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Bad Bob's Mad Brew

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Bad Bob's Mad Brew
Submitted by hedmekanik on Tuesday, March 13, 2007 - 11:40

It was all going so swimmingly - those honky bastards had been kicked off those ill-gotten farms, the tobacco lords now cowered quietly in Vic Falls and made obsequious grovelling noises whilst the last scraps of resistance had been effectively undermined and brought into line by an unrelenting assault on their families and loved ones. The country had effectively been emptied, leaving only a handful of diehard Green Bombers to lord over municipal dumps, and of course Bob, who was convinced that victory was at last at hand, but there seemed nobody about to enjoy the moment with. Bugger.

"Fuckin' pussies!" spat Bob, stirring his strange Brew as it simmered over a fire made from the legs of that magnificent pearl-encrusted Steinway Baby Grand that Liberace had sold him all those years ago in Vegas. The pearls made a gentle pop-popping noise as they grew hot and exploded, fizzing, into the embers. Their smoke brought the hint of a tear to Bob's eyes, but the smoke, realising it would have no joy there, thought better of it and wafted off in a different direction. No wetness had lurked there since his dear mum had died, all those years back, and he certainly wasn't going to disrespect her memory by hubbling over small matters now, of all times.

"Grace! Come and stir awhile, woman – I'm off to get me some more of the battery acid from the Jag – this one doesn't pack as much of a punch as last weeks!" Bob's echoing voice receded into the gloom, without answer.

"Hmm, that's weird, coulda sworn she was just here, lazy cow. Probably gone off to bum some fags off the Bombers at the gates... sow. I know she's up to no good."

Bob wandered from room to room, occasionally sniffing the air for a telltale scent of cigarette smoke to guide him to his wife, to no avail. The smell of the brew was thick throughout the palace, and the state of the roof meant that all other smells were smothered by mould and damp. That's what happens when you sell the lead to no-good Nigerians... couldn't use the dollars they'd given him, either, the bastards... the black ink wouldn't come off, no matter how hard he washed them.

"So much for African unity.", muttered Bob as he stalked through the halls and chambers of the once-opulent State House.

"State House.... house in a fuckin' state, more like. Grace, you moo, 'the fuck are ya, woman...min...min...min...?" All he could hear was the distant cooing of the wild pigeons that now roosted throughout the manse.

Spluttering and shaking his fist vaguely in a southerly direction, the source of all his woes, Bob went back to the kitchen, which was now a shadow of its former self – all the granite had been lifted by the last of the Italian sculptors he had employed to carve a likeness out of the last giant malachite boulder left in the Chimanimani's. He'd told them to scram when they had become tetchy about wages; the next day the kitchen was stripped naked of all those acres of lovely pink and black stone, bound for Pretoria, he'd heard. Those damned lily-livered Southerners, what did they know about bitter ends, eh? All high and mighty and chummy with the U.N. - and where did it get them? Onto the Security Council.... bunch of ingrates, the lot of 'em, especially that Commie crew, those Bolsheviks would bay for revolution till their throats were raw, but they wouldn't get a sausage – not a sausage – because they'd always be lapdogging to some master.

"Hmmph..." mumbled Bob as he gnawed on an old leg of lamb, long atrophied and cured into a curious new kind of biltong.

"Fuggin liberals, that'll show 'em... Socialism my hairy presidential ass!"

Just then Grace swanned in, a cigarette in hand, a beatific smile on her face:

"Bobby, darlin' – sorry to break this to you when I know you're so down, but.... well, Bob, I'm leaving.... with Morgan...."

"Hmmph... so that's it, eh? After all I've done for you, eh? Just waltz off into the sunset with your knight in shining armour, leaving me with this shit-hole shell to waste away in... how terribly common, Grace. And I thought we were going to celebrate total victory over the imperialist forces together. Well. Hmmph..." He blinked his watery cataracts at the blurred purple image of her, dressed as she was in lavender Prada sweats and heels, and turned to the Brew.

