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IDLEMINDSET | BOTHA’S TIRADE, THE ARMED FORCES, AND SEVERAL SHENANIGANS

Hello again, folks! This is our first post in 2013—no thanks to our entry into a state of catatonic shock upon seeing the rancour generated in the last week over  Forbes’s ranking of Nigeria as one of the saddest countries in the world. Apparently a lot of people take Forbes seriously, and even lots more take the emotional state of Nigerians seriously.

"Our response is clear." The President said grimly, "We will set up a committee to look into the matter!"

“Our response is clear”, the President said grimly. “We will set up a committee to look into these allegations of sadness!”

Struggling out of that impromptu brain freeze, we’ve wandered with fine female forms in little or no fabrics to wash away the sour taste of social inanities. And now, fully refreshed from those shenanigans, we are apologetically ready to meet our blogging obligations. So, again, here’s our first post of 2013. Word of warning: next week, we will resume our scheduled Monday contraptions; but meanwhile, today is as good as any for a little finger-pointing, blame-shifting, and remembering our dearly beloved armed forces.

Especially our dear, accidental discharge prone, Unknown Soldiers.

Especially our dear, dear civilian bashing, whip wielding, accidental discharge prone, Unknown Soldiers.

To kick off today’s Sermon on the Screen, let’s start with the life and times of Pieter Willem Botha, the pessimistic one-time ruler of South Africa and all-time pain in the neck of the United Nations. But before we begin our biographical perambulations, let’s be clear on the fact that this Botha dude was an asshole, and on this blog, we don’t admire assholes.

With one exception.

With, maybe, one exception.

And so when, sometime in 1985, Botha took a knife to the throat of  the entire black race, in a sour speech you can read here, no one was particularly surprised by the wholesome sentiments he expressed. Like we said, the dude was a freaking asshole. Right up till he died, the guy just didn’t give a fuck about what people think.

You don't get to be called Old Crocodile by pussyfooting around.

You don’t get to be called “Old Crocodile” by pussyfooting around.

However, anyone who speaks the truth, including an asshole  like Botha, deserves to be listened to—occasionally. And as we begin a new year, starting off with resolutions and dissolution, a line from Botha’s tirade should strike a chord of truth. Speaking of blacks, Botha says: “And here is a creature that lacks foresight…. The average Black does not plan his life beyond a year….”

Go back in time and kill Botha?

Number 1. Go back in time and kill Botha?

However, because we are happy people in this part of the world, and because we don’t want our dear readers feeling depressed, let’s just ignore Botha’s annual limitations and the findings of the researchers at Legatum, and get on with our merry Armed Forces Remembrance Day. But, wait, just before we do that, here’s another homely gem from kindly Botha: “By now everyone of us has seen it practically that the Blacks cannot rule themselves.  Give them guns and they will kill each other. They are good in nothing else but making noise, dancing, marrying many wives and indulging in sex.

Indulging in Sex: Strictly for the Blacks since 1985.

Indulging in Sex: Strictly for the Blacks since 1985.

So, now, let’s talk about the guns, and the significance of today’s date.  January 15th is marked in Nigeria as a reminder, to would-be rebels, that on January 15, 1970,  to finalise the fuckery that was called the Nigerian Civil War, the Federal forces of Nigeria whipped the  Biafran troops right and proper—and are ready and prepared to do it again at any time. At any freaking time, whether it is called a civil war or a protest.

"So help us God..."

“Gentlemen, the next uprising will bring out the beast in us.”

Today is another indication of the mental direction of modern Nigeria: a day is celebrated, not to mourn the people who died in the Civil War, but to celebrate the bullets that shot them. Give them guns and they will kill each other, was what Botha said. He might also have added “And they will also celebrate the killing and the guns.  What is today? An anniversary created by a military regime and continued by a supposedly civilian governments. The irony of celebrating the Armed Forces, not for defending Nigerians against external aggression, but for killing Nigerians internally, unfortunately, is lost on Nigerians.

Other lost ironies: Abati advising us to "stop lying" and  "don't be stupid". Both in one day.

Other lost ironies: Abati advising folks to “stop lying”, and  “don’t be stupid”. Both in one day.

And here’s the lesson of today: maybe we just don’t care about the whole bowl of fish. After all, how does that satisfy our hunger? How does it fill our wallets? What has the remembrance or non-remembrance of the victims of the Civil War got to do with our continued ability to “make noise, dance, marry many wives and indulge in sex”?  If you reply “Nothing”, you’re correct.

