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A special kind of hell

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A young man dies and goes to hell. At the gate a guard tells him he can choose from several kinds of hell. And so he runs to a Germany hell where there is a small queue. The chief there tells him how things work.
“Here we give you 100 lashes, nail you to a wall for two days, make you eat 10kg of papa in an hour and force you to drink four gallons of beer in five minutes,” the chief says.

The young man is terrified and turns back. He tries the American and British hells but it’s the same story of nails, lashes, mountains of papa and beer.
But just as he is about to give up he arrives at a Lesotho hell where there is a long queue of excited people.
“Why are there many people here?” he asks an old man at the back of the queue.

The old man takes him aside and whispers.
“Here they give you 100 lashes, nail you for a wall for two days, make you eat 10kg of papa in an hour and force you to drink four gallons of beer in five minutes,” says the old man.
“So why are there so many people when the conditions are as terrible as those at the other hells?” he asks.

“Well, the government here owes the company that supplies the nails so there is no much nailing happening. They have just paid a new supplier but not a single nail has been delivered in five years. They do have the whips but the person hired to do the beating once worked at the Covid 19 Command Centre so he is too lazy to beat anyone.”

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“And even when he does beat he is so fat that he can barely swing two lashes. He has been sleeping for several days now,” the old man says.
“How about this bit about papa?” the boy asks.
“Mmmmm, they cannot afford that. All the food was swallowed at the Command Centre. A small plate is all they can manage now”.
“And where are the leaders of this hell?”

“Ah, we don’t have leaders here. They are in their own special hell somewhere very far from here. They are being punished for their incompetence and looting during the Covid 19 crisis of 2020.”
The young man is about to ask about the beer part of the punishment but the old man interjects.

“Don’t even ask me about that one because it hurts me dearly. They say some guy who was a police minister in Lesotho intercepted our supply and drank it all.”

“Please don’t ask me about the president of this hell because he was captured by some Chinese thugs on his way here. Rumour has it that he is there with his excitable wife who used to be a motor-mouth wife but has since been silent for years because he cannot speak Mandarin.”
The young man sighs and joins the queue.

Muckraker doesn’t believe in a hell of fire but hopes you get the drift.
Our hell is here and now in this country that is the nasty ulcer in South Africa’s belly.
If at all there is hell somewhere then it should be reserved for our politicians who have turned on their people and are working overtime to make their lives miserable.

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The sin of sins is locking up people in their houses, refusing to feed them, unleashing soldiers on them and eating their food.
Our politicians have done all that and much more to us.
Forget the “thou shall not judge” cliché. These are facts.
There are consequences to every action. Karma is a bitch. As Muckraker writes this, some of the rascals are about to pay for their sins.
In a few weeks they will be jobless, common Basotho men and women like us.

If this lockdown continues they too will be locked in their houses, with no excuse to sneak to the Command Centre for free food.
Muckraker hopes Dr Moeketsi Majoro fires every minister when he replaces Uncle Tom.

First to get the thundering boot should be the bootlicking nurses around Uncle Tom.
Kick them everywhere, including their blabbing mouths and behinds.
Majoro should close the Command Centre and demand an audit.
After all, those at the Command Centre of Feasting have already admitted to be playing all along. That much is clear from the report at the command centre.

“The NECC is frustrated in executing its mandate because it does not have the decision-making powers in especially to direct resources (personnel, health materials and financial resources,” said the report.
Remember the report was written by a group of people who have been eating M620 worth of meals per day for the past two months.
Bearded men and breasted women have been reporting for duty but were not aware that they are just a secretariat pushing papers and stuffing their mouths with food.

It is clear that they have vented their frustrations on free food.
It is only now that they are realising that food can also be a punishment. Too much of everything is not good.
This granary is not going to be empty anytime soon.
And by now the quality of the food must have deteriorated. The amounts remain the same but the caterers have discovered that they are feeding a bunch of ungrateful people.

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Much of the food is leaving the centre in takeaway packs anyway. Why make it scrumptious when the point is to load rotund tummies?
Junk or tosh, the gourmands at the centre will eat and the caterers will still get paid.

It was only a matter of time before someone at the centre starts worrying about how this shindig would damage their reputation.
Some people there are now admitting that they have been doing nothing apart from eating.

The confessions are coming thick and fast.
That much is clear in the Command Centre’s report that says “The National Response to Covid-19 continues to be uncoordinated. The focus and authority of government is needed”.
So there you have it: the Command Centre has neither focus nor authority.
Makes you wonder why it took them two months to discover this obvious fact.

Phew! Perhaps their brains were overwhelmed by the copious amounts of food they consume.
Its quiz time again.
What do you call someone who pretends to be working at the Command Centre but spends hours eating and gossiping?

A Covidevil. Let’s use it in sentences.
“My cousin has been hired as a Covidevil at the Command Centre.”
“If you keep eating like that you will soon be as fat as a Covidevil.”
“My nyatsi has won a tender to feed Covidevils”.

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Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

muckraker.post@gmail.com

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Muckraker

Jackals are hunting

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Cheeseman’s recording of the conversation might border on the criminal but that doesn’t matter to those who have been looking for a stick to spank Molelle.

They have been waiting for this moment and are seizing it with both hands.

You can hear the excitement in their voices as they discuss Molelle’s impending downfall. Knorx’s misery has triggered a collective orgasm.

Watch them now as they hunt in packs like jackals.

Even those who sang Molelle’s praises a few weeks ago are queuing to lynch him.

We are masters at kicking those who have fallen from grace.

