Bibi & Jacob: About Strongmen, Democracy and Whoonga

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE EX-PRESIDENT

February 28, 2018

Sawubona Bibi:

Interesting that some people claim I’m a has-been. That it’s all over for me; that I’ll disappear from centre stage in a cloud of impepho. This is our home-grown version of incense, similar to the stuff they used to perfume your Temple in the days before those white monopoly capitalists, the Romans, razed it to the ground.

Yet earlier this week – as a private citizen, mind you – I gave a little talk to the students of Bizimali High School in my hometown of Nkandla and now it’s all over the fake news pages and web sites, presented as some sort of aberration.

My chat was merely a way of explaining the vital importance of education and the dangers of drugs as well as to let the young ‘uns benefit from my experiences and detailed knowledge of the history of the Zulu nation. Yet, as I say, you’d think that I re-wrote our famous Constitution – in my view, by the way, a foolish and lily-livered document. (Squirrel played too big a role in its writing and the Old Man agreed with its tenets only because he had a bizarrely soft spot for the white monopoly capitalists and also knew the boere had a ring of steel around Pretoria.) Homosexuals have equal rights – they can even marry each other – and women and journalists also have rights and, most worryingly, a man apparently can’t have sexual congress with a woman if she says “no”, or even breathes it throatily and passionately into his ear, which, as you and I know, means “yes”. And so on. As you would say: Oy.

Anyway, I explained to the students that if I had been allowed to be a dictator for six months – in other words, not have had to deal with that stupid Constitution and those lard-asses in parliament – I would have sentenced young people hooked on drugs to Robben Island where they would have been forced to study. This is what I said: “Those who do whoonga, dagga, alcohol, must be removed to a college, maybe Robben Island, and be forced to learn and leave that place with a degree.” You see my point, don’t you? Enforce some tough love, give these kids some worthwhile training for life. But of course the newspapers are rabbiting on today only about me “having wanted to be a dictator”.

Then I thought I’d teach them a little history as well as briefly explore the pitfalls of democracy (a crappy concept if ever there was one, as you well know – not at all good for either African or Semite). I said: “We need to take lessons from Shaka Zulu, one of our great, great leaders. Shaka ruled successfully for 12 years. But look at us. We have ruled for 23 years and we are still crying. Why? Because Democracy should have authority but ours doesn’t. Once there is no authority in democracy – once everybody has a say – it becomes worse than a dictatorship, it becomes more dangerous.”

And I explained a bit more. “Maybe it’s because Shaka did not sit in many meetings that Shaka was successful. He knew that if he called a meeting, people would derogate his authority. There is an important lesson we must take from him: that we enforce the right thing by imposing it.”

What do I get in response for these eminently sane words, these pearls of wisdom? You know the answer.

Yours, slightly depressed (though at least no more meetings!),

Jacob.


THE PRIME MINISTER’S BUREAU

February 28, 2018

Shalom Jacob

Amazing you should write that because I’ve been making the same point for years already.  We’ve all become so conditioned to thinking of democracy as the ultimate political system – the be-all and end-all – that we never stop to think whether that is really the case. I don’t think it is. When tough decisions need to be made, the endless give and take of one-size-fits-all democracy is more often an obstacle than a solution.

Take my good friend Xi Jinping, for example. Not that China is a democracy, but in good democratic fashion it has been changing its leader like clockwork every ten years. Then along comes Xi, who says (correctly, in my view) that it’s illogical to expect a leader to solve all the problems of two billion people in a mere ten years. He needs more time, more leeway. He needs authority. Like the Jews, the Chinese are a very argumentative people and difficult to work with.

I don’t claim to be an expert on South Africa, but with all the problems you have (I’ve heard you have far too many Moslems and Sharansky tells me that anti-Semitism is rampant), it doesn’t surprise me to hear that the greatest problems you faced while in office were all due to democracy. Over-fastidious courts, weak central authority, cheeky subordinates who won’t do as you say. I’ve been there my friend.

