The Quotable Malema

If it was put to a vote, I’d bet that the majority of South Africans would ditch the proposed ‘African Union’ for the cooler sounding ‘United States of Africa’. Not because of any conceptual conflict, but just coz here in SA we’re kind of obsessed with anything American.

They’ve got bimbo Paris Hilton – we’ve got Khanyi Mbau. They’ve got floppy haired, reality show rich guy Donald Trump – we’ve got BEE wannabe Tokyo Sexwale.

And do I even need to mention Chuck Norris and Steve Hofmeyer?

Most of the time the Yanks top us, but when it comes to embarrassing politicians a hundred Bushes and Palins couldn’t reach the wading-in-his-own-bullshit ankles of our own Julius Malema.

I’ve picked ten of my fave quotes from Sir Juju on a number of topics, but there are hundreds more.

Here goes:

1. On the ANC’s chances of a two-thirds majority: “Two-third majority? Our aim is a three-thirds majority!” (My guess is that his maths is as bad as his woodwork.)

2. On rape: “When a woman didn’t enjoy it, she leaves early in the morning. Those who had a nice time will wait until the sun comes out, request breakfast and ask for taxi money.” (That's why, guys, it's safer for your confidence levels if you get a flat near a taxi rank.)

3. In response to his 14 traffic fines (over five grand): "I only know revolution, I don’t know anything about driving.” (Sounds like most of the taxi drivers.)

4. To a BBC journalist: “Rubbish is what you have covered in that trousers!” (The journo obviously forgot to comb his pubes that morning.)

5. On Zuma (in 2009): “If Zuma is corrupt, then we want him with all his corruption. We want him with all his weaknesses. If he is uneducated, then we want him as our uneducated president.” (Luckily for Zuma, SA women have such low standards as well.)

6. In a Third Degree interview with Debra Patta, asked if he would kill himself after failing Matric: “Kill myself? I would rather commit suicide!” (Well, what can you say to that?)

7. On the Caster Semenya scandal: “Hermaphrodite, what is that? Somebody tell me, what is hermaphrodite in Pedi? There's no such thing... hermaphrodite... in Pedi. So don't impose your hermaphrodite concepts on us.” (Actually, there is a word for 'hermaphrodite' in Pedi - it's 'Kgalamatona'.

8. After a complaint about noise from a party at his house: ““Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do? Who the fuck are you?” (As far as catchphrases go, that's gotta be up there.)

9. On why he doesn’t read the newspaper: "When I want to know about a certain country I will make a research about it and go through the relevant material. I don't just read everything that is going to mislead me." (That's just what I said to the guy handing out free copies of The New Age.)

10. And the famous: "We are prepared to die for Zuma! We are prepared to take up arms and kill for Zuma!” (After the uproar he explained that the word 'kill' was used to show 'love and compassion'... he then asked for taxi money.)

We can look forward to even more when we elect Juju as our 'President for Life' in 2019 or around there.

So proud!

Floyd Shivambu should Remove his Foot & Wash his Mouth out with Soap!

I was always under the impression that a spokesperson was a sort of PR person for a company, celebrity or political party – there to make their employer look intelligent, thoughtful and concerned about whatever issues they wanted to appear concerned about.

But it seems to work a bit differently in South Africa, where ANCYL spokesman Floyd Shivambu seems to think the term ‘Rainbow Nation’ refers to the use of politicians’ colourful language.

On YouTube we can listen to the recorded telephone call from News24 reporter Jacques Domisse to Shivambu, in which the rather dim-witted sounding Shiv tells Domisse: “…you cannot force yourself to speak to people if they do not speak to you.” and then proceeds to tell the probably-rubbing-his-hands-with-glee journo to “fuck off”.

Then, a few days later, in lieu of an apology, he said that the report’s aim was to “divert attention” from the League’s national conference resolutions, and that reporters wanted to "engage in disgustingly provocative methods and means of engagement".

The “provocative” engagement on Domisse’s part was to ask for Julius Malema’s comments on the R78 000 His Jujuness spent at the Royal Malewane lodge, seeing as the Youth League prez likes to punt himself as a “champion of the poor”.

Baleka Mbete, the ANC’s chairperson, condemned the behaviour as being “unacceptable” – of course, in ANC-speak this means we’ll wait for it to blow over and forget about it.

It’s easy to write this off as arrogance or stupidity, but I think Shivambo is ahead of his peers when it comes to media relations.

