An Almost Weekend G-roundup

For two hours tomorrow I will pretend like I care about span (work) and then just walk out and roll on my merry way to the "Y" (Kimberley).

Me and my boy Herman who now lives in Australia looked into the origins and reasons for calling Kimberley the "Y".

We started somewhere around Standard 6 (fourth grade) and the answer is still not entirely apparent.

You may ask why.  And in so doing you would be close to why Kimberley folks who know call that dusty pretend town that sits around a big hole the "Y".

Get it?  Geez yo'.  The why?  = The "Y"?

See?  That is all we have come up with in too long and both of us be geniuses.  And Herman is even smarter than a genius.  The boy could play the piano when the rest of us were still fascinated with making a door bell ring repeatedly even after the door was opened.

So, the "Y" it is till Sunday when I come back to white city (Pretoria) for one last Monday and four more days of pretending and then I will raise my middle finger in salute to what was mostly a wasted year in intellectual development terms.

What it did learn me is that a whole lot of South African academics like to pretend like they know sh*t but they don't really.

They as provincial now as they were when the academic boycott kept them xeroxing shit from out of print texts they held onto closer than their respective holy books.

They still Xerox any sh*t they can find and will pull out bound copies to show they keeping up with ideas that were novel around three decades ago.

And if you catch them out they will explain the process for telling them they know sh*t.

"Ehhhh ... Dr. Lahaaar you need to fill out a forem to tell me to f*rckk off like dat.  And ehhhh please provide the forems in tripleekit so we can keep files for ouwa shareholdaz and auditaz."

If you know f*ck-all then create a bureaucracy to hide it.  If you can't or won't provide what you promise create a bureaucracy and frustrate folks cause that is how you survive.

My father told me just before he died that his entire life in South Africa seemed like one paper trial after another. 

I did not fully appreciate what he mean't then but I do now.  South Africans do not really exist unless they are attached to this or that form.

And, of course, the all-mighty ID book!  Yo' nothing gets done on the whole and even less than nothing gets done without this piece of contrived sh*t they call an ID book.

Seems Mandela's lackeys felt lost without pass books and just equalized its sh*t and now we all carry pass books.

But so it be and so it will stay.  Well cause we a sh*t for brains country.

Oh yeah, for the Guru Philes you should know he of spirits both heavenly and alcoholic is having a "house warm lunch" to celebrate his new posey (house) in what used to be a white area.

His invitation was notoriously unspecific and it was anything but welcoming/assuring.  It was a text and it read like so:

"U invited to my house warm lunch this sunday
in ... at about twelve.  Please confirm attend asap
as i need to calculate food chairs, etc.
Regards mooi." 

What the f*ck is a "house warm lunch"?  Is he of spiritual ho-ing gonna warm some leftovers on sunday "at about twelve"?

Twelve what?  Noon?  Midnite?

And how the f*ck does one "calculate food chairs"?  Is this fool finally just over the edge?

I have never had a dish called "food chairs" or had it "calculated".  Brown/black folk don't calculate sh*t ... especially not "food chairs"!

So I sent the delusional b*tch an "asap" to tell his formerly-ANC ass that he planned this on purpose knowing I would be in Kimberley.

In his typical godly and holy manner he ignored my text.  Two days later he forwarded me an email with a description of a cell phone that doubles as a gun.

He wrote: "You need one of these for all the people, and that means everybody really, who pisses you off."

If I had it now I would be calling your ass.  Believe me Guru.

AnyHowze, happy "house warm" son.  I hope that literal castle you built will remind you of the days when you were a struggle comrade and talked sh*t about the masses and being part of their struggle.

Just jiving my brutha.  Much luv black man!  You deserve it more than anyone I know.  Sorry I won't be there but I will always wonder if the "food chairs" was warm around twelve.

Will you be having strippers like in the old days or are all your old and tired lawyer braz bringing their menopausal heffaz to kill any possible buzz?

Whatever, we move in different circles now but I still owe you a "house warm" present.  And have just the thing.

A double voucher for a massage at one of those Thai establishments where you can have a happy ending ;0)

And if you like it ... have another one whenever you want cause it is a double voucher.

Don't mention it bra.  You are welcome.  Please just don't marry the massage woman like a few of your bushy braz have.

Not necessary bra.  A happy ending will be had by all including you.  Think STDs though and take cover with ya!

Enjoy your new house boet.  And marry a nice sista and settle your ass down.  You can't be an asexual friend to all your lawyer boyz' wives forever.  For real Truman Prince.  Get a sista who luvs yo' black ass for who you are (whoever that may be now).

But for now Guru, you my coloured brutha and I'm proud of you man.  Now go find a real sista that sees you like so:

Onward!

PS. I'm out of commission folks.  Done here and there.