Gaddafi is Dead (and it is all his own fault)

Tut Tut.

Another idiot without an exit strategy.

How many times do I have to tell them:

Exit Strategy! Exit Strategy! Exit Strategy!!!!

Gaddafi was found in a drainage canal. Oh come on, seriously?

Saddam Hussein also had no exit strategy, but at least he was found in a “Spider Hole” hide out on a farm.

Colonel G, you in there old boy? Helloooo?

A drainage canal is NOT an exit strategy.

I suppose Gaddafi was really the dumb boy on the playground then.

Sick Leave – The purpose of:

We are all human, we dictators. (All except my friend from up North, Robert M. Of him, I sometimes wonder).

We may seem to be animals and demons, but beneath our tough exterior of aggression and fear, we are but flesh and breakable bones.

And this we must put to good use.

Aaaaaaatchoooooo. I feel a cold coming on.

How and why, you ask?

Fantastic question and the answer lies a bit further from where you think it may. (Actually, I have no idea where you think it may lie, but that is besides the point).

Let me start by saying that there will always be those around you who desire your position of power and status. Sometimes, however, it may not be the easiest thing to spot these assholes, even with the services of rough men like the Minister of Inland Security, Mr Sebenza Whataboy Ditlopo. (Wonderful fellow).

I propose that in some instances, it is advisable to remove oneself from the stage, for a brief period of time and then, from “the hospital ward in Saudi Arabia” (aka: luxury Swiss apartment in the Alps) , watch the political posturing back home, as it were.

And what better way to remove oneself from the stage for a while?

By feigning illness.

There is nothing like the possible death of a leader to light the spark of desire for leadership in others.

Works every time.

And the best part is – you don’t have to put in for sick leave.

 

What were you thinking?

Burkina Faso?

I mean, come on! What the hey?

Col. Gaddafi, what part of tropical island did you not understand?

I think I may have underestimated you. Maybe you really are dumber than I gave you credit for.

Burkina Faso? The Land of the Upright People?

Really!

Yep, you gonna fit right in.

I assume there was no exit strategy.

What? I could of got a tropical island? Instead I got Burkina Faso!

Oh well, stupid is as stupid does.

Fact.

Just ask Forrest.

Too many Cooks and the failure of Democracy

I truly believe that democracy is, in itself, its own fault.

Why?

Its obvious.

Firstly, look at America – every second idiot wants to be president and just about anybody can (Bush II for example – twice. What’s up with that?). Look at the UK – if they can allow Tony Blair to run the show for a while, then why not Gaddafi?

Yeehaaaaaa. Let the games begin. I won. I AM IN CHARGE!!!!!! YEEEEHAAAAA!

 

And secondly, because too many stupid cooks spoil the broth.

At the end of the day, every fool wants to be in power so that they can get what they want, their way. Which is basically the same as the idiot before them and the idiot to follow. Each fool just wants it their way.

I mean, how many democrats does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Apparently all of them.

Thirdly, democrats seem to have this innate need to go to war. See Afghanistan, Iraq, Vietnam. The list goes on and on.

I don’t see Robert Mugabe invading Greece, or Fidel Castro marching on Rio, as it were. Hugo Chaves may have cancer (and a new hair cut), but that does not make him a war mongerer, does it?

I advocate the end to bashing the Dictator by Western Democracies. Government is all about consistency. Rulers like us, at least, were built to last….

…until the next unrealistic dreamer with a machine gun mounted on the back of his Toyota Land Cruiser shows up at the Palace gates, that is.

 

An open letter to Mr Joe Klein – Journalist at Large

Dear Mr Klein,

I refer to your essay entitled “Head Start doesn’t work” which appeared in the July 18 issue of that weekly rag, TIME and wish to respond as follows:

Firstly, I do not know why I receive the magazine each Monday afternoon (depending on strikes within the postal service – it may be a week or six late),but assume that the previous incumbent of my office subscribed out of a need to appear well read, as it were.

Secondly, I am not sure that one could claim to be well read after studying the magazine in question.

Thirdly, I am not convinced that you are to be trusted. There is something truly odd about a white man being an ardent supporter of a black fella in Office.  Where I come from, it is called crossing the colour line.

