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Let them run



UNLESS Size Two comes out of hiding Muckraker will soon be making a report to the police. The man has been missing since he was beaten on June 3.

It is troubling that since his crushing defeat at the polls Size Two has not been seen in public or uttered a word.
Is he just on voicemail or he took an unplanned holiday?
Is he in Tsoelike, Roma or some hole somewhere in the wilderness?
For more than a week, now Muckraker has been searching for the idiom-spitting comrade.
Some say he wants to lick his wounds in peace while others have opined that he is too embarrassed to face his supporters who are equally inconsolable.

Both theories are probably correct. The “wound licking” theory is plausible because men like Size Two don’t want to show their anguish in public.

He has pretended to be invincible for years. It’s a charade he would want to maintain at all cost.
The idea that he is too ashamed to face his supporters also holds water because for three months he was promising thunder and fury.
He said he was going to chew the opposition and spit it out on June 3.

Remember the “I doesn’t care” gaffe that made him the butt of mischievous jokes on social media.
Size Two was so sure he was going to win that he probably could not resist the temptation to brag to his camels in Qacha’s Nek. When one of them ogled at him like it was about to pass some message Size Two laughed loud.

“Poor animal, I know you want to wish me luck,” he said as he rubbed the camel.
“Now, let me make something clear to you tall animal of Muammar Gaddafi. I don’t need luck. I am the one. The only one! The people love me to bits.”

Well, the election came and they showed that they loved him so much that they let him go. They say if you truly love someone you must be willing to let them go.

True love doesn’t force and trap. The people said fly away Size Two, just fly away.

Now he is crawling under rocks and bushes while hoping no one is cruel enough to remind him of his words during the campaign trail.
But the man from Tsoelike need not wail and mourn too much for his retirement was long overdue anyway.
His return in 2015 was a mistake necessitated by the DC’s failure to have a frank discussion on the succession issue.
Now that Mokola has found a way to be a leader of a political party and deputy prime minister without grovelling to the hawks in the DC, Size Two can silently retreat to his village.

Muckraker is sure there are things he has been putting off for years as he tried to manage the government.
There are memoirs to write, English novels to be translated into concise Sesotho, grandchildren to entertain with folktales, and the camels to feed.
There are villagers and relatives who want to know why he has been aloof since his political star started glowing. His cattle, goats and chickens have missed him dearly.

Muckraker’s only request to Size Two is that he takes good care of himself. First, he must seek the services of a psychologist to help him settle into the new life out of power.

When you are used to having your bags carried and bed made, living without help can be a daunting task. Size Two has to get used to a life of doing things on his own.

But perhaps the biggest adjustment he has to make is that of living without bootlickers.
For nearly two decades he was sounded by pathetic brownnosers who saw him as their meal ticket. There are some who could move mountains and mop dams for him just so they could remain under his table to grab some crumbs.
You know the nonentities that have no other claim to fame apart from hanging around in the leader’s pockets. The nobodies who see it as their lifelong vocation to sing the leader’s praises.

Size Two will not find such ilk when he gets back to Tsoelike. The villagers will welcome him back, and then get back to their lives.
For the first time in more than 20 years Size Two will have to attend village pitsos to hear fellow villagers complain about roads, clinics and diseases.

Out of government, he can no longer tell the villagers he has to hurry back to Maseru to attend a summit or a cabinet meeting.

You would think in this moment of despair the congress zealots would take a cue from Size Two to retreat into their shells. Hell no!
Some just won’t zip it. DJ Waters has adamantly refused to bow out quietly. Even as the results were being announced the man from Mahobong started running his mouth.

First he tried to scare people with a dead snake. He said Uncle Tom would seek revenge on the soldiers who had made him pack his Ha re eeng Thaba-Tseka.