And then of course there’s the curse of the media and the insane notion that they should be able to write whatever they want. Serious leaders are now coming around to the understanding (first enunciated by yours truly) that  an uncontrolled media is the key obstacle to good governance. In the last few weeks I’ve discussed the issue with Don, Vlad, Abe (al-Sisi), Vik and Richie (my nickname for Erdogan) and they were all were adamant that they had to crack down on the media in order to serve their countries. (They’re all very good friends of mine and I speak with them often.)

As it happens, I’ve recently been looking at history for examples of strong and successful leaders. (Did you know that my father was a very famous historian? He didn’t get the recognition he deserved due to the hatred of the media and the scheming of the leftists in Israeli academia.) Anyway, I’ve become particularly interested in the Caudillo, which is the title given to strongmen in South American countries. What is most striking is that the Caudillo typically combines political with military leadership.

That would disqualify the man you call Squirrel (the closest he ever got to the military was shooting miners in the back, as far as I can tell), but it definitely works for the two of us, doesn’t it? I’ve just looked you up on Wikipedia and discovered that you, too, are a military man, having spent many years in senior military positions at ANC camps outside South Africa. Semper fi, bro!

If you’re interested, I’ll send you a picture of me standing on the wing of a hijacked plane just minutes after the elite commando unit I commanded captured it from anti-Semitic hijackers with tea towels on their heads. I always carry the picture around with me to flash as necessary; you have no idea how it pisses off President Bone Spur!

Think of Juan Peron; tough, loved by the people, the scourge of the left. That’s a Caudillo! That’s the sort of leader we need to be. You, of course, could also marry an Evita, while I’ll still be lumbered with old piggie motor-mouth.

In case life wasn’t interesting enough (in the Chinese sense. Did I tell you that Xi Jinping was a very good friend of mine?) a prosecutor told a court in Israel this week that I had done a businessman friend of mine favors valued at over one billion shekels in return for favorable coverage in a website he owns. Favorable coverage! The leftist media wouldn’t cover me favorably if I my name was Che Guevara, while the rational media, such as it is, is already owned by me and my friends. (Did I tell you that I have many good friends? Some of them even give me gifts of cigars.)

These charges are a form of political assassination. A person more paranoid than me would see the recent goings on as the first skirmishes in an attempted coup. Not unlike the one that unseated you, mind you.

Well, they’re not going to succeed. The Jewish People need me and it’s for them that I fight on. Remember, we’re on the side of the righteous, as Mike Pence said to me.

Your brother in arms

Bibi

P.S. I just looked up whoonga. My God, marijuana mixed with AIDS drugs?! Let Ramapussy try deal with that one democratically!

 

 

 

 

Jacob & Bibi: Viva the grandchildren!

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE EX-PRESIDENT

February 25, 2018

Dear Bibi:

So Friday afternoon I bade farewell to my former staff at the Union Buildings and needless to say there was a huge amount of weeping and so forth. We South Africans, Bibi, besides being happy and smiling, are a sentimental bunch. Only things we love more than money and bemoaning the evils of our holocaust (the apartheid years) are public farewells, funerals and apologies.

The farewell was of course captured in glorious technicolour by one of my (former) trusty photographers from the oddly-named GCIS, Government Communication and Information System, also known by many as the JGSU, Jacob Gedleyihlekisa – or sometimes Joseph Goebbels – Strike Unit. But I never named the GCIS; that’s one they can’t blame on me; if memory serves, it was christened during Thabo Mbeki’s reign or maybe even the Old Man’s.

But none of the pictures, though they were dispatched to all the fake news practitioners, will appear in this morning’s newspapers. If they did, the white monopoly capitalists and all their thousands, nay millions, of followers would erupt in a mammoth wail and general gnashing of teeth. On the other hand, Squirrel teeing off at some charity golf jamboree, even more incompetently than I ever did, two days ago, will be the lead story on the front pages for weeks to come.

