He was referred for counselling but walked out after calling the counsellor a right wing, racist, colonial clerk.

Initiative and Project Work 

Ansie has some grandiose ideas but seldom completes projects to plan. He once wasted an entire consignment of balsa wood, supposedly building a model smart city. By the time the wood ran out, he had done one shabby model toilet. He seemed absurdly pleased with his creation. I am concerned about his grasp of standards and reality. 

Innovation and Creativity 

Ansie's sole contribution was a proposal that the school build a gigantic monument to the class of 2022. On hearing that such an extravagance was beyond the school's meagre budget, he wept bitterly for an hour.

Social Skills

Ansie loves the company of bigger, older boys. He also loves to eat from their lunchboxes, yet often speaks scathingly of them. Peculiar behaviour. Some students have nicknamed him 'scafthini' - whatever that may mean.

A matter of grave concern is Ansie's attachment to (almost adoration of) a local youth called Rassie. Not a student of the school, he has assaulted several students on school premises. He is reputed to be a gang leader and one fears for Ansie's safety.

Integrity 

For a boy from a family of struggle (his own words), Ansie does flaunt some expensive jewellery and electronic gadgets. He is also fond of the most expensive chocolates on offer at the tuckshop. The counsellor suspects that he may be redeploying family funds but there is no proof. I asked the counsellor to step aside for now.

He made an impressive speech about integrity, humility and service when he campaigned for election as class president. One hopes to actually see these modelled some day.

Sport

Ansie's performance in sport is a bright spot in this report. His baseball coach describes him as 'a wizard at stealing bases'. I am unfamiliar with baseball terms but know that this is a good thing. In view of his poor academic performance, one hopes that the 'stealing' skills will stand him in good stead.

Conclusion 

Clearly, a lack of maturity for one his age severely hampers Ansie's progress. Even the acquisition of basic skills has been retarded. Much remedial work lies ahead. If we can get Ansie to stop calling the counsellor a coconut and house negro, there may be hope.

Ms Sata Frican

Class Teacher

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Phala Phala Toe

 Dear Mr President

The Phala Phala saga keeps raising its long-horned head.

I am sure that you are familiar with the line of a well-known song: 'skop hom na die pale toe' (kick him / it to the posts).

Sir it is time that we skop this Phala Phala matter to the posts. Amid all the accusations flying like distressed hadedas, what is needed is a clear-headed, dispassionate, objective, unbiased, impartial approach. 

I wish to assist and support you as I have done (unasked) for Mr Zuma, Doctor Ace, Mr Malema and many of our other heroes. Far be  it from me to play  the hard-done-by  martyr,   but  I must comment  that nary a word of thanks  have I received. Even KFC, wretched ingrates, have failed to supply the meanest of shrivelled drumsticks in gratitude for the many mentions. I trust that things will be different  with you. 

I want to couch this respectfully. If you did indeed store dollars in the recesses of a La-Z-Boy recliner, that was a serious error of judgement. At boarding school we would place our long pants under the mattress for a good, if unconventional, ironing. Everyone knows that mattresses are far better suited to this sort of thing. Those benjamins would have emerged crisp and neatly ironed. No one could then accuse you of being involved in funny money business. And while this is money ironing it is certainly not money laundering. 

I  believe that the lack of clarity around this business is fuelling the rumour-mongering, speculation and flinging about of conspiracy theories. Let us take an example from the former national police commissioner who laid out this beautifully succinct explanation for his alleged unavailability during the July unrest:

"It may not be wrong, but it is not true."

He went on to explain that people may have been looking him in places where he was not. Had they looked for him in places where he was, they would have found him.

Wonderfully clear and simple, yet with a zen-like, mystical layer of hidden meaning.

Sir, I suggest that we issue a similarly clear, crisp message in order to put a stop to the confusion. My first draft:

1 My people sold some Ankole cattle, which, as you know, are sought-after worldwide for their superior milk,  meat and hides. 

2. They were en route to the banking halls, (the people, not the cattle), to deposit the money,  when the VBS catastrophe came to mind. (Some members of the EFF may be happy to expand further on that unhappy episode). 

3. My people wisely turned back and used the alternative, tried and trusted sofa banking approach.

4. I admit  that it was a lapse of judgement to have used a sofa instead of a mattress. For that I apologize to the nation as well as to illegal immigrants.

There you are sir. Clear logical, chronological. Many of our heroes of the revolution and the liberation struggle are champing at the bit as they wait for their own interesting adventures and ventures to be investigated or analysed or tried in a court of law. (Please note, not 'chomping', as is often said, though some may well be chomping at other stuff with gusto). Those waiting may include Mr Zuma,  Doctor Ace, Ms Sisulu and many others who fought valiantly for justice, equity and truth. 