IDLEMINDSET | OLD GISTS, NEW YEARS AND KAREN IGHO TOO

Good news everyone: this is our last blog post for the year! Difficult as it is for some of you, our admiring readers, to believe, we don’t actually sit crossed-leg on the writing table, smoking profoundly on a kick-ass pipe, while the Good Lord inspires us with all these awesome posts.  Hell, no! We work at these things, bro! These freaking blogs are actually brow-sweating work, just slightly below being forced to watch a Nollywood video for 12 hours without a toilet break.

You will know true fear.

And by the time you watch the 18th pre-movie trailer, you will know true fear.

And that’s why over the months, we’ve been chuffed at your appreciation, admiration and even the rare insults too. In fact, we wake up on mid-nights just to re-read your comments and count the page views one by one.

"Oh yes, keep it coming. Keep it coming...."

“No time for porn, man. Next post is tomorrow.”

That said, today’s post, in the usual end-of-the-year fashion, is a quick introspection and an opportunity to ponder on all those missed calls we had during the year from unknown phone numbers. Who called us? Why did they call us?  Would they ever call back? Was it some new business or a secret admirer? We may never know the answers to these most intricate of life’s questions. But what we know for sure is this: for those of you who have been brave enough to keep checking out our weekly editions—congrats—the size of the FG’s recurrent expenditure got nothing on your balls! And that’s even more true for you, ladies!

Your balls are the cornerstone of this blog.

Your awe inspiring balls are the very cornerstone of this blog.

Unfortunately, though, your continued approval of our blog, dear readers, means our divinely inspired mission to annoy the hell out of every Nigerian, until we get banned in not less than 30 states, is becoming less and less realistic. Accordingly, this increase in page views is very sad news for all of us here. However, while we think up new strategies to get you raving mad until you smash your internet devices against the wall as you scream for our heads, we will continue to bring you our best combination of polite sarcasm and social irreverence. Meanwhile, our lesson has been learned: Nigerians have a high tolerance for boolsheet.

It's like:"Hey Boolsheet, you want to use my toothbrush, and sleep with my wife? Sure, why not?"

It’s like:”Hey you, Boolsheet, you want to use my toothbrush, and sleep with my wife? Sure, why not?”

This tolerance for the most insipid and transparent of political, social and religious lies is more painful than a triple cockscrew wound up the anal cavities. It is even more painful this year, 2012; because, when in January, the country’s masses and not-quite-masses came together to protest the dumbfuckery of Goodluck Jonathan’s fuel subsidy removal, there was, quite almost, the possibility of a welcome change in the affairs of the country.

Also the possibility of electing an awesome fir jumping president

Also, the possibility of electing us an awesome fire-jumping president.

For a brief, but clear moment, the Nigerian people actually held political power—and the machinery of government was clearly submissive. But that moment was lost as soon as it came, because, when you have power without a plan, you will either lose the power or lose your life. So we lost the power, no thanks to the trickery and cowardice of the unions—as well as our own clueless stance—and went back to our freaking everyday lives: solidly grounded on Omotola’s Twitter verification and D’banj’s “Oyato” fiasco.

"Occupy Nigeria is sooo old school, bro. Karen Igho got slapped! That's gist!"

“Occupy Nigeria is sooo old school, bro. Karen Igho got slapped! That’s fresh gist!”

And what were the costs of January? What were the gains? Some people died, the rest of us live on.  In retrospect, the protests could easily have been an imaginative  and adventurous post on Omojuwa or Ekekee for all the difference it has made so far. The union leaders are alive and well, Diezani is yet to die zanily or otherwise, fuel has been scarce for several months, the reform in electric power is on paper only, Jonathan has publicly ascribed the January protests to the work of paid brigands, Abati’s apostasy has become even more sinful and Karen Igho is still getting slapped by security guards.

"Are you going to blame me for that too?"

“What? Are you going to blame me for that too?”

Of course, as we’ve pointed out before, we are also to blame for a lot of our woes. December is almost over, and a new January is around the corner. The oracles have been evasive on where this country is headed or how it should even be headed. And maybe, that’s the problem—maybe there are no fucking oracles and maybe we hold the key to the next year in our own hands.  And like all those missed calls from unknown numbers, maybe you shouldn’t just wait for a call back—sometimes you gotta go out there, stalk and kidnap a phone company employee, torture them till they agree to trace the unknown number for you, and then you find out who the hell was calling you. It’s your call, baby. But it’s also too much work (like these blog posts), so while we sincerely wish you Merry Holidays and a Happy New Year, we are quite sure we’ll be back on this blog together, in the New Year, yarning the same old gist.

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