Where he got the vim to utter such words we may never know.
He said the congress parties had to protect soldiers who put their “heads on the block” for them to return to power.
While people were still trying to make sense of that howler, DJ Waters came back with another stinker a few days later.
This time he was not up to his scare tactics but was tacitly pleading for a backyard room in the new coalition government.
“There is no need for the removal of the existing government in office as we all agree that in order for Lesotho to be stable there is a need for a government of national unity (GNU),” Metsing said at a press conference.

DJ Waters just doesn’t smell the coffee. He wouldn’t know a defeat until it hits him in the face.
Losers don’t get to suggest the make-up of a government unless they are invited to do so. They only speak when spoken to.
The whole GNU suggestion smacks of hypocrisy. DJ Water should have suggested it in 2015 if he knew it is what was needed for the country to be stable.

He could have suggested it in 2016 when it became apparent that Lesotho was still unstable. He could have offered that solution this year when Mokola started a fire under Size Two’s behind.

Now he has neither the leverage nor the legitimacy to suggest anything to the new government.
That he is doing so shows that he is either an opportunist or is suffering from a bout of selective amnesia.
Either of those or he urgently needs professional help to deal with his loss. Muckraker has no energy to suggest a shrink.
Get well soon papa.

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Machonisa on fire



It was only a matter of time before the so-called socialist party owned by a machonisa started unravelling. Now the capitalist owner of the Socialist Revolutionaries is lashing out at anyone who dares to tell him to behave himself.

Teboho Mojapela is moving around his party’s structures with a phafa, leaving his victims scratching their bums.

Muckraker has no sympathy for his victims. They deserve what they are getting.

Having deluded themselves to think that they are stockholders in the SR, they should now enjoy their harvest of thorns. They were guests at Mojapela’s house but tried to tell him how to arrange his furniture and what to eat.

He is telling them to go find somewhere to play because the SR is his personal property.

That the SR is in Mojapela’s armpits has always been clear. He formed and funded it.

It’s just that some were too naïve to realise the obvious.

Thabo Shao packed his bags and left after Mojapela whipped him out of his house. He now mumbles something about Mr Machonisa being a dictator. He says that as if it’s a discovery to be shared with the rest of the world.

Yet anyone with something between their ears would have known that a machonisa who brags about beating his naughty workers could not possibly be a democratic leader.

Only Shao and a few dimwits didn’t know that.

Anyway, Shao’s exit will not change much because he just doesn’t matter. He is a political nonentity who overrates himself.

What interests Muckraker is Mr Machonisa’s nerve to call Shao an uneducated rascal. That hurts because it’s an insult coming from someone who has made it a mission to give education a bad name. Mr Machonisa’s definition of someone educated is Tlohelang Aumane. Hear, hear, and hear. Phew!

Does anyone remember Aumane saying anything either educated or educative?

Muckraker only knows him as a political jezebel incapable of staying in one political bed for more than 15 minutes. He is always itching to be married to the next political party.

Muckraker is tempted to say Aumane is politically horny but she won’t say it for fear of offending the oversensitive souls. The kind that claims to have almost suffocated to death after someone farted in a hall.

But Mr Machonisa doesn’t care about Aumane’s habits because he thinks he is renting a brilliant political mind. A few things will happen in that union.

Mr Machonisa will soon realise that Aumane is just an empty-headed political slay queen always looking for the next partner to get him Ice Tropez (May lightning strike whoever drinks that but cannot afford it. Fire!)

Aumane will realise that Mr Machonisa is a moneyed but unrefined village bumpkin whose mouth has a terrible habit of rebelling against his brain.

Mr Machonisa will find the next brain to rent while Aumane will be putting on his stilettos to find another political lover to smooch on the Maseru streets.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The queen Mampara



Muckraker once promised to say nothing about the Feselady but that Mampara’s mouth keeps running as if it’s connected to Muela Hydro Power Station.

The Feselady told some ABC members who visited her home that she will not associate with the party until it distances itself from the remark of suspended spokesman Montoeli Masoetsa. What made her relapse to her Drama Queen ways was Masoetsa’s attack on her and her hubby. He said the ABC lost because of Uncle Tom and Feselady.

