To be a minister in the great republic; its on par with being royalty, a Nazi and a transvestite crack pimp all in one. Nothing is sacred, nothing is pure and the money you gain for your struggle credentials appears to make 50 years of racial oppression seem like a less arduous task than brushing your teeth. Shit, did I just say that? Of course, I’m a racist imperialist counter-revolutionary whose family only came here 200 years ago, how am I to know how a “real” African feels? And who the hell am I to tell them how to spend, and squalor, the hard earned tax money of the working population? But for the years of devilish tyranny they endured, theyre certainly making a quick meal of righting the wrongs, or rather wronging the wrong doers. Theres a calamitous notion in government at the moment whereby “we were downtrodden for years and now we will trodden on yous”, yet in not such eloquent execution of the queen’s tongue.  But the problem is only a select few who threw enough stones and burnt enough tyres pre-1994 are benefitting from the rape of our Rainbow Nation, and thus our country has experienced revolt and protest not seen since Eugene Terblanche did a pole dance to “Who the Fuck is Alice?”.  So I imagined what it would be like to be a minister. I went the route of King Jacob and created a new ministry that has no logical basis or need, but would help enrich another comrade of the struggle, I became the Minister for Raw Fish with sticky Rice in non-Japanese restaurants, and needless to say the public were up in arms. Naturally as a new public servant, I could care less, and bought a car. The more I shouted “Amandla” and blamed the problems of the raw fish industry on Apartheid the more support I garnered from my superiors. So sing with me comrades “Viva the ANC!”

The first right of passage on the yellow-brick road to cabinet is to purchase a high end vehicle. Something practical, something safe, something worth a minimum of 1.2 million rand. Blade Nzimande, our astute Marxist who governs higher education, splurged on a kitted out BMW 7 Series with more DVD players than a Korean pawn shop, and then bought the exact same one for Pretoria. The only fair thing for me to do would be to take that amount of money and spend it on something with a personal touch. I’m all for appeasing the Asian states, tickling a bit of communist ass at the expense of our people is something the ANC does best, so I decided to go for an ultra modified Subaru Impreza, with a 150mm Gatling gun attached to the roof. This is fast, relatively safe, and helps me shoot at innocent passersby in my VIP cavalcade. Being more than an hour late for meetings at Luthuli house is coarsely frowned upon, and like various top brass within our ruling party, shooting at innocent civilians who cant spring out the way of a tardy politician and his bodyguards travelling at over 140 km/h, is as legitimate as embezzling pension grants from the homeless. At least I have the courtesy to use large artillery and clear the way promptly. I mean really, what was that KZN MEC’s personal guard thinking using a handgun? Isn’t our ANC motto “shoot to kill”, in fact I believe our deputy minister of defense used the words “kill those bastards” although admittedly this might be taken out of context. Whichever way you look at it, the Subaru is cheaper and faster than a 7 series and is the apple of any Japanese fisherman’s eye. Wasting money and pleasing my target market… Booyah! Could I possibly be the 19^th son Jacob never told anyone about?

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Jobs for pals, is the cornerstone of the ANC dictum. Placing incompetent people in high-powered high-paying positions is the reason one joins the ruling party these days. Take Bheki Cele for instance, our national police commissioner. The man is less experienced than Stephan Hawking in a blue uniform, yet he now controls the most significant segment of our country’s long line of problems. Id rather bet on Hilary Duff in a cage fighting match than on this guy to solve our crime endemic, but hey; he’s Jacob’s buddy, so I guess that entitles you to a six figure salary. So I decided that my chief of sticky rice plantations should go to my good friend Tony Montana. Tony has proven himself versed in eradicating “problems” within his field of work. Sure he knows as much about rice as Nicole Richie knows about steak rolls, but a couple of “Amandlas” and raised fists and he should be on track in no time. Then theres the tender process; the current cancer of our government fiscal policy. Basically the government is required to evaluate a large amount of candidates in order to carry the work and actions they hope to implement. Finally after a long laborious selection procedure they choose: themselves, or at least companies they own. Nearly 600 Natal government officials did business with their own or other provinicial departments and netted R134m in contracts between 2005 and 2006. Fuck the gravy train, this is the caviar infused roasted duck G5 private jet. So without even thinking I quickly forged a couple of documents and hey presto! All the tuna slaughtering done in the country is suddenly done my newest entrepreneurial escapade “Abattoirs of the Ocean”, killing things has never been this satisfying!

I couldn’t be part of the ANC without having a youth league headed by a bald man old enough to have daughters I could legally sleep with. I need a guy like Julius to take care of the children in our prosperous nation. Someone vociferous and engaging, with a passion for justice, fast German automobiles and failing phonics classes. Malema recently said that there was no word for “hermaphrodite” in sephedi and thus there is no such thing. So I immediately got on the phone with my head of imports Xing Wang Robinowitz (what, you’ve never heard of a Vietnamese Jew before?) and asked what the translation for “ignorant racist cocksucker” is in Mandarin, he had no answer, so is Julius actually real? But jokes aside I wanted someone who could really get in touch with our youth and bring them forward to carry out the goals and dreams of our forefathers like OR Tambo and… Lanceria, and judging on what we currently have on offer I chose Gandalf the Grey after a stroke. He meets both the mental and age requirements. Also if you feed him enough gin & tonics he’s more racist than Hitler at “Black, gay and Loving it!” party. Fuck he is Julius Malema.

If the country is abhorred by my lack of dignity and blatant misuse of power I could do a number of things:

a.)    Call them all racist pigs and tell them to leave the country. Its Apartheid’s fault I’m a corrupt bastard and that my fish restaurant ministry is failing, even though it was in perfect working order before I took over.

b.)    Lie to everyone about whats actually going on and then when I’m caught out for being an inept liar, just say I did it to protect an innocent young girl who really just wanted to be an athlete.

c.)     Get arrested, serve a couple of months of my 15 year sentence, and then eat some bad fish and receive medical parole.

d.)    Simply wait 45 minutes until the next massive scandal involving some other ANC member and simply let the public forget any misdeed I ever committed.

While this article is completely ridiculous and utterly in jest its based on the ludicrous way in which our country is actually being run. Our politicians in the ruling party are an embarrassment to South Africa. Every time there is one that looks like they could be our saving grace, they turn out to be just as large a lying duplicitous thief than before. Even Trevor Manuel, the one man we were so sure had got it right, has splurged and hidden truths that are only now slowly starting to rear their heads. Gone are the days of Mandela, Albert Luthuli and Oliver Tambo, the real heroes of the struggle. Gone are the days of accountability and honor, where distinction and passion were the drive behind public service. All I can hope is that you make your vote count, for while the Ministry for Raw Fish with sticky Rice in non-Japanese restaurants is only a joke now, it could be tomorrows golden egg.

~Stroob~