He knows that when the Secrecy Bill kicks off they’ll be able to dispense with the tired response of “No comment!” and simply tell nosy media pigs to just “Fuck off!”

Little White Lies Are Okay If They're Little and You're White!

It’s about time we heard more about how racist and sexist Cape Town is.

We need to stop hiding the fact that Western Cape wives spend their days with a toothbrush scrubbing the kitchen floor while their husbands beat their black slaves in the back garden.

“Apartheid social engineering is far more expressed in [the Western Cape] with heightened fears within the white community, the insecurity among coloured compatriots and the frustrated aspirations of the African community,” said ANC WC secretary Songezo Mjongile.

Damn straight! The whites are terrified the MK Veterans and ANC Youth League are going to make good on their threat to make the Western Cape ungovernable, the coloureds are worried they’ll be redistributed due to their “overconcentration”, and the Africans nervous that if we go back to ANC rule the service delivery roll out will dry up forever.

Fears like these are ridiculous. And it’s about time those of us at the continent’s tip just accepted the facts.

Comrades Julius Malema and Jimmy Manyi have made it clear that social engineering is just another Apartheid tactic the ANC is keen to adopt – much like the Protection of Information bill; better known as the Secrecy Bill; and soon to be known as the How-We-Became-Zimbabwe Bill.

“Under the guise of good governance and a better service delivery record,” Mjongile continues, “a coded vocabulary of racism and sexism is rearing its ugly head…”

There is nothing more despicable than hiding your contempt for the Other behind competence and honesty.

Much better to wear your bigotry on your sleeve, as Juju, Manyi and our Ugandan ambassador Jon Qwelane are infamous for. Rather live in squalor knowing how those you put in power really feel.

But having strength in your convictions doesn’t just mean a cushy government job after a short spell in prison for corruption. Even our esteemed president Jacob Zuma, with his sordid sexual antics and comments about punching out gays in his youth, shows how committed our leaders are to backpedalling our freedoms.

What nerve the DA’s Theuns Botha has to tell our leaders to “stop stealing, stop corruption, stop infighting… Stop the bad practices the ANC is renowned for.”

Doesn’t he know that this is how dictatorships are built.

Seriously, Botha should just grow up and admit that the whites have had enough of this democracy lark and want to revert back to the way it was. Then we could all be on the same page and let the people decide what colour they want their oppressor to be.

The Secrecy Bill Can Lick My Balls!

I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m not convinced that illegal tenders, ministerial overspending, and where Zuma sticks his salami should be considered top secret information.

Sensitive, yes – if by ‘sensitive’ you mean embarrassing and emotional.

One can only assume that the ANC, upon noticing the steady decline in support, has decided not to get their act together but instead to stop potential voters knowing about it.

The proposed Protection of Information Bill would allow ANY government institution to deem ANY information as ‘classified’ and impose a minimum 15 year prison sentence on reporters and whistleblowers.

So if you, as a concerned government employee, happened to notice another, more important employee taking baked beans from pensioners or sticking fingers in schoolboys’ bums – and you decided to tell a journalist about it – and said journalist took a picture and wrote a story – you and said journalist could face anything from 15 to 25 years in chookie.

There is no ‘public interest’ defence, meaning that no matter how much it might rightly concern you and me – taxpayers and citizens – won’t make a difference.

They want us to believe it’s all for our own good, and as far back as 2008 they’ve been trying to trick us into eating this steaming turd. But now they’re happy to aggressively force it through our clenched teeth and down our convulsing gullets.

If you’re unclear on the meaning of this all, check out ‘The Dummies Guide to the Secrecy Bill’ here. And if it’s still unclear, read this.

And if this upsets you, please sign the Right2Know petition here.

This bill will effectively murder investigative journalism. We will never again hear about our tax Rands being raped, our ministers’ wives as druglords, or even the next extramarital presidential impregnation.

Aside from not knowing what is happening in our country, the papers will be downright boring.

Sign the petition here.

The Tea Girl's Beautiful Brew

More prone to racist slurs and incitant songs, it’s not surprising that Julius Malema refused to debate Lindiwe Mazibuko, referring to her as the “tea girl of the madam”.

“I’m not debating the service of the madam,” Malema moaned.

Helen Zille – leader of the Democratic Alliance, Premier of the Western Cape and Juju’s least favourite “madam” – said it was more likely that Malema was “terrified” and (being the sexist buffoon he is) didn’t want to lose to a woman.

