So the Spur has apologised for the way it handled the racial spat that went as viral as their salad bar does every time someone sneezes over it, vowing to “improve childminding” in their “Play Canyons”. I don’t know which part of their apology nauseated me most – the PC euphemisms or their cringingly patronising “apology”. What I do know is that the thought of ever patronising them again makes me cringe with nausea.

In fact, I haven’t been more nauseated since I heard the stewardess on an SAA flight, greeting passengers in all eleven official languages, before ending off her sickening diatribe with the most nauseating words I’ve ever heard – “Proudly South African”. What made it worse, was that this was shortly after they had renamed Johannesburg International Airport, O.R Tambo International Airport.

Before I could reach for the barf bag in the pouch in front of my seat, my travel partner, not known for his tact when it comes to expressing himself, came to my rescue when he shouted “O.R TAMBO SE MA SE P…”.

I nearly had a seizure – fortunately my seatbelt prevented me from falling out of my seat. Laughing at inappropriate times has always been a problem for me. That’s why I stay away from funerals and church services.

Spur and SAA are just the tip of the floating turd-berg that is “Big Business” in South Africa. Who can forget Engen and Woolworths’ brilliant “no whites” recruitment policies?

I have been scathing on the apathy of my fellow members of the Lost Tribe of South Africa in the past, but now it’s time to put our iconic “Proudly South African” multi-nationals under the spotlight. Their deafening silence has been bugging me for years. Not a murmur, not a word, amidst the tsunami of corruption we have been engulfed in since 1994.

The likes of PRIMEDIA, who own the sickening talk radio stations we have had to endure for decades, pouring out their insidious tripe, trying to put a sober cloak on the drunken havoc being wreaked by the Johnny Blue Label Club that has been looting the country, at will for the past 23 years.

Hey, but what about LEAD-SA some may cry? When I first heard 702 and 567 punting their LEAD-SA initiative, which called for “robust citizenship”, I thought “hello… ”, but that swiftly changed to “hell nooo…”, after I visited their website, vowing to quit drinking and ready to take up the challenge.

What a pile of apathetic, apologetic, ANC butt-kissing pish. Take a look at their list of their great achievements… I’ll save you the time – there are none. Oh, but wait, didn’t they initiate a campaign to make us aware of the importance of driving with our headlights on during the day? It was enough to drive me back to drink.

Which brings me to my next favourite “prrroudly SA” corporate giant – SAB-Miller, who continue to inflict their patronising “Rainbow Nation” advertising, depicting the country as one brimming with pride and camaraderie on us, ad-nauseam.

Give me a Heineken, Amstel, Windhoek or Stella Artois anytime. Give me a Castle and I’ll punch you in the face. I even have trouble restraining myself when I see someone buying that once proud brand, particularly when they’re wearing their Springbok jersey and you know what? I root for any side playing against a side sponsored by them – yes, even the pansy Proteas – even when they play Pakistan and even the Springboks – even when they play Japan.

Apart from Pat Symcox and Hansie Cronje and one or two others, post-94 South African cricketers have riled me no end, along with their bimbo groupies. I once had to ask my favourite restaurant in Cape Town, to relocate me from my regular table, to the smoking section, because I could no longer bear listening to these clones, with their designer shades on their foreheads, inflicting their shallow, bubble-gum advert, babble on me from the table alongside.

It was more nauseating than watching an episode of The Bold and The Beautiful or Isidingo. I swear, if I heard Jacques Kallis’ girlfriend say “Jacquee-poo” one more time, I would have either snapped or shat myself.

The bemused expression on their faces, when I loudly called the owner over and told him that I couldn’t bear the intrusion of their idiotic babbling any longer, was particularly satisfying. They gave me the most aghast fluoride stares I’ve ever seen. I gave them my “go screw yourself” stare, without making much of an effort to conceal my contempt.

Hell, I’m all for patriotism – when there’s something to be patriotic about. When big business grows some balls and backs a tax revolt, and the apathetic café society brigade realise that there’s more to life than updating their status and making a fashion statement, perhaps I’ll change my mind. Until then screw this deluded country – especially the cop-out big business corporates.





