Double Up With Laughter

 'Dear Mr Malema' joins 'Dear Mr Zuma' on the Kindle bookshelf.

See South Africa through a different lens. If you've been wondering whether to laugh or cry, buy this pair from Kindle and you can do both. Double up and shed tears of laughter.  

'Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand', said Mark Twain. Our happy couple have been taken too seriously for far too long. Join in the assault. It's time South Africa (and the rest of the world) laughed the second-hand comedians to scorn.

Your turn to 'heh, heh, heh'.

Postscript: Also now joined by:

Dear Fellow South Africans 

South Africa: Stranger Than Fiction 

https://t.co/UaPkJKoTQu

Tea And Sympathy

 Dear Mr Zuma

I'm so glad that you are open for tea again. We've passed through the phases of kill - for - Zuma, die - for - Zuma, (was there a kill - Zuma phase?), to the have - tea - with - Zuma phase. Isn't it time old penpals like you and I also had a natter over some Earl Grey?

I'm a little short on helicopters right now, so I'd appreciate your sending me one of those location things. May I bring Judge Zondo and a copy of the constitution? Now that we seem to be in a season of fence-mending and goodwill to all men of peace.

We have much to discuss: the myth of state capture, the theology of ANC membership, theology in general (your inspired take on the Second Coming), the political significance of tea in healing old enmities and so much more. Perhaps you could unravel the mystery of your slight distancing from the commission you yourself appointed. I am also curious about and inspired by your insistence that your friend not adjudicate in your matter. Such rectitude. Nemo judex in sua cosa, surely? I would have been delighted to have a buddy on the bench. You, Sir, are made of sterner moral stuff. A sort of ethical optic fibre.

Yes, Sir, of cabbages and kings we could chat all day. I have no objection to a platter of freshly boiled inKhaaandla ox tripe with tea.

Sir, I will certainly bring a good supply of sympathy, if you will be kind enough to supply the brew.

Yours in the love of tea and sympathy.

Richard 

 

State Of The Nation

 Dear Mr President 

Your state of the nation address, delivered last night, was positive and inspiring.

As I write this congratulatory letter, I and half the nation are polishing the pavement outside the local labour office with our rapidly stiffening backsides. I sit directly opposite a traffic light that seems to be red each time I look up. I wonder if that signifies something. 

Sir, I am still puzzled as to why we must spend an entire day, (if we are that lucky), waiting to sign a document. And that in the midst of a raging pandemic. 

You boldly stated that there will be no more messing up. Have you seen the queues, Sir? A mess would be a pretty good description.

In this season of doing things differently and more efficiently, please ensure that all departments get the memo. I can think of half a dozen ways this can be done better. And I'm not even being paid for it. Your people do know, Sir, that this is the age of the Android, AI, the Mars Rover...? How long do we remain stuck in the age of bum - swept pavements? Sir, I suggest as long as bums are put to greater use than brains in the glorious civil service. That memo also needs to go out. As well as the one on service and compassion. Else Sir, it's time some memos went out welcoming various highly - paid seat polishers to the joys of retirement. Perhaps they could join us in the queues.

Oh, of course a day like this would not be complete without a power failure. That too, came to pass.

Yours in the hope that springs eternal.

Richard 

 

Ten Uses For A Dead Book

 

In honour of a truly cheap publishing house  - from 2018.

Dear Publisher 

It would be most unkind, unjust and unfair of me to say that you messed up my book. Oh no, you went far above and beyond the call of duty. You stuffed it up royally and imperially.

 How cleverly creative of you to rename the boringly titled Germiston to Germeston and Germanton. So much more exciting and exotic. Like a citadel from Lord of the Rings. I can picture a troop of gallant horsemen pulling up their sweating mounts on a green hilltop,  surveying the breathtaking scene below and exclaiming in awed whispers:

"Germanton,  ancient city of kings".

I am sure that the good burghers of Germiston will be delighted at the renaming. You did get approval from the city fathers,  didn't you?

Although the term 'boy band' is commonly used,  your substituted 'male band' certainly sounds more... male.

 When I approved layout, I foolishly assumed that you would be using my manuscript; perhaps just a copy and paste job. Silly of me. That's like asking Einstein to stick to the textbooks. I unearthed over 30 of your interesting improvements to my manuscript. I then decided to take it more slowly so as to savour more fully the many subtle and complex flavours of the smorgasbord that you've so painstakingly prepared. 

I trust that you will reward your proofreaders and editors in Eskom fashion for their herculean efforts. To achieve over 30 improvements in an 82-page book is no mean feat. I have yet to study more fully the delightfully unorthodox approaches to paragraphing, font and layout of various sentences. 

Of course 'the stuff of legends'sounds more 21st century than the archaic 'stuff of legend'. 'A very witching time of night' rings truer than 'the very witching time of night'. Why didn't I think of describing the taxi drivers as gruff and cold instead of gruff and surly? What do writers know anyway? Thank goodness for your eagle eyes and ready typing fingers.

 Your suggestion that I sell the hundred copies cluttering up my bedroom at half-price is nothing short of brilliant. This is the kind of creativity that could have saved Rome or shortened the two world wars. Garbage is still garbage even at half price. I have a teeny bit of trouble deciding which readers to insult with a half - price, half - cooked concoction. Perhaps the good burghers of Germanton. Or should we try PriMr.ose instead? Talking of Rome, a good old-fashioned Roman vomitorium would have come in handy for me by about page four.

