Of trousers, Learjets and bendy straws

Of trousers, Learjets and bendy straws

I have this rather idealistic belief – call it foolish if you must – that politicians get into the business to serve the people they represent. Of course, this has never been the case as the vast majority of them have always been in it for themselves, but as each day passes by their piss-taking credentials seem to increase almost exponentially.

In this country we have heard stories of moats, duck ponds and mysterious consultancy roles – with the likes of Tony Blair being paid obscene amounts to make speeches on subjects he knows little or nothing about. Then of course there are the likes of former Blair underlings Hoon, Hewitt and Byers who were more than willing to make small killings (OK, small killings for them) in return for using their position to influence government policy.

So much for being there to serve the public – if I had my way, all of this slime would have have been made to scrape bird shit and chewing gum from our filthy streets – armed only with some lye and a toothbrush.

It is pretty clear that these odious individuals are driven by a sense of entitlement that makes them believe that they can use their position to piss from a great height on the people they have pledged to serve; they are so detached from mainstream society that they truly believe that they can get away with it.

What sticks in my craw more than anything however is that a terrifyingly large percentage of these people are bloody idiots: trained monkeys that are useless without their crib cards, spin doctors or army of advisors. I can wager that if you got one of our leading politicians in a quiet room and quizzed them on the day to day issues faced by your average member of the general public, you’d get in return a mixture of evasion, panicky pauses for breath, and outright bullshit. I’d just love to sit across from Tony Blair and grill him on the Iraq war, for instance – I think I’d nail the bastard to the wall, and revel in it as he sits there squirming and grimacing through that fake smile. Of course, I don’t think I’d last ten minutes before I’d want to cave his fucking face in.

But enough about Blair: that I would like to tap on his skull repeatedly with my knuckles is pretty well established.

This week has seen the rise to media prominence of Julius Malema, the leader of the ANC’s Youth League and a man described by current South African president Jacob Zuma as a future leader of the country. Not that this is saying much, given that Zuma is the man with four wives and far too many children who believes that having a shower can prevent AIDS.

I may complain about politicians here in the UK, but in terms of crookedness, corruption and sheer idiocy they fall a long way short of those in the leadership cadre of South Africa’s leading political party, the ANC. ANC officially means African National Congress, but I’d prefer to think it means Avarice, Nepotism and Corruption – though others may take it to mean something else, with the last word usually rhyming with “hunts”. Little more than a Zulu showman with a desire to show off his “warrior manliness” by fathering as many children as he can, Jacob Zuma is an uneducated buffoon whose steady rise to the top has been facilitated by what can only be described as an uniquely African system of patronage.

Given Zuma’s credentials, it is then hardly surprising that he should earmark as a future leader someone who is even less educated and even more bellicose. Step up Juju Malema.

I don’t suppose many people here in the UK – with the exception of expat South Africans and those interested in the region – would have known who Julius Malema was until recently; this might well have continued to be the case had he not decided to start singing threatening songs and insulting foreign journalists’ trousers.

Two reasons to vote for Juju. He da man!
Two reasons to vote for Juju. He da man!

Yes, you read that right. I mentioned the incident a few days ago, involving the BBC journalist Jonah Fisher – but here’s a more complete transcript. On first reading it is admittedly rather funny, but not in the conventional sense – an uneducated, uncouth individual expressing himself in the only way he can. One might say that it’s almost Idi Amin Dadaesque.

Malema: “They [the MDC, Mugabe’s rivals in Zimbabwe] can insult us here from air conditioned offices of Sandton. We are unshaken. They must stop shouting at us. They must go and fight for their battle in Zimbabwe and win… Why are they speaking in Sandton and not Mashonaland or Matabeleland?”

Fisher: “You live in Sandton.”

Malema: “Let me tell you, this is a building of a revolutionary party and you know nothing about the revolution.”

Fisher: “So they’re not welcome in Sandton but you are?”

Malema: “Here you behave or else you jump.”

[laughter]

Malema: “Don’t laugh. If you’re not going to behave, you’re [sic] going to call security to take you out. This is not a newsroom, this is a revolutionary house and you don’t come here with that tendency.”

[pause]

“Don’t come here with that white tendency. Not here. You can do it somewhere else. Not here. If you’ve got a tendency of undermining blacks, even where you work, you are in the wrong place. Here you are in the wrong place.”

Fisher: “That’s rubbish. That’s absolute rubbish.”

Malema: “You can go out. Rubbish is what you have covered in that trouser. That is rubbish. You are a small boy, you can’t do anything.”

Fisher [picking up microphone and preparing to leave]: “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

Malema: “Go out. Go out. Bastard! Go out. You bloody agent!”

The biggest difference between Juju and Idi Amin of course is that Uganda’s most famous bruiser would have at least attempted to lighten the mood – “he’s off to see the crocodiles now! Crocodiles! Lunch! Hahahahaha. Hahahahaha.” Malema on the other hand is completely and perhaps even more terrifyingly humourless in his buffoonery: he is just as corrupt, hankers for the same lavish lifestyle, and quite clearly has the propensity to be just as brutal.