Calamitus Necessaria Est… that’s my favourite Latin quip. If you don’t know what it means, don’t panic. It’s Latin for “disaster is inevitable”. Now you can panic…

That’s pretty much been my stock standard response to anyone I’ve met on my travels, when they ask me about the fool’s paradise I come from. The look of resigned and cynical indifference I’ve carried around with me for the past 23 years, whenever I utter that sentence, usually deters them from probing any further. Fools like their news to be either good or trivial.

On the rare occasions that some of them do venture to probe further, I like to tell them that in South Africa, April Fool’s Day is celebrated for the entire month, culminating with a huge amount of pomp, ceremony, Chivas and Caviar on the 27th, which they call “Freedom Day”, where a lot of obscenely obese people dance on stage and chant slogans to the illiterate masses, gorging on free Kentucky Fried Chicken. That one usually gets rid of them.

The news that one of the world’s biggest racketeers had reshuffled his cabinet in the late hours of the night, just 24 hours before April Fool’s Day, was greeted with the usual resigned, Calamitus Necessaria Est boredom, I’ve become so accustomed to.

I thought; “So now we have a new cabinet of crooked baboons. Perhaps this time, this country has finally gone to pot.”

The newspapers screamed the headline “Zuma’s State and Treasury Capture”. What crap – this state and treasury were captured a long time ago, when we, the citizens were tossed overboard back in 1994. The only thing that has changed, is that the Zulu’s have now purged the Xhosa’s, from the steal-as-much-as-you-can banquet hall in the Johnny Blue Label looter’s club. It’s like being in a 5-star casino, where all the machines and tables are rigged the other way around and the booze is free.

Later the very same day, the news broke that they had legalised pot. The symbolic irony wasn’t lost on me – within hours, this country had gone to pot, both literally and figuratively. The same day we hit a new low, it became legal to get high.

I haven’t had something to laugh so much about, in this miserable, mediocrity ravaged country, since the fake sign interpreter at the Nelson Mandela Memorial in 2013, the discovery of Homo Naledi in 2015 and former Minister of State Security, Siyabonga Cwele’s wife, Sheryl, getting bust running an international drug smuggling racket, right alongside him in bed, which he claimed he knew nothing about. Naturally, a man of such integrity didn’t need to undertake a polygraph test – for goodness sake he was, and still is, an esteemed member of the cabinet and doing a mighty fine job as Minister of Post and Telecommunications, despite his lack of state security skills.

Many people are superstitious about the Ides of March – not me. April makes me far more nervous – things often get very stupid in this country during April. It’s been a tradition since 27 April 1994.

I didn’t have to wait too long. It took just 7 days for the next reading on the stupidity seismograph to register…

Some of the people here decided to take to the streets with banners and flags – much like the Democrats in the USA have been doing, every day, for the past five months, since Donald Trump became POTUS. However, here, Democrats are not nearly as motivated their USA namesakes. Here, the protest against the POSA simply involved putting on a designer pair of sunglasses, packing some mineral water and snacks into your snazzy daypack and taking selfies of yourself protesting, until your snacks ran out, whereupon you headed to the nearest tavern or your favourite café deck, to sip sundowners and celebrate your “big one day stand”, against tyranny.

POSA was swift to shrug these protests off. Seems it’s going to take more than a street carnival to get his attention. When it comes to ignoring things flat, our man Jacob has no peers apart from Robert Mugabe. What do you do when you get bust on 783 fraud charges? You simply ignore them until they go away. And people actually think that a march is going to have any effect?

Besides, he’s probably got more important things like “Freedom Day” to prepare for. By now he won’t have to rehearse the speech that has served him so well since 2009, but he might want to rehearse his freedom songs and dance routine. Perhaps he will even introduce some new material into his act this year. Let’s face it, after eight years the show is losing a bit of its fizzle… sort of like A Dinner for One on New Year’s Eve did, and The Rainbow Nation has after 23 years.

