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Kibbitz

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