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[Leaked] Zanu PF Politburo minutes!

Chairman: I hereby declare the meeting opened.

MuDidymus: Wait.

Chairman: What for?

MuDidymus: Wait for Rob. You know him. If we start without him, kanoita pamuromo. Talks too much.

Chairman: He’s late. (looking at his watch, the Rolex he got as a bribe by a hotel company while still Tourism Minister)

Fat Obert: But why is this old man always late bakithi? We have things to do.

Ignatius wemaStands: Ehe. Some of us have things to do?

Le Crocodile: Like what?

Ignatius wemaStands: You know, looting etc, the usual stuff.

Fat Obert: I bet you can’t loot like me.

Ignatius wemaStands: I bet I can. I will give you my $80-million airport road for your little $10-million Chiadzwa bribe. Beat that.

Fat Obert: Oh yeah? Well, what if tell you that $10-million was from one company. There’ve been 12 licenses. Do the maths, Gina.

(At which point, the situation deteriorates, with others joining in. Webster over there with his secret ZBC loans, MuDidymus over here with his 67 farms, others with tales of stolen diamonds, stolen food, zvikwambo and so forth. All chaotic, really!)

Fat Obert: This old man needs to shape up. He can’t be keeping us here like this. Bullshit. Who the hell does he think he is? Nonsense.

(At that point, Rob the boss walks in)

Fat Obert: Your Excellency! My dear father! Me, your ever obedient son, I was getting worried that some horrific misfortune had befallen your wondrous self. Oh, the sight of you warms my large rectum. Even men with no arms applaud your magnificence. Oh my dear fath…

Rob: (Interrupting)… Ok, ok, Obby, that’s enough for the day.

(The others rise and sing a song in Rob’s praise – some song about a mighty slayer of imperialists, giver of farms, producer of milk etc)

Chairman: May I now call this meeting to order. We have no idea why we have been called. That’s not a problem, because we need not think too much. In fact, we need not think at all. His Excellency, in his abundant geniusness, does that for us. Over to you, Your Eminently Eminent Eminence.

Rob: (after a long pause – in which he adjust his glasses, claps, rocks in his chair, generally pausing for effect while surveying the effect the suspense is having on his henchmen) Well. (claps hands again). I guess all of you came here wondering what I, your leader, called you in for.

All: Yes, yes! Speak to us, Your Excellently Excellent Excellency!

Rob: Well. All this corruption and faction stuff. Madam Spillblood over there, she got her fairly large knickers in a twist over this. Now, the question is, who here is corrupt?

(across the room, people stare at each other, confused)

MuDidymus: (whispering). Eh, Your Graciously Gacious Graciousness, is this a trick question?

Rob: No. Why?

MuDidymus: Because, Almighty Thundering Conqueror, you are asking if any of us is corrupt.

Rob: Yah. So?

MuDidymus: Ah, My Lordship, I think you meant to ask who among us is NOT corrupt.

Rob: (after thinking about it for a bit). Good point, Dhidhidhi, good point. Anyway, so, who here is NOT corrupt?

(Long pause. Then, at the back of the room, a hand goes up).

Rob: What is it, Jono? Are you not corrupt?

Jonnie the Prof: You mean am I corrupt, Sire?

Rob: OK, are you NOT corrupt?

Jonnie the Prof: Am I corrupt, or am I not corrupt? What is your actual question? Ask a good question, get a good answer. You don’t need a rocket scientist to…

Rob: (Interrupts, annoyed) Oh forget it. Goddam fake intellectuals. Anyway, I said I want to know if anyone here is not corrupt.

All: (in chorus) NO, SIR, ALL OF US ARE DIRTY ROTTEN BASTARDS! Sir.

Rob: Nice. So, you tell me (banging desk, but avoiding hurting himself) Who the heck has been going to the papers with all this corruption bullshit? As if corruption is suddenly illegal in this country. Who?!

(All eyes turn to the back of the room)

Jonnie the Prof: What?

Rob: Madam Spillblood here says you leaked the whole thing.

Jonnie the Prof: But who takes her seriously?

(at which point, Madam Spillblood leaps up angrily and sits on Jonnie the Prof’s face and Rob laughs until he has a mild heart attack and his special medics are called but they get stuck in traffic coz lights aren’t working and there’s a huge hole from a pipe burst on the appropriately named Rotten Row which the city council can’t fix because they had no money left after paying council chefs’ salaries at which point Ignatius wemaStands is asked to explain himself but he’s on the phone to some guy who is refusing to give him his stand and Ignatius is threatening to have him thrown in f…king oil and Fat Obert is on the phone asking Zinara if they have finished building the road to his house in Umguza and all this while MuDidymus is up now spraying some mysterious juju liquid all over everyone and mumbling some scary vadzimu shit …all chaotic really. This shit goes on for, like, hours, man. Hours.)

Rob: I’m OK. I’m OK. Madam Spillblood, get off the boy. Jono, get up from under there. Stand in the corner. Where was I?

Fat Obert: My father, you were asking who told the media we are thieves, as if it has suddenly become a crime in this country

Rob: Shut up Obert. So who told the media we are thieves, as if it has suddenly become a crime in this country?

The Spokesman: The press is waiting outside, My Lord. What lies should I tell them? It is midnight and so they’re obviously thinking we must be doing something important, whereas we are up to our usual nonsense.

Madam Spillblood: (Regaining her composure) Tell them nothing.

Le Crocodile: I agree.

Madam Spillblood: Pfutseke. Stop agreeing with me.

Rob: Tell them this – the politburo was discussing economic issues up to midnight. Salaries, the liquidity crisis, jobs, water, ZESA, roads, crops, hospitals and all that other nonsense people complain about for some reason. Then … (Rob pauses for effect, like a comedian about to unleash a killer punchline) … Tell them this; We are even going to arrest people for corruption.

All chefs: (loud laughter from everybody – fat men and women rolling in the floor with laughter) That’s a good one, Your Bright and Shining Eminence; that’s a good one. You have the funniest jokes. You are the funniest president. Bwahahaha. The economy?? Workers? Arrest people for corruption?! Bwahaha. Genius!

Chairman: Meeting dismissed.

And not a single f…k was given that day.

This satirical piece was written by Cynic Harare Visit his blog 

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