Sir you have been holding up the queue. However, now that we have set out the sequence of events in transparent, 

logical order, we can move on. Would it be Mr Zuma's turn next, perhaps?

Yours in the struggle for clarity, transparency and a nice, medium-rare Ankole fillet.

Richard  

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Ghost Workers In PRASA

 To the  tune of Ghost Riders In The Sky

An auditor was checking stats

One bright and sunny day

Upon a file he lingered 

And his face turned ashen grey

Cause all at once a mighty pile

Of ghostly names he saw

Chowing up the wages bill

On each page there were more

A thousand names went rolling by

They were piled up to the sky

And when he came to Mickey Mouse 

He felt that he might die 

His heart was seized with panic

There were spots before his eye

For he saw the numbers coming hard

And he gave a mournful cry

Mayebabo

Yoh, Yoh, Yoh, Yoh

Ghost workers in PRASA

The numbers haunt that auditor

Right up until today

He's trying to forget them 

But they just won't go away

If you walk by his office

Or perhaps go driving by

Above the noise of traffic

You'll hear his mournful cry

The minister was unfazed

He sent a cheerful tweet

'We've saved the country millions

And everything is sweet'

To swallow that weird logic

You must be pretty dense

The auditor keeps crying out

As if he's lost his sense

Mayebabo

Yoh, Yoh, Yoh, Yoh

Ghost workers in PRASA

Ghost workers in PRASA
Ghost workers in PRASA

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Another Day In The Beloved Country

Dear Fellow South Africans 

The internet was down for the fourth time in about as many weeks. The technicians had tried all day but had failed to resolve the issue. So said the ever-helpful library staff.

I once foolishly thought that technical problems were relatively straightforward to resolve (I'm not saying 'easy'). As  opposed to, say, the riddle of the sphinx, the mystery of the meaning of life and questions on the  origin of man. (The problem lies with valve A, transmitter B or widget C). Clearly, I was mistaken. 

One thing that is not a mystery: if we cannot  run a small, local library efficiently, how can we be expected to run trains, power stations or a national broadcaster? 

In South Africa,  heavily armed zama-zamas frolic gleefully along with armed villains of every description. Corruption plumbs new depths. Hardly a level or department of government or SOE's remains unsoiled.  We are truly sons of the soil. Mysteries, allegations, accusations rain down like the biblical  locust plague. Our national broadcaster, in their wisdom and great mercy spare us the pain of such news. 

We were treated to a briefing by Eskom. I was delighted at the  lingering coverage of the fire drill. I now know to take a left, a right and exit (walk, don't run) into the car park. Should I be magically transported from my (dollar-free) couch to the briefing venue, I will be fine.

A long, somewhat technical report followed. Those lazy buggers at CNN, the BBC and other inferior news services would have summarized the main issues. Who knows when the intimate knowledge of generation stats, valves and other dinguses may well save my life in a dangerous South Africa ? SABC, my, you do inform, entertain and educate. I was transfixed  - between snores. 

More education, entertainment and information followed, as a gentleman explained the intricacies of his company's complex dealings in supporting minibus taxis and other forms of transport. I dozed off and missed anything he might have said on the important subject of donkey carts.

A markets segment followed. The erudite speaker probably passed his B.Com. cum laude but failed English dismally, catastrophically.  Once more, I was rivetted during the first five seconds All of these spellbinding segments lasted far, far longer than the boring catalogue of murder, corruption, looting, buffoonery and incompetence that make up the bulk of our less important news.

I feel so informed, educated and entertained that I need to take a nap.

Yours in the struggle for actual news.

Richard 

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The Oddfathers

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

Do not miss a single episode of The Oddfathers.

This enthralling series is reminiscent of The Godfather, yet with a strong local flavour.  It follows the fortunes of the once powerful Ancetti family, struggling, and mostly failing, to prop up ailing, crumbling family businesses.  The rival Effigiano and Danatto families are an ever-present  threat.  

The real drama, though, comes from the brutal, bloody battles within, tearing the once close family apart. 

Character development gives this series a gritty, realistic feel. No-one is left unmarked by the savage, soul-destroying wars within the family. The old Don, Big Jake, becomes a mumbling (a la Brando), bumbling, plotting shadow, deserted by allies and friends. Dodo, his devoted daughter, fights fiercely for him, but has not appeared in the last few episodes. Has she been written out of the series?

