Cape Town Garlic Gusher Crushes Critics
Following United Nations special envoy for Aids in Africa Stephen Young's racist diatribe against our fledgling democracy at the International AIDS conference in Toronto, Canada, South African Health Minister Manto Tshabalala-Msimang [see third entry] has hit back against allegations that the government is "...obtuse, dilatory and negligent about rolling out treatment."
"Fuck Stephen Young," said the Minister, sucking on a lemon. "What the hell does he know about AIDS? What does he know of government, for that matter. The man's an arsehole. And probably has AIDS too," she sniggered, nudging Ministry spokesperson Sibani Mngadi in the ribs. Mngadi burst out laughing. "He's probably a fucking queer," she snorted. "He deserves everything he gets. Why must we pay to enable a bunch of pooftahs to avoid the consequences of banging each other?"
She looked at the Minister. The Minister looked at her. Both shook with barely concealed hysterical laughter. The minister's face grew suddenly serious and she gave Mngadi a stinging slap across the face. "Shut up, you bitch," she snarled at her spokesperson. "We have the media here. Behave yourself. Just think of what those white moffies get up to at night. That'll straighten you out."
Mngadi sobered immediately, but she and the Minster were plainly far from over their laughing fit. I coughed and restarted the interview. "Well, yeah, I don't know if he's a pooftah or not..."
I left when Tshabalala-Msimang and Mngadi wet themselves. It was clear, even to me, that I'd get no sense out of them.
I phoned Thabo. "Mr. President, Msimang's a stupid fucking bitch and deserves to be fired. She's a PR nightmare. Do something about it now."
The President, always imperturbable and quite used to my outbursts, answered calmly. "You know I can't do that, Mike. A favour is a favour and all that."
He had a point. If you have any idea how these people become ministers in the first place, you know exactly what I mean. And it's typical Thabo. Oil on troubled water. I calmed down immediately.
"You coming to the Lake Poets Evening this week?" he asked.
"Nah, sorry, I can't make it. I've an appointment in Samarra. Maybe next week."
"Good, good..." answered the President, adding, "By the way Mike, when you get back to those dullards in Toronto, spread the good news."
"Ermm..." I was somewhat flummoxed. There didn't appear to be much good news to spread.
He picked up my bewilderment. "You haven't heard? The rig we've had drilling Table Mountain has hit a massive fucking bed of garlic juice. Our AIDS problems are a thing of the past. By next month, we'll be producing a million barrels a day. We're swimming in the stuff."
"Garlic juice...?" I mumbled. "What the hell has garlic juice to do with it? You can't treat AIDS with garlic juice..."
The President chuckled benignly. "Too much hiking of late?" he smiled (I have Skype — for Presidential calls). "Of course garlic juice will do nothing by itself. It's part of a three-part regimen dreamt up by Pahad (the Minister in the Office of the President). He calls it a cocktail."
I could swear I heard the President snigger.
"Cocktail?" I asked.
He chuckled like a grizzled WWII vet who mutters disparagingly of 'tailgunners'. Turning away from the mouthpiece, he coughed, composed himself, and continued. "Yes, we ask them to mix garlic, beetroot, and lemon. We get plenty of lemon from the DA, by the way."
"Understandable. Lot of sourpusses over there. Or should that be sour cream?" I snickered.
Thabo chortled on the other end of the line.
I was kinda at a loss. I mean, what do you say to an astute, smart, usually impeccably informed head of state when he starts mouthing off like a meathead?
"Umm..."
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he replied, followed by a brief silence. "Well, not really." He began to laugh as he spoke. "'Meathead' is what set me off. Essop's reading Beavis and Butthead recently and we get no end of information from it."
I could hear old Pahad choking like a 1932 Ford in the background.
"Mr. President, is there something you're not telling me?" I asked. "I mean, this is all bullshit. It's surreal, if you ask me. Look, if we've an arrangement with the pharmaceutical people, I'd understand and accept it. If we see AIDS reigning in population growth, I'd accept that. I mean, politics is a tough gig. I understand as much. It calls for hard choices."
I paused. "But a Garlic, Beetroot and Lemon Smoothie?"
Thabo sounded businesslike. "Look Mike, I know appearances can be deceptive, but it's none of those things. I mean, for God's sake, we've one of the most progressive constitutions in the world. We fought for that; put our lives on the line, promised the people we'd deliver on it and we did. Our constitution's far more than a piece of paper to us."
'Not like that arsehole overseas' I could imagine him mouthing. Essop nodded sagely in the background.
"So what is it?" I asked.
The President sighed. "Ah fuck, Mike, do I have to explain this one to you? You know the MSM overseas is having a field day with it."
"Frankly, I'm not surprised, given the way you've handled it," I responded. "But no, not really, you don't have to explain it to me. I'll make up my own mind."
I don't know if Thabo liked the sound of that. "Mike, Mike, Mike..." he intoned. "Look, let me put it this way..."
He looked across Essop's way. Pahad gave him the thumbs up.
"You still there," he asked.
"I'm in no hurry," I replied.
"Mmm..." he murmured. "Look, this week it's the gays, okay? We're having a bit of a giggle about the gays. I mean, we're so over-fucking politically correct in this country, we all have to let off a little steam every now and then..."
"You needn't tell me," I responded. "Does that mean I can apply for a state job?"
He laughed. "Look, I might have laid off the 'racism' thing for a couple of weeks, but that doesn't change the colour of your skin."
"I didn't think it would," I answered. We both chuckled. Thabo and I share a dark sense of humour.
"So tell, me..." I started.
"Well, basically, it's rather like explaining to the Yanks why they're such a bunch of hosers, y'know? I mean, I wouldn't like to say we're cynical or anything...we're not. But really, we have more important things to deal with."
"Like crime," I suggested.
"Exactly," he smiled.
"So what you're saying is that selling government on the antiretroviral thing is like selling a Greater Palestine to the Israelis. It just ain't on and what will be will be, no matter what. Will be..." I tailed off.
"You my man," the President smiled. "We're all Jewish now."
"Holy crap." The penny dropped. "Is that why Kasrils and Ozinsky have taken vacation leave next week?"
The President and Pahad were laughing so hard I decided to leave it there.
But anyway, there you have it, from the horse's mouth, so to speak. I mean, if you get the gist of it, you should get the message. It's not that we don't care...and we know it's not that you don't care but, really, shouldn't you stop fucking up all those Middle Eastern countries?
There's a strong smell of garlic about the place. My wife tells me it has antibiotic properties, but I wouldn't know.