I’m twixt and between as to what I’ll watch on 27th… the usual ritual idioting on stage, or the march carnival that the country’s diligent tax payers are planning for the same day.




Dear Lord Mmusi

On Friday the 7th of April, I saw you out there while the TV cameras were rolling.

You looked very hip and powerful in your bulletproof vest. Obviously on your DA salary, you couldn’t afford one for your wife. Either that, or you also consider her a colonialist, in which case, I applaud you for tolerating her for so long.

Some my leap on the bandwagon and call you a sexist racist or hypocrite, but I won’t. I know how educated you are, albeit through the horrifically oppressive, colonialist education system that was forced upon. It must have been an ordeal for you attending The University of Wales, University of South Africa and University of the Witwatersrand… but fortunately you survived this colonialist horror, relatively unscathed.

While you were in Wales, you must have done a lot for the cause. I very much doubt that you will ever become the president here, but I’m sure that the Welsh will find you a nice post office to run, when you abandon this colonialist, white monopoly capital ravaged country.

But here’s the real reason I’m writing this letter to you, and don’t get me wrong here, I firmly stand in front of you with your anti-colonialist attack on the dragon that handed the leadership of your party over to you. Thank God you are a better dancer than she is.

I took careful note of your spat with Helen and I urge you to help me to discard the despicable colonialist history of South Africa, taught to me back in those terrible times in the 70’s.

Here’s what they indoctrinated me with.

Apparently it all started way back in 1652 when a colonialist called Jan van Riebeeck arrived in Cape Town. Then this evil monster of a colonialist built a harbour and a city and worse still, his renegades began to farm the lands. The Fynbos was doing just fine until these destructive colonialists arrived.

Fast forward to 1820… long after JVR’s departure and the next wave of evil colonialist arrived, pushing the “boere” out of Cape Town. That’s the name the Dutchmen arrogantly gave themselves, due to their ruthless and evil farming expertise.

So, the “boere” decided to hitch up their wagons and head north. They hated colonialists almost as much as you do – apart from your wife, naturally – she’s a nice colonialist – naturally not the one Zille was referring to, of course. I’m almost sure that you love her and will never appear in public again wearing a bulletproof vest, without her wearing one too. I hear they are on special at Woolworths at the moment. Go look for the “Armoured bra”… its right next to their inorganic, organic vegetable section, on the display outside their “Earth Café”. There are times when one cannot avoid supporting white monopoly capital enterprises, but I know how committed you are to changing all of this.

But let’s not digress too far and return to the matter of the false history I was taught. I’m sure you and Jacob will correct all of this, after you form a coalition in 2020. Jan van Riebeeck never existed… just like Jesus.

So big deal, the Boere found a diamond on the banks of the Orange River – that colonialist name also needs to be changed, to heal this nation from its terrible colonialist wounds of the past  – I propose that you table a motion in parliament to change its name to the “Madiba River”. Orange is a very discriminatory colour.

After this discovery, some of the Boers selfishly decided to navigate the Madiba River to discover the source of these useless colonial emeralds. However, typical of colonialists, some of them were not satisfied and decided to push on further north.

Then the greedy bastards discovered gold. A mineral deposit your ancestors were not interest in, while bow-hunting and foraging for food in their loin-cloths, on the run from stronger tribes in the North of this great continent.

You can’t eat gold. How incredibly stupid were these colonialists? What were they thinking when they established towns and farming communities along their way… without even doing an “environment impact study”? What evil, inconsiderate savages.

Therefore, I salute you for chastising Zille for ridiculously suggesting that not all colonialism was bad. Who cares about the cities, towns and roads these colonialist pigs built? Who cares about the hospitals they built? Who cares about the agriculture they established? Who cares about the country they handed over in 1994? These ingrates… and they have the audacity to think that handing the entire country, they had built, over would be sufficient reparation? What insolent swines. If they had any dignity, they would all commit hara-kiri.

Unfortunately they are not as brave as the Japanese, but fortunately Uhuru is still an option… best you send your wife back to her home country, or Orania, when that call comes, while your brave party files another motion of “no confidence”.

