The King of Nkandla was sitting on his gold plated throne,
pondering his next move...
Ticking away the minutes with his fat sausage fingers.
The King of Nkandla paid no heed to His wives scuffling on the white marble floor, wigs and nails flying about.
A war erupting over who gets to ride in the royal Rolls Royce.
Just mind the the bronze statue in the corner.
The King of Nkandla was tapping away, lazily eyeing the dog at his feet chewing on a juicy piece of steak.
Princess and princesses tearing up the palace. Distraught servants putting out flames.
A minister appeared, a scrawny rat like figure. Announcement, announcement.
The King of Nkandla just turned his head and attention at the giant flat screen hanging from his chandelier.
Tapping away the minutes with his fat sausage fingers.
Oh, why He wondered, do the plebs complain so much, Why do they weep and curse and mock his name.
They blamed him for all the crime and corruption and craziness engulfing the country.
They accused him of playing the system and gorging himself on the state coffers.
His palace, the privilege and many luxuries.
A sigh, a cough and scratching of royal buttocks.
Plebs, stupid Plebs.
The King of Nkandla was sitting on his thrown, pondering his next move,
Sushi for breakfast or maybe caviar ....
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