Secret Lives: Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe

This is a picture of me with my copy of the book Rhodesian Memories Part 1, that was kindly sent to me by Bill McDonald from www.lekkerwear.com who helped to compile and publish it. (You can order a copy from there.) I am proud to say that two of my anecdotes are in it. Best of all, the very first story is mine! Having read about a third of the book so far, I have come to the conclusion that my anecdotes are the best. How’s that for modesty. The others are good of course; don’t get me wrong, I am just preening myself.

I was sitting on the toilet this morning, reading some more from a contribution by Derek Partridge. He was quite the celebrity on Rhodesian television. Then suddenly, as I was pressing a large coil, I was stopped in mid push by a name that sprang out the page - Bill Basson. It mentioned that Bill, who at the time was the chairman of British American Tobacco, had in his 1977 government appointed investigation of the new board of the Rhodesian Broadcasting Corporation, recommended sacking all the directors and most of the top radio management. Quoting from the book, Derek says –

‘it was not implemented…and the results were disastrous for RTV and for Rhodesian viewers.’

Very interesting indeed, but so what? Well, I am sick and tired of seeing the name Basson in some form of print because it makes me feel like a loser. His son, Ryk, has at least three photographs of himself in the book Rhodesian Senior Schools Part 2; lined up in the rugby team, the water polo team, the bloody athletic team (vomit vomit), but you won't see a picture of me in the gymspastics team! Ryk and I were in the same class at Mount Pleasant School for a while. He was always top of the class academically and I was always at the bottom. I was always at the top for being a clown, then and now, whilst Ryk went on to be a dentist. It was him who pulled my rotting tooth out my head a short time ago and it was him along with a few other best friends that said to me last week ‘when are you finishing the bloody book?’. Here is the answer -

With Part 1 of my memoirs, Last Of The Rhodesians: Chronicles of a Colonial Anarchist, now heading towards the 600 page mark, I realised I was floundering. The first book only covers my antics up till the age of 21 and had to make a new plan. I had always decided to have it in three sections. The school years, the police years and the last bit covered my exodus from Rhodesia and some of my adventures in Europe, as a sort of prologue to the next book.

With Zimbabwe crashing down like a house of cards in flames, I needed to get something finished as soon as possible while the subject is still hot. I decided to go back to the beginning and go over once again the school years. I discovered that along with substantial rewriting needed, in the time that has passed since I first wrote the chapters, I have recalled more details. Now thanks to my courses with the Open University in creative writing, I have the ability to make LOTR far better than even I imagined.

So the plan is to finish the school years in its entirety and with luck I will have it ready in time for Christmas. I will keep you informed. You will not be disappointed, that I promise. It will have all the trademarks of my style of writing – highly entertaining, extremely honest, full of satirical wit and most of all, very very funny!

Oh, if your looking for a good dentist in London, click on the link Rhodie dentist.

If you have a moment, please take time to look at the pictures from yesterdays The Guardian newspaper. The one above is taken from the collection of 26 harrowing images. (It is the entrance gate to one of the invaded farms.) I looked and when I compared them to the pictures in my head of my own childhood in the same place, my mind just boggled.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/gallery/2007/jul/06/internationalnews.zimbabwenews?picture=330151019

Finally, I took this bit from an article in today’s Telegraph –

Judith Todd's father, Sir Garfield Todd, was Rhodesia's last liberal leader and she was imprisoned, force-fed and exiled under Ian Smith's rule for her efforts to promote black majority rule.

This is of course very bad. But is the next part very good?

After independence she returned to head a development agency working particularly with the war veterans who had fought for Zimbabwe. But when she criticised Mr Mugabe's regime she was detained and raped by a senior army officer, she revealed yesterday.

Of course not – but if you read the rest of the article, this women still has shit for brains. I wonder if she would write a nice glowing forward for my book – NOT!

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml;jsessionid=0VEARKCTHR5E5QFIQMFCFFOAVCBQYIV0?xml=/news/2007/07/09/wzim109.xml

Insane In The Membrane : Mugabe Lost The Plot Completely?

News from Africa generally tends to be the same. Rape, murder, pillaging, corruption, mass starvation and the commonest theme of all – ‘Hey Whitey, this is all your fault, give us your fucking money.’

Well, we are all getting tired of this rhetoric and are constantly wondering when the leaders of African countries are finally going to get out of their latest models of Hummers and Mercedes, pull their fingers out their fat asses and finally decide to do something about their continent.

So the leaders decided this week to have a party. African leaders love parties, especially if they can all clap each other on the back and say ‘ahh, well done, I see you are progressing nicely with the ethnic cleansing and has the G8 money arrived in your Swiss bank account yet?’

This party was slightly different because the African Union, struggling to come up with some bright ideas to relieve the depravation of the continents 99.99% of the population (the other 0.01 were at the conference), spurred on by reformed terrorist (now Number 1 UK pal), Insane Membrane al- Gad-dafti of Libya, came up with an amazing idea to turn all 53 countries in Africa into a United States of Africa!

Pure brilliance! Africa is saved! One enthusiastic supporter of this rather old idea, is non other than our favourite despot, Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe. In front of cheering crowds in Ghana, where the conference was taking place, Bob explained that this would counter balance the western powers. He babbled on more gobbledy gook, but it isn’t worth repeating here, as we have heard it all before and would rather watch the Teletubbies on TV - at least they seem to make sense! Anyway, besides having a jolly good feast, nothing came out of it, because they weren’t prepared to share the loot equally.

Meanwhile, Bob has been busy shouting down the phone to his pals back at home, that the best way to sort out the inflation is to make all the shops cut there prices by 50%. And, if the shops didn’t comply, send in the army and police to beat up the owners and managers! This they duly did and many people were happy with this bonanza. With inflation running (officially) around 4000% (hold on, I just looked at my watch, change that to 5100%), all this stroke of economical cleverness did was reduce the price of goods to its original price, wait for it – from 7 days ago! You think that is clever?

The banks were ordered that the maximum that may be drawn out of a persons account per day, in cash, is 1.5 million. That’s about £6 on the black market (today’s rate). Companies were allowed to have double that.

Things can only get worse, and they did. The last few manufacturers are obviously rather reluctant to sell their stuff for half of what it costs them to make it. No problemo, Bob will take them over. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is all going. And to top it all, mad Bob blames this all on the British. All the shops are in cahoots with the UK, deliberately driving up the prices faster than the Reserve Bank can print money and that is just not fair!