I wish you well with your courageous and robust opposition to the Freedom Front and the disgraceful legacy of colonialism. I’m sure that George Soros is so proud of you that you can expect a bumper Christmas bonus this year.Musi.jpg




Out of sheer boredom, I have steered clear of writing about the political situation in South Africa. There are enough dreary columnists doing so already. Besides, there’s nothing to debate about this farcical fiasco and doing so only creates the delusion that there is something to debate and falsely creates the illusion that we have a democracy here. We don’t and we never have.

No, I haven’t been toking the whacky weed since it was semi-legalised.

The irony of the celebrations after the court ruling wasn’t lost on me – this country went to pot, both literally and figuratively. Personally I’m disappointed they didn’t ban weed… I was holding out to see if the Rastafarians would riot.

For those peeved at me for suggesting that South Africa isn’t a democracy, buckle-up. Better still, role yourself a splif.

Back in 1994, when our first “substantially free and fair” election was held, I did a quick demographic calculation and decided to go fishing instead. I knew that the result would prove how fatally-flawed democracy, based on a simple majority, is – particularly where the only qualifications required are being able to make a cross next to a picture, not walking on all fours and being able to wipe your arse. I think that some don’t even meet the criteria on the latter count.

And here we are, about to celebrate the 23rd anniversary of this so-called miraculous event. They call the 27th of April “Freedom Day” – I call it “Fool’s Rule Day”. That’s right folks, the fools that were allowed to vote, voted for fools and only fools think that continuing to vote will change things. Einstein said that doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is a form of insanity. And that’s the problem here – the insane are running the asylum, the inmates are running the prison, the thieves are in charge of the money and the gorillas are in charge of the zoo.

Getting the picture now?

They call Democrats in the USA snowflakes… I call them cornflakes here in South Africa. That’s why I start my day eating them. I gave up Rice Crispies one morning after I distinctly heard them go “snap, crackle, pop, f… you”. My case against Kellogg’s is still pending. Just like the DA’s 29 000 cases against the ANC.

So BIG FUCKIN DEAL… the cornflakes have finally got off their apathetic arses and started to march. Marching against a dictator is as purposeful as a bouquet at a funeral, and this mentally ill country is getting very close to needing the services of both a priest and undertaker. Apathy is the disease it’s going to die from.

Never before has a nation been so apathetic. Never before has a nation willingly paid for its own demise. And here’s why I say South Africa is not a democracy… the people actively working their arses-off to keep it going have no voice even though they are the ECONOMIC MAJORITY. See why I say that South Africa isn’t a democracy? How can you have 10% of the population paying income tax, being held to ransom by the 90% that don’t? This country is a prime example of how fatally-flawed democracy is. It’s fool’s rule and the consequences are plain to see.

March all you want… nothing will change. There is only one logical solution to the free this country from the tyranny of corruption – a tax revolt. We need to stop feeding SARS, the ANC’s ATM machine. We need to create a new revenue collecting entity and take the cheque book away from the bloated pigs hogging the treasury feeding trough .

Now you know why I don’t partake in political discourse in this country. There is nothing to debate. It’s a mental asylum in a zoo run by a miniature version of King Kong. His name is Zuma the Zulu – I prefer to call him Jacob the Liar – and though he’s not quite as big, apart from his head, of course, he can destroy much more than King Kong did when he visited New York, while beating his chest – he can destroy an entire country by simply grinning, stealing and dancing with Helen Godzilla.




sunglass-burqaEvery now and then a snippet of news manages to make it past the heuristic evaluation process I use to protect the confines of my mind from overload. It’s a similar process to installing anti-virus software on your computer and with all the virus-laden information being peddled in the world today, it comes in mighty handy.

Last week, amid the usual thoroughly boring and predictable racial incidents, terrorist attacks, shootings and nauseating bombardment of Trumpophobia, was the news that Sesame Street, the long-running television puppet show, which has been conditioning children to fit into society for generations, is introducing an autistic muppet onto the show. According to the Urban Dictionary, Trumpophobia is rational, but Isamopophobia isn’t.

