Like some other local idiot with nothing to offer humanity, I’ve this week been dragged in front of a disciplinary hearing for brining my party in disrepute.
Charges range from being drunk in public and running down the street semi-naked, clutching an old ANC election poster in a suggestive manner, to making unfounded accusations that someone in “government” had more than a few grains of sand between their ears, and a pair of hairy round objects in their pants.
I must admit, that last one was a bit of a doozie (or doosie if you use the Queen’s English), but then I was feeling happy and irresponsible, like a state official on payday - nothing could stop me.
I was rather looking forward to my showdown with the party leaders to prove, once and for all, who swings the biggest wors in the land yet, alas, it seems the charge sheet has gone walkabout, much like concrete evidence of my indiscretions by way of CCTV footage (in HD nogals) and the mysterious group disappearance of any and all witnesses.
Rumours are they’ve all taken leave to stand queue at World Cup ticketing centres where, for half and arm, a full leg and a fresh flaming hot sunburn you can pick up your prized possession to watch the mighty Algeria taking on Slovenia in that hotbed of excitement and political executions, Polokwane.
Personally I think my mates at Chancers House got wind of my pending session on the Red carpet of Reprimand and have quietly seen to it that those daring to point me out as a loud mouthed lout with an appetite for the ridiculous are sufficiently intimidated. It’s not what you know it’s who you know and I know a fairly large number of dubious creatures that would sell their soul - and yours mind you - just to make a quick buck.
Yes, I have embraced my African heritage, my culture, my right to not take responsibility for anything I do or say...hey, when in Rome, I suppose.
Anyway, I hear that nothing is now going to come from this apparent call to order that was issued by the elders who dare not recognise my superior influence over at least two percent of the general population.
Just goes to show that if you believe your own press for long enough, sooner, rather than later, those of weak mind and even weaker will, will succumb to your wishes and the vast vacuous cavern that hosts your point of view.
I am proud to be a South African today.
Only here can a complete doos, or dooz - if you go yank on me, prance around in glorious nakedness with nobody having a smidgen of integrity to tell him that he’s flashing all and sundry his wears that should be covered by a pair of trousers.
I feel like Frank “the tank” in the movie Old School. Hopefully on my next streak down the road I’d find an open KFC and a car full of women to give me a ride.
Surely nothing else will happen to me?
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