Now we all know Julius couldn’t argue his way out of a paper bag, but after seeing Mazibuko’s impressive performance on e-TV where she even managed to shut Debra Patta up I don’t really blame him for running.

It would be like bringing a Ping-Pong paddle to a gunfight; the plastic balls bouncing off a bulletproof Mazibuko as Malema was mowed down with articulate ammunition.

Malema is a kapokkie in revolutionary clothing. Like a big cock rooster he puffs up his chest and struts around like he’s important… but really just makes a lot of noise.

Lindiwe Mazibuko, on the other hand, is well-spoken and knowledgeable. She has been elected to Parliament and is the DA’s National Spokesperson and Shadow Deputy Minister of Communications.

Malema is not much more than a bad stand-up comedian; a raffish rabble-rouser getting grunting guffaws from his asinine audience.

In a unique strategy, the DA has produced a politician who actually answers questions in a way that makes sense and refrains from adopting the clichéd public officials’ trait of ‘talking for a very long time but not saying anything’.

Julius Malema, so fond of pocketing people according to colour, fails to see the yellow glow emanating from his bloated belly.

But the jaundiced Juju should know that his cowardice will not go unnoticed by all, and soon the chickens will come home to roost... and take him along with them.

POpuLarITICS

After the last elections a lady I know from Khayalitsha told me about how at the eleventh hour she changed her allegiance from ANC to Democratic Alliance because the DA were handing out “nicer things” like t-shirts and boerewors rolls.

I also hear it’s not uncommon for candidates to hand out cellphone airtime to prospective punters.

I suppose with no hope of any real change the best bet seems to be ‘take what you can get now!’

It smacks of ‘stepfather syndrome’ – like your mom’s new boyfriend buying your good graces with gifts; it gets him in the door and into her panties, and later when you find out he’s a dickhead it’s too late.

I suppose giving away free stuff is one way to make friends, but the ANC know that to be prom queen you’ve got to get people to want to be you.

That’s why the ruling party big wigs tool around in cars that cost more than 520 weeks of wages, bring bodyguards to court sporting Armani and artillery, and base their campaigns on how good a dancer their president is.

And if status don’t do it, star power will. That’s why jazz guitarist Jimmy Dludlu can now be seen traipsing door-to-door telling his fans to vote the right way or it’s not only Jesus that will hate you, but celebs as well.

Having “offered [his] services to the party for this election campaign”, one wonders what those might be besides lending his famous face to election hopefuls.

Maybe he’s planning to strum along as Zuma sings his famous ‘machine gun’ song, or possibly an up-tempo version of the ‘kill the boer’ ditty comrades are so fond of.

Poor old Helen Zille tries to keep up – learning to toi-toi and boning up on some struggle tunes – and we can only hope she won’t get an Idols runner-up to tag along with her this time.

A friend of mine reckons politicians shouldn’t be allowed to bang on about what they’re going to do, they should only be allowed to talk about what they’ve done already. If the best they can come up with is a keyring and hotdog then it might give us something to think about.

If our democracy keeps sinking deeper into a mere popularity contest, with issues given brief lip service and the real question being how many famous people we can get on board and how many t-shirts we can hand out, then we might as well make the elections an SABC reality show and we can all phone in our votes.

At least then the airtime will be useful.

Read This!

Every South African should read this... and then this!

Paying for Propaganda

I remember when the government-aligned New Age newspaper hit the streets. I wandered across to the supermarket in the morning and there it was proudly boasting that, like tik from a schoolyard dealer, the first one was free.

By the end of the day the massive pile was untouched – they literally couldn’t give it away. Not surprising because, as Julius Malema no doubt realised long ago, we are all “bastard agents” in the Western Cape.

So I could only groan upon news that another government publication, Vuk'uzenzelei, will be hitting the streets in April.

Published by 'coloured-redistributer' Jimmy Manyi (see: 'Too Many Capeys in Cape Town?'), the monthly tabloid will be free to the public. It will also be free of commercial advertising, lest it “clutter” the newspaper. “It might create confusion. Don't be surprised if we don't allow commercial advertising,” said Jimmy.

So the first question from any taxpaying packhorse would be, “Well then who’s paying for it?”

You are, of course! Propaganda don’t come cheap, and you can’t expect Zuma to forgo his right to a BMW for each of his wives.

And it definitely won’t come cheap. Jimmy told probably less-than-awe-inspired journalists, “We want it on the streets, in every township and rural area. It will be bigger than all of you guys put together!”

