Month: September 2017

Blowhard vs Dotard

Dear Kim Jong-un, Supreme Leader of the Glorious Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Invincible Ninja Assassin and Grandmaster Flash of the Nuclear Holocaust,

Well done on telling that power-crazed manchild with ridiculous hair where to get off. Don’t let it bother you that some people are using the exact same line in messages to Donald Trump. He is a pale imitation of the real thing. You are a riddle wrapped in a dumpling inside a meatball.

I watched Trump addressing the United Nations last week and realised that by calling you Rocket Man, Trump was obviously threatening to deploy Elton John to Pyongyang. The detonation of a gay bomb of this magnitude would destroy North Korea’s youth, three of whom aren’t currently serving in the army. The last thing you want is your 1st Infantry Division sashaying into battle while humming the theme song from Yentl and thrusting their hips provocatively in the direction of Japan. As it is, that goosestep is perilously close to a showgirl’s high-kick.

You’re a man who knows the importance of taking a stand and sticking to his guns. While you were threatening to bomb America, do you know what our president was doing? He took time off from robbing the nation to sign some kind of lame treaty prohibiting the use of nuclear weapons. It’s easy when you have a uranium stockpile that can fit into a matchbox. We might as well sign a treaty prohibiting the use of exploding sheep. It’s utterly meaningless.

I hope you’re not going to let Trump get away with his empty threat to “totally destroy” North Korea. In this game of oneupmanship you have to move fast. I suggest you threaten to blow up the entire northern hemisphere. And maybe the moon. It’s the only language he understands.

Trump’s hawkish handmaiden at the UN, Nikki Haley, said your weapons tests were “exhausting conventional diplomacy”. You know what would be really exhausting? Coming home every night to Nikki bloody Haley and her glittery eyed defence of a man with the intellect and physique of a pile of builder’s rubble.

Do you have a wife to come home to after a long day of stroking hard missiles and gasping as they burst from their fecund burrows? Please don’t think I am judging you. If you come home to a bed full of boys covered in puppy fat and baby oil, that is your business.

Did you catch whatshisface from Iran speaking at the UN? He was rabbiting on about moderation and democracy or some such rubbish. Sounded like appeasement to me. The man has plenty of enriched bomb fodder. He should act accordingly. Put Tehran on your to-bomb list at once.

I hope you have enough intercontinental ballistic missiles, old boy. It would be frightfully embarrassing to run out after blowing up Guam and Alaska before even getting around to rogue nations like New Zealand.

Our President Zuma also spoke at the UN. If the nuke idea doesn’t come together, you could always use him as your secret weapon. Unleash him on the USA. He’d bore them to death in no time at all. I didn’t watch his speech out of a need for self-preservation. Besides, someone else would’ve written it all for him. The only original words that ever come out of his mouth are, “It wasn’t me”, “Take it on appeal” and “Where’s my cut?”

By the way, well done on executing that uncle of yours. I never did like the look of him. What put you off? Did you catch him smiling? Not applauding one of your spectacular public appearances? Perhaps you were simply pruning the family. Weeding out the annoying ones. I know I’ve thought of it. You also had your half-brother whacked at Kuala Lumpur airport a few months ago while he was trying to sneak off to Disneyland in Tokyo. I hear you used a liquid nerve agent. Nice work. Classy. It’s obvious he had to be stopped. Allow this sort of gallivanting and the next thing you know your semi-sibling is getting the imperial haircut and you’re hanging by your heels having your throat slit.

You’re a creative man, Kim. I like that about you. For starters, you had your defence minister shot to death with anti-aircraft guns. It must’ve been a majestic sight. That’ll teach him to fall asleep in a meeting. You also obliterated one of your army officers with a mortar round and used a flamethrower on your deputy public security minister. This is out-of-the-box thinking and I look forward to hearing about your next revolutionary idea for executing friends and family. You know what would be really awesome? If you strapped someone to the nose of your next missile. Then again, you give one person a free overseas flight with the promise of a quick, painless death and others would quickly queue up for the chance.

If Trump finally does go batshit crazy, you and your 25 million people could always sneak across the demilitarised zone one moonless night and mingle. No offence, but you all do look alike, don’t you? North. South. It makes no difference. You’re Koreans. You’re almost family. A lot of you are family. The Americans would never be able to track everyone down. You might have to change your hairstyle. And shed a bit of weight.

Look, you’re never going to be the next Dennis Rodman, but you are Rocket Man. You drink and smoke heavily and show a genuine passion for casual homicide. Hell, learn how to braai and you could almost pass for South African.