But I have to say that Squirrel is learning fast. Very fast. Everyone’s chosen not to notice that a few days ago, Gigabyte the finance minister gave Squirrel R700 000 a year more than I got. Not, I concede, a lot in dirhams, rupees or dollars, but still.  And four days ago, Squirrel hosted a farewell function for me at the Tuynhuys (we have more official dachas than you fellows) in Cape Town – and, without even blanching, he paid tribute to me for my “contribution to South Africa’s development” during my nine years in office. Not bad, given that even an easily-bamboozled person such as he is knows my main contribution was always to my own development and my family’s.

Because you see, Bibi, I have always been, above all, a family man, as you obviously have also been – though, if you don’t mind me saying, my 23 (or 24 – sometimes I lose count) kids have been kinder to me than your few to you. Did you know, by the way, that I have a Jewish grandson? I have insisted he call me zeyde – and he does! I call him Bafana, which means boychik.

Yes, my boy Duduzane, cognizant that happy congress with a beautiful Jewish woman is accompanied by seven years’ good luck (but also, as you say, some tsuris), has shown himself to be as fruitful as I have been, and will,Insha’Allah, continue to be. My point is that, even amidst my troubles, I have put some money aside in Dubai for the young lad. Surely, after you complete your imperial ambitions in the Middle East, as you surely will, the bank there will be easily available to Jewish people?

Viva the grandchildren!

Jacob


 

THE PRIME MINISTER’S BUREAU

Dear Jacob

February 25, 2018

I’m delighted to hear that you have a Jewish grandson. You beat me to it! Normally, I would urge you to send him to Israel to absorb a little yiddishkeit, but the timing is probably not appropriate. You see, we’re trying to get rid of our black Africans right now and I wouldn’t want him to be mistaken for an infiltrator and sent to Rwanda. (Though that’s in Africa, so he could probably take an Uber home, couldn’t he?)

Your best bet would be to ensure that he gets a good Jewish education in South Africa – Zionist, but I’d steer clear of the Lubavitch – and then send him here to spend some time among his own kind. Yair has kindly to offered to show him around the strip clubs and whorehouses of Tel Aviv, complete with state-financed bodyguard and car. Though, come to think of it, that may not be a good idea. Most of the women are Russians, who are not particularly partial to people of color. Maybe Sara knows some appropriate non-Russians.

But I must insist that you teach him to avoid the mistake that you yourself made in your last email. There was, is and always will be only one Holocaust (spelled with a capital H) and that is the Jewish one. Other people have tragedies, disasters – catastrophes, even – but only Jews have a Holocaust. Talk of other holocausts is in most cases no more than disguised anti-Semitism. God gave the Jews the Book and the Holocaust (and a gift for finance, some say.)

Seeing that your grandson – I think you said his name is Banana – has a Jewish mother, it would be best to leave his Holocaust education up to her. That way, he’ll be up to speed when he gets here.

As for me, the local gestapo has ordered me in for questioning this week on what are colloquially known as Cases 3000 and 4000. Not, God forbid, 3 & 4. The Nazis want the public to believe that my supposed indiscretions run into the thousands! After all I’ve done for the Jewish people, they want to grill me like a common criminal – and about what? About favors I purportedly doled out to an old friend (almost family!) in return for positive coverage about me and my family in the press.

Could even Goebbels have made up a better lie? (By the way, I noticed your reference to him but didn’t really understand the context. Were you referring to the lies about you in your local rags?) Is it the fate of all great men to be besmirched by pygmies?

Last week that righteous Christian Donald Trump announced that the US embassy would move to Jerusalem in May. One of the greatest achievements of the Jewish people – a miracle no less than that of Hanukkah or the salvation of the Jews on Purim – that happened on my watch. But do you think I get any recognition for it? Any thanks? Forget it. Case 4000 is what I get!