What do African leaders love doing the most after they just finished having a party? They go to another one! This time the food will be better because the Europeans are paying for it. This one is coming up in Portugal and is a so called EU – AU summit or something. This one will have the same theme – ‘Thieving white colonial racist war mongering Jew loving gay gangsters, give us your fucking money!’

Amazingly, Mad Bob is also invited. So much for smart sanctions. (Very clever.) It seems that some of his pals made lots of noises about not coming if their mate Bob wasn’t invited to the bash. As far as I am concerned the EU can save loads of money and tell the lot of em stay at home.

Still, they might be in for a little bit of a surprise when it comes to begging from the French. Their new Bwana is made of a lot more sterner stuff than that Mugabe arse licking toss pot Chirac. President Nicolas Sarkozy has had enough of the thieving bastards and has let loose his dogs of law….

This is just an excerpt from a very interesting article that is the first bit of good news I have heard coming out of Africa in a long time.

From The Times, June 21, 2007

International estimates of embezzlement by Africa’s ruling families vary. In 2002 the Tax Justice Network set the figure at $30 billion (£15 billion) a year from sub-Saharan Africa.

The prosecutors have acted on complaints from four French rights organisations over the alleged large-scale theft of international aid and national wealth by African leaders. The initial inquiry focuses on mansions and apartments that are owned by the leaders of Gabon and the Congo in western Paris.

Read the full thing –

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article1963997.ece

Zimbabwe : Weapon of Mass Destruction is Found!

Finally it has happened. As the west had predicted, a tin pot tyrant would eventually get his hands on a weapon so powerful, that millions of innocent people would die long suffering deaths.

More destructive than your average atomic bomb, this weapon is simple to operate and amazingly can be used again and again, so long as it s supplied with basic raw materials easily available world wide. The most alarming fact is that it was the west who gave Zimbabwe the technology in the first place!

What is so sinisterly clever with this weapon of mass destruction is the subtle way it works. Once the weapon is activated and left to operate, spewing out its deadly pile, there is little any one can do to protect themselves. Many flee, risking life and limb to escape too another country. There they struggle to exist and send what they can back to relatives slowly dying back at home.

Why, you may ask, has no western government reacted, like they did in Iraq?

This is because the Government of Zimbabwe is very clever. This weapon is designed only to kill its own people. Slowly but surely those that are trapped in the land succumb to its deadly affects. Since the bomb was activated seven years ago, like cancerous tumours the deadly stuff just grows and grows. Only the elite, those that started the weapon, are still immune, but some fear it has become like a Frankenstein monster, running amok and out of control.

Many experts predict that the weapon will self implode at any moment, but rumours abound that should this happen, a new updated version would replace it with a modern digital version capable of printing a million bearer cheques with a million dollar face value a minute and continue its destruction deep within the vaults of the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe.

President Robert Mugabe remains defiant and ridicules all reports of the country’s economic demise. At a recent speech at the funeral of a leading member of ZANU (PF) hierarchy (who had mysteriously decided to park his car on a railway crossing, just as the train arrived), the great liberator said,

‘The street beggars are still accepting sacks of Zimbabwe Dollars, so there is nothing wrong with the economy, stupid!’

He also added,

‘Our security forces have recently infiltrated a training camp for the off spring of Ian Smith’s Selous Scouts, who were intending to invade us. However we have successfully routed them.’

The film, showing this successful mission by ZANU (PF), whose emblem is the chicken, has been shown constantly on Zimbabwean television.

Tony Blair - Good Bye and Good Riddance

For those who may not know it, the great leader of the United Kingdom has today done a runner, jacked in his job and will ride off into the sunset and make loads of money by talking more unbelievable lies to idiots who pay to hear them.

In my homage to him, I searched the net to find a general picture of the type of populace that voted him into power and kept him there for 10 painful years. It was difficult as there were so many examples, all having their own merit but in the end I settled on this one.

As you will see in this short film, these Labour supporters tend to be well educated, completely in control of their mental capacities and, as in this example, the backbone of the British economy. The glue that holds British society together is apparent in the comradely way this clip has been presented. The young man starring in this moving tribute is unquestionably a role model for the word Great before the Britain.

What did interest me, and you need sharp eyes to notice it, is what appears to be a very large GERMAN influence! Watch the video and see if you can spot what I did.

Did you spot it? Yes, the beer tin looks suspiciously like it is a Summerfield’s own brand Bavarian Wheat Beer 5.3%. I do have a special affinity to the stuff, as it is the real Mc Coy. As an expert on wheat beer, or as it is correctly pronounced, WeissBier, this wonderful brew is on the par to the famed weiss beer made by Paulauner of Munich. In fact, I secretly think it is from the same brewery. So, look for that silver and blue can, sometimes it is on a special at 99 pence a pop (weep blood, Paulauner is selling at 28 pence a pop in Germany), and give it a go!

Then you too can also get so shit faced, that you will demand that the new Prime Minister of Binging Britain, Gorden Brown’s first job is to reduce the tax on alcohol. That, after all, is guaranteed to get him loads of votes.

Free Marco Weiss

Do you remember the story of the 12 year old British girl who had sex with a 19 year old Turkish waiter whilst on holiday in Turkey? Do you remember the hoo-haa that followed? The Muslim wedding, the press coverage and exclusive interviews for sums of money undisclosed from News of The World and The Sun tabloid papers.

It all blew away, presumably the girl went back to school and the waiter became a small celebrity and starred as himself in a film about the whole sordid affair.

What you haven’t seen on the news and it appears only now to have trickled into the British press, is the incarceration in Turkey, of Marco Weiss, 17, a volunteer with a German aid agency. He is accused of assaulting a 13 year old girl, known as Charlotte M, from Manchester, at a hotel in the resort of Antalya during the Easter holiday. He was arrested after the girl’s mother filed a complaint against him.

Reading both versions of the story, this was a holiday flirt that went horribly wrong. There is no ‘assault’, just the debate did the kid prematurely eject with or with out the fully clothed girl’s encouragement, whilst in her hotel bedroom. The mother reported Marco Weiss to the police. He has been sharing a cell with 30 other prisoners since April 11^th. Turkish prisons aren’t exactly up to European specs!
Marco’s father, a taxi driver, is suffering from leukaemia and can ill afford to see his son for the allowed 8 minutes a week.

The whole sorry affair has now blown into a full scale political row between Berlin and Ankara. The biggest tabloid in Europe, the German Bild Zeitung, is having a field day stirring up passions and a large percentage of the German population see this as another reason for not allowing Turkey into the European Union. Pressure is building against the German government to appeal to the girl’s mother to drop the charges and let Marco, described as a model student, to go home.

I think it is a good idea before this gets really out of hand. I would be the first to say a big thank-you to Charlotte M. and her family.