'Two Ton' Tony, the debonair capo, once known as Mr Integrity, is looking increasingly bloated, dissipated and embittered.  'On The Money' Manny, former consiglieri, whines, whinges and bleats in ever-decreasing volume. 

Then there's 'Princess' Linda, who left to make her fortune on stage and screen. Once a dazzling beauty, now a somewhat faded star,  she returns to take a more significant role in the family business. Plunged into the midst of the savage battle for control of the family, she supplies some gripping, if shrill drama.

Ace (nickname from wartime flying days) Magolini, a once powerful capo, fond of stylish shades and  a mover and shaker in the lucrative agricultural and construction  businesses, shrinks to a shadow of his former self.  The star of newly appointed consiglieri, Ronaldo Lamolini, in contrast, is on the rise.

The older, retired dons, crirical of the new ways, make surprising, dramatic cameo appearances.

Of course, the series really revolves around the enigmatic Don Cyrus. In the latest episode, he survives an assassination attempt at a family meeting. But the knives are still out.

The action-packed series has subtle, darkly humourous moments. In one such, family members gang up on the Don, accusing him of moving in on the thriving furniture business behind the family's back. The rich irony is that most, if not all of his accusers, have cupboards full of smallanyana and biganyana skeletons (in the parlance of the family).

Will Don Cyrus survive? Will the family slide into oblivion, as they dance on like doomed, overfed Titanic passengers?

Does anyone give a damn?

Don't miss the next episode. You can catch snippets on the national broadcaster's special slot dedicated to the series. Rumour has it that a version dubbed into isiZulu will be titled 'imiGodoyi'.

Yours in the struggle to support local drama.

Richard 

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The People Shall Party

 Dear Mr Malema 

The White Monopoly Controlled media have been at it again with lurid headlines about cash, condoms, expensive liquor and the people's CIC. They have no skaam cells.

Even if any of this is true, what's the  point of leading a party if one can't party from time to time?  Even that degenerate neo-colonialist Boris Whatisname knew that. How much more does not a principled party of the underprivileged deserve to kick back, and knock back a few 20 year old scotches while discussing  dialectical materialism? And chuckling drunkenl..., sorry, merrily at the Afriforum jokes. Why should the Brits and the ANC have all the fun?  After all you're not the ACDP, sipping guava juice and making small talk. You are red blooded revolutionaries of whom Chè would have been proud. Indeed, he would be bursting with pride.

Marching on dark dens of counter-revolution, schools and old age homes is thirsty work. What do people expect a world-renowned CIC to drink - chibuku?  I can see the headlines from the same sensation seeking news media - 'Malema Chugs Chibuku'.  Imagine the humiliation of having a smug BBC presenter pronounce that 'Mr Maleema was said to have downed several cartons of Cheebookoo at a party for the party'.

No, the champion of the poor deserves far better. Rank and revolutionary struggle have their privileges. 

Much has been made of the condoms. People should keep their minds off the seamy side. Their smutty imaginations probably conjured  up visions  of arms and legs waving in the air, underwear strewn around, pants, moans, groans, grunts, yelps, loins....., I think you get the idea. Do they not know that condoms have many uses beyond the obvious? Finger warmers, soft thimbles, cute mini-balloons, are but a few. I've heard that the lubricant is good for arthritis.

At any rate, you are supposed to have once said that a revolutionary is a walking, killing machine. I think that modesty restrained you from saying  'walking, killing, lovemaking machine'.

As for the cash, well, the sofas need pumping up, don't they?

Sir, I would investigate  the leaking of this information  (or depraved, debauched ramblings of the decadent WMC puppets)  as rigorously as you scrutinize racist shampoo advertisements. I can tell you now that evidence of white tendencies and DA and CIA involvement are a very real possibility. Bloody agents abound.

Yours in the struggle for work / life balance and good, clean fun.

Richard 

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The Struggle For Honest Business Practices Continues

 This disturbing report from Pretoria News;:

"Driving school owners protest against traffic officials increasing bribes from R1700 to R2000".

I am dismayed. That's a fifteen percent hike!  Bread, eggs, petrol, now bribes. How can anyone make an honest living under these conditions?

We know that the war in the Ukraine has affected prices everywhere but this is ridiculous. A five percent hike, one might understand. I'm not saying that I would approve. I'm against price hikes on principle. What value add would I, the driving school owner, receive for the five percent increase? Faster processing of licenses? A working card machine?

I suspected that horrific price increases were in the offing. A friend told me that, on his commutes, the going rate has always been one KFC drumstick. Now they are demanding two. Sometimes a wing as well. He refused to elaborate on who "they" were.  