When things quieten down, as they will after an intercontinental nuclear shindig, you should pop in for a visit. Our people could learn from your work ethic. It’s not for nothing that you are chairman of the Workers’ Party. We have more shirkers and lurkers than workers but we sure as hell know how to party. You might have to bring your own teenage virgins. We’re fresh out at the moment, thanks largely to our school teachers.

Good luck, Lil’ Kim. I get the feeling you’re going to need it.

Rocket Man

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Cheap lies & dumb points

So here we are, clinging to shattered shards of hope trying desperately not to get swept away in the poisonous torrents of traducement that spew from the repulsive mouths of our lords of the lies and other vile merchants of mendacity. Our streets are full of toothless hags inventing tales of woe and the courts are packed with prevaricators of every shade. Churches reverberate to the sound of equivocating men fencing their own brand of truth while places of learning are overrun with pseudologists more suited to busking in subways. Parliament is overrun with wool-pulling fabulists and the papers are packed with shaggy dog stories.

Don’t believe what you see, read or hear. Don’t take anything at face value. Question everything and everyone, including the people with whom you live and work.

I saw a headline the other day that read, “Cops hunt for man who shot seven homeless people.” I didn’t read it because it’s full of trigger words, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if this turned out to be the latest scheme by our unhinged social development minister to solve the homeless problem. Nothing is as it seems any more.

We are down the rabbit hole and things can only get curiouser from now until the ANC elects a new president in the party’s traditional orgiastic feeding frenzy of greed and expediency. It’s becoming way too crowded around the trough and old snouts will have to make way for the new. It’s not going to be a pretty sight. Keep the curtains drawn and the children indoors.

Parliament may try to ram home a fistful of ill-considered laws before they turn off the lights and go off to do constituency work. I did some of that earlier in the week and was tongued awake the next day by my neighbour’s Labrador. To be fair, I was in his basket. Exhausting stuff, constituency work.

Speaking of which, one of the more malevolent pieces of legislation tabled recently is the elegantly named Administrative Adjudication of Road Traffic Offences Amendment Bill. Rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it. Amendments are meant to be good, right? We look to the glorious United States of America to set the standard here. The First Amendment guarantees freedom of religion, speech and the press. The Fourth Amendment protects people from unreasonable searches and seizures. The Eighth Amendment deals with excessive bail, fines and punishments that are forbidden. And so on. This gives the impression that amendments are good things. A tweaking of the laws so that the people might be better served and less oppressed.

Not here, buddy. When you hear the word ‘amendment’ in South Africa, you sell your house and get to the airport as quickly as possible. Leave your family. There’s no time.

And when the word ‘amendment’ appears in the same sentence as ‘road traffic offences’, you should know it’s not going to be a sensible amendment that encourages people to drive stoned because they are unable to go faster than 50km/h. Or an amendment that allows men to drink and drive if they are taller than 1.9m because we, I mean, they, can obviously hold their alcohol a lot better than a 1.5m teenage girl.

Instead of making good laws better, we’re making bad laws worse. This is in line with government thinking on pretty much everything, really. There is good news for some, though. Once implemented, the demerit system will enable traffic police to demand far bigger bribes since the stakes are so much higher. I’m happy for them. There’s no reason bribes shouldn’t at least keep pace with inflation.

In KwaZulu-Natal, traffic officers have already been trained “so that they can adapt to the new law”. Fair enough, although I would’ve thought it more important to train us, the general motoring public, who seem utterly unable to adapt to laws of any kind.

From what I can make out, the amendment is designed to reduce carnage on the roads in the most brutal way possible. On top of being fined, you will have points added to your licence. This sounds like a good thing. But if you go around boasting that you have 97 points on your licence, you’re doing it wrong. The higher your score, the more your chances of losing. It’s like golf, except you’re playing against Tiger Woods off his face on amphetamines.

Will the demerit system reduce the number of accidents on our roads? Of course not. I’m willing to wager that most crashes are caused by people not paying attention. The proliferation of cellphones, social media and infidelity has taken away our ability to concentrate for more than three minutes at a time. Accidents happen when our minds are elsewhere.

So the demerit system is not going to make drivers any less attention deficit. All it will do is take a vicious financial toll on motorists who activate speed traps, don’t use seatbelts and park in loading zones, all of which I do regularly without anyone getting hurt.

This is what Justice Project SA chairman Howard Dembovsky had to say about the amendment. “Something is terribly wrong here. This not only violates the constitution but the principles of the justice system.”