 I wish you a brilliant 2018. May you scale new heights in the cutting-edge business of creative publishing for laughs. You certainly left your mark on my book  - a massive beetroot -like stain. 

To readers: I have come up with only two uses for a dead book so far. It does make a nice place mat for coffee mugs. Any suggestions that you have will be gratefully accepted. Oh, the second use. Anyone in need of large amounts of cat litter is welcome to contact me. 

Yours in the quest for new innovative approaches to publishing.

 Richard

ANC Cinema Of The Grotesque

 Dear ANC (Whoever You May Be)

At a local bughouse, I saw, many years ago, an Italian karate comedy. I never thought those three words could find a place in one sentence. I never thought a movie that bad could ever be made, let alone shown. Lest you think I exaggerate: one of the highlights of the movie was a scene in which the hero soils himself while trying to lift an anvil with his 'invincible hand'. 

It was that bad. Yours is worse. Yours is something the Coen brothers might have heaved up after a night of revelry on dubious pineapple home-brew and expired Joburg street chicken. A grotesque, surreal blend of horror, comedy, crime fiction and the richest, ripest horse manure ever to carpet God's green earth. The brothers could never have deamed up the hosing of people queuing for disability grants. They would have rejected as too far-fetched the pit latrine corruption stories. Actually, the Italian karate comedy grows in stature as one delves into the mass grave of disasters left on your watch.

This is the sort of concoction that would have audiences on their feet - heading for the exits. We have no choice but to watch the whole movie. We paid a high price for tickets. The theatre is pitch dark. Hard to tell where the exits are. 

Even when we close our eyes, we cannot escape the nonsensical soundtrack. It grinds and screeches on like something from Orwell's 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' telescreens.

Who can forget or erase lines like (apologies for some repetition from previous post):

"And I argued one time with somebody who said that the country comes first, and I said as much as I understand that, I think my organisation, the ANC, comes first.”

 (On SA having the fifth highest murder rate in the world):"I am wondering who said that?"

“We’ve been standing here for 26 seconds and nobody has been raped.” 

And this was not necessarily the worst of the drivel that passed for dialogue.

Here's another quote; Amery, quoting Cromwell to Chamberlain:

''You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. In the name of God, go!'' 

Sums it up.

Richard 

Integrity

 Dear Mr Cele

Sipping on a Castle I found lying around from 2019, I thought I'd try to brighten your day. This is a tale of the sort of law-abiding South African so hard to find nowadays.

If you have medals available, you might want to award him one - perhaps a ceremony on the beach or at a significant  roadlock.

My neighbour,  Honest Frank, a businessman, fell into the local river, while crossing a bridge on the way to an important meeting. He was swept out to sea. Hold on to your fedora, sir. This is where the heroism comes in. What would your average South African have done? Paddled madly for the shore, of course. Not my gallant neighbour. A vision of your stern, guardian-of-the-law visage flashed into his mind, at the same time as a gallon of seawater flushed through his system. Like a trumpet call, he heard your admonishments about illegal swimming. Nary a dog paddle did he attempt.  Bravely humming snatches from the national anthem and the folk song about military hardware, he allowed the current to carry him. 

Fortunately, he was deposited close to the meeting rendezvous. Slightly damp, but warmed by the glow of having done the right thing, he was able to conclude an important business deal. Something about alternative pharmaceuticals, he said.

Be of good cheer, sir. There are still law-abiding citizens around.

Yours in the against-the-current struggle to abide by the law.

Richard 

Out Of South Africa

 Dear American, European, Asian And Other Tourists

We, in South Africa, will soon be producing Covid vaccines like Henry Ford on steroids. One of our erudite politicians had an Edison moment. Now all we need to do is purchase or steal one vaccine, reverse engineer it,  and, presto, we'll be rolling the suckers off the line as deftly as skilled Durbanites roll a special brand of local tobacco.

When that happens, you will surely want to visit our beautiful country. We have just celebrated a huge anniversary of the liberation movement that reinvented itself as Comedy Central and is home to many brilliant alternative business pioneers. A good time to visit.

This is a lightning guide to some South African cities worth the visit.

 'Durban', translates from the local language as Place Of Great Burning. So named for the weather and the wonderful array of spicy dishes on offer. Until you have sweated your way through a delicious Durban 'bunny chow' you haven't lived. See Naples

 and die. Eat bunnies and have a similar experience. Tropical fruits are in abundance and many have made their way into local government.

It is a myth that savage beasts roam the streets of South African cities. Except in Johannesburg. The dangers have been grossly exaggerated though. Take normal precautions. Stay in your room all day. And night. Johannesburg has a fascinating history. Towering old mine dumps bear silent testimony to the gruelling work done by miners. Towering old rubbish dumps bear silent testimony to the gruelling work done by striking garbage removal workers.

Cape Town is a city of breathtaking sea and mountain views. The eccentric citizens hold quaint and charming, if outdated views on preserving natural and architectural treasures. Also on making the city people-friendly. This is in complete contrast to our other world class African cities. A growing movement of wild-eyed, mildly dangerous secessionists gives the city an exciting, edgy flavour.

Johannesburg is the city that never sleeps, Bloemfontein the city that never wakes. Known as the City Of Roses, because, like their rugby team, that was the best they could do. 

Of Port Elizabeth, little is known, even by South Africans. Some maintain that it is a mythical city, shrouded in mists and lashed by wind and rain. As the inhabitants never travel to other cities, it remains a delicious mystery to explore on your visit.

More to follow. 

Yours in the struggle to unveil the mysteries of the intermittently dark continent.

Richard 

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

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