Thursday, October 13, 2011


'Tis the Season to be Jolly! Well, according to the shops, malls and the SA fucking popo "service"...

Roll out the jingle bells, fairy lights and extortionate prices, baby! And hold onto your elf hat, cos the consumer sleigh is about to take off! And not only is the obligatory gift haul gonna cost you dear, so is the drastic increase in traffic fines and police presence on the roads. It must be nearing year end and the popo need a few extra bucks to make budget, otherwise they won't get them fancy cardboard hats and party blowers this year at their annual Christmas party. And woe betide the populace if there aren't those nifty sprinkles on their doughnuts like last year!

The reason, dear gentle reader, for my enthusiastic putting down of the men in blue is as follows: The other night when I got home from football I realised I no longer had the work's keys on my keyring. Oh dear! I immediately call Daft Rob, who had earlier attached his car keys to my keyring lest someone nick them whilst we were playing football. Common sense. Somehow, inexplicably, he had assimilated the little book of calm into his system. Apologies. I got distracted. Ooh look! A squirrel!

Ok my work keys somehow unhooked themselves from my keyring onto his. He was halfway home when I called to ask if he was indeed in possession of the keys in question. He agreed to turn around and meet me half way. Which he totally zorched up and got lost. Finally after much calling up and down it transpired that he was being fined by the cops for "jumping a red light". Fair enough. I found him and asked about the circumstances. Apparently he had been waiting behind another driver, both of them waiting to turn right at a set of traffic lights. When the dude in the front finally got his turn to move forward, he did so slowly, leaving Daft Rob in the middle of the intersection faced with a bright red light. Obviously since he had managed to make it beyond the line and into the intersection whilst the light was still green, he scootched off as you do.

Not so.

Four (4 - for fuck's sake) popo orifices pounced! They were barely capable of stringing together a fucking sentence between them. The one "writing" out the ticket - in his best Grade 3 cursive - actually had to ask what colour the car was. The same car that was barely 3 feet from his face. Admittedly Daft Rob isn't much into the suburban Saturday morning wash-n-polish, but "blue" isn't too difficult to discern.

The moral of this little rant is "Be Careful." They're obviously out to swell the coffers. Take extra care and be on the look out for flashing blue lights. More so than usual. Reason does not work on these guys. Neither does incredulous humour, as I found out to my horror. Shame, I suppose they too have targets...

Perhaps the Minister Of Police could amend these targets to include, ag I don't know, arrests and convictions of bad people. We certainly have our fair share. Don't get me started on the deep seated social ills of our country's situation and how the appointed (and anointed) leaders grow fat on the back of the proverbial pigs. Pigs? Yup. The fucking lot of them.

That, and atrocious spelling and grammar. And cursive.

NGDG: "I will remunerate you accordingly just as soon as you can enlighten me regarding exactly what NQF level 'holding a plastic bag at an intersection' entails."

On a positive note, Tarty Farty Tequila Party has deigned, for the first time in 68000 years to entertain us with her formidable writing skills. Read all about her experience at Rocking The Daisies recently.

Spread The Love. Just Not The Way NWA Would Have You Do It.

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