Who am I? Once again this week there is no guessing who I am. I have never been in any other profession except that of convincing the gullible that I hold the direct line to the guy upstairs.
I have been so good that my sheep will not even dare call me by name (which name I carefully created to make a brand because the one I was born under did not quite fit the image I was gunning for – I mean what does remaining committed and manhood have to do with the Son of God?).
I have trained the brains of my followers to conceive of me as their father and they open their wallets accordingly. So from this church profession I have managed to build a hefty personal portfolio and even if the church were to fail today, my progeny and their descendants need never starve. Not that the family business will fail, for one of my offspring already has the aura of prophecy with which I carefully imbued in his mother although she is yet to perform any miracles that anyone can point to.
I am known for my strategic predictions promising bounties in the form of miracle money and gold on the streets, which are yet to ever come true. When any part of the media questions my credentials as a prophet I am quick to label them prophet-bashing Philistines who cannot recognise a true prophet from the fakes.
In fact, if the media knew what they were doing they would see that I am the only prophet in Zimbabwe and everyone else is an impostor.
Now some of these devil’s spawn are querying the work that my East African inspired god does through me and saying that it was staged. I challenge them to come and try my power for themselves. I will turn their disbelieving bellies into teapots, I promise.
Not that I am inviting all unbelievers to come and test my power, mind you. My time is precious and I have genuine seeding worshippers to preach to as I want to reach the pole position on that richest people in Zimbabwe list by the end of this year. A man of God with a divine wealth creating tongue cannot be a runner-up to mere sinners who rely on man-made machines to mint their money.
We have to start this part with a disclaimer. We need to get it down on record that we have absolutely nothing against the big haired musician whose music is practically unknown on the streets where it really matters.
But it looks like she is always out to attract our eye for the worst reasons and we cannot let her go unnoticed since it is clear that it is attention that she is desperate for.
Now, we all know that sex sells. Beyonce and Rihanna and Nicki Minaj know that sex sells music like hot cakes, a legendary delicacy that the regulars at the usual place have never actually come across being sold anywhere, but that is neither here nor there.
So our big haired and big headed also-ran musician thinks that she too is going to use sex to sell her work. Which would be wonderful if only she realised that poses that work for sculpted bodies do not look so hot when modelled by a more earthy kind of woman.
We must make it clear that we are not saying that we prefer skinny women or consider them to be more beautiful or sexy than the more rounded version. We are also not saying that we have anything against the ugly-beautiful look which Aleke Wek makes millions out of. We realise that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and even Mr Ugly managed to land a wife who found him attractive. Kuipa kuipa haro gudo haridye chakafa chega.
But we are simply saying that fuller women should not put their drumstick shaped thunder thighs in our faces (and that of the apparently flummoxed male partner in the pic) expect us to be titivated. We know that boot licking fans are telling you that the look is hot, but it is our duty to tell you the truth. You simply look desperate and idiotic.
So dear sister, we have a word of advice.
Useful tip #11: This year in spirit of Zim-Asset we are going to be educated for free and in many fields, but maybe the most important thing that we must learn is to know our body types and what rocks them.
50 shades of grey
We are glad that dear Emily has proudly come out to say that she is a true blue regular who refuses to be ashamed of that fact. In your face pageant prigs!
We hope that a lot more embarrassment will be coming your way before the world competition. For the problem is not the girls, but the organisers. First of all we heard rumours about how the boot camp was along the lines of a national institution known for its strictness and power wielded by those at the top.
We wonder how many girls with no nude pictures were booted out of boot camp because the hand that controls the pageant is a metal one without even the pretence of a velvet glove.
And we also wonder how many more beautiful girls with no embarrassing skeletons just decided to stay away after hearing the horror stories of the humiliation visited on the unlucky in that same boot camp.
Just when the poor girls were hoping that since the pageant had been rescued from a wolf in a wolf’s skin they would have a more dignified time than their predecessors whose tales need us to engage the services of a very good lawyer before we can tell you about them.
They were apparently expected to earn their supper on their pretty little backs or on their smooth knees…
Now we know that the local organisers did not make the rule about the nude pictures and all that. So we will not bring up their own personal histories.
But we think that until they find a PR wizard, the competition will remain mired in controversy and will never amount to anything except in the eyes of the organisers themselves.
We are told that the pictures of Emily have not been seen. The girl was convicted on her own confused statements during a grilling by the steel hand. Now if there was a good fixer in the background the girl would be primed to declare that she is a virgin who drinks fruit cocktails at parties and only pretends to act wild to fit in with the crowd.
Remember that American president only pulled at a lit marijuana joint but swore he never swallowed the smoke so technically he never smoked weed?
Just as he never slept with ‘that woman’ so that he would not directly state the name Monica Lewinsky? A good fixer can take white and black, mix them up and ensure that the world ends up with shades of grey.
We would use the steel available to intimidate any kiss and tell pests into silence.
Then we would put the fear of hell into the girl to make sure that for the rest of her reign she really does only drink fruit juices and provide her with vibrators to quench her voracious desires.
Last call: Madora again
A husband and wife are trying to set up a new password for their computer. The husband puts, “familyjewels,” and the wife falls on the ground laughing because on the screen it says, “Error. Not long enough.”
Till next week, bottoms up!
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