Here’s how it works. Do something naughty and you will receive an infringement notice ordering you to pay a fine. Ignore it and a month later you’ll get a “courtesy letter” – for which you will be charged – reminding you to pay up. Ignore that and 32 days later you’ll get an enforcement order notifying you of the number of demerit points against you and again ordering you to pay the fine plus the cost of the enforcement order. Until you pay, you won’t be able to renew your car’s licence disc. Ignore the enforcement order and a warrant of execution will be issued and the Sheriff will come to your house and take your stuff. This is a way of getting rid of the junk in your garage. He is also allowed to confiscate your licence, immobilise your car and report you to a credit bureau, after which you may wish to emigrate.

Let me tell you about the demerit system. You start off with zero points. Skip a stop sign, fail to renew the car’s licence or use your cellphone while driving and it’s a R500 fine plus one demerit point. Exceeding R100km/h in a 60km/h zone – which everyone does – will get you six demerit points and a fine. Drive with more than 0.05g of alcohol in your blood – which everyone does – will also see six points added to your licence. Plus a fine. You will then be stripped naked, given a light stoning by clerks from the finance department and, once the Alsatians have finished with you, banished from your village.

When you reach 12 points, the game is over and your driving licence is suspended for three months. One point is taken off if you behave yourself for three straight months. But get three suspensions and your licence is cancelled and destroyed. If you ever want to drive legally again, you will have to undergo a “rehabilitation” programme. That’s right. You’re going to rehab. And don’t expect any yummy methadone, either.

It doesn’t end there. Get out of rehab and it’s off to the tribunal. Do you know who else appears before tribunals? War criminals, that’s who. But you’re not a war criminal. War criminals aren’t expected to have their hearing repeatedly postponed because the photocopier is broken or their file is missing. War criminals aren’t expected to walk for three days to reach the tribunal because their licence has been suspended. You’re going to be wishing you were a war criminal by the time this is over.

If the tribunal decides that you have learnt from your mistakes – contrition is best shown by wearing sackcloth and lashing yourself with a cat ‘o nine tails – you will be able to apply for a learner’s licence. If you pass, you may take a driver’s test. I’m not making this up. They really think this is going to work.

Pregnant women apply for their unborn babies to write the K53 test in the hope that they’ll get an appointment by the time they turn 18. You get 12 points and lose your licence, you’ll be in a retirement home by the time you reach the front of the backlog .

The bill must now be adopted by the National Council of Provinces and signed into law by President Zuma. This is excellent news. Once Zuma starts applying his mind, all bets are off.

RoadblockBen

 

Where the buffel ous roam

Quite a few white South Africans long for a return to the past. I am one of them. However, while the past they hanker after goes back to the time of PW Botha, I’m more interested in returning to the Golden Age where immortals mingled freely with the gods and there was peace and harmony and nobody had to work.

I don’t know what their flag looked like. Perhaps they didn’t even have a flag. It was a busy time, what with ruler Cronus castrating his father, Uranus, then marrying his own sister Rhea and having six children with her, five of whom he ate because his mother Gaia had told him he’d be overthrown by one of them, but little Zeus survived and was suckled and raised by the divine goat Amaltheia on the island of Crete before going on to make quite a name for himself. Zeus, not the goat. So you can imagine there might not have been time to fiddle about with flags.

I only mention flags because one of them caused a bit of a stir recently. A group of friends visited Brian’s Pub at the less salubrious end of Sea Point’s Main Road and spotted the old South African flag up on the wall. This was followed by a lively discussion and the summonsing of the police, who promptly arrested the complainants. This is standard operating procedure for Cape Town cops.

I lived in Sea Point for a few years and played pool in that pub a couple of times when it was still known as Brian’s Late Nite Tavern. It was a real dive and stayed open longer than any other bars in the area. Around 2am it would begin filling up with junkies and hookers and other creatures of the night. It was great. I don’t remember seeing the old South African flag on the wall. Then again, anyone who drinks at Brian’s is there to forget.

Owner Brian Dunn defended the flag. “That flag did nothing. It’s the politicians that did the problem, not the flag,” he said. “I have all the old flags like Namibia … I have the old Rhodesian flag hanging there also.”

Er, Brian? The old flag of Namibia is the same as the old flag of South Africa. And your Zimbabwean staff, if you have any, must really appreciate having the Rhodesian flag up. After all, it’s not the flag that ruined Zimbabwe – it’s the British. No, wait. It’s Zanu-PF. This is confusing.

