BREAKING NEWS: 88-year-old Zvimba man defies all logic

Random Zvimba Man being led by Random Mt Darwin Woman upon
arrival of said Random Zvimba Man from a 12 or 15 or so hour flight
                                                                             pic: Daily News

Health Experts were stunned as a random 88-year-old man from Zvimba disembarked from a 12-hour flight from Asia and immediately headed into a series of long meetings that have a serious bearing on the fate of 12 million or so people.

We asked a Health Expert how he reacted to the news. He said: “I was stunned.”

When Cynic arrived at the scene, dozens of witnesses were still as wide-eyed as you would be if you bumped into Makandiwa at the 3rd Annual Zinatha Convention & Witchdoctoring Paraphernalia Expo.

“I have never seen anything like that. A man from Zvimba just came off that plane after it was in the air for about 12, maybe 15 hours, I don’t know, then he just went off to chair meetings we were told are important.”

Asked whether this was why he was as wide-eyed as a goat at a Zimbabwean marriage ceremony, he said “yes”.

Commentators say the world has never seen this phenomenon.
“This is the first 88-year-old man from Zvimba to disembark from a long, long, long flight but still go to chair meetings,” said a political commentator, who declined to be named because most commentators talk shit and who wants their kids to know their father makes a living talking shit.

Zvimba Man boxes a woman. He let her win.

A visit to a Harare old people’s home revealed most 88-year-olds there had never come off a 15-hour flight and headed straight to important meetings.

We asked one old looking man. “No. I have never come off a 12 hour flight. In fact, I have never come off a flight because I have never been on one at all. Do you want to put me on a flight?”

We said no.

We then asked another oldish looking fellow, who may be close to 88, but seeing as he only got had a birth certificate in 1989 these things are hard to tell. He declined to comment saying was hoping the chair he was sitting on was a toilet because he was sure he had just done something.

We were unable to find any 88-year-old man who is like that random man from Zvimba who disembarked from a 12-hour flight and immediately headed into important, long meetings.

ZRP: The Greatest Cops on the Planet

Ok, let’s be fair. Maybe the dude tried to stop this minibus crew after they'd committed some road crime. Bastards tries to speed off, and Cde Officer, dedicated as ever, tries to stop the vehicle with his sheer might. But the car speeds off and he soon finds it ain’t easy jumping off a moving car. and it wasn't such a clever plan.

Or, maybe, the minibus crew and the officer fails to agree on, eh, a 'fee'. The officer demands more, driver tries to speed off, Officer Action remembers he has rent to pay and hungry kids to feed and needs to buy airtime and he tries to stop the vehicle.

Either way, we must salute ZRP. They must have some wicked training at Morris Depot.

Which other force on this planet has cops that jump on moving minibuses?

Remind me again. Why is weed illegal?

This guy, smoking weed here in his youth, was to later become leader of the most
powerful country in the world. So who are you to deny me a few whiffs?

Well, if the evangelisticalest of world evangelists says he has no problem with weed, then who am I, a sinner saved by grace, to stand here and not pump my fist in the air and write to the Copac people to include weed rights in the new constitution?

Pat Robertson. Remember him? The guy whose smug little face would peek into your living room every old Sunday back in the day on TV asking us to touch the screen and be saved from our pagan ways? 700 Club guy.

Now, generally, this right-wing idiot is a gaping mine of a asshole. Supported apartheid, talks out of right-wing ass, and, well, is an all round moron.

But this, in the NY Times: “I really believe we should treat marijuana the way we treat beverage alcohol. I’ve never used marijuana and I don’t intend to, but it’s just one of those things that I think: this war on drugs just hasn’t succeeded.”

Amen.

Wish our own pastors would wake up and smell the high-grade. We know they all smoke weed. Especially that Kunonga bastard. Makandiwa is cool so he’s definitely on something.  (Pastor Mbhoro is on crack. Big difference) 

And can we please stop pretending weed is only smoked by Rastas and jobless ghetto youths? I know for a fact it's smoked in Cabinet. I checked.

Time we had a real debate about weed.

Nobody - NOBODY – has ever put forward a convincing argument as to why weed is illegal. It’s just illegal. Why? Just because it is. Why? Because it was always illegal. So, no reason. Ridiculous because beer, which is more harmful – and causes pot bellies, like that of the guy at your office who’s always doing PowerPoint presentations with his shirt button over the navel open because the fucking belly is too big  to fit in his shirt – is legal.