And with an impressive print run of 2 million copies each month at a cost of R1-million per edition, you can bet it will be the most pricey distribution of toilet paper and birdcage-lining in the history of the world!

Unless they somehow get people to read it, which fills me with dread of Lynne Brown as a ‘Page 3’ girl, and a ‘How to pick up chicks’ column penned by Jacob Zuma.

One can only hope that the taxpayers will march on Parliament to stop this nonsense, and that the unemployed will question whether R1-mill-a-month could be better spent elsewhere.

Don't Touch Me On My 'Culture'

You can say what you want about our president, but the man certainly is virile.

With the wife-count sitting at three, he has no less than two fiancées. And on top of all that his extra-marital philandering is public knowledge.

God only knows how many kids he has, and I think the official count is somewhere around 22.

Zuma has excused his actions, saying, “That’s my culture!” and also mentioned that many western, monogamous politicians have mistresses.

The thing is, if you’re defending polygamy and attacking extra-marital affairs, how do you explain your own cheating ways? The reason we always see Zuma with that fat grin on his mug is because he somehow manages to have his cake and eat it.

Maybe it’s because his current wives really only care about the money and status that they don’t mind. Maybe being a woman within a polygamous culture makes you a bit more thick-skinned when it comes to your man sticking his dick into anything with a heartbeat. Maybe JZ actually is so damn charming that he manages to talk himself out of accountability for his indiscretions.

But playing the culture card is something I have a bit of a problem with.

Middle Eastern cultures allow family honour killings. Acts like virginity testing and female circumcision are excused as ‘part of our culture’.

In Mali, if a man leaves town and is worried his wife’s going to fool around, it is culturally acceptable for him to sew her vagina closed.

And why are all these ‘cultural’ beliefs patriarchal? Why isn’t it a case of ‘what’s good for the gander is good for the goose’? In this age of equality, why can’t a woman be let off the hook for infidelity as easily as a man is?

Am I being racist or ethnocentric for believing that it’s wrong for a man to be able to have as many sexual partners as he likes, while women must make do with just the one useless lump? It’s not the act of polygamy that I have such a beef with, it’s the unfairness of the whole set-up.

When you think about it, saying that men are allowed to do certain things but women aren’t is as bad as saying that whites are allowed to do certain things but blacks aren’t.

It’s as bad as excusing racism and intolerance as just part of our South African culture.

[If you found this post thought-provoking or mildly amusing, drop a blank email at chickenpost.addiction@gmail.com and get future links sent right to your inbox!]

Too Many Capeys in Cape Town?

What? You mean Juju Malema is NOT the only racist in the African National Congress? Colour me ‘not fucking surprised at all’.

Way back in 2010, Jimmy Manyi – chief ANC spokesman – told a television talk show audience that the Western Cape had an “over-concentration of coloureds” and that they should “spread in the rest of the country”.

For non-South African readers, a ‘coloured’ is a person defined by the previous Apartheid regime as too dark to be ‘white’ and too light to be ‘black’.

Instead of ‘coffee’ or ‘caramel’, they unimaginatively labelled them ‘coloured’ - kind of the in-betweeners; South Africa’s middle-children.

Mad Manyi continues: “So they must stop this over-concentration situation because they are in over-supply where they are, so you must look into the country and see where you can meet the supply.” – this is how our government’s head mouthpiece actually speaks.

As is the case with many ‘comrades’, a translation is in order.

What Jimmy Manyi seems to be implying is that we need a new kind of Group Areas Act in order to redistribute the much-loved ‘Capey’. Move them somewhere else so there’s more room for the darker-toned ANC supporters. It’s not just a war on whites that some in the ruling party want to wage, but a war on anyone deemed ‘not African enough’.

The real reason, no matter what the spin doctors in the ANC might tell us in the coming days, is because the ‘coloureds’ of the Western Cape just don’t seem to be voting the right way. They prefer the no nonsense, no corruption, no jobs-for-pals way the Democratic Alliance and partners run things.

Room on the dangerously creaking bandwagon is in short supply. Just about every opposition partygoer has flipped their taxpayer-purchased wigs, but these comments haven’t just pissed off non-blacks in general, even ones in the ruling party itself.

Trevor Manuel, former Minister of Finance but now just plain old Minister in the Presidency and one of the few respected members of ANC hierarchy, in an open letter, accused Manyi of being “a racist in the mould of HF Verwoerd” - ouch!