Be that as it may, I wish to clarify the issue which you hint at in your essay entitled “Head Start doesn’t work”, but never get round to actually verbalising.

Its called “Cronyism”. Not crayonism as in wax (Nothing to be embarrassed about, I get it wrong too), but cronyism as in jobs for pals.

A wonderful turn of phrase used in an economic sense to describe the spread of wealth amongst those that really matter in government and the top upper echelons of the economic industry, namely government. Ie – me and mine.

This form of economic practice, I have always believed was unique to African Continental Big Men ( and that silver-tongued Italian, Silvio Berlusconi).

Thus your essay leaves me with great hope and satisfaction; that Africa does indeed have a place at the teacher’s podium, that we can teach the rest of the world about finance and how to run a succesful economy.

Dear "Whoever", Please, oh please don't let our African Brethren close to the IMF. I will never look lustfully at another woman again. I think.

Now, if the West would just let us run the IMF, that would be great!

Putting your tax payer’s money to good use – an effective exit strategy.

Now, I am not a man given to over-excitement. I am not easily alarmed nor prone to panicking.

I am, however, a realist.

And when I say that I am a realist, I mean – have an “Exit Strategy”.

And by exit strategy, I mean a plan on how you hope to vacate the “premises” as it were, when things go south (and they will). Laurent Gbagbo is a sorry example of an idiot who had no exit strategy. I mean, allowing himself to be caught in a hotel room, of all places, with his trousers still on. Has the man no intelligence?

To have an exit strategy, or not to have an exit strategy. That is the question.

Idi Amin (Dada) went to Saudi Arabia (Why is any one’s guess). That villain, Charles Taylor went to Nigeria (Reasons, I would say – obvious), while our great friend, Robert Mugabe – well the way old Bob is going, he will in all probability expire before he needs to exit stage left.

And then we have Muammar Gadaffi, bless his totalitarian heart. His exit strategy is to fight on, in some weird death pact with his deceased son. Odd, but that’s Muammar for you. Exit strategy – going down in a blaze of glory shouting: Gadaffi is dead, long live Gadaffi!

As for me, my strategy is much, much more elaborate.

Firstly, I have huge amounts of tax payers hard-earned money saved up in a Swiss bank account (don’t even ask). Normal for a dictator, I hear you say. Yes, yes it is, but my plan thickens.

I currently have an army of migrant labourers digging a tunnel from under the Presidential palace to an aerodrome (of undisclosed location) where a private luxury unmarked jet is waiting for me (again at tax payer’s expense), fully fuelled and primed, ready to roll, as it were. My tunnel will have false walls, dead ends and water tight doors. (Why water tight doors, I do not know, but it sounded like a good idea at the time).I will have a small electric (environmentally friendly) locomotive (armed with tomahawk missiles and roof mounted cannons) waiting for me, which will deliver me through the tunnel at a brisk pace, directly to my airplane. There will be pits full of crocodiles and rooms with dirty laundry, offices filled with government bureaucrats & red tape to slow down my pursuers and signs with directions to the Dept of Treasury (to throw off the greedy and foolish).

And migrant labourers, I hear you ask.

Easy – they are cheap and when they give problems, like demanding wages, lunch hours off, medical benefits and basic human rights etc, one can have them arrested and deported immediately. It’s that simple.

And where will my plane take me?

Now that is a secret. All I can say is – think Richard Branson. Think private island.

Now that is an exit strategy! If it sounds all too much like James Bond villain and Dr Evil -ish, that’s because it is.

And that is the way I want it.

The Vacuum left behind and the sponge replacement.

So, Osama is dead, as it were.

Sir John Dalberg-Acton once said that the strong man with the dagger is followed by the weak man with the sponge. (Whatever the hell that means). Nonetheless, the way I see it, the Middle East is going to be an interesting place to watch shortly, sponge and all.

A sponge, al-Zawahri? I'm being replaced by a sponge? WTF?

So with that, I bid you good night, America.

Oh and sleep tight.

As an aside – Sir Dalberg-Acton also said – the issue which has swept down the centuries and which will have to be fought sooner or later is the people versus the banks. Too true! I’m going to have a little chit-chat with my bank manager in the morning regarding my banking charges.

The arduous journey to total African domination

Now, I am a man who likes to dream.

Big.