My initial nausea induced WGAT (who gives a toss) reaction was interrupted by one of shortcuts in the left temporal lobe of my mind. I could hear it begging me not to screen this piece of news out. It wanted to process this information. Perhaps it’s been idle too long. Either that or I might be desperately in need of a full frontal lobotomy.

I released the reigns and what’s left of my mind went to work. What next? A transgender muppet – a boy named Sue, dealing with the soul crushing pressure of deciding which toilet she or he should use? That would be easy for them to slot in. It’s even become part of the current contemporary adult narrative. A word to the wise here… invest in toilets, there’s going to be a 50% increase in demand for them on all future building plans. One for boys, one for girls and one for the undecided.

How about a muppet with Tourettes? It’s my favourite affliction. They would probably have to make him Russian so that the involuntary outbursts are not in a language English kids can understand. “ебать” (pronounced Blyad) won’t have little junior running around the house saying the f-word when the Pastor comes around. дерьмо (pronounced der’mo) takes care of another word that usually manifests itself in the verbal ticks that afflict those blessed with this syndrome – I’ve sometimes been accused of being a bit crude when I write, so I won’t interpret the word, but when a Russian’s eyes go glazed and he tells you he needs to take a “der’mo”, don’t block his way to the toilet. I thought I’d throw in some more toilet humour to brighten your day, because from here on the story might get a little more roughage laden.

Needless to say, these thoughts boosted my derision even more, but my merriment rapidly subsided with the next thought… an Islamic puppet called baby Barak? They could even tie him up with the transgender muppet, but then I’d suggest that they change its name from Sue to Michael… it’s easier to convert into Michelle. Just ask Michael Obama.

I was having great fun with this latest gem from LA LA LAND until the thought of AL LAH LAND suddenly exploded in my mind.

Look at the LA LA LAND idiocy going on in Europe at the moment.  Amid the Sesame Street news last week, came the news that the EU Commissioner for Migration, Dimitris Avramopoulos, outlined his proposal to facilitate the migration of 6 million more immigrants from the Middle East and Africa into Europe. Why do the nihilistic globalists want 6 million more migrants in Europe, despite the wave of nationalism and populism already sweeping through the nations that have opened their borders to refugees? Are they insane? Do they want civil wars to erupt in these countries?

Correct on both counts!

Phase one of the plan was LA LA LAND – the social conditioning phase, which they achieved through their liberal media, movie and pop stars and political puppets like Merkel in Germany, the EU and the Democratic Party in the USA. Let’s not forget their spectacular new poster boy, Justin Tredeau, in Canada. This boy is going to produce spectacular results for them, in a country that was one of the few remaining stable political and social bastions left on the planet. If they can do it in Canada, they can do it anywhere.

However, sadly for them they couldn’t rig an election win for Hillary Clinton – it was an unforeseen setback and one they are now pulling every dirty trick in the book to undo. The trump card they still have left up their lie soiled sleeves is to try and trump Trump with is the dollar, and I’m willing to bet you a dollar to twenty that they’ll raise interest rates again and again and again, to create a massive financial crisis to try and derail him. The last thing they want on this planet is honest politics and prosperity for the masses.

Anyone willing to take the bet can deposit a dollar into my bank account at the National Bank of Zimbabwe – make the deposit slip out to Alfred E. Newman, account number 5306. I’ve always found it amusing that when those numbers are turned upside down they spell out a word that accurately describes many people I know, here in the last bastion of light skinned people in Africa. You know, the terrible colonialists that came to this uncivilised continent and built everything.

Now the loin clothed are clothed and wearing shoes. They have technology they didn’t create. They have roads, hospitals, airports, power stations, dams, farms, industries and cyber communications they didn’t establish, let alone create or invent. One can understand their hatred toward the despicable colonialists. Well, so our newspapers, radio stations and TV news channels remind us every day. LA LA LAND started here on the southernmost tip of Africa in 1994 and it has spread like wildfire across the globe, which can now prepare itself for phase two – AL LAH LAND.

