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.

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!

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One Response to So, who guards the guards then?

  1. stuber says:

    hahaaaahaaaa!!!!

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