"Oh Bobby, don't get all humpy on me! Pfff..." she toked on her Sobranie, waving the smoke away as she shook her head in dismay, "There's just nothing left for me here, Bob – there's nothing left for anybody – the Nujoma's have legged it, the Dos Santos' have just moved to Rio and, and... well, fuck, Bob, who am I s'posed to hang out with?"

"Well, suit yourself, but you're missing out on this Brew... looks juuust right... " Bob leaned forward and, taking a battered Harrods shoehorn, tested the fermenting vat of liquid.

"Sssthip..." Bob closed his rheumy eyes and savoured the heady green Brew, studiously ignoring the lilac traitor.

"Oh, Bobby, don't be like that, you know I'll always love you, you old rogue, but it's just.... well, Morgan's all recovered now from the bollocking your boys gave him and... and... well, Bob – he's got a fuckin' car full of petrol that can actually get us out of here and he cares about me... and... his house in Bulawayo doesn't fuckin' leak, Bob! And he's allowed to travel, Bob! We never go out any more and you've never got time to listen to other people's problems, but Morgan does! You can't expect me to live here in this dump any longer! I told you those Nigies were scamming you - and now just look at the travertine, after all the trouble I went to, to have it imported from Mussolini's old villa - for fucks' sake, Bob, I tried to make this place pretty! If you cared for me at all you'd have taken the option to abdicate and live on the handsome benefit Haile gave you for saving his skinny ass! We could have bought property on Lake Malawi, but noooo, not old Bobby M, the Mack Daddy of the South, oh, noooo! You had to trot out the old rhetoric – "the sovereignty of this great institution of President For Life will not bow to imperialists, new or old!" You know what they're saying in the malls, Bob? Do you? 'Bad Old Bob is a crazy-ass has-been crackpot despot who's lost it, he's living his last days on his Brew, pigeons and mushrooms that grow out of the carpets!' How's a woman supposed to hold her head high, huh? Pigeons, Bob? It's too much for a woman of my station, Bobby, wake up and smell the fuckin' revolution!" Done, she stubbed her cigarette out defiantly on a priceless blue Baluchi rug and flounced out, ass twitching the funky twitch of the freshly liberated.

"Sssthip, sssthip... hmmph... hoo-hoooo... now that's what I call fire water, Grace... Grace?" Bob looked round; alone again, save for the receding clop of a well-worn pair of Blahniks and the insistent cooing of copulating pigeons.

"Hmmph... gold digging sow. Sssthip... sssthip... Whooo - fiery!"

Just then Bob spied a fresh bloom of shiitake sprouting out of the mouldy Isfahan runner in the scullery.

"Oh, good. Dinner... "


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Subject:  I loved this piece,
capdog's picture
Author:  capdog
Date:  14 March, 2007 - 21:45

I loved this piece, brilliant stuff; the problem of course is that after the big belly laugh at Bob's inevitable demise, we still need to mobilise our own government into action or said demise will be slow, and ultimately the clean-up and restoration of Zim will be a nightmare that'll hamper SA for years to come, what with all the illegal immigrants and other problems.

It's easy for the ANC to say "it's their problem"; but the facts speak otherwise unfortunately.


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Subject:  Absolutely, I agree.......
Author:  hedmekanik
Date:  15 March, 2007 - 10:23