Your brother in anguish

Bibi

Bibi & Jacob: The Buffalo and the Judge

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE EX-PRESIDENT

February 21, 2018

Dear Bibi:

There is so much I have to tell you. At the same time, I have to keep up with the ever-changing news: the events of today and just yesterday. It’s so difficult. No wonder that most journalists get most things wrong most of the time. No wonder too that fake news is the order of the day, as that fine leader and human being, Donald “grab-‘em-by-the-gigaba” Trump, keeps remarking.

Actually I secretly met the Trompoppie a few months ago at a secret venue arranged by our mutual benefactor, Vlad Putin, and was most impressed by him – but was even more impressed by his gorgeous wife, who didn’t seem to care for him very much but afforded me a smile or two, I can tell you. (She’s heard about chocolate cake, don’t you worry.)

More of this another time. Back now to the fake news. Bibi, it’s been absolutely remarkable: I have never before witnessed such a massive outpouring – such a veritable tsunami – of misinformed euphoria as that which flowed from the fingers and addled brains of the fourth estate and from many others when I left office and my successor, Squirrel Ramaphosa, or The Buffalo, took over.

I’m not referring to the flood of holier-than-thou pieces, liberally slathered with righteousness, which were written or broadcast when I quit. Those, in the immortal words of a former South African judge, ran off my back like a duck’s water. I know that when a true servant of the people and liberation hero falls, Lilliputians everywhere swoon and virtually ejaculate with hatred.

No, I’m talking about the mind-boggling sycophantic adulation and idiocy that greeted The Buffalo’s first speech. For he did exactly the same as I did: uttered a raft of meaningless promises! Can you believe it? To be sure, he speaks much better English than I do (or pretend to do publicly) and has a much better grasp of the bullshit-speak popular in white monopoly capital boardrooms the world over. Still, you’d have thought he’d promised each and every citizen a cheque of one million rand.

Then today, when my former henchman, Malusi “Gigabyte” Gigaba – one of the fastest-slithering snakes of all time – he was one who turned and bit me faster than you could say “value-added tax” – was allowed to deliver the national budget, well, today, the truth might finally have begun to dawn on my fellow countrymen. This is: that they will continue to be ripped off like there is no tomorrow; that in his maiden speech as president, The Buffalo in fact delivered a master class in snake-oil salesmanship; and that life in general will continue in much the same vein as it did in my time. Heh-heh.

Cheers for now,

Jacob.

 


 

THE PRIME MINISTER’S BUREAU

February 21, 2018

Oy Jacob, Jacob

Don’t talk to me about false news and misinformed euphoria. About the plebs rejoicing at every drop of blood shed by their betters in the line of duty. You, my friend, are outside the firing line, at least for now. I envy you being able to luxuriate on the ample bosoms of your multiple wives without a care in the world. For your sake, I hope that none of them is a child psychologist.

Yours truly, however, remains in the firing line. Abandoned and forsaken on the field of battle. Can you believe that they (the bloodthirsty media and, no doubt, treacherous members of my own government) are now accusing me of attempting to bribe a judge by offering her a senior government position in return for dropping a case against my wife? Have you ever heard of anything as mean and contemptible? That’s the level I’m forced to descend to with this gutter press.

Who but the most malicious and spiteful of my enemies would take an innocuous conversation between an associate of mine and a senior jurist, in which he informally sounded her out regarding the circumstances in which she might be prepared to accept a certain appointment – the sort of guileless conversation that occurs daily in the corridors of power – and turn it into attempted bribery? What spite does it take to make such a leap? What evil?

Not only is it unthinkable that a person like myself who has dedicated his life to the service of his country would do such a thing, but anyone who knows me is aware that, were I to ever indulge in a little venality, it would not be in order to save that loud-mouthed ingulube (I think that’s what you called her), who is the source of all my tsuris (That’s problems in Yiddish.) I’d gladly see her in the dock were it not for the small matter of a legal document she forced me to sign after catching me with my shlong in the wrong parking spot early in my marriage.