Independent Democrats parliamentary leader, Joe Mcgluwa, stated that the ANC “continue to be guided by a policy of narrow racial nationalism, and are even now trying to engage in social engineering that would push millions of coloured people out of the Western Cape,”

Western Cape Premier and head honchette of the DA, Helen Zille, has called for Manyi’s “immediate dismissal”, but the truth is she’s probably praying they keep him on – like wrapping votes in Quality Street paper and chucking them in a pram.

Gwede Mantashe, ANC secretary-general currently holding the reins of the bulging-eyed, frothy-mouthed, nostril-flaring steed that is South Africa, when approached for comment by Cape Argus reporters, curtly told them: “It’s none of your business.”

In other words, “Fuck off and stop interfering with our diabolical schemes.”

Me & Helen in Hell

Finally! A way to get away with occasionally forgetting to feed the hamsters and watching all that porn!

Dirty hands washed clean, and all it takes is a vote for the ANC!

According to our fornicating, DA-hating prez, Jacob Zuma, “When you carry an ANC membership card you are blessed. When you have an ANC card, you will be let through to go to Heaven.”

He goes on to say that a vote for Helen Zille's Democratic Alliance or any other party is a one-way ticket to hellfire, brimstone, and no Johnny Walker Blue.

Understandably, this has upset holy-Joes nationwide, most notably African Christian Democratic Party paragon, Kenneth Meshoe, who railed about how “disappointed and shocked” he was with how Zuma could “mislead and deceive” dumb South Africans into believing they would be ‘saved’ if they just voted the right way.

And damn straight he should be pissed off, blessings from the Big Man (JC, not JZ) is all the ACDP has got going for them – it’s their sole platform… the soul platform, if I may.

If Meshoe had had a heads-up, he could have been sitting pretty long ago. Alas, that gravy train has left the station.

The problem I have with politicos punting piety is the same problem I have with pairing contradictory terms like ‘instant classic’, ‘military intelligence’, or ‘SABC news’. – it just doesn’t make sense.

The Christians next door wake me up at an ungodly hour (get it?) every Sunday morning with church bells and exhaust fume smells. Their cars parked willy-nilly, blocking up the street; the happy hooting as they leave, joyous in having staved off penance for the week’s sins.

Fucking inconsiderate, if you ask me! But not a far cry from clogging up half of Cape Town, inconveniencing lowly taxpayers with an Oscars-style red carpet ride when government ministers come back to work after the Christmas holidays.

With a bit more thought though, I reckon maybe the ANC isn’t as idiotic is we all might think.

Their main support base consists of the uneducated, rural masses – walking kilometres every day to get water, sending their sons off to the City in the hope of some cash to send home.

The possibility that God might look upon them more fondly if they pencil an X next to Zuma’s humpy head couldn’t hurt. No matter who’s in power, it’s not going to affect their lot in the foreseeable future so tata ma chance and all that.

But implying that the ANC is God’s party and that a vote the wrong way will get you to Hell is in line with saying that all whities are devils… which is a showerhead’s throw away from hate speech, surely.

Devils are evil. And evil should be vanquished. So let’s drive all the evil devils into the sea and take their nice things.

The only upswing I can see is that if Heaven is not only going to be full of self-righteous Christians, but incompetent ANC officials as well, then in Hell the conversation won’t only be better, but the place will be run a lot more efficiently to boot.

In that case, a blessing would have to come with horns, a pointy tail, and a pitchfork.

Where can I study Juju-gese?

If South Africa were a sane country, I’d say Juju Malema’s days were numbered.

The leader of the ANC Youth League said a while back that young people had “a responsibility to party” - a sentiment I’m sure he wasn’t too sure of the next morning with his head down the toilet, vomiting up sushi, Johnny Walker, and a nipple cap.

Oh well, we must all suffer for the revolution.

Most recently, at the opening of ex-con Kenny Kunene’s ZAR nightclub in Cape Town, our pudgy leader of the upstarts told the press that DA leader Helen Zille (PBUH) “will not close ZAR at 2am, like she does to other clubs in Cape Town. The ANC owns ZAR and we will party until the morning."

A political party raising capital selling liquor from the bar and condoms from the toilet vending machine seems strange; but this is Africa, after all – we do things a little differently around these parts.

As usual Floyd Shivambu – ANCYL blackboard monitor – lost sleep translating into English a language that could only be called Juju-gese, “The ANCYL president said that the freedom and right for black people to own a club in a predominantly white territory is a freedom and right that came because of the ANC."

Wow! I bet those stuffy old archaeologists had an easier time deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics.