After all, Antalya is well known for the type of clientele that frequent its cheap all inclusive resorts, little girls who are 13 but look older, who seem to have access to alcohol and are allowed by their parents to stay out late at night in discos.

The Turkish authorities have now requested help in questioning the girl from the British police.

Article in today’s The Times at

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article1987673.ece

Latest article in Germany’s Bild Zeitung

http://www.bild.t-online.de/BTO/news/2007/06/27/tuerken-knast-marco/aussagen-geschlechts-verkehr.html

Happy Birthday to ME!

Exactly nine years ago I nearly got shafted by a big Blackman in Jamaica. For my 40^th birthday I decided to spend two weeks in dreadlock paradise and spent 14 days completely wasted on local grass and Bolivian cocaine. Whilst I had heard that drugs were easily available, being a proper Boy Scout, I thought I better ‘Be prepared’ and became the first idiotic tourist to actually import dope into Jamaica!

I realised that my fears had been totally ungrounded as between the airport terminal and the bus, that was to take me to my run down dump of a hotel on the Negril beach, I scored for 10 US bucks enough grass to keep a troop of baboons permanently stoned for a month.

At the hotel, now semi-wasted after a couple of joints during a pit stop in the three hour bus ride over roads of Congolese type quality (i.e. full of giant water filled holes surrounded by loads of Black people doing fuck all but laugh as the vehicle, full of petrified whiteys, plunged in up to its axels), I was fleeced for 5 bucks by the hotel porter. He promised to fix my bed, which for some reason was sagging in the middle all the way to the floor, and noticing my jet-lagged state offered me a little wake up powder for a 100 US.

Wham – that sorted me out, pure Columbian, greyish in colour with crystals to match the beauty of snowflakes!

The hotel was occupied by a curious mixture of all inclusive tourists from Germany and, of all places, Manchester. The World Cup football was on at the time and much to my delight the pool side bar had a television showing almost every game. I soon had a routine - wake up trashed, a quick line of good old pick me up sniffed up my nostrils and wander down to the bar with a paranoiac grin and my bug eyes well hidden behind mirror glasses. At 11 the first match would be shown and much to the bemusement of the other vacationers I supported Germany, England and every country from Africa.

Lashings of beer replaced any food I needed and the 1pm match would end at the same time as the heavens opened up for the afternoon shower and that was my cue to head for my room. There I would drag out my portable sterio of CD walkman and battery powered mini speakers and set them up in the hallway come balcony. As the rain lashed down, on went Bob Marley and to the sounds of
‘excuse me while I light my Splif,
ahh God how I need a lift’
etc etc, I would puff on an extra strong Marley whilst chucking several captain Morgan 71% proof rum and coke down my throat to slow down my heart which had been pumping blood around my body faster than an F1 race car since I got up. By 7 pm I was in lah lah land but certainly wasn’t going to waste my time sleeping, so after some more of the South American jungle magic up the nose, I was ready for anything. That includes Karaoke down at one of the beach bars.

With my new friends (all Germans, as I understood them better than the Mancurian riff-raff, whose conversational skills consisted of, ‘beer, beer, look at me chick again, I ficken glass ya!’), we went on the piss and I came second with a brilliant redemption of REM’s ‘Loosing My Religion’. By that time I had lost everything, including the plot, never mind religion. I was complimented on my superb ability to match the smoky type redemption of the original. That was because my vocal chords had been systematically been burnt by large quantities of home grown for the last week. The winner was a local Jamaican girl who picked up the 100 dollar prize. However I was informed by one tourist that she won all the time and was employed by the pub…Aaah, all is fair in love and whores, which there were plenty off on the beach, being pimped by there ‘brothers’. Even blasted out my skul, I kept away from that nonsense.

Sadly, my local drug dealer, the ‘porter’, was given the sack after turning up for work one morning ranting like some demented loon. Prior to that happening, I did manage to get a hammer and some nails and repair my bed, but now I was bit stuck for more Columbian smelling salts. The beach is riddled with dodgy dreadlocks offering everything from their mothers to heroin, but at my next transaction I was given baking powder mixed with salt. Cleverly, against the advice of my latest ‘best friend’, to check its purity in public, I did and promptly howled my head off! I didn’t give a monkey and waved the bag of junk around whilst proclaiming loudly that I had been knocked by ‘this mother-fucker’. A hundred hurried apologies and ‘a terrible mix up’ – yeah right, like the Coke is stashed in a tin next to the baking powder in every Jamaican kitchen, and within a couple of minutes was given the real McCoy.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end and looking seriously tanned and at least 5kg lighter (Coke is great if you want to loose weight, you simply can’t be arsed to eat), I arrived at Munich airport. Much to my amusement, quite a few of my fellow passengers were dragged off to be given an A1 search job and peeping through the window, I had a good laugh watching peoples’ shampoo and suncream bottles get squirted all over the place.

Me – this Boy Scout was far to clever to risk bringing anything back. A crying shame really as I landed up giving a massive handful of own grown away to the bloke in the hotel room next door.

And now I am off to get wasted...catch ya laters....

Lets All Drink To The Death Of A Clown

Bernard Manning is dead at the age of 76. He was fat, ugly, uncouth and vomited obscenities faster than a Pakistani protesting over Salman Rushdie’s knighthood.

What made him unique was the fact he was pure Anti-Political Correctness. He took the piss out of all and sundry and as a result was branded a ‘rascist’, a term he just simply laughed off. I certainly wouldn’t consider myself as a fan of him because there is only so much gutter talk I can stomach before I find it boring, but I certainly respect him for sticking to his principles. Quite simply he was one of the last comics who refused to bow to PC pressure and till his dying day happily told jokes at the expense of all and sundry. Jews, Blacks, Irish, Pakistanis, Gays – you name it, he took the piss out of them.

Behind the scenes he did his own thing, donating to charities, regardless of race or creed and far away from any publicity promoting stunts. His obituaries in all the major newspapers today are swamped with reader’s comments, all acknowledging his genius and most repeating their favourite jokes.

I watched an interview with him just a few months ago, where he was telling about the day the BBC kicked him off television for ever as ‘times were a changing’ and that it was no longer PC correct for people like him to be on the box. His reply –

‘you’re about 4 million quid (£) too late!’

He is, as far as I know, the only British stand up comic ever to get a slot at Las Vegas (sold out), lived a relatively humble life and died with a fortune estimated at 10 million pounds. Not bad for a man who came from Ancoats, one of the poorest parts of Manchester, a city he loved.

Some say he died of a broken heart as his beloved football club, Manchester City, could never come out of the shadow of its mighty poncy rival, Manchester United.

