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Muckraker

Tripped by tricks

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WE begin the year with a folktale. Once upon a time Rabbit and Baboon were good friends. They ate, farmed, played and even fornicated together.

But, as we all know, familiarity breeds contempt.
So one day Baboon invites Rabbit to what he touted the “mother of all parties”. Being courteous Rabbit took the liberty to ask Baboon if there is anything he should bring to the party. “No my good fellow, just bring your clan and their empty bellies. This feast will be on me,” Baboon replied.

And so on the agreed date Rabbit rounded up his tribe and walked to Baboon’s village, where they found the shindig in full swing.  The apes were enjoying the merry waters and good food.
“Welcome my friend,” Baboon said as soon as he saw Rabbit. “I am glad you have come but as you know we baboons are happiest when we are in trees. So we have decided that this party will be held in tress,” he said as he climbed the tallest tree with a huge pot of meat in hand.

Confused, Rabbit asked whether his friend had forgotten that he cannot climb a tree.
“So what my friend, it’s not my problem. This party is being held in trees so just make a plan or you will starve.”

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Rabbit and his clan spent the day looking for a way to climb the trees to join the party but they failed. By sunset they had realised what nasty game Baboon had played on them.
They trooped out of Baboon’s village while farting the gases of their empty bellies. Meanwhile baboons were laughing as they pelted the rabbits with their meatless bones. That incident however did not damage their relations.

If Rabbit was hurt he hid it well. They still ate, farmed and fornicated together. Baboon too seemed to have forgotten that he had offended his friend.
Then after a year Rabbit suddenly invited Baboon and his tribe to his party.  And so on an agreed date Baboon and his clan sprinted to Rabbit’s village.

They did not see something sinister in that Rabbit had set a fire on the perimetre around his village the previous day. Out of curiosity Baboon asked why he had to burn the grass around the village. “It’s just for cleanliness my friend. That is just how I am,” Rabbit said.
But just as food was about to be served Rabbit made a startling announcement to the baboons.

“We ran out of water just as you came in. So you should go to the river just outside the village to clean your hands before we eat. Only those with clean hands can eat my food.” Baboon and his clan dashed to the river. On coming back they passed though the burnt perimetre. Rabbit was waiting to inspect them at the gate.

“Ah your hands are black.  Go back and clean them again,” he told the baboons one by one. Baboon and his clan spent the whole day washing their hands and sprinting back to Rabbit who would then tell them that their hands were still not clean.
Eventually Baboon realised there was no way he was going to get to the village with his hands clean. “But why did you burn the perimetre my friend? Now we cannot get to the party with our hands clean,” Baboon complained.

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“My friend I really want you to enjoy my food but the rules say only those with clean hands eat. As for me burning of the parameter, I can assure you it’s none of your business because this is my village,” Rabbit replied. Hungry and frustrated, Baboon and his clan decided to go back home. You might be wondering how that folktale relates to your life.

It’s the politics of our time!  Time and again our politicians have played that Baboon-Rabbit game. Remember the shenanigans of DJ Waters and Uncle Tom. They were friends until one thought the other one was dispensable. The result was an election we did not need. A money-wasting escapade.

Now we are facing another election because Size Two and Mokola have played the same game. The jury is still out on who will have the last laugh and laugh the loudest.
What we know for now is that Mokola thought he was spitting on Size Two when he eloped to Uncle Tom. He tried to kick Size Two out of the Damaged Congress.
Like Baboon, he insisted on having his jamboree in the tree. And for a moment it looked like he was having the upper hand.  You can forgive him for getting carried away because he had his acolytes in the executive committee, his propaganda machine was working like it had fresh oil and Size Two was hiding under rocks.

His only mistake was to think that the DC constitution was the same as the LCD one.
Now he is in no man’s land. A political Siberia of sorts. Without the benevolence of Uncle Tom he is finished.

Going back to the DC is out of question given the acrimonious nature of the divorce. He has since formed his own party but you can see that his hand was forced.
Ambitious without clout. On the road but not moving. Eager but out of options. Smart but unsalable.

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Yet Size Two himself should not ululate for this is by no means a victory. His is a party on a slippery slope to self-destruction. Those around him should know that their days of reckoning will come too.
There will come a time when they too will be considered to have grown too big for their shoes.  The DC, like other political parties of the congress stripe, will continue to shrink.

Let’s deal with the nauseating nicety that pervades our greetings at the beginning of every year.
“Compliments of the New Year,” says everyone Muckraker has met since she gate-crashed into 2017 a few days ago.

No smile and no firm handshake accompany those hollow words. Words uttered to fulfil a meaningless ritual whose import they don’t understand.
They behave as if someone is holding a screwdriver against their behinds, ready to poke them hard if they don’t say “Compliments of the New Year”.

Muckraker swears by her late grandmother, whose remains are interred on an anthill in Mafube, that she has seen some people follow those words with a frown.
Sometimes those words are followed with a ‘plastic smile’ and an ice cold hug. Enough about this business of compliments. Just zip it and get on with this misery month called January.
The sooner this month ends the faster your perforated pockets are mended. Next time you run into your enemy just look aside and curse the gods for allowing such a person to waste the precious oxygen in 2017.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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”.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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“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?

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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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