The Law Society of Lesotho has been startled from years of slumber to race out of its bed with a long sjambok in hand.

They have written a letter to Uncle Sam pretending to have discovered, through a “whistleblower”, that Molelle was appointed the DCEO boss without being admitted as a legal practitioner in Lesotho.

It’s unclear why they needed a ‘whistleblower’ to discover something in their records for years. Muckraker suspects they always knew but were either too timid to say or waiting for this moment.

They are saying it now to give the impression that they sneaked in a kick when Molelle was being spanked out of office. It’s a desperate scramble for relevance.

By claiming that they didn’t know Molelle was appointed the DG without being admitted as a legal practitioner the law society is exposing itself as a proudly incompetent organisation.

That much is clear from their brazen admission that they needed a ‘whistleblower’ to whisper to them something on their notice board or drawer.

Muckraker is amused by the battalion pretending to be irritated by what Molelle’s mouth said about Bro Richard, Sister Majara and Uncle Sam. They are borrowing offence as if it’s them who were labelled idiots or satane.

Bro Richard, Sister Majara and Uncle Sam are capable of getting irritated on their own without prodding and instigation from self-hired mourners, chancers and bootlickers.

Molelle himself knows what is supposed to happen in the next few days.

He can only extricate himself from this mess by proving that the audio clips were manufactured and his voice is either AI-generated or from someone who can expertly imitate him.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

muckraker.post@gmail.com

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Muckraker

Pressing the Knorx Stereo

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As she listened to Mollele’s audio clips Muckraker could hear a man devoted to waffling his way to an abrupt end to his tenure as the DCEO boss.

Cheeseman only had to keep poking him with cunning instigations. It was as if Cheeseman knew which buttons to press for Knorx’s stereo to keep playing his songs. And he wasn’t using a remote control. He was right there pressing the brown Tempest. Muckraker is unsure if Cheeseman danced to the Knorx hits but is certain he enjoyed himself.

Press: “Satane”. Press: “Idiots”. Press: “This case”.

Press: “Oh, yes that case”. Press: “The DPP this and that”. Press: “Blah, blah, blah and blah”.

Cheeseman was playing Knorx like DJ Boots on the decks.

At some point you hear that Cheeseman was no longer playing his favourite hits but requests from people who had given him a list of songs before he met Knorx.

Cheeseman’s motive for recording their conversation doesn’t matter now.

It matters now who got the audio clips, snitched and leaked. It all boils down to what he said and to whom he said it.

Molelle would still have been in trouble even if he had been heard saying those words while in his shower. He put himself in that position by allowing his mouth to go wild.

He should have kept those thoughts locked in his mind until uttering them had no consequences for him. They are words you only mention as history: “Eish, I used to work with devils and idiots”.

Muckraker is not saying he should have never said those words now. Of course, he could have driven out of Maseru to find a mountain to tell those things.

If a molisana had secretly recorded his chat with the mountain, Knorx would have said what he tells his ancestors is his business. He could have also claimed he would have gone bonkers if he had not told someone or something about his bosses.

Many have a boss they believe to be a moron or evil. Yet they keep their mouth shut about such truths to keep the job and the peace. The smart ones know it is their job to cover up the idiocy of their bosses.

That is how they earn their keep and promotions. Otherwise, what is the point of an idiot boss keeping a smart employee who doesn’t know how to protect them from their idiocy?

It is your job to protect your boss from his idiocy. And you have no business discussing your boss’ idiocy, especially with his enemies. Venture into such reckless discussions and you will be jobless with your smartness.

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Muckraker

The mouth

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WE start the year with a little story of the dangers of a reckless mouth. Muckraker will write it as if you are listening to your granny’s tsomo. The point of it all will be revealed before the kettle boils.

So here goes.

Some two centuries ago, Czar Nicholas I, the ruler of Russia, faced a rebellion from some renegades who demanded democracy and other things. Qoi!

The Czar reacted with a brutal crackdown that included the chopping of heads.

Kondraty Ryleyev, one of the rebels, was caught and sentenced to death by hanging. On the day of his hanging, the trapdoor opened but the rope around Ryleyev’s neck broke.

In those days, a rope breaking during an execution was considered a miracle which compelled the authorities to pardon the convict and spare the convict’s life.

With rope broken Ryleyev, thinking he had been saved, stood up, looked at the crowd that had gathered to witness his execution and shouted: “You see, in Russia they don’t know how to do anything properly, even to make rope”. A messenger was sent to the Palace for the Czar to sign Ryleyev’s pardon.

The disappointed Czar was about to sign the pardon when he asked the messenger: “Did Ryleyev say anything about this miracle?”

“Sir, he said that in Russia they don’t even know how to make rope,” the messenger replied.

“In that case let us prove the contrary,” said the Czar as he tore up the pardon.

Ryleyev was hanged the next day and the rope held tight until he kicked the bucket.

Muckraker read that story from Robert Greene’s 48 Laws of Power. The anecdote accompanies Law 4: “Always say less than necessary”.

Ryleyev would have lived to see another day if only he kept his tongue on a short leash.

Did Muckraker hear you say qoi?

The story is not about what happened to a reckless mouth in Russia two centuries ago but what is happening to Knorx Molelle because of his mouth.

Muckraker’s grandfather used to say the three things that get a man in trouble are the mouth, the hands and the ‘member’. The hand does things to things and people. The mouth says things. And the ‘member’…we all know the David story. Molelle is a victim of his mouth.

Nka! Ichuuuuuuuuuuu!

muckraker.post@gmail.com

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