One joke went like this –

Went down to (Manchester) City football grounds the other day and a bloke asked me how to get into the ground.
"You go round the corner & there are two queues- a big one & a little one.
Dont get in the big one - that’s for the chippy" (Fish and chip shop.)

Another –

Richard Branson was asked to take over Manchester City football team. He said, "I couldn't do that. I couldn't have my Virgin logo on the shirts of a team that gets fucked stupid every week!"

A couple more –

A blind man goes into a large department store.
An assistant spots him standing in the middle of the ground floor swinging his guide dog around by its lead above his head.
The assistant says ‘Can I help you sir?’
The man replies: ‘No thanks. Just looking around.’

So, lets all drink to the death of a clown, one of the last of his kind…

A man is running down the street.
A fella says to him, ‘why ya running mate?’

‘There's a lion escaped from the zoo!’

‘Bloody hell! Which way is it going?’

‘You don’t think I'm chasing the fucking thing do ya?’

Finally…

A Blackman walks into a pub with a huge multi-coloured parrot perched on his shoulder.

The barman says, ‘Bloody hell, where did you get that?’

The parrot replies, ‘Africa, there’s fucking millions of them there!’

‘Ha Ha’, said the Clown.

Having been preoccupied these last few days, trying to catch up on news from Zimbabwe is a hell of a task. As usual it is all gloom and doom. Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all! Surely there are more important things to report locally, that directly affect me, rather than some banana republic thousands of miles away who blames its own demise on the colour of my skin.

Lets see…

First off, I notice that there is much more noise pollution since Wales instigated a total ban on smoking in public places. I smoke, but I don’t do it in my flat for the simple reason it stinks the place out. So I go out onto my balcony to puff on my cancer sticks in what use to be, relatively speaking, peace and quiet. Not any more though. Not far from me is a pub frequented by a social class of clientele whose ability to comprehend the English language is restricted to looking at large breasts on page three of Britain’s best selling newspaper, The Sun. Whilst it was always a tad noisy on Friday and Saturday nights, especially at closing time when half the village is given verbal education in badly pronounced sexual obscenities, screamed out by fat young women at octaves high enough to shatter a pint glass, things have got worse.

This part of the world is rather wet. In fact, it hasn’t stopped pissing down for the last 10 days and that would normally keep the fag puffing louts exchanging social and sexual intercourse, whilst their feet were glued to the beer drenched rags called carpets, inside. But, due to the new rules, they now spend their time outside, under the marquee. So, instead of a quite fag, my eardrums are bombarded with alcohol fuelled laughter of inebriated wit and the little path I use, which exits near this said pub, now has used condoms scattered artfully among the piles of dog shit.

Other things of note – I went away for a while and when I returned the price of a tin of evaporated milk at the Co-Op shot up from 45 pence to 49 pence! Who do I turn too? Is the UK going the same way as Zimbabwe? Rampant inflation rearing its ugly head?

I was invited for dinner in a local restaurant this week, which according to the blah blah on the menu, prided itself on true blue cooking and that if you want fast food, to look elsewhere. Sadly the opposite was true and I will be looking very fast elsewhere – like my kitchen!

Ahh, come-on, I give this town a hard time and it does deserve it, although I blame the council for most of its problems, but one thing I cannot deny is its location of stunning natural beauty. All this place needs is a large section of it having a Mugabe style operation ‘Clean out Filth’ with a few JCBs to sort it out.

A few years ago the UN released one of its million odd reports, where it stated that Africa is unquestionably the King when it comes to spouting rhetoric, and Zimbabwe was listed at pole position. I believe this to be true, but I tell you what, this lot in the UK must be a close second!

Time for a few laughs…

Some ZANU clown campaigning for election in some dried out devastated part of Zimbabwe, some where near Msvingo, told the somewhat bemused voters that he didn’t give a monkeys toss whether they voted for him or not, as Bob, the man, Mugabe is a great pal of his and under the constitution can give him the seat anyway. This makes us recall that the late Simon Muzenda, who was vice president of ZANU PF and the government, who in 2000 once told voters in one rural constituency in Masvingo province, that even if the ruling party chose a baboon as a candidate, their duty was to vote for the animal without ever questioning the party's choice.

Now I think that is an excellent idea! Imagine all the money that could be saved on Mercedes Benzes and 4 by 4s, not to mention all the farms these so called politicians receive, if they were replaced by baboons! At least they would keep their thieving down to a few cobs of maize they might find.

Whilst Sir Bob Geldorf, Bono, et-al, are handing out the begging bowl for the starving, perhaps they should take comfort by the massive support from Zimbabwe's hardliner Minister of Lands, Didymus Mutasa. Two weeks ago he
repeated threats to expel the few white farmers left in the country and said
a United Nations (UN) report warning of more food shortages in the southern
African country would not deter the Harare government.

"The position is that food shortages or no food shortages, we are going
ahead to remove the remaining whites.” He vowed "we would rather all die
of hunger, but knowing full well that the land is in the hands of black
people."

This was presumably said by a rag clad skinny thin Ghandi look-alike, busy at work weeding his piece of liberated land, whilst his equally thin children chased away the newest elected member for Msvingo, Bono Bobo Baboon, from his wilting maze crop.

Finally… Keeping up with world events –

I was made to remember an old joke the other day whilst watching the news. As the years went by, the joke was constantly updated to keep up with the times. Robert Mugabe was the only character that was the constant, simply because he has been in power for 27 years. Now the joke has to be radically changed, so here is my new version.

Together the President of Zimbabwe, Robert G. Mugabe, the soon ex Prime Minister, Tony Blair, of what’s left of the United (falling apart) Kingdom, Prime World Overtaker Winky Wanky Woo of China and the President of the United States, George Woos Bush, are flying around the world. Suddenly Tony Blair says,

‘I know we are flying over England right at this moment.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry. Tony points to a 125 mile nose to tail traffic jam visible on the M25 circular motorway surrounding London,

‘all the cars have Polish number plates,’ he says.

The others are suitably impressed. A short time later Mugabe shouts out,

‘we are flying over Zimbabwe now.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry.

Bob, ‘The Man’, points proudly to millions of acres of devastated farmland, clearly visible,

‘because I see 8 million people holding out begging bowls!’

The others are suitably impressed.

A short time later, Winky Wanky Woo (known affectionately as WWW.UCensored.com), gabbles excitedly,

‘we now fly over China.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry.

‘Plumes of black smoke from our new industries cover the earth as far as the eye can see’, he smirks contently, thinking he has won the war of posing.

