Monday, November 28, 2011

Rhodesian way of life : Reality TV?

Suddenly, I had divine inspiration. I needed beer. So I went out for a walk. To the nearest shop. My mind was pondering. Since I sent the whole lot to the editor - I feel a little lost. So I started researching about POD (Print on Demand), and Amazon, and Lulu and stuff, and came to the gloomy conclusion – writing the book is the easy part.

I have chatted with other poor saps trying to make few bucks flogging a book. It isn’t easy. But more wailing about this at a later date. Now I have to tell you about my divine inspiration.

So, there I was mulling and moaning away, as I slogged my way through bitter cold to get my fix, when suddenly I stopped dead stoned, and drunk. It is because I saw the light. I was farting around trying work out what the hell for a celebrity I had created.

Of course – it could be a mini-series! Make a poorly made reality TV episodes - but set in the mad world of Rhodesia! I will expand on this grand plan later.

Meanwhile. I decided to work on the back cover. Not bad for a start, but it could be a tad too long –

War torn Rhodesia 1976 -78

After proclaiming the coveted crown of Rhodesia has no Talent, along with the X-Factor and semi-finalist in Strictly come Soldiering, the Gokwe Kid now has only one more triumphal title to achieve. To be the ultimate outback detective – Dick of the Bushveld.

Patrol Officer Greenberg is his name – outranking stupidity is his bane; as he battles protocol and dodges the evil gooks of Mugabe. From his inauguration into the world’s finest police force – the British South Africa Police, he is threatened with terrible death on an almost daily basis from his ‘friends’, whilst his enemies avoid him like the plague.

A mocumentry, a tragic/comedy – this is the true story of torturous transition. A deranged, juvenile delinquent motormouths into a manly, deranged delinquent - and fails rather dramatically in that task as well. This hilarious weepy will have you attached to alcohol and giant joints.

As the whites only ‘Rhodesian way of life’ reality TV show’s ratings plummet, the legend in his own mind finally screams –
‘I’m a celebrity – get me out of here!’

So, after messing around with that, and a couple of whatevers later, I decide, whilst pissing around with another version, I come up with a rather odd idea for a prologue -

21 December 1979
Reporting from Lancaster House

With the world wide viewing figures of the reality TV show Rhodesian way of life hitting rock bottom, and advertising revenues at a critical point, the shows founder, Ian Douglas Smith, finally acknowledged the game was up.

Speaking to a large audience of cheering, communist insurgent bastards, the man known as, The Great White Bwana, spoke with sorrow as he acknowledged that the plug had been finally pulled on the show, that its height, was watched by millions of whites only fans.
‘It was a great run. The people really loved it for the first ten years but then the blacks wanted to become contestants as well and just wouldn’t take no for an answer. We did propose that if they agreed that only white contestants can win farms and Mercedes Benzes as prizes, and that black contestants would receive a bar of Sunlight soap and a Cecil John Rhodes colouring book - they went fucking ape shit! The ungrateful bastards.’

Wiping away a tear, the man that would inspire Simon Cowell decades later, continued,
‘Remember in ‘76 to ’78, when we really struggled to get viewer ratings up and we had that twat from the British South Africa Police appearing in all our shows? Was that funny or what?  Pissed out his head on the X-factor, starving to death on I’m a celebratory get me out of here’ and best of all, when he won the Rhodesia has no talent, we tricked him into paying for the shows caterers. What an imbecile. He even believed the gook nonsense about winning and getting great big farms full of tobacco and maize fields and a luxury car. Hah-hah. Silly sod. Those were the days!’

Even the commie insurgent bastards shut up in respect. Some also remembered the show which had been beamed via Russian satellites to their base camps.

 Great White Bwana Smithy continued.
‘Aah, remember that time when he tried to chat up that nun with the hairy legs. Laugh? I nearly shat!’

Then a well known heckler in the audience, a dim-wit called Mugabe, chirps up,

‘Yes, yes, I remember that episode, and then we went and murdered her, hah-hah!’
And the room erupted into laughter as many recalled that and other favourite scenes.

The Great White Bwana then lost his composure for a minute.
‘And that is exactly why this show is gone, because you fucking lot went too bloody far! It’s all well and good to take the piss out of some poor bastard for a few laughs, but you lot – went totally over the top. So, you have only yourselves to blame. Once you ass holes start your own produced reality TV show, and it all go well tits-up, don’t come with your begging bowls. You can fuck off!’

After putting up with some enthusiastic jeering, Smithy, as the former producer had been nicknamed by his adoring fans, continued,
‘I never did work it out. That fool PO Greenberg, talked so much shite, but the bloody viewers never voted him off, no matter how much we manipulated the votes!’

‘Hah,’ screamed that idiot Mugabe, now backed by the whole pack, ‘That’s where we can teach you stupid whiteys a lesson!’
Smithy frowned and made a rude gesture towards Mugabe, and wrapped up the interview on a rather soft note,
‘I still wonder what happened to the Gokwe Kid. I was always amazed that he was never butchered by any of us. I hope he writes his memoirs one day. He was a true bush detective. A real Dick of the Bushveld.

‘More like “Dickhead”,’ shouted Mugabe, to roars of laughter.

The Great White Bwana stood up and with dignity walked the walk. It was all over. But he knew, this wasn’t the end, for – the show must go on…

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