I’m not sure what is more embarrassing to the ruling party – Julius’ ridiculous statements or Shivambu’s laughable translations.

The thought that such a drunken buffoon would have his public office rug pulled out from underneath him is quaint, but looking at the ANC’s internal politics I’m sure this man will one day become our country's president.

Hopefully he would have sobered up by then, but I doubt it.

George Orwell is the Boogeyman!

Two stories my mom likes to tell: How I could fall asleep anywhere; and how when I was breastfeeding and she had company I would bite her nipples.

Luckily I’ve grown out of both breastfeeding and nipple-munching – which was the reaction to some kind of fearful anxiety about being stolen away from my mother, I suppose. When I'm afraid, I bite!

The falling asleep thing is still a trait I possess.

I’m notorious for dozing off in the cinema – usually when the movie’s a bit boring – and often I’m woken up by the person next to me when I start to snore.

Even though I fell asleep in Paranormal Activity, I still gave the sequel a look-in.

And it was good! Not like the first that, as my good friend Mark commented, wasn’t bad until they found the big chicken footprints all over the house – like Foghorn Leghorn broke in and made off with the stereo.

It’s so hard to find a decent scary movie these days – you’ve got to look for your jollies somewhere else. Personally, there’s not much that scares me more than a George Orwell novel.

Anyone who’s read 1984 will know just how terrifying the man’s mind was – makes the latest Stephen King read like a Hardy Boys.

The most recent that made me hug my teddy and check the front door was properly locked is Keep the Aspidistra Flying about a writer who falls into poverty when quits his ‘good’ job to pursue a career as a poet.

Go figure.

The protagonist “loathes dull, middle-class respectability and worship of money” and consistently bangs on about the ‘money-god’ that is the only deity people seem to follow.

Makes sense; money has much in common with the mythical Master of the Universe – it’s eternal, omnipotent, and everyone loves it.

I think governments know this and that’s why they put the president’s face on bank notes. They’re feisty, governments.

The face-on-the-money bit is the way a despot tells the world, “I’ve arrived!”

That’s why in America the big man can get away with just about anything. They know that money = god = our beloved leaders. Maybe not the current guy, it’s more of a general respect of the Cheese.

Of course, in SA we’ve got the Big 5 on our cash; which made me wonder whether that showed the importance of certain species.

Cheetah and lion – good.

Elephant and rhino– eh.

But then I thought, hold on, we’ve got Madiba’s face on the five Rand coin! Surely Nelson Mandela is more important to our identity as South Africans than the wildlife?

So my theory, like a punctured party balloon, made a lot of noise but eventually lay pathetic and flat on the floor.

Or maybe it’s not the usual nonsense. Maybe it’s because we’ve got game on our notes that the militant left wing always complain that whites care more about endangered animals than poor people.

Wealth is still divided unfairly in the favour of us pale natives, and coins are mostly used not to buy anything of value, but to tip the car guard or donate towards a bergie’s booze fund.

Could this be sending us a subliminal understanding? Is it the reason rich people don’t care about other people, only themselves, their money, and getting to the Kruger national park for the holidays?

Or is it because of some traditional, African tribal worship of animals?

Did you know that if you fold a fifty Rand note a certain way it looks like Eugene Terreblanche’s face?

It’s interesting to note that the Vatican City issues its own Euro with the Pope’s mug on it, not the hippy profile of Jesus.

Putting the faces of lower-level gods (presidents, animals) on the body of our actual god (money) scares me because it hints at the possibility that Church and State aren’t as separate as I hoped!

The rationale is surely that being associated with that-which-is-most-holy makes one holy by association (Welcome to the Department of Redundancy Department). Kind of like name-dropping in a way:

“I was hanging out with George Clooney the other night.”

“Big deal, my face is on the new eighteen Rand note.”

Although I like to believe differently, I know I’m not smart enough to dodge marketing manipulation and bureaucratic bullshit all the time. To think of how often my thought processes and ideas are steered by another’s agenda is terrifying.

It scares me so much I think I might bite the next nipple that passes by.

Burn Your TV Licence, It's The Sane Thing To Do

So as it turns out, paying your TV license was maybe not the right thing to do.

A judgement in the Johannesburg High Court has found the South African Broadcasting Corporation well worthy of its moniker, SANC.

“Judge CJ Claasen found the SABC had violated its licence conditions… through its blacklisting of political commentators… and in coverage of the 2005 Zimbabwe elections.” (Cape Argus – 26/01/2011)

Under the chairmanship of Snuki Zikalala the public (state?) broadcaster manipulated SABC coverage, and then covered-up this manipulation through official on-air denials.

