The past weekend was a water-clear demonstration that one man’s meat is another man’s poison, as yours found himself presiding over numerous funeral aftertears sessions.
First, it was the whisky-only celebration of the life of Skhumba son of Jeqe, the skhothane who died while picking roses in his brother’s garden. It was at that do that we heard the good news that some councillors in Mkhondo municipality might not get paid and the bad news that our useless councillor would get his stipend come month-end. As a upright veteran patron of the holy waters of wisdom, yours truly dedicated a toast to our councillor and to wipe the smile off his face I also wished him eternal poverty for not delivering on his pre-election promises. “Cheers!!!” my loyal drunk congregants all said before he and his white suit and white shoes and big head left us in peace.
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The second session I blessed with my presence was that of the passing away of that good for nothing former son of Majekejeke (may his thuggish soul rest in peace, I guess), who was forwarded to the next life by his nyaope-smoking peers apparently over some loot they stole from some Ethopian-run spaza shop in our beautiful Skomplaas. Obviously yours truly, like the rest of the attendees, was there to ensure it was really him who died and the fact that the aftertears party went smoothly without his violent self disrupting it or stealing our beer was confirmation that the coast was clear for all to enjoy. It was during the that worthy celebration of the death of a rat that Pencil, Son of Nkwanyana, an economic refugee from KwaNongoma in KwaZulu-Natal, told us of the online petition by the affluent DStv subscribers, they of the “nice life problems”, to get rid of the Gupta channel so that we only have one version of lies. Methinks the SABC should capture it since that channel is apparently our money too.
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Speaking about that Auckland Park station, apparently the interim board wants Hlaudi of “That THING!” fame and his BFF, Son of Aguma, to #PayBackTheMoney lost over there while they ran the ship. Methinks they should rather sponsor a session of SAB’s finest and maybe, just maybe, the few TV licence payers will forgive them.
Son of Nkwanyana, who we found out during the peak of our intemperancy is actually birth-named Nkosinathi, also told us that apparently some racist teacher from a model D school in Gauteng was shown the door for being himself. Apparently, Nkwanyana said, seemingly gulping our beer supply at an unimpressively fast rate, the teacher named Keith aloe vera or something along those lines, later said he was joking and the school did not get the joke and fired him.
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Fresh from that hectic no-tears aftertears do and before the might of a hangover caught up with us, I diligently led my loyalists of Asphuzen Stokvel to bid farewell to the great naysayer, this side of Tubatse, Jankie Bankie, the only man who had more lovers than money and passed away while crossing a road. To top it all, he was knocked down by a very ugly car whose brand reputation is known for just burning and exploding out of the blue.
Because death is a thief and brutal equaliser, a wise man once said (of course that man is yours truly), the whole of Skomplaas joined the rest of Mzansi in bidding farewell to Ronnie Mamoepa, the mouthpiece of Cyril Ramaphosa and because our useless councillor refused to do the right thing again and buy us beer to commemorate such, we deployed Majekejeke’s remaining son to prove to us that he can steal and fundraise like his late brother and indeed that young thief did the right thing and our councillor’s clothes went missing from his washing line and seven cases of beer mysteriously appeared before us.
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We warned him that from now on he was only to be deployed by Asphuzen and the target was only ever going to be his fellow thieves like councillors and other sophisticated thieves like those at the Union Buildings. After all there is no honour among thieves and he who makes a deal with one should not expect such. Reminds me of that comrade who wanted to raid Jacob Zuma only for Zuma to sign a piece of paper and look the other way.
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The weekend ended on a sweet-sour note as we laid to rest someone from the suburbia side of the township whose name I simply cannot recall and highly doubt I knew or who mattered. The funeral was full of tears, lots of German cars and a lot of colourless Russian alcoholic drinks, which was the main attraction of course.
From what my non-sober self could gather from all the endless talk at the ceremony, apparently that deceased was a PhD doctor of some sort and a tenderpreneur too.
Anyway it was at his teary aftertears that we heard that NUM, they of Marikana fame with Ramaphosa (#WeShallNotForget), wanted Son of Zwane, the clueless mangethe, to step down from being a Guptarised minister. What was puzzling about NUM calling for Zwane to be benched was that they said he was Guptarised and wanted Son of Zuma to replace him, as if Msholozi is not Guptarised at level hundred. Politicians puzzle me and people wonder why sobriety is an enemy of mine!
READ: ‘He’s not for the industry’ – Mineworkers union wants Minister Zwane out
The family business of Naturena, Chiefs once again skinned the meat off the bones of Orlando and reminded their neighbours that despite being an English Institute, they still knew how to play football in off season, especially when the motivation is from my beloved breweries. They have seemingly adopted the tendencies of the great Son of Majakathata, yours truly, of being motivated by brown-bottled cold beverages.
READ: Chiefs still rule