That simple truth, known to even donkeys in Qaqatu, pierced her cheeky heart and got her tummy roiling. She now says she will never wear the ABC’s regalia until the party apologises. Don’t laugh. If this was a threat, the Feselady has lost her touch.

She used to beat people for merely looking at her in a funny way or calling her hubby.

She would harass government officials in public. Now she has been reduced to threatening to avoid yellow dresses and T-shirts to fix the ABC. Boom! Boom! The mighty Drama Queen has fallen.

What remains is just the fading memories of power sexually transmitted.

The transmitter of that power has long ceased to function literally and figuratively.

But the Feselady is too engrossed with herself to realise that she has neither the power nor the capacity to make threats to anyone. She rules only her home, yard and a few idiots still clinging to her.

It takes some sophistication to read irony and the Feselady doesn’t have even a pinch of it. Her people in Mokhotlong rejected her when she tried to sneak into parliament via that hollow popularity garnered through matrimony.

ABC supporters think she is just an uncultured blabbermouth. That she thinks anyone would lose sleep over her threats to burn the party’s regalia or turn them into fatukus is comical. Her tantrums will not change a thing. Her boycott might be the best thing to happen to the party since the October 7 defeat.

Why would the few remaining ABC supporters worry about a garrulous charlatan boycotting their party?

The last time she was wearing the ABC like a wig, it lost more than 200 000 voters, flew to the opposition benches and became a smallanyana party. Nothing hurts more than that. So bring it on mummy!

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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The RFP’s thokolosi



The RFP leaders should fire whoever is advising them on how to deal with constituencies demanding a conference to elect a new executive committee. Their response to those demands has been a comedy of errors.
It’s been nothing short of kindergarten blunders unbefitting of people who sold themselves as the smart ones to lead the country out of darkness.
The secretary general told those bellowing for a conference to take a chill pill and wait for Uncle Sammy to give directions.
Uncle Sammy said those people or their kind are divisive, dragging the party off its agenda and incapable of understanding his dream for the country.
Other leaders have said those clamouring for a conference can go plead their case to a mountain because the current national executive committee will run the party for another six pregnancies.
Never mind the words they use, the leaders are telling the members that they will not be told how to manage a party they started. This is to say the leaders will not be taking instructions from the riffraff. Yes, I said it! Those rubbed the wrong way can curse.
Someone should round up the RFP’s executive committee members, lock them up in a room, throw away the keys and spank them until they understand politics.
They are clearly struggling to make a distinction between a political party and private companies. You would think this is common sense but the human mind is always slow to banish habits.
The RFP leaders were used to being business owners, not political leaders. That is why they cannot understand why anyone who wasn’t there when they started the party can tell them how to manage it.
But make no mistake, reality will grab them by the noses and eyelids back to their senses. They will be taught three simple lessons. The first is that political parties are voluntary entities in which power lies with the members.
The second is that party members are not employees you can just instruct to jump around because you pay their wages.
The third, which is more important, is that the only time a political party is a personal property is when it’s an idea in the founder’s head. Once registered and people join, the members own the party together with its structures, leaders and vision.
The other problem with the RFP’s responses to the demands for an elective conference is that they keep pretending that those three constituencies are just rogues out to sabotage the party. Nothing can be further from the truth.
Those constituencies are small thokolosis of someone right there in the party’s echelons. They represent a growing faction in the party. That faction that is a thokolosi was birthed when the party was still a spirit. It was nurtured when the party was registered and continued to grow during the campaign.
By the time the RFP became government, it was a full-blown thokolosi vigorously doing bedroom things to produce more thokolosis. Now it is granddaddy thokolosi living in the RFP’s armpits.
There is a simple way to find the thokolosi’s owner.
Just round them up and beat them until their parents start wailing. If the parents don’t come out the thokolosis will run to them for protection.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

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