Here’s the good news: we’re bringing you an Idlemindset article. The bad news? We’re still assholes—and not the good type either. We’re the evil kind of asshole—the ones who just won’t give a fuck. Not even after you’ve set it up all oiled and ready to go, eventually driving you to mocking insanity for your inability to get that anal you’ve always fantasied about…. Wait. How did we get here?
Okay, let’s just focus. Especially on the positive aspects of what you’re doing right now—using your employer’s time to read this absolutely work-unrelated post, and getting paid for it at the end of the month. Think about that. Wow, right? A life of free money.
We’ll that’s why we have unions, democracy and traffic lights: so we can protect the weak elements of society against the caprices of the stronger ones. Especially if by “weak”, you mean “poor, struggling, downtrodden masses” and by “strong” you mean “rich as fuck.” And so today, you can do absolutely nothing at all and still get paid like hell for that nothing. And this works very well, generally, because some people fought for your right to wank during office hours a long time ago. And that recognition of human rights is part of why more countries are shifting towards some form of democratic government.
Democratic ideals are good for political business: you see, when the people are happy with their lives, families and jobs (or at least, when they think they are happy: which is also generally acceptable) then the government is happy. But, democracy can be just as terrible as a dictatorship when mishandled by the people and their government. And more so when the people forget the whole point of the democratic process: freedom. And that’s why Socrates had to call out the fuck-ups of democracy by distinguishing between democracy for the purpose of dealing with “shallow issues” and democracy for the purpose of dealing with “urgent human questions”.
Now, we’re not saying Socrates is the smartest of the bunch—afterall, he chose to die by drinking poison rather than lose what was essentially, a twit-fight—but, the dude had a fair point. You see, democracy as a game of numbers is good for making decisions about the allocation of communal goods and resources: these are, ultimately, “shallow issues”. But when it comes to decisions affecting rights, justice, fairness and equity—aka “urgent human questions”—you just can’t leave it to a game of numbers and the will of the people. Especially when those numbers are out to kill you.
Rights—however defined—transcend numbers. But when some clever politician argues that the “will of the majority” in a democratic setting makes an action okay, then this fallacy is certain to get a fair number of people confused. But anyone who has ever seen a violent “majority” mob knows that the argument is absolute nonsense. A mob, whether legalised or not, doesn’t care about “urgent human issues”.
But by definition, a mob is irrational. Democracy is not—and shouldn’t be—a license for the majority to destroy the opinion of the minority. Or vice-versa. No matter how reprehensible the other side of the argument is to you.
It’s a simple idea, really, but most people fail to see it—because humans are essentially wired to be assholes. And here’s the moral for today: if the discussion is about roads, airports and election timetables, democracy works fine; but when the debate shifts to the repression of the minority, then the fact that the majority are all for it still doesn’t make it right. And if you’re really convinced that everyone has to compulsorily share your opinion—then get an island.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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….”
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Occupy Nigeria. A lot of shit went down in those few weeks of January 2012. From the President’s blunders to the people’s no nonsense lock-downs, strikes and protests, there was certainly enough stuff going around to fertilize the roof of the National Assembly complex. But of all the shit that went down, there’s one particular incident captured in photo that has always fascinated me. The one pictured below.
That’s the picture of a man who was so bored with the protesting itself that he decided to do something so out of the usual, and generate the maximum number of WTFs possible. Look at the people standing in the picture. From one side of the road to the other side. Their expressions are disbelief, curiosity and “you gotta be kidding me” in nicely served proportions. Apart from a dude who is definitely tweeting up the awesomeness of the moment, everyone’s attention is focused on the fire. But as interested as they are in what is definitely the granddad of all bad decisions, they somehow manage to stay clear of the bonfire. You can almost feel them standing back. Nothing is safe like a safe distance.
Now, lets take a look at the guy jumping the fire. I can’t see his face, but the idea generally conveyed by the body language is of someone who has taken a bad bet and realizes it just a bit too late. Suddenly, while hovering in the air, it really occurs to him that he is jumping over a freaking bonfire!
How did he end up in that position? I suppose they were all walking down the road, aiming to protest the aforesaid bullshit out of Goodluck Jonathan when they spot the bonfire up ahead and one of them goes “I have an idea…”.
Forget it. I can’t think of how he ended up jumping over a hungry looking bonfire. I can’t even imagine how the thought translated into the action. I can only say that it took some foolhardy attitude. I mean, who the fuck messes with a bonfire?
Look at the picture again: the right leg is barely above the flames and the left leg is smoke covered. At this pictured moment, the guy is probably thinking: “Damn, I seriously miscalculated this bet, let me just stretch my arms out and then I’ll fly off.” And so he stretches out his hands, getting ready for a take off. And at this point, I’m just going to assume the guy can really fly, anyway. Mere gravity should not worry anyone who jumps over that kind of bonfire while compos mentis.
And that’s what today’s lesson is really about–let everyone else stand and stare, and wonder what the hell is wrong with you, and tell you about foolishness and laws of gravity, never mind them: you just go right ahead and jump over that fucking bonfire.