A Cock In The Arse Really Gets Me Down

They used to say, “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time!”

Nowadays it’s probably something like, “If you do the crime and the time starts you cryin’, then it’s fine.”

When Shabir Shaik gets off a fifteen year jail sentence due to depression you can’t help losing faith in our system of justice. It’s as if the authorities completely lack any form of bullshit radar.

Of course he’s gonna be a bit blue… fifteen years without a decent curry will do that!

When I was a kid, my mum told me that in prison all you got was stale bread and water – kind of like a long-haul flight on SAA cattle class except with more legroom – but she never mentioned the bumsex with a guy lacking his front teeth, which would have made me a lot less likely to step out of line.

Unlike my mum, the booze pushers last year released that ad totally focused on the unromantic interludes you can expect in a South African jail. Like speed-dating with the Numbers gang, the commercial told you that with more than two beers in your system you ran the risk of a brutal bumfucking from a grizzly gangster.

The irony is that the very same arse-rapers are probably prone to calling you a moffie and beating the crap out of you on any other day.

But the high-flyers don’t have to bunk with the plebs and degenerates, the politically connected surely get their own room with a telly and tea every hour.

And now that Shabir is walking free, drinking and playing golf, with a parole officer who more than likely wears shades at night and sends a seeing-eye dog under the table for a fat envelope of cash every month, you’d think he would have cheered up a mite.

But still the man punches reporters who dare to take his photo, and doesn’t seem appreciate his butt-cheeks’ escape from the clutches of a tattoo’d tsotsi.

This English Dewani fellow, whom South Africans seem more upset with over the bad press our tourism industry received than the death of his beautiful young wife, has been pulling the same “ooh, I’m depressed” shite. I’d like to meet the guy who’s the prime suspect in a murder case cracking a bottle of bubbly and popping an Abba disc in the karaoke machine.

I’d bet the reason these guys are so bummed is because they’re imagining the literal bumming they’re likely to get in Pollsmoor.

And if that’s enough to get you off, then I don’t understand why we have such a problem with overcrowding in our prisons.