George Woos Bush, now wracking his brain to think of something to impress his fellow passengers, gathers his secret service bodyguards around him and suddenly he opens the door of the aircraft and sticks his left arm out and screams triumphantly,

‘we are now flying over Albania.’

‘How do you know this?’ the others cry.

‘Some thieving peasant has just stolen my watch!’

GEE, who ATE the money?

As usual, I like to keep you all informed regarding anything that involves everything of interest, so as such, I got on a plane and flew off to Germany. Why, you may ask? Well, it is obvious that from there I can give real in-depth reporting about the G8 summit that has just ended in Rostock.

I decided to fly with easyStress.com, the low cost budget airline, which along with lierRyanAir.com, are responsible for the greatest increases in heart attacks and other stress related diseases. You will never arrive at an airport and be told that sadly, things were going so smooth, that they left 45 minutes earlier than usual, just to make sure that they arrived on time and it was your own stupid sodding problem if you were too lazy to check on the internet the latest regulations posted 15 minutes after you left the house. Neither is it there problem if you haven’t subscribed to the £2 a word text information system for your mobile phone.

This of course never happens as the plane is invariably late. Now I didn’t fly to Rostock, I flew to Munich, to make sure I was as far away from the few thousand nutters, masquerading as ‘protesters’, as possible. I was delayed both ways. In London I was delayed because ‘there is a delay with the flight from Munich’ and I typed part of this Blog entry in Munich’s waiting lounge, because, ‘there is a delay with the flight from London.’ DOH! If all of them are so delayed, why not simply change the flight times? You book a ticket for 16.00 take off, but it only actually get its act together at 18.00 - what is the bleedin point? Why not simply have the flight for 18.00. If the idiots arrive early for a change, we can be grateful and the pilot and crew can all go for a pint or two.

On the way from the UK to the ‘Vaterland’ it was such a cock-up, that I landed being flown by a different airline altogether. Seating was a ‘free for all’ which wasn’t a problem as the plane was massive and every one had a 3 seat row for them selves. As compensation for being delayed three hours we were offered a complimentary Coke. Unfortunately, at that stage, a line of coke would have been a great boost, but sadly, it was not forthcoming.

I happen to be rather fluent in the Deutsche sprache, so it was rather interesting watching the coverage on TV of the summit, and in the news papers.

Firstly – TV. What really moved me (to fits of roaring laughter), was a little snip of footage from a reporter for Germany’s ZDF Heute Journal. She is on a train from Switzerland, where in one carriage she interviewed 3, ‘G8 activists/protesters’ on their way to Rostock. Over two thousand of these idiots are spread over three specially commissioned trains.

The scene:

3 louts, feet up on the seats and on the floor a plastic shopping bag full of beer tins. The reporter manages to engage one of them in conversation, whilst the others stare glassy eyed at the wall.

The reporter had obviously just asked why they were doing the 16 hour trip to Rostock.

Protester, (semi-pissed, barely capable of intelligible speech and sporting a nice ‘Mohican’ hair style-

‘I am against the G8 because they always never keep their promises.’

Reporter-

‘Like what?’

Protester- (concentration on the answer visibly noticeable on his confused face)

‘Er- I haven’t got a clue (the idiot now starts laughing), I am not politically orientated!’

The video is here. It is only 29 seconds long and now that I translated the clip, it is well worth watching.

Nice one Fritz…! I laughed so hard, I nearly sent a cheque for three Euro cents to Burkina Faso.

Meanwhile, reading a quality German newspaper, I came across a little article about Angela Merkel (the German Chancellor) having a secret meeting with Bob Geldorf. (He is that one who still doesn’t know what a bottle of shampoo is.) It appears that a well known German pop-star called Herbert Groenmeyer, who has also fuck all else to do but make annoying noises about the poor blacks in Africa, is making her life a bit difficult. So she throws Geldorf a few more Euros to spunk on new Mercs for desperate despots, if he can plug the said Groenmeyers gob for a while.

But, best of all was a photo of her, Geldorf and that half wit in designer sun-glasses, Bono, having a chat at a table. Merkel’s face spoke a thousand words, which went something like this-

‘Listen you pair of fucking piss-ants, let me explain a few facts of life. I have 3.8 million unemployed costing a fucking fortune, Tony has a land sinking in so much private debt, that he is doing a runner. George doesn’t give a toss and needs every spare cent to pay for more bombs to drop on Arab peasants. The new French president is more than willing to contribute to Africa, such as 4 million of them in France, who have nothing better to do than set their cities on fire. Putin has enough begging peasants of his own and any spare change goes towards buying more English football clubs. The bloke from Canada, I forgot his name, is only here to make up numbers and the Japanese government are either committing hara-kiri, or going off to jail for thieving, so they prefer to keep a low profile.

Now, piss-off and go chat with your Chinese pals, who seem to be taking over half of Africa anyway, and sing some songs in Chin-Chang-Wong at a concert on the Mekong, with your heads full of Bong, and leave me alone! I have more important things to sort out, like trying to get Paris Hilton out of jail. Oh, one small thing. Bob, you know that money I promised you? Well, I am afraid I have to put against it the costs of keeping your flock of braying animals under control these last few days. Last estimate was…mmm, let’s just round it up at about £12 million.’

That’s all for now folks. I dug up an old song by the great Bob Geldorf that perhaps he, Groenmeyer and Bono could perform as the opening song at the next G8 Eat Cake and Africa Eat Nothing concert. It is called Banana Republic. Here is one of the verses…

And I wonder do you wonder
While you're sleeping with your whore
That sharing beds with history
Is like a-licking running sores
Forty shades of green yeah
Sixty shades of red
Heroes going cheap these days
Price; a bullet in the head

NEWS FLASH ... NEWS FLASH ...

Rumours are abounding the net that Paris Hilton ‘has changed her ways’ and claims to have, ‘thought deeply about her entire point of existing’ and that upon her release from prison, promises to ‘purchase Neverland, and stuff it full of starving orphans from Der Far away land in Efrikar, or summin like that.’

Laugh, The Beloved Country

Apologies for not posting much these last few days as I have been practising being a Zimbabwean – hanging around all day, doing fuck all. But that is not my fault and I happily point this out to anyone who listens, that it is all the blackmans fault for not letting me have him as my servant no more. I am also suffering from NHAN (Never Had A Nanny) which seems to be the reason why my mates like sadza more than me!