The reality is that we don’t need protection from the press, we need protection from Party propaganda!

These revelations beg the question; do we need a public broadcaster at all?

e-tv – a free channel supported solely through advertising revenue – provides better quality international and locally-made programming and costs us nothing.

It would be understandable if, like the BBC, there were no commercials on SABC channels, but this is not the case. You can’t watch five minutes of substandard news and talk shows without being bombarded with ads for the Floor Wiz or sanitary towels.

And looking at the quality of programmes, one has to wonder into which minister’s pocket all the money goes?

For all its whinging about “unfair reporting”, the ANC has revealed itself to be the greatest threat to Truth in South Africa. One can only imagine the lies printed in the equally aligned ruling party rag, The New Age – just another ANC wolf in Free Press clothing.

This causes even greater concern over a Media Tribunal and Protection of Information Act – they not only want to chain our tongues, but pour poison into our ears as well.

In my view we should do away with a State broadcaster, and even more vehemently oppose the restrictions on free speech.

Big Brother's Little Granny is Watching You

It’s surprising that there’s so much freedom and democracy around, because there are dictators everywhere!

The granny-Goebbels living below us wrote a rude note in the foyer because someone dared hang their laundry in the communal braai area. It was only for a few hours in the sun, and as I passed it on the way to do Lucy and my gruds I thought, “Wish I could let myself do that!”

I can’t, you see, because my paranoid South African mind worries that someone will jump over the wall and pinch my holy t-shirts and Lucy’s sexy knickers.

As a resident, the fact someone else could do it didn’t bother me at all.

She signed the handwritten letter: The Trustees, before she putty’d it to the marble counter-top. I figured if she’d gone to all the trouble to call a meeting and vote on it the least she could do was type and print it out with a cute Swastika letterhead.

And then I thought about all the other mini-dictators in the world, ruling their little Zimbabwes with an iron, wrinkly fist.

Not all are wrinkly and frail either. Just think of your boss, or your mother, laying down the law with no parliamentary committee or public participation. And almost everyone on a block of flats’ body corporate are self-righteous control freaks.

It’s inevitable that some of these people would end up on the top of the pile; the figureheads of entire nations.

With the possible exception of hippies, most parents are fascist bastards – they have to be – otherwise their kids would end up pregnant teenagers, drug addicts or worse… writers!

Most of the time it’s much easier to steer someone else’s destiny than your own. And growing up you quickly realise that most of the decisions that affect your life are made in your absence (if I may paraphrase Salman Rushdie).

People blab that “power corrupts; and absolute power corrupts absolutely” – I don’t think that’s true at all. The world isn’t a kiddies’ TV show, but imagine the state of it if everyone in authority was bent?

Corruption does not necessarily infect those in power, but those with corruptible natures will always seek out power.

Thinking Out the Ballot Box

I think Cape Town is a very well-run city. Helen Zille and the Democratic Alliance are doing a much better job than the ANC, who stole the city through floor-crossing a few years ago because they couldn’t get actual votes.

The blowhards who rule our beloved country bang on about how racist Cape Town is because they voted whites into power, but I don’t think it’s a race thing at all.

And I don’t think it’s all got to do with race when it comes to the ANC either. They don’t want all the money and power for blacks, they want it for themselves.

I truly believe that for the most part the DA are striving to make this city better for the people living in it, even when it comes to the new liquor law.

Unfortunately, I think Taki Amira and the rest of the party poopers spoiling everyone’s fun just don’t have the ability to think out of the box or be even the mildest bit creative.

I’m not really for or against the new law. It just seems pointless.

Sending everyone home early won’t stop drunk drivers – we need more roadblocks and better policing; we need to instil the belief that it is idiotic to sit behind the wheel when you can barely stand.

And it’s certainly not going to help those poor families with an abusive, alcoholic patriarch – if anything they’ll be even more pissed off and prone to violence when they get sent packing because their local’s got to close early.

In the UK, many pubs and clubs blacklist punters who cause trouble or get violent on or around the premises. This Pubwatch scheme works wonders because if you get shitfaced and start a brawl that’s it! You won’t be allowed into any of the participating pubs.

But it is all up to the bars and restaurants to uphold this social responsibility and work together.

A crazy idea that might curb domestic abuse would be to make bottle stores require ID and proof of residence from patrons. All purchases would need to be recorded and regularly checked by the police. Any retailers that sold without recording the customers’ details would need to be fined or shut down.