Beer’s OK, they say. Unless I drink and drive, they say. Or take too much and become a menace, they say. Fair.

So why In the name of the Great Weed God of Mount Mulanje can’t I smoke my weed in peace?

If I’m stoned  in my own home, laughing at the paint on my  wall, what the fuck is your   problem?

So what if I swear Mugabe clambered through my window and took a puff and we watched Kung Fu flicks through the night, mimicking all those Shaolin master sounds ? My  problem.

Why should a small joint of weed, in my  own home, bring the bloody Police to my door?

Everyday, I read about some guy arrested only for having 'a few twists' with him. Cops even go on and state the 'street value'. So they have a weed price monitoring unit?

Why is weed illegal? Remind me again.

Gono vs Kereke: Don't stop the bitchfight!

You’ve seen hookers fight, right?

On one side, Belinda, the skinny one with the brown spots and hoarse voice. And on the other side, fat Bibiana, the one with the big boobies.

Screams. Wigs flying. Hair pulled. Clothes ripped.

You run closer because you like watching bitch fights. Like me.

You are enjoying the show. Idiot comes and asks you why they’re fighting. Even tries to mediate. He’s a moron. Because, number one; he’s trying to stop a bitch fight. Who does that? Two; who understands where bitches have been and what freakish shit got them here?

So why intervene? Do you understand the politics of Avenues hookery?

Remember, these are no ordinary women. In the words of A Pimp Named Slickback in the Boondocks, “What woman, sir, this here is a ho ..”

A younger Gono, in his autobio.
Academic trials heh?
"You could never have secured
a quarter
of the PhD requirements using your very
limited and blunt academic
mental
amplitude even in 5 decades - Kereke to
Gono

Which is why I won’t try understand this bitch fight between Gono and Kereke, that paedophile Gono sacked as his right-hand-man. Alleged paedophile.

For those that don’t read, here’s the fight so far; Kereke gets sacked, he writes to Zanu saying Gono is incompetent and corrupt, Gono says don’t listen to this overambitious fool, and Kereke responds in a letter saying Gono is a corrupt dimwit; he wrote the PhD for Gono and Gono stole money etc.

No, I will not try to understand. I choose to just sit back and watch; secrets revealed, clothes ripped off. Weirdly positioned birthmarks exposed.

The more is revealed of the sordid whorehouse that became our central bank under Gono the better.

Only whores know the secrets of whorehouses. And who better to reveal the secrets of the whorehouse than a fired whore? Who are the sleaziest clients? Who never pays? Who sucks toes? Who likes a bit of spanking? All that.

And bitches only say interesting shit when they’re angry. Or drunk. Or drunk AND angry. Like these two chaps.

So don’t none of you bastards stop this brawl.

Go on bitches! Fight, fight, fight….

Our leaders and their cakes!

                                                                                                                                   Pic: Sunday Mail

This, above, is Robert's rather freakish birthday cake. A dead-looking crocodile, mutupo wekwa Gushungo.

And, this, below, is a photo of Morgan's own birthday cake.

Enough said!

The prophet and the one night stand...

Now, don’t get me wrong.

I don’t hate our new breed of prophets and apostles. In fact, I said here recently that I want to be one of them.

But these must be tough times in the prophecy business. Competition heating up.

So, can't have just ANY poster. Even standing next to your prophetess – that skin lightening cream model – is no longer enough.

Also looks like conferences with thunderous titles like ‘Fire Holy Power Explosion’ don’t cut it anymore.

So you have stuff like this here, ‘The One Night Stand Conference’.

Now, I was saying to myself, Cynic, easy old boy, watanga, you are being dirty. Not everyone is a sicko like you. The sexual imagery here is just coincidental. Sit down.

But then, right at the bottom, the poster says, ‘One night only, when you wake up, we’ll be gone’.

Who, me? Judge? No, never. I refuse to judge.

Besides, long ago, before I became a man, I too had a few one night stands. Much less than I wanted, I confess.

But, at least, I had the decency to stay long enough for breakfast.

Single people, if strange things appear in your bed to have sex with you,
you know where to go!

