I was wondering on Monday, my thinking day, why don’t we have cheaper petrol since Big Oil is making record profits? Raking in millions of dollars in the time it took me to write that sentence. Then I thought, why is there a fish paste shortage when the ocean is full of fish? Can’t we just catch them and crush them and put them in tins? The cat nodded and half closed its terrible eyes.
I opened another beer and asked the feigning sleep cat why we can’t be more like America when it comes to our justice system. I didn’t mean that our cops should be allowed to shoot people for acting suspiciously black. I meant the speed at which things proceed to trial.
Within weeks of that stinking dogbasket of a human, Donald Trump, being charged with civil fraud, he was in court shouting abuse at the judge and on his way to either wearing an orange jumpsuit or being voted back into the White House. There was no appealing every tiny issue up and down the legal ladder, laying spurious charges against his adversaries while timid prosecutors tried to nail the flabby old scoundrel as his ravening lawyers hauled in mountains of cash.
I suppose what I’m saying is, why are our judges so afraid to declare Jacob Zuma a dirty, rotten vexatious litigant and simply refuse to countenance any more of his Stalingrad nonsense?
Actually, it’s wilder than Stalingrad. One year, Jacob Zuma is a German commander of the 6th Army fighting his way into Stalingrad. The next year, he’s a commander of the Red Army trying to fight his way out. On 2 February 1943, the Germans, having exhausted their ammunition and food, capitulated after more than five months of fighting. Only five months? It took that long just to get Zuma to open his door in Nkandla so summons could be served. Stalingrad was an afternoon picnic compared to the Arms Deal trial which never was and might never be.
Unlike the Krauts, Zuma isn’t going to run out of chickens and goats any time soon. And he’s not about to exhaust his financial ammunition either because, unlike the 6th Army, he planned for this moment and began stashing cash like a squirrel stashes nuts. Also, our apparently malleable state attorney has allegedly been told not to pressure Zuma to repay the R32-million of taxpayers’ money that got dished out to his yappy lawyers to keep him both in and out of Stalingrad.
Our limelight-hogging eunuch of a president wouldn’t want to upset the man who is going to lead the ANC’s election campaign in KZN. One nudge and he’s in bed with Julius Malema. Floyd “Fluffer” Shivambu might want to release a video of the make-up sex. Excuse me while I throw up.
Zuma has created a legal swamp and it’s high time someone in the judiciary had the courage to drain it.
So, anyway. On a lighter note, how about this rumble in Gaza, hey? Hard to ignore. Even harder to write about. There’s so much whataboutism on the internet that it makes the head spin. Maybe that’s just the beer. The best way of viewing the horror is two sheets to the wind, through half-closed eyes. Heavy sighing and shaking of the head are optional. Does one take sides? How does one not take sides? We’re South Africans. At any point in the World Cup final, did we think that the All Blacks deserved to win for any reason whatsoever? Of course not. We wanted our side to win. I’m not suggesting you should sit in front of the telly shouting for Israel or the Palestinians, but it wouldn’t hurt to pick a side. Although it might hurt if Mossad found out where you live.
Right now, Israel versus Palestine is looking a bit like the 1995 game between New Zealand and Japan in 1995. The All Blacks took that one 145-17. At the moment, Israel is leading Palestine by 10,000 to 1,400 and, with no referee in sight, looks set to win this by a fair margin.
Having said that, anyone with half a brain knows there are no winners here. Not because it will end in a draw, but because what Hamas did and what Israel is doing is generating way more hatred than existed before. That can’t be a good thing. Unless it is, and I’m missing something fundamental about the power of hatred. Perhaps John Lennon was wrong and love isn’t the answer.
Look, some of my best friends are Jewish. Well, I have friends who know Jewish people. Or so they say. Not openly, of course. But I have my suspicions. I should probably balance this with an Islamophobic joke but I don’t know any. Come to think of it, I don’t know any jokes at all. People have over the years insisted on telling me jokes. It’s one of the reasons I avoid people. But I can never remember them. My worst nightmare is being at a dinner party and someone suggests everyone tell a joke.
That’s not true. My worst nightmare is being at a dinner party with Benjamin Netanyahu.