Homopoliticus stuck in quicksand


HARARE – Trying to mop up the dregs of the slapstick comedy that has been seizing the homopoliticus for the past few weeks, Quisling enlisted the support of his snitch’s analytic skills to unravel the import of a clutch of figures he gleaned from the primary polls.

Regardless that some of the figures looking suspiciously counterfeit, Quisling took it as given his snitch had no good reason to manipulate the depressing statistics.

Quisling recalls how figures, particularly percentages, can be misleading.

At one time homosapiens paraded the streets denouncing the homopoliticus in all manners and form after officials announced a 50 percent increase in water tariffs.

Stout frumps on a war path rattled their backsides to a blur, while chanting and singing Zvamadhisinyongoro while others waved sheaves of scuttlebutt as they marched to the homocivilis sanctuary.

When the homocivilis plucked the courage to explain that the proposed tariff meant a six-cent increase (when we still had sovereignty of a local currency) on their monthly water bills, they picked up their drums, rattles, other percussion instruments and slunk away accusing Mai Nhingirikiri of thoroughly misleading them.

Such was Quisling’s fears when he elicited his snitch to unbundle the data.

“The GOP (Grand Old Party) and its homopoliticus are in serious trouble,” the snitch hissed sonorously.

“If I was one of the wannabe homopoliticus, I wouldn’t squander time trying to buy “yusi yomusongano” even one teacup of cheap beer as is usually the crowd tilt strategy to sustain my poll campaign,” the snitch bemoaned.

“How do you mean?” Quisling asked, his ears standing on end for the juicy titbits like a donkey that had come across a strange object in its path on the way to the grinding mill.

Quisling snitch says he had run through the ballots cast for various candidates in the GOP primary elections and had deduced that homopoliticus, has-been homopoliticus and their wannabe peers had irredeemably lost touch with the homosapiens.

“Remember one only needed a party card to be eligible to vote in the primaries. Given that some homosapiens have more than one political party card as a safety device against possible accusation of being a sell-out, the data might be counterfeit,” the snitch explained.

Quisling’s hand short up and cupped on his mouth when the import of the data dawned on him.

“Does it mean the GOP has less than 4 000 members in such a populous working-class suburb as Mabvuku-Tafara and 5 600 members in rural Goromonzi? Or a mere 1 800 in Gwanda South?” the maverick marvelled.

He puzzled at the 17 000 members in Kwekwe-Chirumanzi Constituency way ahead of the legendary Maramba-Pfungwe’s 13 300 and Uzumba’s 13 220 respectively.

Between Zvimba North and Chegutu West 15 000 homosapiens have remained wedded to staying-the course as has slightly less in Mudzi South. The numbers get encouraging in (Tokyo kunorira pfeni) Mutoko East and South where the two constituencies just nose ahead Kwekwe –Chirumanzi at 19 500.

It could either mean that the homosapiens has not been impressed by unmet promises of empowerment; the way homopoliticus parcelled out prime farmland among themselves; or they have become, tired, weary and exhausted of being taken for bums for the first waters for too long.

Some homopoliticus zodiac sign were particularly dim and the moon eclipsing in the wrong phase judging by the misfortune their ambitions befell.

“For those homopoliticus that tumbled by the wayside, does it mean they were born under the same horoscope sign?” the maverick non-conformist wondered aloud.

He says, typical of homopoliticus, some fail to see the homosapiens view them as bête noires who they detest so much to ever represent any of them in any form other than belonging to the same political outfit.

But he is impressed by the Peugeot model homopoliticus’ sense of self-importance and unbridled ambition.

When a wannabe gets a single vote from every 90 eligible voters in an urban constituency, he has to give common sense a chance and realise he can not mount a galloping horse.

Just how one can walk the streets and harangue the homosapiens with lickspittle baloney without any shame shows the great resistance to losing face particularly on behalf of an organisation that claims exclusive entitlement to being revolutionary.

“The Peugeot-model homopoliticus needs to retreat from the precipice and learn to value his self-esteem. He should assign himself that spectacular act of conscience,” Quisling says.

“Can’t someone warn him of the dangers latent in blindly accepting a poisoned chalice?”

In every society the homosapiens have their own unique, innovative way of expressing their frustration and making their voices heard clearer than a whistle.

On a tour, George Bush had to duck to avoid a shoe unleashed by a Muslim to show his disgust and anger at American gunboat diplomacy.

Here the most offensive gesture by a woman scorned is unfurling her dress and rattling her naked butt in the face of a man.

Face by ferocious joblessness and atrocious service delivery, our neighbours in Mzansi have fashioned protest methods that leave citadels of what they perceive as the source of their frustrations in very insalubrious state.

The use of human excrement has become a political tool of the last resort.

If only the homopoliticus could end their condescending attitude towards the homosapiens they could credit the homosapiens with the kindred ingenuity that has stunned them out of their depths.

“The homopoliticus ought to put an end to the belittling, small ball ritual whereby homosapiens are invited and offered a few homilies about staying-the-course without benefitting from doing so,” Quisling’s snitch suggested.

Quite appallingly, the homopoliticus has an unerring penchant for haranguing the homosapiens and burdening them with a whole lot of blabber and bosh blended with utter claptrap instead of listening to their concerns.

“Their modern habit of turning their noses at the homopoliticus is either folding their arms across their chest instead of raising them to show consent or volleying the ball into the bush with devastating effect,” Quisling says.

The homopoliticus is addicted to trivial nonsense which he is convinced has magical effects to dazzle the homosapiens.

Like a record stuck in a groove, the homopoliticus unstintingly reminds the homosapiens of the impressive achievements for the past three decades in building houses, crèches, schools, roads and infrastructure; the provision of water and electricity; unsegregated education and healthcare.

These gains, however, have been offset by a breakdown in service delivery manifest in pilling garbage and crater-sized potholes; gross inadequacies and inequities in the education and health sectors; a ferocious rise in unemployment; endemic police brutality and subversion of individual liberties.

It is an indictment on the part of the homopoliticus who come across as positively neglectful in the eyes of the homosapiens and leaving the homopoliticus out of the loop in the scheme of things.

Quisling hopes the erudite “Three Musketeers” who grace the goggle box learn a lesson not to play the fiddle while the Titanic is three sections underwater.

He has cultivated a keen interest in watching them make fools of themselves wanting to make things happen the way in which they see it through blinkered eyelids.

Quisling promises to post them a copy of Dobie Grays’ version of: “I Can See Clearly Now” and a bottle of eye washer all wrapped in a flag from Vanuatu!

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