The 88-year-olds that I know...and this one.

Dude, gotta hand it to you.

Today, you turn 88. EIGHTY-EIGHT!! Congrats man.

Me, reach 88? Singing Coolio: “…the way things is going, I don’t know”.

Why? Coz I eat beef, you see. And I drink. A lot. In fact, I’m drinking right now as I write. Just the kind of shit you said will shorten my life.

Good thing is I don’t do ‘little houses’, as you put it. Why? Well, I’d like to say it’s because I think it’s immoral and an affront to our cultural mores. But it’s simply because I can’t afford one.

Brazilian weaves. Manicures. Pedicures. Facials. Massages. Pubic shaves. Shit.

But once I am rich and fat like Obert Mpofu, I am getting me one of them ‘little house’ skanks. Get her to rub Dairibord yoghurt on my big belly and have her friends lick it off me while I call some Israeli on my phone to buy my diamonds. That’s what I’ll do.

But not yet. Right now all I can do is look at you in admiration.

88?! Man, I wanna get there. But I want to be your kind of 88, not the 88s I know.

The 88-year-olds I know? Spent old coots. Sit all day pasi pemu-mango kumusha, talking shit.

You do gym. All they do is pick flies drowned in their masese. And fart.  

But you?

Here you are, 88, and still ruling a whole country.

The 88-year-olds I know wear 17 jerseys and the torn elbowless jackets they brought from Wenela to stay warm. You? Saw you on TV last night. Burberry shirt, red tie. If I’m not mistaken, from the broad cuts on that suit’s lapels, that’s a William Fioravanti? Or at least one of those Savile Row jobs, like the Huntsman or the Anderson & Sheppard or some such swanky shit? Right?

VaMugabe likes nice things.
Here, in a New York store,
shopping for nice things. Nice.

And, nigga, them cufflinks! Shiiiiiit. Needed shades to watch TV man. Blingin’. What are those? Artelier Yozu cufflinks? I hear those babies can set you back a few thousand.

But, hey, what’s a few thousand for our last remaining slayer of imperialist dragons. No, we won’t begrudge an old revolutionary a few luxuries.

But, eish, I gotta ask? 88 years here vakomana? 32 years pabasa! Hazvigwadzi here?

Believe me, my Commander in Chief, I’m as pan-Africanist as they come. Which is why I can smell Zanu’s fake nationalism from a distance. Or the MDC’s sell-out politics.

But, 88?

Now, I get your dilemma. I heard you when you said your party would be divided if you left. Like, “my party is divided because of me, but if I go, they’ll be divided”.

Twisted, but makes sense. I mean, who from your lot would take over? Thief here. Killer there. Idiot over there.

Even a faggot or two that would bitch our country off to the next foreign dick that asks them to bend over.

(Figuratively, Cde, figuratively. I see you sitting up in your chair ready to swat the homos)

But, eish, 88? Clearly, all that health stuff is bullshit. But, surely, the back must hurt a little sitting up in that leather chair all fucking day?

The meetings must be longer and boring now, surely?

Straining your giant intellect in Cabinet against all those pea brains in there? And the kids, they need you home man. Looks so bad they get U’s at A Level, where the F is usually the worst grade.

Hazvibhowi here? 32 years, same thing? Swatting imperialists? Punching the air? Walking past those smelly horses at army parades?

I don’t know man. Maybe I'm just impatient. I can’t sit through a TV soap. Sometimes I get bored taking a piss and I stop midstream and walk out the loo.  It's that bad. Let alone stay in a job for 32 fucking years. Especially if the job is ruling a country full of cynical ingrates like me.

Been fun. People won’t admit it, but we’ll miss you when you’re gone. Your speeches – that “so, Blair, keep your Britain and I keep my Zimbabwe” shit must be cast in fucking stone man. And, look, you are just about the only Afro talking The Truth to the West.

But 32 years? Let it go man.


 I swear we won’t let your successor or Morgan try some silly Charles Taylor shit on you. Besides, Morgan’s too busy with whatever freakish shit he’s been doing in bed lately that breaks legs.

I wanna be 88 too, man. A respected 88. Not like the old farts kumusha. But, now that I think about it, not like you either; caught in a trap – damned if I stay, damned if I go.

Anyway, Gushungo, Happy Birthday.