And you know what? This pathetic species deserves what’s coming its way. There are not enough sane people left on this planet to stop this agenda and if you still read newspapers and rely on TV to provide you your news, you are not one of last remaining sane people left on this planet. But don’t worry, soon they will mute the last remaining platform for dissent and censor the internet and YouTube to make you feel so much better, while they plan your final solution.

And you know what? This doesn’t bother me at all – it fits right in there – into the WGAT category I mentioned earlier in this diatribe. Rock on man. Your days of LA LA LAND bliss are numbered and your days of AL LAH LAND bliss are rapidly approaching. They’re gonna be a blast.





The era of political correctness started way back in 70’s when a peanut farmer called Jimmy Carter became the first “new age” POTUS. It was the beginning of the “cause” era and soon everyone went nuts over some kind of cause or the other… save the whales, free Mandela, save the starving in Africa, save the planet, f… Israel, f… white men, f… heterosexuals, f… Christians and f… everyone not into their new “we are the world; we are all one” vision of humanism and unipolarism.

A plethora of organisations and commemorative days sprang-up… Greenpeace, Amnesty International, POWA, Women’s Day, Earth Day, AIDS day, Gay Pride day plus hundreds of others.

Forty years on the world is more polarised than ever before. The La La Land utopia has not materialised. The planet is more effed than it was then, environmentally, socially and politically. So what went wrong?

My favourite word in the English language is entropy. I love saying it and I love watching it unfold even more. Entropy is the universal law that dictates that everything in the natural world self-destructs and the part I like about it most is that there’s nothing we can do about it. That’s what happened  to the Mayans and other great civilisations and that’s why Jimmy the peanut farmer’s utopian dream is now in pieces. That’s why the Rainbow of Hope has turned into seven shades of shit.

In fact we are doing a fantastic job of helping entropy along, with our insatiable appetites for materialistic comfort, pleasure and self-indulgence. We want smarter cars, we want more luxurious houses, we want more gadgets, games, toys and more advanced appliances to amuse ourselves with and indulge in, while Mother Nature has to lick her ever increasing wounds. Human beings are not only greedy and vain, they are also self-bullshitting hypocrites and spectacularly stupid ones at that.

Humans think that wearing a ribbon for a cause makes a difference… that attaching a red nose to their car makes a difference… that cooking an organic vegan meal and turning your swimming pool filter off on Earth Day makes a difference. That going to a Bono concert makes a difference. This is the level of retardation the enlightened La La Land, soap opera and reality show watching, flag waving, hero worshipping masses have regressed to. You know what ribbon I’d like to wear? A brown one for “I don’t give a shit”.

Don’t get me wrong, there are things I care about. Like why don’t you ever see a pilot in dreadlocks and flip-flops? Why aren’t there transvestite marriage councillors? No Rastafarian or Eskimo financial advisors or bank managers? No heterosexual male hair dressers? No women garbage collectors, no female miners, no lady sewage pipe maintainers or lesbian deep sea crab fishermen? Sorry, I refuse to translate that word into fisherperson – it took me years to get over hearing the word “chairperson” for the first time.

These are the types of discriminations that aggrieve me. I’ve saved the best one for last -why isn’t there an International Men’s Day? Well, some may argue that the other 364 are, but even in terms of nature, men are getting a raw deal. The facts speak for themselves.

The international gap between men and women at birth is 8.1% in favour of men, but by the age of 32, those 8.1 men are dead and women then become the majority. I don’t mind this statistic – whenever it’s my birthday, I remind myself that the upside of it is that there are more younger women around as each year passes.

So as my next dreaded birthday looms in just over two weeks’ time I have two things to cheer myself up with – more women over 32 and another year of entropy to look forward to. That and Robert Mugabe becoming another year older.





The word tolerance has always bothered me. My experience has always been that it is usually required when you are faced with behaviour or someone that should not be tolerated. Like masturbating in an elevator or Miley Cyrus.

It’s a word that has passed through the collective human digestive system and I think it’s finally time to pull the chain on it. It has lost its purpose and meaning and when I hear some celebrity or political janitor preaching it, I often find myself having to make a dash to the one and only private place left on this planet.