Zimbabwe cannot be left to fester - no country stands alone in its success or failure - that's globalisation for you. It has been a little encouraging to see Aziz Pahad make a relatively grumbly comment yesterday not unlike that put out by the US, which went something like 'We hold Bob accountable for the safety and well-being of all Zimbabweans' only of course the ANC can't be so blunt, it was a tad more kid-glovy.
Which raises the issue - how much does the solidarity forged during the adverse years of the Struggle (or, as it's termed in Zim, the Chimurenga) still have relevance in this day and age? The behaviour of SADC states in refraining from condemning the abuses of Mugabe's regime would seem to show that alliances of the past still have much currency, despite the negative consequences that this is having on the regional economy as a whole.
However, Zambia and Botswana have started to make unhappy noises, and the rest of the neighbouring states should, forseeably (and progressively as the situation's ripple effects are felt farther afield) begin to fall like dominoes in line and begin to not only criticise the Mugabe circus but indeed come together, whether under the auspices of the AU or SADC, and make a plan. Let's hope that that's sooner rather than later, before a bloody struggle is acted out once again. Tellingly, one of Morgan Tsvangirai's comments outside the High Court on Monday was 'The struggle continues.' But what we don't need is a civil war on our doorstep - we need to go next door, give our neighbour a cup of sugar, and help them clean up their messy yard; so we can all go back to sitting on the stoep and watch the sun go down.


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Subject:  This just in.....
Author:  hedmekanik
Date:  15 March, 2007 - 11:05

From the Mail & Guardian's site:

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"The ANC is concerned about the current situation in Zimbabwe, including reports of the alleged assault of opposition leaders while in police custody," party spokesperson Smuts Ngonyama said in a statement.
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Notice the 'reports of the alleged'... kid gloves. Mind you, this is the most critical statement to date.


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Subject:  Wow, where did that come from?
Al's picture
Author:  Al
Date:  29 March, 2007 - 11:38

Wow HeadMechanik, where did that come from? Brilliant dude. Awesome! I love your style of writing, very much in the vain of Tom Eaton from the M&G. What do you call it, blogonzo journalism? Eaton also did a brilliant Mutgabe piece last week. Part II comes out tomorrow. Can't wait.

Please do another. Maybe this time revolving around capdog, his love for a circus trained Russian poodle called Charles Nqakula and their haughty crime spree through the streets of Durban.


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Subject:  Sticks and stones...
Author:  hedmekanik
Date:  29 March, 2007 - 11:53

Oi - get the name right, Sparky.
Just kidding.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but flattery will get you whatever you smaak. So thanks, man, glad you liked it.
Saw the Eaton Mugabe piece and the man himself at last Thursday's Time of The Writer shpiel @ the Sneddon, and damn funny he was too, sat on a panel with Fred Khumalo from the Sunday Times and Bra John Matshikiza who was...odd as a sack of bats....but really funny.
Eaton's in a another league, man's got a rapier wit.
Blogonzo...I like.
Another? Hmmm, might just let Bob handle the comedy, but we'll see.


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Subject:  Just enjoy national cleavage
Author:  jogger
Date:  29 March, 2007 - 19:15

Hey dudes! dont forget to compliment the hot babes that participate in NATIONAL CLEAVAGE day tomorrow.Watch this space....


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Subject:  Kun Fu Tze (Confucius) say....
Author:  hedmekanik
Date:  30 March, 2007 - 07:09

'Man not fall in love with the breast, for you cannot fall in love with what you cannot see - man fall instead for the cleavage - the hint of what you wish to see...'


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Subject:  Time of the Forgetful
Al's picture
Author:  Al
Date:  30 March, 2007 - 07:29

...man I knew that I was missing something last week. I really wanted to go to that Time of the Writer event and I didn't even know that Eaton was going to be there. Shit, I wish I wasn't so forgetful. I blame beer!

Anyway, good luck Medmekanik... oh, and by the way, my name's not Sparky!


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Subject:  Jislaaik my china
Author:  hedmekanik
Date:  30 March, 2007 - 09:34

You can me baby and baby when you call me you can call me Al, call me Al.Nuh nuh nuh nuh na, love that Paul Simon...
Ehe babsi, but nonetheless and without further ado or adon't - well, you missed a show, it was damned funny, think Matshikiza mighta been a little under the weather, if ya knowaddamean...I think he might blame beer too.


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