And the rest, as they say, is history. So the next time you see me on the TV loudly proclaiming the innocence of Lady Macbeth and exalting her as an icon of womanhood, please notice that I’m being filmed from the chest up. That’s because she has my balls nailed to the dining table.

Speaking of balls, you’re right about Trump’s Slovakian (or is it Slovenian) hussy. She’s naughty that one. Gave me a look across the supper table that set the gonads tingling. I wonder if she’s ever wriggled on the end of a Jewish rod? They’re all anti-Semitic, you know, those Eastern Europeans, which makes defiling them almost a mitzva.

Tell me, why didn’t you get rid of that Ramapussy fellow with the teeth of a ravenous rhinoceros long before he plunged the knife into your back? My entire cabinet would do the same to me, given half a chance, were it not for the fact that they’re all halfwits and the country knows it. The only thing keeping me in office these days is the prospect of one of those Neanderthals succeeding me.

Well, I’ve got to be off now. Got some saber-rattling with Iran to do. Nothing deflects the attention of the media from one’s peccadillos like the prospect of a good war.

Shalom

Bibi

 

 

 

Bibi & Jacob: Beware of Your Friends

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE EX-PRESIDENT

February 18, 2018

Dear Bibi

Thank you so much for replying so sincerely to my email, which after all came to you out of the blue – which, as astrophysicists could tell you, is actually black – another example of how the world’s controlling language has been colonized by white monopoly capitalism – and which didn’t even contain a cheque or promissory note. Should you be interested, I have many of both, all blank, from the Bank of Baroda, which can be filled out in any amount of rupees that you might choose.

I do appreciate your response. Which reminds me: there was another matter I wanted to mention in my first letter but obviously I couldn’t put in everything. Ah, had you and I but world enough and time, as a colonialist poet once wrote – which, as real scholars know, was not written at all by Andrew Marvell but in fact by an earlier incarnation of our late, great poet Keorapetse “Bra Willie” Kgositsile. Of course, as perhaps only you and I will readily appreciate, Bra Willie’s real sainthood stemmed not from what he wrote but from having been married to that prize cow, Baleka Mbete, for some 14 years.

She, the so-called Speaker of the National Assembly (our Knesset) – Speaker? More of a completely atonal Belter – is yet another who’s happily bitten the hand that often fed her: mine. But the name of those who have turned on me now, more quickly than they ever moved on a Tender document, is, as you can imagine, Legion – for they are many. (This comes from our Bible: Mark 5:9. I apologize.) Watch those around you, Bibi, especially your so-called dear friends. I tell you this as your friend.

But I digress. What I had wanted to say was that one of the reasons you must have been surprised to hear from me the other day was because you must have thought that I had it in for you because you didn’t attend Nelson Mandela’s funeral in December 2013.

Not at all. I for one understood fully that you were under pressure because of the costs of flying yourself, staff, stocks of bubbly and cigars, and Sara’s staff and stocks of ice cream. Besides, the fuss made of the Old Man was just too much, you know; it went on and on, more tedious than a state-of the-nation (SONA) debate; and as usual that coconut Barack Obama did not miss an opportunity to hog (I apologize again) the limelight. As you guessed, it was I and another erstwhile “friend,” Gwede Mantashe, then the ANC secretary-general – hah! more like the secretary-buffoon – who arranged for the Coconut to get that half-witted sign interpreter, who knew as much about sign language as I do about the tax laws. Good one, wasn’t it?

Similarly, Bibi, you musn’t pay too much heed to the anti-Israel crud that presently pervades ANC splutterings. It’s an easy way to score cheap points on the international stage; I obviously know better than to alienate the world’s controllers of finance – and Squirrel, my replacement (what a joke! but more of this in forthcoming letters), definitely knows better. When it comes to white monopoly capital, he’s a champion lickspittle and sycophant with a proven track record.

Got to go now. My boy Duduzane is allegedly on the run from the cops and I have to do stuff. So I know how you feel about Yair, believe you me.

Hasta la vista Bibi.

Jacob.