Why are we keeping this useless word? To protect some fanatic or lunatics feelings? To constipate societies into a state of apathy and inaction? Well from now on, I’m going to use 2-ply to wipe my intolerant butt on the feelings of fanatics and lunatics.

For me tolerance is symptomatic of an apathetic society and that’s why it’s top of the pops in the politically-correct, newspeak narrative that has been relentlessly force-fed to us by the media for the last two decades, which has plunged 21st century humanity into the state of paralysis it is in today. It is tolerance and apathy that create the environment for the lunatics and fanatics to thrive in today.

It’s led to the pussification of the human race. Nobody is prepared to say it like it is anymore, in case they offend some prick’s feelings. Well, I’ve lost my tolerance for tolerance. The list of things I have to tolerate these days is too intolerable for me to bear. I couldn’t give a used condom in a Bangkok brothel about any lunatic or fanatic’s feelings.

Another thing I’ve noticed about this apathetic ‘virtue’ is that those we have been conditioned to tolerate, display very little tolerance toward those tolerating them. There’s no balance – no quid pro quo.

Take the country I live for an example – back in 1994 it became the New World Order’s show pony. It was hailed as the “Rainbow Nation” and “a miracle” by humanists worldwide – a testament to tolerance and Nelson Mandela was elevated to the status of a Messiah. Hollywood stars, sports stars and Miss World finalists tearfully dedicated their awards to him. Twenty-three years on, take a good, long hard look at “the legacy” of tolerance in this Godforsaken failed human experiment.

Julius Caesar said that all you have to do to control people, is keep them entertained. And that’s precisely what they threw at us – entertainment – the Springboks, the Proteas, Bono and Oscar Pistorius. And we bought it hook, line and sinker – not because we are tolerant, but because we are apathetic. Just the way the powers that be want it.

Janet: ”Hey John, did you hear – they murdered another family on a farm in the Free State today?”

John: “What time is the semi-finals of MasterChef Bangladesh coming on tonight?”

This is why Israel finds itself being vilified by the UN, session after pointless session. Israel doesn’t tolerate people who fuck with them, like Yahya Ayyash, infamously dubbed “The Engineer”, who produced and masterminded the wave of Hamas suicide bombings in Israel during the 90’s – they blew him up while he was sitting on the toilet in his Gaza hideout. I think the H in “holy shit” was the last thought that went through his mind. Unsurprisingly the job still remains as vacant as his toilet did for a long time after he departed to Allah.

The UN doesn’t like that – they want a world full of spineless nations – they want weak, submissive, constipated societies. They want fanatics to spark civil wars all over the world. They want tolerant and liberal societies to help them with their grand plan. Welcome the fanatics – embrace them, love them – after all, doesn’t love conquer all? “Love”, now there’s another word that has been pussified to suit the agenda.

It falls flat on precisely the same grounds as tolerance does. Both are meant to be reciprocal. You cannot tolerate the intolerant and you cannot love the hater. It’s a formula for disaster. Just ask the Germans, Swedes, Norwegians and other sub-moronic liberal nations how “love and tolerance” is working out for them.

And they almost got it right in the USA – until intolerant Donald came along and caused a bit of a shit-storm. Hillary Clinton was planning to import two million Islamic refugees into the USA after her victory. You know, to inject some much needed “love and tolerance” into American society. But she lost and judging by the liberal protests since her defeat, it’s plain to see that America needs a healthy dose of those two virtues. In many ways, it would sort of be like taking Brooklax and Imodium together.

Come on Donald, be a sport and import the two million refugees, for the sake of peace – put those FEMA Camp toilets Obama built to good use and get the liberals to go there to help nurture these poor lost souls. We all know how tolerant of the liberal and LBGT community Muslims are and they don’t use toilet paper.

Better still, why don’t you let California secede and import all two million of them to Beverley Hills? Between them, good old George Clooney, Leonardo DiCaprio and Oprah could accommodate and feed about half of them. Then build a wall around Hollywood.

Just a suggestion Donald – feel free to use it – I won’t tell anyone it was my shitty idea.