Whilst scrolling through Zimbabwesituation.com, I came across a couple of rather curious articles. The first one:

South Africa's Business Day newspaper reported that Zimbabwe's government has embarked on a project to resuscitate agriculture. The plan involves the Reserve Bank Governor Gideon Gono setting up technical colleges to produce ox-drawn carts and ploughs to help communal farmers produce food. Gono is quoted saying the project was part of government's mechanisation programme.
Government says at least half a million ox-drawn carts would be produced at institutions set up in 62 districts around the country. Gono said this would also create jobs for youths as well as boost agriculture.

I was totally stunned! Gono must be reading my Blog and saw the First Day Cover depicting the World Ploughing Competition. (Scroll down a bit if you havn’t seen it.) So I am right and the second stamp depicted is now the plan. What a clever man.

In 1977 I arrested a cart maker because he was a nasty piece of work, who had defrauded several thousands of dollars (real Rhodie dollars, not Zimbo rubbish), from scores of his fellow black country men. What should have been a simple case turned out to have more twists than an Ox’s tail. (Oxs’ tails are twisted by the farmer to make them pull the plough.) You will have to wait for my memoirs to read the whole story.

But, in another twist of the tale…

Political commentator Dr John Makumbe dismissed this plan as another
stop-gap measure taken by a desperate regime. He said Gono forgot that when they took the commercial farms, they ate all the meat at a braai and there are no cattle to pull the carts. Eventually he said government will force the farmer and his family to pull the ploughs.

Which means, that they will revert to the first stamp! I am so bloody KLEVAH!

AND to prove it, here is a little short video for you to watch…

The second article really made me laugh. One thing I have learnt about writing is to do your research well. This rule, a certain Peter Thatia writing for the Eastern Standard of Kenya and printed on the front page May 25^th, was obviously forgotten. Whilst I do congratulate him on giving Mugabe a hard time, there were a few glaringly bad errors:

Flashback to the gloriously sunny Salisbury afternoon of April 18, 1980,
when a surging crowd of unprecedented proportions on the continent of Africa roared in unison as the Union Jack and the flag of Rhodesia came down for the last time. Robert Gabriel Mugabe had finally arrived.

Well, last I heard they were all there to watch Bob alright, but the wrong Bob!

With over 200,000 hits, this footage and the comments posted with it, show who the real hero of that night was.

The Rhodesian flag wasn’t there either. It had been replaced several months before by the Zimbabwe-Rhodesia flag and at the time of the celebration the land was officially under the Crown once again.

In the same article, Mugabe:Shame of Africa

http://www.eastandard.net/archives/?mnu=details&id=1143969056&catid=4

there is more blah blah and then this sentence –

Do they care about the genius who created the best education system in
Africa (by 2000 Zimbabwe had the highest literacy rate in Africa at 85 per
cent), or the devious schemer who went ahead to have two children with a lover 41 years his junior (whom he later married) while his wife Sally was dying with cancer?

Actually, Mugabe’s troops were instructed to destroy all the schools for the blacks in the Tribal Trust Lands and kidnap the kids to be made into freedom fighters. Mugabe simply took over the existing public school infrastructure of the whites and like everything else there, has totally destroyed it.

The best bit from the article is this -

In his personal website, launched in 2002 and recording over 300,000 hits so far, President Robert Mugabe makes an interesting statement about himself:
"I know you love your leader as much as you love your country. I know you deserve to see what kind of a man I am. To those of you that already know me, this will simply be a joyous refresher of your cherished memories of me. To those with still unfulfilled desire to know me better, I welcome you into an intimate glimpse of Mugabe The Man."

I have had a link to this website ever since I started blogging and it is indeed a wonderful glimpse at Mugabe – The Man of Men. One problem though; it’s a huge piss take and thanks to Peter Thatia, it is becoming more popular everyday. You can go to it by clicking the picture of Tinpot Mugs on the cover of Time magazine.

Catch ya laters, alligators and stay tuned for more fun and games from the man, who according to local lore, is the Last of The Rhodesians.

When The Hunter Becomes The Hunted

Take time to watch this. This has to be one of the most amazing footages ever filmed of the underdog winning against all odds. This was filmed by tourists on Safari in the Kruger National Park of South Africa. I have witnessed loads of action in the African bush, but this is unquestionably one of the most amazing scenes of all time!

Money for Nothing – Get your Chickens for FREE!

I was reading about how to increase your Blog’s traffic. Some of the guidelines were rather obvious. For example - pictures of you cutting your toenails or writing about a Chinaman, fixing a puncture on his blow up doll, will not keep people interested. Kids and pets are another no no. Lots of people do not know these rules and some even combine the two! I have two children but I don’t deluge you with facts and pictures about them. That is because they are weird!

The eldest son wanders around looking like Dracula, less the cape and fangs. According to modern teen terminology, he is a Goth.

The younger son acknowledges his lunacy as being inherited directly from the fruit of his father’s loin. When he is not watching Sponge Bob (in German) or playing on Nitendo/PS/Gamecube etc, he gets together with a pal and makes videos. They then put them up on You Tube.

Now, you can of course say that his artistic talent has been influenced by the games that he plays and the films that he watches (Sponge Bob Hangs Saddam or Sponge Bob’s Decapitated Head Iraqi Adventure, Sponge Bob and the High School Massacre etc), but I just think its in his genes. I will not bore you long – this film clip is about ten seconds. That’s more than enough time to start wondering where will it all end!

Another rule that you must try to follow, is to write in a language that is understood by its readers. In other words, if you decide to Blog in Congolese Pygmy, it is advisable that you have a vague mastering of the language. Presuming that your mother tongue is English, and having been through the education system of the United Kingdom and in one more year you have the power to vote and drink legally, your head might be filled with a bit more than this barely comprehensible waffle I discovered.

This I took directly off one of these dodgy Blogs-

I shall share a story wid u ppl okie? story:I(not me) met a guy by chance and they fell in love for 1yr.however,the guy's ex-girlfriend came back and wanted to patch wid him.the guy hesitated but he knew tat he still loved his ex-girlfriend alot.they always met up secretly without letting his current girlfriend(me) to know.but sad to say, I knew it long ago.I did not confront him,as I have a silly thinking tat they are just 'friends'.until one night,I saw them hugging at the playground near his house.I was shocked,and my legs couldnt move at all.tears began to roll down my cheeks.eventually,I left quietly.the guy did looked for me but I suggest a break-up to him.he agreed without asking me why.I was then disappointed when he just left after saying 'ok'.I began to wonder what I love actually.from tat day onwards, I dun believe in love anymore cuz it could torture a person to death and require a long time to recover from it.not only physically and aso emotionally.(Izit a sad story?)