 


 

THE PRIME MINISTER’S BUREAU

February 18, 2018

Jacob, my friend.

Best of luck with finding your son and extricating him from the grasping hands of those envious of people like us. I read in the newspaper that he had fallen in with a bunch of Indian gentlemen, which must have come as a bit of a shock. I myself have been doing a bit of business with a gentleman from the subcontinent named Modi, who, only days after proclaiming his love and devotion for the Jewish people, flew off to kiss and hug that despicable fraud and inciter Abbas.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, last week he was scraping and bowing to the Big Persian Chalooga himself, the Jew-hating capo de tutti capi Mufti Rouhani. Has Modi no shame? Jewish missiles are good enough to defend his country, but he drops us like a stone to play footsie with the accursed Persians. Such people can’t be trusted. After all, how does he know it’s broken if he doesn’t even speak English? As you wrote so presciently in your email, it’s your so-called friends you have to watch most.

By the way, did you see my performance in Munich yesterday? I think it was pretty good, if I say so myself, especially the bit when I waved around a piece from the Iranian drone. If you looked carefully you would have noticed that it didn’t have any Persian markings on it; that’s because there weren’t any. But my Intelligence people assured me that it was Iranian, which is good enough for me. As usual my speech was met by the usual carping about warmongering etc. etc., but guess what? It knocked the media’s endless verbal diarrhea about corruption right out of the headlines and returned the Iranian danger to its rightful place. Is that success or what?

But really it’s the damn Poles who take the proverbial cake. I don’t think you have much to do with the Poles down at the tip of Africa, which is your good fortune. They’re the sort of people who get colonized rather than do the colonizing – not that I’ve got anything against people who get colonized, of course. The opposite is the case; some of my best friends have been colonized.

But who would have expected such Holocaust denial from the Poles in 2018? Saying, as their prime minister did, that Jews were also among the perpetrators of the slaughter of the Jewish people, the greatest crime in history! What can make a person think and say such a thing except for deep-rooted Jew hatred? A malice so deep and so inbred that not even the memory of the Holocaust is sacred.

It makes me wonder, my friend. What sort of world are we living in when humble servants of the people like ourselves are held up to ridicule and dishonor, while Holocaust deniers, genocidal Persians and mercenary so-called comrades run rampant? Perhaps you and I really are throwbacks to a gentler and more humane past, in which gentlemen politicians dedicated themselves to the good of the nation, without needing to worry about the probity of the minor gratuities that came their way during the performance of their duties.

The transition you are currently going through must be tough, my friend. I remember when Sara and I were thrown out of the official residence when I lost the elections after my first term. There we were, abandoned in the street with all our worldly possessions; one day the head of state and the next homeless. I certainly hope that your people treat you better than mine did. I’m sure that they will. Black people are always smiling and happy, so unlike the dour and querulous Jews I have to deal with.

When you get a moment, please write and tell me how one moves home with five wives. I find it an impossible task with one. The ranting and raving that goes on is enough to wake up the dead.

Until next time.

Macsalaamo (I asked one of the black people we’re trying to kick out how to say “goodbye” in black language.)

Bibi

Jacob & Bibi: The Private Emails

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE EX-PRESIDENT

February 16, 2018

Dear Bibi:

Hope you don’t mind me writing to you out of the blue – or calling you Bibi. Having seen on TV that you’re about to start having to go through what I’ve been going through here for years, decades actually – you know, bullying over pinko-liberal bullshit by the police, prosecution authorities, public opinion, the vershtunkende media and now my own party, the ANC, which I’ve served faithfully since I was a piccanin – I felt an immediate kinship with you.

And thought I should write to you, to share my experiences with you. After all, I’m almost 10 years older than you and, well, I’ve been through a lot and you look as though you could use all the friends you can get. (I was thinking also, if you don’t mind me saying so, that you could use a few more wives; yours looks very fierce, like a little ingulube we say in isiZulu, a little piggy; don’t know that I’d let her into Nkandla, let alone Mahlamba Ndlopfu. Well, the latter’s not mine any more anyway; so who cares?)