A white Namibian-born friend of mine subsequently called for a boycott of Brian’s Pub on her Facebook page. First out of the woodwork was 52-year-old Bernard Herbert of Cape Town.

Bernard Herbert

He asked people to join him in “shoving it in the face” of my friend. “The Oranje Wit & Blou is not illegal, and it is the flag I served under in the SADF. IT STAYS ON MY SLEEVE!!!” he shouted, spraying his cat with spittle.

Repeatedly claiming an IQ of 140, which seems about as likely as Mzwanele Manyi not being a Gupta stooge, Herbert says he is openly proud of his heritage. He must have had some spittle left over because he added, “I especially spit on whites, who make negative comments, while misinterperreting who I am and make judgement and especially, who are traitors to my people, siding with the ideals of those oppressing us!”

A devoted Mormon, our boy says he leads a clean and virtuous life. He pays his TV licence and his etoll account is in credit. That’s right. In credit. As if that’s not enough to question his mental health, it’s also apparent that the best years of his life were spent in the army.

In fact, General Jannie Geldenhuys inducted Rifleman Herbert into the SA Defence Force Association in April this year. His certificate reads, “You as a Military Veteran are recognised for your contribution in the development of the RSA, the sacrifice you made and the price you have paid in serving South Africa selflessly in the South African Defence Force.”

When someone on Facebook called him a wanker, he was quick to point out their error. “Why would one masturbate when they have a wife they can turn to at any time?” Even when she’s cooking or cleaning, I presume. “Don’t stop, honey, this won’t take long.” If only we all had such accommodating wives.

Another snowflake libtard enemy of the alt-right asked why he stayed in Africa instead of moving to, say, Holland. I might be wrong, but I have an idea the Netherlands isn’t exactly clamouring to award citizenship to the likes of our lad Herbert. The Trump administration, on the other hand …

His response, “Because I was born on African soil and I do not yield for anybody, especially when five of every ten of them is mentally retarded.”

Claiming first-hand experience of “the barbarity of those peoples who came from up north”, he said he “saw it in Rhodesia, bearing arms at the age of 9, I saw it serving in the glorious SADF …” I’d heard tell of Ian Smith’s fearless child soldiers but until now I never really believed they existed.

In an earlier post, he says, “I am wearing my browns today, as every day. I still stand alone ready ‘om aan te triej‘ with the first available resistance force …” I suppose it does cut down on the laundry bill.

Herbert says he lives in harmony with the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and denies being a racist. It’s the other people who are racists. Them. The ANC. And the criminals in gummint.

“The only thing is that they are not tried and convicted for these crimes because they protect each other. They have long met the equivalent of the Gadiaton robbers in the Book of Mormon and I will take the stance of Captain Moroni very soon.” No need for the i, there, Captain.

He refers to “the terrorist Mandela”, bemoans violence against white people and accuses law enforcement agencies of being “involved in the racist and apartheid like oppression and stripping of justice for white South Africans”.

He goes on. “At a point we will have no choice but to defend our rights through an armed conflict, and I intend to be on the anti racism side of that conflict, as defined by President Hinckley.” President who? I visited the communist enclave Google for answers. Ah. A former leader of the Mormon Church who died in office at the age of 98. A bit like Mugabe, then, except mortal.

Shockingly, Rifleman Herbert doesn’t agree with people of the same gender raising a child. “Liberals would chain themselves to parliament if man intervened by giving lambs to lions to parent, yet they okay with humans being allowed to.” Absolutely. A lamb’s place is on the braai. Also, lions are gay.

He pledges his support to Vlakplaas killer Eugene de Kock, who he describes as “a friend and patriot” and in a couple of posts references the extreme right Suidlanders – which seems to be Herbert’s organisation of choice. He also describes the recent Knysna fires as a “purposefully executed plan by a terrorist network” and warns people to have their evacuation plans ready.

He denies that this is “prepper sensationalism” saying “We have had a current Colonel in the SAPS brief us at a meeting recently … Let me put it this way, he does not think we are nutcase prophets of doom!”

When someone calls him a “sorry soul”, he responds, “I chose my leaders and the ANC and those things that are anything but honorable that sit in that joke called parliament are not my leaders. I chose to subject myself to my leaders too, because we are a team and we will win, as we have before.” I expect he’s talking about Blood River.

The other day he posted a video of himself walking down what appears to be an empty street in the Cape Town suburb of Du Noon singing Die Stem to prove some or other obscure point.

A word of advice. If you do bump into Bernard Herbert, don’t mention the flag.