While this unique brand of political imbecility and incompetence has found what appears to be a natural home in sub-Saharan Africa, it can also be found in the good old US of A, which has over the years turned out a succession of idiot politicians, the latest of which is former Miss Congeniality and Republican vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin.

Like Julius Malema, Palin ticks all the boxes for the position of political village idiot – the sort of stuff that goes beyond the harmless utterances by former vice-president Dan Quayle and even the gaffe-prone George W. Bush. Here is someone that attempts to say what she means, but clearly has no idea what it means. Mix this all up with her twee provincialism and uniquely American God-bothering rhetoric, and you have someone who is just as dangerous as the Juju man – more so if you consider that she was a couple of steps away from having her fingers on the “nucular” button.

Palin got her first passport in 2006 and travelled outside of her own country for the first time the following year at the age of forty-three – and even then it was to an US encampment in Kuwait. Just trying to picture this cork-headed hick play the part of an international stateswoman is somewhat disturbing in itself; I can actually visualise her striking up a conversation with someone like the Dalai Lama about seal clubbing.

Palin has promoted herself (or rather, her team of stylists and advisors have promoted her) as the self-styled “hockey mom”; as with Julius Malema, the reality does not quite match the propaganda. While Juju has at least three expensive cars and his two houses in the affluent Johannesburg suburb of Sandton – where he has to live alongside all those horrible Boers and other people with white tendencies – America’s favourite pip-up gal politico has been found to be making some outrageous demands of her own.

While Palin likes to promote herself as the apple pie cookin’, huntin’, fishin’ and shootin’ hockey mom, her finger is also in a number of other more lucrative pies. From contracts for private jets through to demands for bendy straws, wannabe diva Palin is making full capital out of her new-found fame – or so it is thought after a couple of bins full of documents were discovered by two female students at California State University where she had made a speech.

That’s right – even a bona fide fuckwit like Palin is doing the speech circuit these days – though why anyone in their right mind would fork out up to $100,000 a day to listen to her inane pitter-patter is beyond me. After all, here is the woman who effectively exposed the cavern between her ears when a Canadian radio hack posing as French president “Nico” Sarkozy complimented her on the “documentary” about her life, Hustler’s Who’s Nailin’ Paylin.

I am not supposing any of those who might have shares in Palin’s single brain cell may be reading this blog, but Hustler is a well-known pornographic publishing and media company, and Who’s Nailin’ Paylin is a porn film which I have been told has a rather good plot and plenty of, erm, political intrigue.

In addition to all of these extra-curricular activities, Palin is also being paid around $1,600,000 for presenting an eight-episode show on the Learning Channel – about what, God only knows. Telegraph columnist David Quantick nails things down pat:

“…when it was learned that she [Palin] receives £162,000 an episode for an eight-part show on The Learning Channel, some critics wondered if she was being paid to watch it.”

Much like the ANC cannot see anything wrong in hoisting up some big fat liability like Julius Malema as its poster boy, the Republican Party in the US continues to promote Palin as one of their key voices – though admittedly she isn’t as big or as fat.

The only reason reason I can think of as to why this pair of morons are where they are is because their core followers are themselves lacking in cerebral matter – idiots driven by blind faith and little else. What is most important for the crowd is that their heroes hit the right notes: for Malema, it’s all about singing “shoot the Boer, shoot the farmer” and referring to foreign journalists’ trousers, while for Palin’s followers it doesn’t really matter what else she does so long as she is making some asinine statement on healthcare, abortion or shooting furry animals.

You are the weakest link. Goodbye!
You are the weakest link. Goodbye!

Healthcare is of course the biggest issue in the United States today, and our Sarah has not lost any time in laying into Barack Obama and his “evil” attempts at reforming the system; I may not be the biggest fan of Hawaii’s favourite Kenyan, but come on – let’s get some sort of perspective here. While Palin – she of the private jets, bendy straws and whatnot – has suggested that Obama’s heathcare package is some dark and horrid prelude to the impending rapture, she served up the following nugget:

“We used to hustle over the border for health care we received in Canada. And I think now, isn’t that ironic?”

No, it’s not “ironic”, you fucking idiot. Here you are coming out with tired rhetoric about the danger of healthcare reforms in your own country, only to let the cat out of bag by letting the entire world know how you made good use of Canada’s state-funded healthcare system.

Maybe the Canadians should bill this selfish bitch retrospectively at current US rates for all of this healthcare that she somehow managed to “hustle” – in other words, steal from the Canadian taxpayer.

If further any proof is needed that Palin has a screw loose, we have the following statement made the day after cameras had picked up on the fact that she had written crib notes on her hand:

“I didn’t really had a good answer, as so often – is me. But then somebody sent me the other day, Isaiah 49:16, and you need to go home and look it up. Before you look it up, I’ll tell you what it says though. It says, hey, if it was good enough for God, scribbling on the palm of his hand, it’s good enough for me, for us. He says, in that passage, ‘I wrote your name on the palm of my hand to remember you,’ and I’m like, ‘Okay, I’m in good company.'”

(Source: http://politicalhumor.about.com/od/sarahpalin/a/palinisms.htm)

*Cue the creepy music from The Twilight Zone…*

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