This is so fucking sad, I hope she gets into politics and becomes the Minster of Broken Hearts and the English Language! Saying that - when I was 17, I failed O’Level English. I suppose it could be called experimental writing.
Its mental, I am experimenting reading it!

Meanwhile --- Back in good old ZIMBABWE, the people are jubilantly celebrating that they now chair the, UN-sustainable Development Commission. They achieved this when 27 African countries voted for, whilst 21 Western countries voted against the nomination. Below are the qualifications:

$444m foreign investment in Zimbabwe in 1998

$2.5bn Zimbabwe’s foreign debt last year

$109m foreign debt in 1999

2,200% official rate of inflation

3,000% Rate of inflation estimated by the IMF

Z$250 official exchange rate for US$1

Z$25,000 black market exchange rate

This means, should you have lost a serious part of your frontal lobe, and went to Zimbo land for a holiday and put your VISA card into an ATM, to get some bucks to pay for two chicken kebabs with rice and a couple of beers, it would set you back about £600. (Or was it £1200? Can’t get my head around it.) That makes Zimbabwe the most expensive holiday destination on the planet! Now that’s what I call sustainable development.

Does any one remember the silly, derogative, racist jokes we white pre-teen privileged supremacists of the early 70’s told each other? Here is one -

What’s the fastest thing on two legs? – A starving Biafran. (Not that we had much of a clue about Biafra.)

What’s the second fastest thing on two legs? A chicken, running away from a Biafran.

In present day Zimbabwe, the joke goes like this –

What’s the fastest thing on two legs? - A Zimbabwean supermarket shopper, loading their shopping trolley.

What’s the second fastest thing on two legs? – A Zimbabwean sales assistant, changing the price tags.

I think the greatest example of inflation was in Yugoslavia as it split up. It reached that magic hyper-inflation terminology, when it totally collapsed and was replaced by the German Deutsche Mark. Something similar looms in Zimbabwe, but Mugabe could never suffer the humiliation. It spells complete disaster, so they just keep printing more bearer cheques. Amazing!

More laughs – The Aboriginal land thieving, white convicts in Australia, have got their Chief gangster to announce that his racist cricket players can’t be arsed gong to Zimbabwe to play, because they are worried about the ashes. Since electricity is now limited to 4 hrs in the day there, the Aussies were frightened they would have to burn their bats and stumps to be able to cook an imported Kangaroo or two. The Chief black hater went on to call Mugabe, ‘a grubby dictator’, which was a bit rich, coming from someone whose great grandfather more than likely had his knee caps crushed with an iron bar and sent to Australia for stealing a loaf of bread.

The Great Liberator of Africa, Honourable President Robert. G. Mugabe, replied by calling the Prime Minister of Australia, ‘a cheeky white kaffir’, who had passed legislation to give Aborigines cheap white man’s fire water, so that they can be exported to the Northern Territories. Then they would be forced to live in squalor and be constantly raping their daughters for entertainment.

Catch ya laters – alligators

Lore -

glitter-town.com

Bugger Me! This Beggars Belief!

I am not a fan of charity, believing that it begins at home. I am always in the High Street charity shops, here in the UK, because being poor; I love to go shopping in them. I have over time, picked up some lovely bargains. For example, the carrying case for my lap top. It is a lovely leather Targus (I think they are made in Chinese sweatshops), and not only can it accommodate my 17 inch widescreen laptop (brand new from Virgin Train charity shop), but easily takes the separate keyboard, mouse, webcam, headphones, books etc. It has loads of nifty pockets for lots and lots of widgets and things.

The case was almost brand new, hardly a scratch and after some serious haggling, I got the thing for just £5 pound. Unfortunately they didn’t have; Buy One, Get One Free, but still, I was well pleased when I looked it up on the internet and found that they cost about £60 in the shop.

The only draw back – it weighs a ton when fully kitted out to its bulging zip line. On the good side, a bag snatch thief would dislocate his shoulder pulling it off mine.

I have also managed to pick up some stunning African art work from another charity shop on Finchly road. (In support of Third World Save the Mercedes Benz Salesmen, or something like that.) Because I live in the past, I like my surrounds to be African theme. I have a large tiger skin on my couch and a plastic Bison head mounted on a wall and two flea bitten stuffed mating kangaroos, holding up empty bottles of XXXX beer, cleverly turned into aboriginal lamps, in my round cave’s corners. My few friends compliment me on my taste when they come to read the water and electric meters, but they never stay long enough to listen to my heroic tales of bravery against all odds as the Last of the Rhodesians.

Anyway - flushed with success over the Targus (not to be confused with Dr. Who’s telephone box), I attempted to knock down the price for three original pictures, made from grass or papyrus or something like that, of an elephant, zebra and giraffe.

Mounted in a gilt wood frame behind glass, the sticker on the back of each, stated that they originally were sold from the famous, Jack’s Art Gallery, 2855-Broadway, New York. I bet they were a pretty penny then.

Offered at five pounds a pop, I thought this was taking the piss and started to hint (‘I give ya a tenner for the lot’), delicately to the rather miserable looking cow pretending to work there for free, who took offence and said to me, rather huffily-

‘this is a charity shop to raise money for the poor and needy, not a car boot sale. The price is a minimum guideline, we actually hope that customers will pay more.’

Is that so! Well, fuck me with a feather! What a brilliant idea! Of course – it is so easy. I got all hot and excited, as my brilliant, lateral thinking brain went into overdrive. Giving the good dear exactly the minimum amount ‘requested’ and not a penny more, I managed to put the boot in a bit more, by paying with my VISA card, knowing that the poor starving will get shafted at least 3% less by them. Then I dashed off home to do some research.

Here it is. My idea to save Africa:

We only purchase electronic products with humanely and local indigenous populace beneficially mined casseritite ore tin!

Now, I can see you scratching your head with amazement, wondering why you hadn’t thought of this yourself! Pure genius! As every circuit board on the planet contains the stuff, if we all paid twenty times more the amount for our electronic gadgets now being offered, for ones proven to be ‘happy mined tin’, we could seriously reduce wars in Africa, like the 4 million dead so far in Demonised Republic of Congo, fighting over natural resources.

Will it work- will it fuck! Try getting a Brit to bring a Made in China cotton bag into a supermarket to put the groceries in instead of using one of several billion Made in China plastic disposable ones, is about as easy as asking the government to put a deposit on tinned beer empties. You would see how fast they disappear from the streets then!

Still, if the worst comes to the worst and you become a down and out bum like me, begging for a few pittances to ease your way just a little, as you pass from one life to the next (God help us if when we get there, Mugabe is organising cloud invasions), you can still get a job bumming coins from the gullible in London.

