Game Of Clones

King Ramer Pozar stared into the fireplace, shivering despite the warmth. He threw a log onto the fire and sighed; a thousand fires to put out in the kingdom.

 If only he could concentrate his forces on one enemy. Lord Stonehouse in the West grew stronger daily. The so-called Mother of Dragons had returned to support him. Though many regarded her as a meddlesome plotter, past her prime, she could be a formidable foe. 

 And what of Lord Malma? There was a menace in his eerie silence greater than his ranting and threats. Even Lord Herman in the North was flexing his muscles, gathering a ragged army of malcontents. 

 The kingdom was shrouded in snow and blizzards tore at fields and dwelling places. The White Walkers, it was whispered abroad, were up to their devilry of old. The name of Lord Rupert was but one spoken of in hushed tones. The Wildings were rampaging through the battered, tormented countryside, looting and burning every village in sight. They were once - loyal citizens and nobles gone rogue, gone wild with greed. Hence the name. The people's cries for help had turned to curses and open, treasonous talk of rebellion. 

 And where were his generals? Lord Chella seemed to chase every will-'o -the-wisp. His boasts of victories over the Wildings were sounding increasingly hollow. News of fresh Wilding outrages came almost hourly. Lord McGushulla seemed to be as scorned and despised of late as were those marauding bandits. Accusations were being made that he was in alliance with them. Was, in fact, the secret Lord Commander. Lady Endiazed......he held his head in his hands. How had it come to this? 

 The wind shrieked wildly, as if in mocking reply. A fresh fall of snow blotted out everything beyond the window pane.

 So bitterly cold.

 So hard this Game Of Clones.

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Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

Why The Mongols Never Invaded Africa

The scene: boardroom of the Mongol executive, Genghis Kahn presiding. Aroma of spiced tea and Mongolian stir-fry waft through the carpeted ger (yurt).

 "I say, chaps, it's been another good year. Many lands coming under beneficent Mongol rule. Trade and tributes swelling our coffers. It's a yak market." 

 Applause and smiles all round. "He's been talking this way since we moved into Europe", murmurs one executive to another. "Calls it business language". 

 "Great Kahn, at whose voice the whole earth trembles...", begins one of the younger executives. 

 "Save that stuff for the public meetings, Temujin. But speak. You are a man of learning and knowledge. What would you have us know?".

 "Sire, on the southern tip of the Dark Continent lies a fertile land of great riches...".

 "Why is it so named? Dark Continent?". 

 "There is a tribe that goes through the land from time to time, extinguishing all lights that they may do their business in darkness. They are much feared and are known as the Esscom". 

 "Most peculiar. What else should we know of this land". 

 "They are ruled by a tribe of fat ones, yet many of the people live in poverty and want". 

 "Why do they not rise up?" 

 "Well, Sire, they themselves choose the fat ones in a kurultai, much as we have". 

 "What manner of people is this? Shall a wolf be chosen to guard the sheep?" 

 "It is a land of mystery and magic. They have a saying: Better the wolf you know".

 "Better the....Surely this is a cursed people. Or drunk on strange potions". 

 "It is said that many of the people inhale a mysterious incense which renders them insensible or prone to great mirth at things of no significance. Sire, they may be ripe for conquest but surely it is a land of strange things and sorcery." 

 "You speak wisely, Temujin. We are warriors, conquerors. But, of sorcerers, we know little. We shall not venture into that cursed land. Better the wolf you know, indeed!" 

Murmers of assent. 

Secretary crosses Africa off to-do list.

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

1378565477

O Tichmann 

+27 833970723

The Sun Also Rises

 Dear Daily Sun

The time has come, as the walrus famously declared, to acknowledge your contribution to the work of the free press in South Africa. 

While other publications focus on the tangible and the obvious, you have crawled into the dark, bubbling underbelly of life in the beloved country. You have experienced and faithfully recorded each foul eruption as it burps forth successive tales, each stranger than the one before.  Truly, Bill, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. Tokoloshes, zombies and others one dare not mention in polite company (yours, dear reader).

Anyone can report on corruption and the like. It takes nerves of steel and the instincts of a champion bloodhound to stay on the track of the terrifying creatures that go eish in the night. We salute you. Were it not for you, we would be blissfully unaware and unprepared. As it is, my bed stands on extra-large bricks. I have an armoury filled with garlic, salt and other weapons of ghoul destruction. Unlike the ANC and the so -sudden tsunami of corruption, I  will not be caught unprepared.

Where I once faithfully read The Star and The Sunday Times for news, I now refer to them only for the TV guide. For real news, 'Die son sien alles'. En nog wat. After all, what could be more of a 'clear and present danger' than the spectre of  the undead roaming the land, seeking unsuspecting prey? Aided and abetted, no doubt, by the vertically challenged ones. 

Where are the Hawks when we need them? And our intelligence agencies? Surely they could mount an undercover operation. Some of them should have no problems posing as zombies. With their skills and training, I mean.

Thank you for the fresh perspective on what really matters in South Africa.

One must also commend you on your muscular use of language. "Kwaito Star Moers Neighbour' has an earthy eloquence. Beats the hell out of "Musician Assaults Neighbour". You go for the cro..., er, jugular. Rock on

Yours in the pursuit of great stories (ANC has the franchise on good stories).

Richard 

Practical Magic

Dear Doctors, Prophets, Professors and Other Practitioners of the Mystical Arts and Sciences 

We are in the direst of straits. But you know that. You probably saw it coming a long way back. 

I've been scanning your fascinating advertisements with more than just idle curiosity. The pastor of the petrol - chugging church and I have both been buffeted by rising fuel prices. VAT has taken on its Afrikaans meaning. I fear that the man in the street will soon be quite literally the man in the street.

