Using racist insults is so lazy and I think if we all applied ourselves, we could insult each other with the vibrant creativity usually reserved for government’s explanations of where all the money went. I say we put a bit more effort into our insults.
I understand that at this point, literally both people in South Africa who never have the urge to insult others will be springing energetically from behind a bowl of soya in broccoli sauce to their computers powered by the happy thoughts of fairies. They’ll quickly point out that we should rather not insult each other and show respect for the ways of others. But they are both wrong.
Unfortunately, for those who irritate me, I am quite prepared to work long and hard on a personal insult - although, annoyingly, the perfect personal slur only comes to mind at 3am, when I awake with the flush of excitement thinking That’s exactly what I should have said to them! I’m prepared to meticulously craft something directed against the very fibre of the rude salesperson or daffy twit clogging up all my social media timelines with pictures of her new dog.
For starters, a Yorkie is not a dog. My dog, which is a stunning Rhodesian Ridgeback (are they still called that? Or is it now a Zimbabwean Ridgeback?) regularly leaves surprising efforts on my lawn that are bigger than a Yorkie. Now that, my friends, is a dog and his dedication to his craft is to be admired.
I have no gripe with those who own a Yorkshire terrier or even one of those aggressive little bastards, the miniature Doberman. But understand this: if your little precious scratches my tekkies or tears my jeans in some ill-considered and unprovoked attack on me, I shall drop-kick it over the tennis court.
If you refer to the vicious little turd as a dog, I shall drop-kick you over the tennis court.
I get similarly agitated at our local shopping complex when, invariably, drivers of the smallest cars have the greatest difficulty parking their infernal pieces of Chinese crap between the white lines. Your car is the size of a match box – I could have drop-kicked it from inside the pizza shop between those lines with more accuracy. To be fair, I do practise my drop-kicking for owners of Dachshunds and am getting remarkably accurate.
A special flavour of invective is reserved for the mentally handicapped who park their cars in the spaces reserved for the physically handicapped.
If you are blessed with such a monolithic ego and fundamental inability to evolve beyond Neanderthal thinking, frankly, your testicles should be drop kicked individually by no less than the great Joel Stransky from one side of the field and immediately batted into the acorn trees by one of those big-hitting West Indian cricketers… And thereafter, filed with your cancelled driver’s license, through one of those shredders into the round file under the desk.
And so, I call on all South Africans to verbally abuse each other creatively. If you are going to insult your fellow citizens, be imaginative about it! Using a racist insult, or for that matter, responding to any personal criticism with the retort that the critic is a racist, is just plain lazy.
Spend the next 30 minutes crafting some proper insults, properly abusive stuff! Maybe even make a few notes to carry in your car for pasting under the windscreen wiper of the delivery vehicle using the handicapped parking bay because its driver is too lazy to use the delivery bay two metres further on…
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