Get ready beautiful South Africans. It is that time of the year again or perhaps that time in four years, or is it five? Anyways it doesn't matter, don't seem to remember. Where was I? Oh yes, that time when our ears are being showered (and by shower I mean no disrespect to the current president) with a plethora of blatant lies so eloquently recited to seduce and lure even the stone cold Tom, Dick and Harry.
I personally loathe everything politics and my tolerance levels for this rhetoric drivel going around is lower than Julius Malema's IQ; so I was not very inclined to listen to the different manifestos but nay, in the spirit of 'aspiring journalist' I summoned the will of the gods and the patience of the angels to heed the wise words of the not-so-wise political minds. I was particularly entertained when His Majesty, Chief Comrade Zuma, husband of many and father of even more implored us to "vote in the spirit of Madiba". Aye! I t doesn't end there. Her Excellency Madame Zille spoke fluent Xhosa while commuting the third class train to Khayelitsha. Being a home language Xhosa speaker myself, I had my red pen ready to pinpoint any errors she might make while trying to pull off this tongue twister of a language. I can already see Lindiwe Mazibuko saying "Madame, the q and c are pronounced differently in Xhosa". But the piece de resistance of this whole puppet show came from the Economic Emperor himself, the Czar of Limpopo, Deviator of the Zuma and Evader of the taxes, Julius Malema. Like a true puff adder, he bloated himself up and did everything but kiss the feet of his listeners as he assured them that their miserable plight will end only, and if only the EFF books a seat in that wretched building of filth-mongers in Cape Town.
Now believe me when I say that I have no business being a spectator in the political arena of this beautiful land of ours. Business for me is best conducted after sunset in the company of the ever so loyal Mr. Jameson or that fine fellow of the Johnnie Walker clan. But here's a question for the philosophers: why should I vote? With South Africa being a country of complainers, they tell us (whoever they are) that if one doesn't vote, one has wavered one's right to complain. See, this is what I meant when I said that such political drivel appeals to a certain kind of man on the street. Bear in mind that the streets are filled with dead-beat fathers and 'coke' snorting mothers breastfeeding while holding a bottle of cheap skokiaan wine in the dungeons of Nigerian bars. Word from the grapevine is that the mortality rate in these dungeons is worse than England during the bubonic plague.
I guess those Greek deviants like Socrates and Aristotle would call it one of life's little ironies that I, as cynical as I am about embracing my democratic right to vote, has actually registered to vote come 7 May. To whom the coveted X will cross is still a mystery to me. No, I'm lying, it's not a mystery. Whichever party promises me a million rand tender with no qualifications, will grant me a German sedan paid for by the government and will make sure that my first cousin's aunt and step sisters will get jobs in the department of public works as in tomorrow irrespective of their having dropped out in Standard 8 is getting my vote. Oh wait...the above criteria sounds awfully similar to the one practised by the current government. Problem is, I'm not the one benefiting and I tend to disdain larceny that doesn't cater for me.
And while the world is witnessing Russia and Ukraine fighting over Crimea and yes, my uncle from the East, Kim Jong-un winning the North Korean elections with a definite 100%, let it also bear witness to South Africans brazenly taking that walk to the polls. Wait, another lie. The world will not witness our march to the polls. Far be it from me to solicit (by means of my pen, not that kind of soliciting okay) the world's attention while grave matters require their attention, like the royal baby smiling at the queen or Victoria Beckham's new crash diet.
And now to you my liege, yes you my reader, on the dawn of May, brace the breezes that will blow on that day and cast your vote. Just do me a favour (sorry not me, I don't care) do yourself a favour and ask why? Why are you voting for that particular set of lies over the other, because rest assured, politics is just old men talking and young men dying.
I personally loathe everything politics and my tolerance levels for this rhetoric drivel going around is lower than Julius Malema's IQ; so I was not very inclined to listen to the different manifestos but nay, in the spirit of 'aspiring journalist' I summoned the will of the gods and the patience of the angels to heed the wise words of the not-so-wise political minds. I was particularly entertained when His Majesty, Chief Comrade Zuma, husband of many and father of even more implored us to "vote in the spirit of Madiba". Aye! I t doesn't end there. Her Excellency Madame Zille spoke fluent Xhosa while commuting the third class train to Khayelitsha. Being a home language Xhosa speaker myself, I had my red pen ready to pinpoint any errors she might make while trying to pull off this tongue twister of a language. I can already see Lindiwe Mazibuko saying "Madame, the q and c are pronounced differently in Xhosa". But the piece de resistance of this whole puppet show came from the Economic Emperor himself, the Czar of Limpopo, Deviator of the Zuma and Evader of the taxes, Julius Malema. Like a true puff adder, he bloated himself up and did everything but kiss the feet of his listeners as he assured them that their miserable plight will end only, and if only the EFF books a seat in that wretched building of filth-mongers in Cape Town.
Now believe me when I say that I have no business being a spectator in the political arena of this beautiful land of ours. Business for me is best conducted after sunset in the company of the ever so loyal Mr. Jameson or that fine fellow of the Johnnie Walker clan. But here's a question for the philosophers: why should I vote? With South Africa being a country of complainers, they tell us (whoever they are) that if one doesn't vote, one has wavered one's right to complain. See, this is what I meant when I said that such political drivel appeals to a certain kind of man on the street. Bear in mind that the streets are filled with dead-beat fathers and 'coke' snorting mothers breastfeeding while holding a bottle of cheap skokiaan wine in the dungeons of Nigerian bars. Word from the grapevine is that the mortality rate in these dungeons is worse than England during the bubonic plague.
I guess those Greek deviants like Socrates and Aristotle would call it one of life's little ironies that I, as cynical as I am about embracing my democratic right to vote, has actually registered to vote come 7 May. To whom the coveted X will cross is still a mystery to me. No, I'm lying, it's not a mystery. Whichever party promises me a million rand tender with no qualifications, will grant me a German sedan paid for by the government and will make sure that my first cousin's aunt and step sisters will get jobs in the department of public works as in tomorrow irrespective of their having dropped out in Standard 8 is getting my vote. Oh wait...the above criteria sounds awfully similar to the one practised by the current government. Problem is, I'm not the one benefiting and I tend to disdain larceny that doesn't cater for me.
And while the world is witnessing Russia and Ukraine fighting over Crimea and yes, my uncle from the East, Kim Jong-un winning the North Korean elections with a definite 100%, let it also bear witness to South Africans brazenly taking that walk to the polls. Wait, another lie. The world will not witness our march to the polls. Far be it from me to solicit (by means of my pen, not that kind of soliciting okay) the world's attention while grave matters require their attention, like the royal baby smiling at the queen or Victoria Beckham's new crash diet.
And now to you my liege, yes you my reader, on the dawn of May, brace the breezes that will blow on that day and cast your vote. Just do me a favour (sorry not me, I don't care) do yourself a favour and ask why? Why are you voting for that particular set of lies over the other, because rest assured, politics is just old men talking and young men dying.
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