Domestic abuse recidivists could then be blacklisted and if they’re serious offenders they could be banned from purchasing liquor.

This would also help to get drunk bergies off the streets – no address, no hooch.

The law as it stands isn’t bad at all, but we need to tackle these problems in creative ways, from every angle.

I just feel sorry for all the waiters and bartenders who, after all the crap they’ve had to deal with, might enjoy an after-work drink to unwind, but can’t… because everything’s shut :(

Voldemort is an African

A guy was arrested last week with a bucket of body parts – an old man’s head, a baby’s torso, and arms and legs from another infant.

These were to be sold for muti.

People in Europe and America will be shocked by such things, but here in South Africa the story was on page 5 of the paper.

In Angola, albinos are hunted because sangomas – witchdoctors – pay big money for their limbs, which are believed to hold magical qualities.

The Oxford dictionary defines muti as a Zulu word that means traditional African medicine or magical charms. It specifically means African medicine using body parts.

A report by Under The Same Sun reveals that if the body parts are taken from a live victim, it is believed the screams enhance the muti’s effectiveness or magical qualities.

Muti is said to solve anything from money troubles to health issues, and body parts are traded across African borders for large sums of cash.

Muti is big business.

This evil underworld is, obviously, incredibly secretive; but earlier this year it was discovered that “you get just R10,000 for coming with a person”, Simon Fellows, project manager for the Mozambique Human Rights League, told the Argus in March this year of information received from the sister-in-law of a victim in KZN.

The sister-in-law said that the person’s eyes, nipples, clitoris and tongue were removed.

"Based on the accounts we received, there is internal trafficking and cross-border trafficking, but it is difficult to establish where the body parts are going. There is talk in South Africa that witchdoctors come in from outside." Fellows said.

There is a UN Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, but this barely covers organ trafficking. The Under The Same Sun report states that “in essence the protocol prevents human trafficking in the event that the victim is alive and the purpose of movement of that victim is to remove body parts. The protocol does not cover the issue of movement of body parts that have been removed without any… coercive elements…”

This problem does not have a legal solution. At the risk of sounding ethnocentric, this can only be solved through a massive change in cultural beliefs, and with so much anti-Western sentiment on this continent it is not something overseas human rights organisations can tackle – the change must come from within.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas Sucks!

I’ve never really had a definitive view on Christmas. Some years I walk around with a gormless, smiley expression, like I’ve been smoking rooibos tea again; and some years it just doesn’t seem like Santa’s going to come at all.

Almost everyone I know is broke already even though the first prezzies haven’t even been bought yet! I think for a lot of us it feels like January, but without the added depression of another Earth-shattering family dispute.

Unless every uncle and auntie pulls out all the stops to remind your mum or gran about how badly that childhood slight emotionally scarred them a hundred years ago, it just doesn’t feel like Jesus was born.

Even the Testament-wrestlers get upset! Banging on about how it’s all so commercial and we should remember that if it wasn’t for God there’s be no turkey sandwiches on Boxing Day – like we all don’t know already and just thought it was a funny coincidence that Jesus was born on the 25th.

I’d almost forgotten, but was reminded last night when I heard a guy in Woodstock singing a Christmas song. Something along the lines of, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth removed.”

You can sing miserable old hymns all year round, but December is reserved for the more up-tempo but equally depressing Cliff Richard or Elvis track… I lie, of course; I love the Elvis Christmas cd – it makes my bad dancing seem contrived and not merely genetic.

And it’s always interesting to browse music shops and see which artists are hard up for cash.

I think the last, dying breath of any musician is the Christmas album. It might have seemed like a good idea at the time, but there’s nothing that says ‘uncool’ like singing wholesome, happy, holiday tunes. This is the age of Emo – Santa’s got to be a dirty, old man or serial killer.

You can also tell it’s Christmas because shops have got spray-on snow in their windows. In a country that wouldn’t know snow if it fell from the sky, we’re so dying to be American that we fake it for December.

But I think fake happiness over the festive season is better than the alternative. If anything, it’s more of a cliché to be a Grinch.

The people who hate this time of year are probably the same people who hated the World Cup or anything that forces them to see other people happy. Not liking Christmas is kind of like not liking puppies and kittens.

Just think of it as a good excuse to get pissed, eat a lot, and bring up that time your brother played Wrestlemania with your favourite teddy and snapped its head off… I’ll never forgive him for that!