Yes, I know: you’ve been told I’m close to illiterate and can hardly add one and one, let alone write a letter in cogent English with the occasional Yiddish word thrown in for good measure.

Of course I’ve kept up the pretence for years that I’m basically an illiterate herd boy. Best way to keep the media and various other arseholes at arm’s length. I once read somewhere (during my secret “reading sessions” late at night, when all the wives were safely abed) that your Moshe Dayan, though he could speak English pretty well, always used an interpreter during interviews in English. He said it gave him time to think. Well, same sort of idea; though who needs thinking?

As for the Yiddish – ach, easy-peasy. My mother was a maid – now called in PC-speak, a domestic – for a Jewish family in Durban in the late 1940s and the very kind lady there, a Mrs Ginsburg, taught me a bit of the language from the old country. I tried to help her with some isiZulu but it didn’t stick. Well, vos veis a khazer von lokshen, hey? Heh-heh.

Have to start packing now; Cyril the nebbish is hassling. Let me know what’s happening with you. I’ll try to help.

Best

Jacob


 

THE PRIME MINISTER’S BUREAU

February 16, 2018

Dear Jacob

Very kind of you to write. Yes, we’re in this together, though I was shocked late last night to hear that you had resigned from office. It put me right off my Partagas Serie D, which is an expensive little mishap, as you might well imagine. Even another glass of pink bubbly was insufficient to wash the bitter taste of defeat from my mouth. When one of us goes, we all go a little, as I told Ilham Aliyev of Azerbaijan a few months ago during one of his regular wobblies.

Had this correspondence begun earlier, I would have made every effort to persuade you to sit tight, however virulent the neo-apartheid slander against you. Ever since we Jews went like lambs to the slaughter, the word resignation has been banned from our lexicon. We never forget, we never apologize and we never resign. And we never acknowledge wrongdoing either. As Lennie Bruce put it, “even when they find you with your cock in her mouth, deny it!”

Talking of cocks brings me back to what you wrote about the Stasi, otherwise known as my wife Sara. My friend, you have no idea how fierce she really is. I don’t know what your Afrikaans word ingulube means, but if it’s along the lines of “diseased insane bitch” then you’re on the right track. But I’m legally (a long story) and politically obliged to support the cow and pretend I love her. We politicians pay a heavy price for our values.

What I don’t understand is how any man can have four or five of them and remain sane – remain standing, even. Can you fill me in? I assume it has something to do with divide and rule or splitting the enemy; always rotating to the next when the situation nears hand-to-hand combat. But I don’t think I have the balls for it. And then there’s the kids. Imagine having more than one grasping and vicious little prick like Yair!

But back to our present troubles. My friend, I survive by viewing my predicament in historical terms. I am not alone and not unique. Uncountable numbers of Jews before me have been burned at the stake, drawn and quartered, gassed and incinerated for doing what’s good for the Jewish people. For standing up for our people, drawing a line in the sand and exclaiming, “Thus far and no further!”

Like Ann Frank before me, I sit in my little hideaway, writing to you, while the anti-Semites bay for my blood below. The Israel Police that ordered this inquisition is only the most recent Jewish institution to fall prey to the cancer of anti-Zionism and Jewish self-hate. They see me for what I am – a dedicated and determined son of the Jewish people – and their hatred consumes them. BDS, George Soros, all the peaceniks and Arab-lovers – they are determined to bring me down because only I see straight through them.

Jacob, be strong in this hour of testing. Chazak ve’ematz! The weak and the envious begrudge us all and any reward for the unstinting service we provide our people, but we are the true sons of the nation.

I am cc-ing this letter to my strategic adviser Lior Horev who may have some ideas about how to retrieve your situation after being bullied and harassed into resignation.

Shalom

Bibi

PS: I’ve heard that your country makes a decent grape. If you want to ship over a few crates of bubbly for the harridan, the Jewish People would be most grateful