There are people who actually pay you to beg for the poor and needy! Hard to believe, but it is true. In yesterdays METRO (a freebie newspaper aimed at underground commuters), under classified adds I came across this little gem –

“I’d bounce naked on a Spacehopper”

Full-time Charity Fundraisers - £8.50-£13.50 paid weekly.

If you enjoy work you can feel good about and great rewards using your charm to great use by raising millions for leading charities like MIND and Friends Of The Earth, call Sharif on our 24 hour hotline 020 7281 8908.

wwwgiftjobs.com

GIFT- Street fundraisers.

----

So now we know why there are such hard core beggars, licensed to make us ill on Oxford street, Saturday, rush hour shopping time. I was also thinking that Sharif must get very little sleep manning the phones all that time.

I pulled out my calculator - Presuming you are a Zimbabwean asylum seeking refugee doing a working Brit 45 hour week, never take a holiday because you can’t afford it, and pull the maximum wage, you could be earning £31,590 a year (might be tax free if its charity work) to get people to feed your family at home! I love it!

Still, if that isn’t quite your forte because you stayed on at school and have a few qualifications, there are other positions available. Here is another advert in the same paper. This one is extra large, 5 inches by 5 inches, for a position at home in the U.K. I have abbreviated it a bit because I couldn’t be arsed writing the full waffle.

BROOKE

(logo of a horse and a donkey giving coy looks)

Healthy working animals for the worlds poorest communities.

We operate in many developing countries reaching over half a million donkeys directly affecting the lives of the people who depend on them.

We are looking for more donkeys to join our rapidly braying brood:

Database Officer: Salary 19k-22k

Accounts assistant: Salary: 21k-23k

----

Both of these jobs are financed by fundraising. In other words, people are shown pictures of beaten, starving donkeys and pay money to send someone to a land of donkey owners and once there, tell the owners that, if they stopped beating the donkey and starving it, it might work harder.

This just has to be the first time a donkey employs a human to do the donkey work!

If you want a flash 4x4’ , a large house with massive garden and servants, you got to be an ‘administrator’ for a NGO charity in Africa. The real liberal souls who do the donkey work and live like peasants with the peasants tend to have paid their own flight to get there and happily finance themselves for the privilege of being donkeys.

----

Finally, I wish to thank all that have been visiting. The hit increase has been amazing. I am now floating around 13^th place on top one hundred Expat sites which isn’t bad, considering the ones above me are serious pro web sites. I will try to post at least once a week, so keep coming back. For the newbies, please scroll the archives, they are full of insane gibbering.

I will add more links from people who have linked me, asap - many thanks.

Don’t forget to vote YES on my poll, there will be a 10% discount for everyone that votes and buys my book - if they can prove it.

Best Regards, till next time-

Lore: Simply the Pest.

P.S. : I could mouth the jaw of a donkey off here, but I just gotta get on with the book and the OU.

Anyone for Cricket?

I was puzzling over something I read the other day. The United Nations announced, that vehicle accident fatalities are second only to AIDS related deaths on our planet. (Starving to death and being shot-up by an AK 47 doesn’t count.)

So if the newspapers headlines are:

Aids Death Bus Driver Kills 75

Is this because 75 people caught Aids from him, or were they sitting on the bus when he drove over a cliff? Had the driver died because of an Aids related disease (like maybe his Aids weakened liver had exploded due to all the beer he was drinking at the time), and therefore lost control of the bus because he was dead? OR, was he just pissed and drove over the cliff and his blood splattered the survivors, who then all died from Aids?

Michael Schumacher, who is now a front man for the United Nations, Car Crash Aids Death Day campaign, was quoted in Germany’s most popular spread sheet Das Volk’s Scheisse as saying,

‘I had to give up F1racing because my fear of catching Aids after a fateful car crash scared the death out of me.’ He then went on to drive the message home, ‘Don’t Drive with Aids, You can kill someone badly.’

ZIMBABWE'S appalling road toll leaves more than 3 000 people a year dead,
often with dependents needing help, plus many thousand more injured and
disabled. Aids claims about the same amount but on a weekly basis…

A spokesman from the Ministry of Health, Dr, Juma said, ‘the government has worked increasingly hard to lower the death rate on the roads by not having any petrol. Most of these deaths are due to the British and American aid groups supplying fuel to the opposition to try and drive the legitimate government off-road.’

I just dunno, you would think the UN have enough problems to sort out without larking on about driving deaths. I haven’t noticed that the genocide in Dafur is due to thousands of unlicensed drunk drivers, in vehicles that are no longer road worthy, ploughing through entire villages.

The Cricket World Cup has finally ended. How long did it last? 47 weeks I think. For those who haven’t a clue what cricket is - it is a small insect that makes a lot of noise.

They play a game using a stick to hit a ball. A bit like baseball, but with a few changes. For example, the players from white ruled New Zealand are all blacks and the players from black ruled South Africa are nearly all white. Due to some obscure law introduced in that land, they now have to increase the amount of black in the team. That’s why they run around with all that make up on. If the face make-up is streaked with tears, it means they have just lost to Australia.

One team is called West Indies, but they don’t look like Indians, nor do they smoke West cigarettes.
The Irish team had only learnt to play cricket the weekend before the tournament started, but beat the Pakistani team. They all went home, less their coach, who couldn’t be with them because he had been murdered.
Oh, I forgot to say, America doesn’t play this game because the word, series, is missing in the cup.
Anyway- Zimbabwe played but they gave up after inflation ate into their innings so much, they couldn’t afford to bat.

England was also attending for a while. The team had great fun losing loads of matches and getting drunk every night. Should an Alien, as big as the Eiffel tower, land on Earth and decide he would just love to cook up a mixed race human stew, he would have boiled the English Team. They would have been the tenderest team because the only muscles they used in the tournament were their mouths, which constantly babbled out excuses for their uselessness.

The highlight of the English team effort, I was to hear on the radio. At the end of a news report on Radio 1, the presenter said

‘England has just started to play Australia and need to win if they expect to advance into the semi-final. They have got off to an excellent start by winning the toss!’

That was all they won and in revenge sacked their coach. Just like Mugabe, they blamed their pathetic effort on a white Zimbabwean.

But at least they didn’t murder him! (Yet.)

Talking about Mugabe – The Aussie team might not go on tour to Zimbabwe because it’s a bad place. Failure to comply would result in $US2 million in damages being paid to the governing body of cricket in Zimbabwe.
In this case, the fine would be paid directly in to the coffers of Mr
Mugabe, who chairs the Zimbabwe Cricket Union and acts as an informal
selector, refusing to allow his opponents to play on the team.