I find this to be scandalous profiteering. I appeal to the president to intervene. Perhaps Mr Fixit, negotiator par excellence, could assist. A commission of inquiry would be a logical starting point. The usual factors should be considered: area pay rates, labour market conditions, collective bargaining, government legislation and cost of living. Let us adopt our usual rational, lawful approach -  alles in ordnung, like the Germans.   

Mediation could follow. Arbitration if necessary. A body should be set up to regulate the movement of, er, facilitation fees. 

I am all for free market principles but consumers also need to be protected. Public Protector, please take note - when other pressing matters allow. 

Yours in the struggle for fair, honest business practices.

Richard

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Provincial Government Move Their Asses

The North West community safety department has spent R780 000 on 20 donkey carts.

The department said in a statement on Sunday the carts were purchased to alleviate challenges faced by rural communities.

From a news report 

Dear Fellow South Africans 

We South Africans are, in general, an ungrateful, cynical lot. Provincial government officials are moving their asses. And do we applaud them?  No, cynicism, mockery and sarcasm descend like lotto scandals.

So these are not exactly bullet trains, but one has to start somewhere. At least we are way ahead of those slow thinkers at the COP27 summit. We have implemented an environmentally friendly solution. The odd hoof print but no carbon footprint. Fresh dung to top up our considerable national reserves. No noise pollution. Just the gentle braying of asses, to which we have become accustomed in this country. These beasts can double as a quiet, eco-friendly lawnmower.

There is an exquisite symbolism in all this. Citizens, sitting on asses, led by asses. It is a pity that the Democrats in the US have already adopted the donkey as their party mascot symbol. 

Like our politicians, let us take a calm, rational approach. There are advantages.

The pothole menace becomes a thing of the past. People in the North West need to keep an eye out for assholes instead.  I don't know how big a problem they are in the North West. I can only speak for KZN. 

The carts come in two (R32 500) and four-seater versions (R45 500), says the report.  Similar to the Range Rovers favoured by some politicians? That's cheap at current tender rates. (Is someone sleeping on the job?).  About the same as a really low-end used car. Who would want that when you can have a brand, spanking, new, top-of-the range donkey cart to ride the range with? And they come, apparently, with a three year maintenance plan. I'm not sure whether that applies to both donkey and cart or cart only. I'm considering raising my hand.

One can but say to those involved: "Viva! Up your...., Sorry, up with your asses!"

Yours in the struggle for environmentally friendly, smart solutions and in the 'Asses For The Masses' Movement.

Richard

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The Minister Didn't Really Say That?

 Once in  every few decades, like a meteor blazing across the night skies, a truly great intellect illuminates our dark world. 

In South Africa, we have been richly blessed. 

Mr Zuma turned the world of numbers inside out. He did the same for geography, theology and logic. Dr Ace, philosopher, made his mark in many fields of endeavour (oratory, but one). Mr Mantashe discovered hazenile, which powered Wakanda - or something. Ms Sisulu, of robust constitution, transported medicine by something akin to teleportation, I think. Hlaudi (there can be only one), eliminated violence from the news, taught doctors, almost captured the Guptas and did deeds of renown too numerous to mention here. Mr Cele, like Alexander the Great, severed the Gordian knot of crime with one stroke. Follow the tattoos.

I wish that I could 'number them all in the song'. But we live in a land where such riches lie heaped upon the ground, like gems scattered carelessly by a generous Creator.

I find it very difficult to believe that Ms Motshekga really said this:

"Taking mathematics, science and English out of our curriculum would really help boost our pass rate."

If she did, then a meteor is born.

Dr Google was not helpful in my efforts to verify the content of the tweet above. We do know that fake news is the bastard issue of orgies involving the likes of George Soros, bloody agents, Jan Van Riebeeck  and other enemies of the revolution.

There is a certain logic to this idea. Take engines out of cars and planes and it will help boost our safety records. Take the grey matter out of the heads of various politicians (like a soft-boiled egg from the shell) and that will....wait, there could be challenges.

I was inspired to offer up the following prayer (what with it being Sunday):

"Lord, Your ways are mysterious beyond our reasoning of them. What have we done to deserve this cornucopia of creativity, this torrential rain of dizzying invention, this lightning storm of intellectual  brilliance?  We are a humble people. Lest we become vain and puffed up, please, Lord, take it away from our midst. P.S. I am still at the Durban address."

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To Fell A Country

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

Forget what your deceitful history teachers told you. 

Here is a brief insight into what really caused the fall of the  Roman empire.