Apart from all the Milo powder I could eat, one of my biggest dreams is an entire African Continent under my control, a United States of Zuma.

A USZ, if you will.

My idea is to incorporate the tip of Africa and the top of Egypt under one government, namely my own.

In many ways, Cecil John Rhodes and myself were cut from the same cloth, as it were. Men of similar ideals. Except for that nasty homosexual rumour that dogged Mr Rhodes most of his history – my good friend Robert M warned me about that one – we are men with grandiose dreams.

But alas, my plans, my dream of a USZ are hampered.

You see, such a plan always requires a road map, as it were. And a road map implies a journey of sorts. And a journey always entails travelling companions.

Which in my case would entail a certain Winnie M and that young upstart that she associates with, namely one Bra JuJu. (why is anyone’s tata ma chance).

I see it as a road trip, with yours truly behind the wheel. On the road to total domination. But sooner or later the useless rhetoric, the blah blahing and incessant droning from the peanut gallery in the back seat (Bra JuJu et al) will become too much for one person to handle.

And the end result of all that noise is that “one” takes “one’s” eyes off the road and reaches back to smack with whatever is in “one’s” hand at the time (be it a brush, knitting needle (???), rolled up Drum Magazine or a KFC drum stick from the Street Wise II box). We’ve all been there, I’m sure.

And what happens when you take your eyes off the road for just one second?

A tree happens to cross the road at that moment, or the idiot approaching in his BMW X5 strays across the centre line and hits you.

Journey over.

And that is my problem.

Bad travel companions!  Gets me every darn time.

So, who guards the guards then?

I awoke to the sounds of an alarm going off in the early hours of the morning. In my half asleep state, I was unable to tell if the noise was emanating from within the palace or from without. (Without is none of my concern, as it were).

So I did what any normal male would do – I woke my wife and told her to go check it out.

At first, Ma Ntuli looked at me with eyes that would make a lesser man wet his pyjamas and then growled – Relax, fool. The tax payer provides us with bodyguards for this exact reason.

Presidential Ambush - And you didn't even see it coming.

Pleased by Ma Ntuli’s absolute logic, I lay back into my continental pillow (paid for by the tax payer, just like the guards). But then, from a dark corner of the presidential suite, from somewhere behind the Marc Chagall (never did like his stuff), came a voice, which I swear was audible. It spoke out a name, nothing more -

INDIRA GANDHI!

Ma Ntuli did not move, so I prodded her and repeated the name:

- Indira Gandhi!

- What the, she said.

- Gandhi was murdered by her own body guards, was she not?

- Yes, so you better warn Bra JuJu then, shouldn’t you.

Indeed I should.

But then again, after we had survived the night and emerged from our slumber, I thought better of warning him.

Why?

Because every now and then, the movement needs a martyr.

Fact!

The BIG Question

Lets talk like adults, son, lets talk big man’s talk for a while.

Lets talk “nationalisation“.

More specifically nationalisation of the Mines and other such natural resources.

Now I know that some idiot within the beloved Party is bandying the topic about in the media like a fool with a soccer ball inside the hut and we all agree that nationalisation and the talk thereof is b-a-d for our economy (as spluttering as it currently is), and we all know that such idle rhetoric scares off those nice rich people from the West with their nice big cheques which they want to give to us for “investment ” purposes. But (and this is a big but), economy aside, one must ask the question – What can nationalisation do for me, as a person?

And the answer to that is – Make you a very very happy person.

Why?

Because now you have all the natural wealth of the country at your fingertips. To do with as you please.

This is vitally important. A happy person is a contented person. And a contented person does not lay claim to your power and position immediately.

What I am trying to say, son, is that through land grabs and through the nationalisation of natural resources (currently in the hands of the counter-revolutionary colonialists) we (read the royal “we” as in yours truly) will have the resources to keep those around us happy with what they have. What I am talking about is gifts. Gifts of land, gifts of positions, gifts of material ownership of resources and hence, a gift of income, as it were.

 

Mock surprise of the lucky recipient of a recently nationalised gold mine

 

Now, I am aware that this not a long-term solution, but as the old saying goes: “make hay while the sun shines”.

So ultimately, what is more important that the economy, than civil rights and humanitarian care?

That’s right – your tenacious grip on power.

Just ask Brother Leader Gaddafi.