Even my dog is in debt and spends his days moping around the yard, instead of administering strategically-placed bites to the deserving. On that note dear burglars, thieves and assorted villains, you are wasting your precious time in our suburb. We have already been looted by those far more skilled than you. I would look to other compass points.

 What do the politicians offer? Little beyond the accustomed platitudes, implied threats to, in the immortal phrasing of the Daily Sun, 'moer' some party or the other. And also quite creditable impersonations of a canine street encounter.

But you, dear practitioners of the magic arts ,offer hope and dreams. You offer a bewildering array of services at reasonable prices. Mirrors to see what one's enemies are up to (SARS beware), charms for every conceivable situation or game of chance, Frodo's ring of power  - the list meanders on. It occurs to me that I need a package deal, cash on delivery of more cash, naturally. I invite you all to submit tenders for the following package (we South Africans do, in the words of Elvis, Love To Tender):

The casino-crushing charm - turbo version. I aim to hit all East Rand casinos, spazas included, in one week.

The lotto - looting charm. Please include plus 1 and plus 2.

The SARS - sedating charm. Self - explanatory. 

I will pass on the short-boys-and-rats package. Home deliveries are outdated and labour-intensive. Besides, cash-in-transit heists are an ever present menace in the East.

With your supernatural radar at work, I suspect that your sealed tenders are ready for submission. I look forward to doing business with the winner. 

Onward with radical economic transformation.

Richard

The Return Of The Magnificent Four

The rider bent low over the black stallion's mane as they sped through waving grasslands. He dismounted in a shady grove and let the stallion graze. Taking  a sip from his canteen of Perrier water, he flexed his fingers. The draw was a blur. Three SMSs sped out as one. 

"Got a long way to go Home Affairs", he murmered to the stallion as he remounted. 

Mo sat on his porch in the lotus position he'd learned during his passage to India. He seemed hardly to move as the knife thudded into the soil between the rider's boots. "Haven't lost your touch", the rider chuckled. Mo grunted: "We ride?"

"We ride",  he answered.

Not even a wisp of smoke rose from Faith's cabin among the woods. They leaned back in their saddles in the easy Mzansi rider's posture. "You can come down from the tree", the rider called. Rifle in the crook of her arm, she sailed down gracefully. "Only the three of us?" she asked. "We ride to Mokonyane's", he replied, lighting up a cheroot. "Grab a bite to eat. She's  got two lambs on the spit". 

"Just like old times", she chuckled, tightening the cinch on her saddle.

The sun was beginning to sink as they sped through grasslands, waded through creeks and ate the dust of old trails. They rode silently, each  with memories of battles fought and thoughts of  battles to come. The Saxonworld shootout, gunfight at the SONA Corral, gunsmoke drifting on the plain of Parliament.... They rode through villages, silent save for the rhythmic drumming of their horses' hooves. The villagers watched. Some crossed themselves. Even the children were subdued,  sensing that something momentous was afoot.

The last rays of the setting sun gleamed on leather and steel. Then the darkness swallowed them. . 

The Magnificent Four were back.

The Bone Collectors

Dear Covidpreneurs and Tenderpreneurs

At our recent meeting (on Zoom, of course), I was tasked with the unpleasant, unpalatable duty of conveying to you our extreme displeasure.

Sirs and madams, we of the Theft And  Burglary Association (TABA), take enormous pride in our professional, even artistic approach to our discipline. You, on the other hand, tear into the business like a barbaric guest at an elegant dinner gathering. The ghastly picture in my mind is of a diner brandishing in one hand a whole lamb shank  and tearing at it, while gulping down an enormous jug of beer, held in the other hand. I am unable to face my breakfast. To quote the troubled Danish prince, my gorge rises at it.

Several of our members have 'gone straight' in disgust. Must we teach you the basics? Like our patron saint, Robin of Locksley (widely known as Robin Hood), we rob only from the rich and distribute to the poor (ourselves). 

Ladies and gentlemen, there is a certain savoir-faire in redeploying selected contents of a mansion. Or relocating a wealthy person's wallet. Clearly, you nouveau criminals are sadly lacking in basic education. And indeed, manners. You tarnish the image of our profession.

One could word this protest in much stronger terms but that would entail sinking to the abysmal level that you occupy.

We intend to lobby strenuously for a reclassification of your activities. I am afraid that the term 'criminal' is far too genteel. Something porcine might fit the bill.

Peter Pompies

Secretary General TABA

Love Story

A year or two ago

Dear Supra

'The people love me.'

So glad you cleared up that little misunderstanding. We were under the (clearly false) impression that the people of the northwest were slightly g..vol with you - burning, looting, rioting.

We are talking of the same Northwest aren't we? In South Africa? Not North Korea or Nepal? I read 'The Five Love Languages' but missed the  chapter on rioting, looting and burning. Must go back and have another look.

Then again love has been known to drive people to distraction. This is clearly the variety sung of in old songs such as Burning Love and Ring of Fire. Your statement confused me initially and I was more inclined to Foreigner's I Want to Know What Love Is.

There is one secret that you must share with us, please. It could be most helpful to harassed administrators in the land. A newspaper article averred that your administration has been characterized by incompetence, corruption, failure to deliver services, among others. For which of these do the people love you most?

I do hope that the outpouring of love remains confined to your area. Already there are reports of some demonstrations of affection in KZN. Should the tide of passion sweep the whole country, I am afraid that our emergency services may really struggle to quench the fires of love.

Yours in the eternal quest for true love.

Richard