"Speak, Celsius Bhekus! Wherefore art thou  pale and shaking as a leaf in Winter rages?"

"Great Caesar, my legionnaires grow weary and dispirited. Barbarians and bandits roam the countryside. They grow bolder by the hour."

"Fear not, oh Celsius, for they shall taste  the Empire's wrath. Call me a task team made of mighty men. We shall deliberate for days until this pestilence be past."

"As you command, Great Caesar," hand flopping against his belly in the imperial salute.

"Now, Fixus Umbilicus, what troubles you?"

"Oh, Caesar, our once mighty roads, culverts and bridges are fallen into ruin. The charioteers heed not our laws. They clash together with the noise of thunder in the heavens."

"Fixus, have I not commanded think tanks and commissions for this great task? 'Ere yet this decade fades into the next, all will be well. But Fixus, wherefore weepest thou?"

"Oh, mighty Caesar, am I not Italian? But tears of relief and joy these be." 

Caesar draws himself to his full height.

"Let me have men about me that are still. Tight lippèd men and such as secrets keep. Yond Jacobus hath a full-lipped, fertile mouth. He speaks too much. Such men are dangerous." 

(These original lines were shamelessly cannibalized by one, William Shakespeare).

Enter Celsius, in haste.

"Ah, Celsius, art thou returned so soon? And muttering like one possessed. Thy sweat-stained brow speaketh of troubles new and fears fresh."

"Caesar, we are undone. Barbarian hordes are e'en this instant at the gates."

"What seek they?"

"The usual, sire. Looting, rape and pillaging."

"Ah, then thank I the Roman gods. I feared for an instant t'was a presser that they sought. Here, good Celsius, refresh thyself with wine from Southern Africa. T'is a good year. Et tu Fixus?"

And that, fellow South Africans, is what really happened. 

Yours in the struggle against revisionism.

Richard

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Ms Mkhwebane And KFC

 Dear Fellow South Africans 

Like you, I am horrified at allegations and revelations spilling out of the "Public Protector Inquiry".

To whit: "Her bodyguards were poisoned she claimed but it turns out they ate too much KFC!" This from a tweet. 

This is the kind of conspiracy theory that will destroy this great country. There is no such thing as too much KFC. See the excerpt below from a report of not so long ago

"Premier Sylvia Lucas's office on Sunday defended the use of her government credit card to purchase over R50 000 on fast food during her first 10 weeks in office."

I am sure that, with MS Lucas being a politician of substance and a person of wisdom; discretion and discernment, KFC would have made up a significant proportion of the fast-food purchases. After all, she dispensed this nugget of nutritional wisdom

"We need Powerade for the energy, you know," she was quoted as saying.

It is widely known that KFC has the same beneficial effect. To what else can one attribute the sterling performance of our law enforcement officers and politicians?

This deep-fried Southern delicacy played a role in a revolutionary prison reform experiment. Another excerpt from not so long ago:

"Gauteng Community Safety MEC, Sizakele Nkosi-Malobane, has defended her decision to spend more than R60,000 of taxpayers’ money treating prisoners to a KFC meal, after pictures of her handing out the food went viral on social media, according to a report by The Star.

Despite many commenters pointing that ordinary, innocent South Africans could not afford the luxury of fast food, Nkosi-Malobane said that the decision was made due to cost factors and to remind prisoners of the benefits of the outside world."

I can see convicted rapists and murderers falling to their knees in repentance at the first explosion of  eleven-secret-herbs-and-spices flavour in their mouths.  I see them turning to charitable works and lives of selfless service.

This gem from Ms Lucas:

"How would we have eaten if we didn't use taxpayers' money?"

Now that deserves a place on a plaque on every ANC wall. And as an epitaph on the tombstone of the Great Liberation Movement.

Spokesperson for the premier’s office Monwabisi Nkompela said Lucas’s spending was “not excessive” and was “totally blown out of proportion”.

Large amounts of KFC can blow things out of proportion, as the many beach-ball shaped stomachs attest.

I am sorely disappointed that the panel did not shine a laser light  on the KFC conspiracy. Yes, yes, there were intriguing e-mails, interesting  cash disbursements, unusual public relations initiatives and other delightful matters to spend many jolly hours on. Still, it's a matter of priorities. When will we wake up to the truth that this country runs on KFC? (Also vegetarian curries, for a while, some say). As long as we ensure that there is a deep-fried, deeply spiced chicken in every pot, all will be well.

We are what we eat. 

I have not been paid in kind by KFC for this article. Therein lies another travesty of justice.

Yours in the struggle for justice and the odd drumstick.

Richard 

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O Tichmann 

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