Following those hectic festivities that were held at the local Sista Bettinah shebeen after Msholozi once again showed Parliament and the whole cowntry why his sangomas are the best, yours truly went on a search to find one who can ensure sobriety will fail to nail me like Mymoney fails to nail Jacob Zuma.
Yours truly is convinced Msholozi, our self-appointed ruler, kings and overall self-imposed Mugabe, belongs to the same WhatsApp group as Superman, Batman, King Mswati and probably Jesus himself, judging by the number of times he has evaded being dethroned, even the rand took a bow when he ducked another bullet.
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The past few days have been very hectic for me and my sottish gang of extraordinary patrons.
The gods of beer were gracious enough to let a truck full of SAB’s finest roll over right in front of my wonderful Skomplaas squatter camp.
Needless to say all activities ceased and our lives paused while we address the sudden avalanche of blessings.
Like a responsible citizen, yours truly convened a mass stokvel for my subjects, who managed to salvage no less than 12 ngudus each, with the exception of that thieving councillor of ours whose buy-in was of course increased to 100 beers since he already has plenty of experience in looting.
It was at that mass gathering that Mduduzi, Son of Nkwanyana, Majakathata’s new favourite left-hand man (can never be right because the bottle has never been wrong) announced that apparently Son of Manana, he of banyana battery fame and formerly respected deputy of that yellow communist boss, Blade, assaulted that woman at that fancy shebeen in west of Jozi because she called him gay, possibly meaning merry or homosexual.
Either way, Son of Manana, did not bother to enquire and unleashed on the poor women and like the Zumanite that he is, he did not get arrested.
Instead, days later, he made a cameo appearance at court and bought his VIP freedom with an amount not more than the beer bill at the crime scene.
READ: Manana: No place to hide
While at the very glory of my indulgence, with the corner of my eye I spotted Son of Mongale, the Willow of Sofaya, who still owes my glorious Asphuzen Stokvel a joining fee he promised when I led a consolation session to deliver him from the heartbreak and stress that cornered him when his big heart was shattered into a million pieces by an unnamed eye candy from that hot as a hell’s kitchen town called Musina.
Needless to say debts have to be paid and more drinks were lined up.
Son of Mongale, with his lips tightly folded with anger because yours truly made him make good on a debt, let rip that apparently that Zumanite Bathabile Dlamini – who has never escaped the trap of illogical utterances – said, in her endorsement of her sister – the other daughter of Dlamini also but more relevantly former wife of number one – that there are many banyana abusers who are worse than Manana or something along those lines, I think.
I tend to lose interest in names that I associate with gross mediocrity. They tend to have an unwanted sobering effect and that is never a good idea under this cover-ment of yours.
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Talking about a sobering effect, while I was busy nursing a babalaas with a few cold ones, I heard over the wireless the good news that Daughter of Semenya and Son of Van Niekerk made Msanzi proud again and returned some of our gold from London. I guess a kilogram of looted gold is better than nothing.
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Apparently once again the Britons were not happy with Semenya for leaving then so far behind that google history wouldn’t recall them in their own lifetimes. Tholukuthi, when they google themselves it will read “unnamed runners who came fourth in a three-women race won by the brilliant Mokgadi Semenya”.
READ: Semenya’s hormones are still an issue
The week could not have started on a better sweet-sour note.
On one hand the devil called hangover caught up with me and left such a sour taste in my throat that I checked myself in at the local hospital.
On the other hand my favourite politician came back into the fray. Bheki Cele, Ndosi, Magaye! He of stomach-in-chest-out fame, the best police commissioner we have ever had, stylish as a tsotsi in a dobs and two-tone shoes.
READ: If you see you’re doing more harm than good, leave – Bheki Cele on succession
Anyway Cele, as expected, spoke some truth to the powers of his party – not that anyone would dare challenge the mighty ndosi. In fact, told his former boss to get the memo and ship out, in a nutshell of course, apparently.
Obviously the sober politician and breath of fresh air was enough to send me packing to Kwa Sista Bettina in search for this country’s solutions where they probably are. At the bottom of SAB’s finest brown bottle.
The MTN8 is finally under way and like a proper Swaiswai fan, I am glad the Naturena Institute of English decided to sit this one out. Yours truly hopes, now that Komphela and his linguistic skills are free, Bonang can give him a call to edit her book.
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Sundowns and their fat bank accounts on the other hand found themselves humbled by the minnows from Natal. Son of Nkwanyana reckons Oupa Manyisa brought his legacy with while reigning PSL champions Wits scrambled through an entire 90 minutes and eventually won that messy affair of a match.
The golden boy of local diski also debuted his coaching career with a confidence booster against the Polokwane herdboys and is set to meet the man who discovered him in the next round of the airtime company cup. Utholukuthihey! Someone’s airtime will run out!
READ: Wits to meet City in MTN8 semi-final
• Majakathata the Rogue is a comrade, director of Nahab (National Association of Husbands and Boyfriends) and chairperson of Asphuzeni Stokvel in Skomplaas, Mashishini. He pens in his personal capacity as a veteran patron of SAB.