Mr Softie’s headache

Mr Softie’s headache

MUCKRAKER is launching a fundraising campaign to buy painkillers to help Mr Softie, our esteemed Prime Minister, with his pounding headache.
Rumour has it that the headache is so excruciating that Mr Softie now suspects there is a busy Yellow Plant in his head. Yet even if he takes an Executive Transport truckload of Grandpa, the headache will persist.
Not even a Tholo Tank of moriana will help. Mr Softie is dealing with an unruly party teeming with one of the most conniving battalions in our rotten politics.

There is absolutely nothing he can do to please them. He can speak in tongues and lick their shoes until they are a brand-new chiskop but they will still hate and hurt him.
They want him gone as soon as yesterday. Their latest hymn is that Mr Softie is making decisions without consulting the National Excuses Committee.

Mr Softie should call the executive committee whenever he wants to appoint or hire anyone. Which is a riddle to say Mr Softie should submit his brains to the party’s offices where it will be placed in a Ha re eng Thaba-Tseka and locked in a safe whose keys are kept in a bra somewhere in Makhoakhoeng.
It’s a weird demand because those who want to keep his brains don’t seem like they can take care of their own. And that is if they have any grey matter between the ears.

That is why it is ridiculous that the prime minister’s constitutionally enshrined powers should be franchised to a tiny dysfunctional and hopelessly incompetent bunch. The same committee running a shit show wants to be consulted on government matters. And it’s not that there are any real thinkers in it.
The majority are dunderheads who cannot spell their names under pressure. But even if we assume that they are a think tank of sorts, Mr Softie wouldn’t know whose advice to take.
At the last count, the committee had six factions. There is the Feselady’s faction which, true to its drama queen patron, thrives on chaos. Any semblance of order will send them to Mohlomi. They like it rough and toxic. You would think the Feselady is in the same faction with Uncle Tom but that is not so.

There are some in the committee who are still rooting for Uncle Tom as the leader. This will be hilarious were it not tragic. There is the Mokoenyana’s faction which is a hotchpotch of the overambitious and garrulous.
Mr Softie too has his little faction that thinks it’s sophisticated because its members have swallowed a few books and know how to use Google. Its fatal weakness is that it is bereft of the critical mass that comes from the masses. Fundi Mahao might have left the party to burp somewhere but still has a faction in the ABC.
These are the chameleons that have blended in perfectly to brew trouble and spy.

The other faction belongs to opportunists waiting to see where the ship docks. The last faction is made up of the genuinely confused, those out of their depth, bewildered and are bereft of any scheming talent. They are wired to choose between two options, not five.
This business of black, purple, orange, white and yellow makes their heads spin. Mr Softie has tried to consult the committee but their varied and competing interests gave him persistent headaches.

Which is why apart from raising money to get him pills, Muckraker is talking to Sandawana to make him a Maqalika of concoction. Hang on my dear Mohlomphehi, your brew is brewing just fine.
Sandawana says he can also make you some phehla to make those haters in the committee fall head over heels in love with you.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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