Friday, June 30, 2006
Letter from Africa
OK we makin a ricket on de Peace Corpse lot, turn out dey ain't de advance guard o' de 17th/21st Nigerian Light Horse wid big eyes on de radio station an' de late Indian supermarkets, an' dey ain't Israelis, neither, so what? Don't mean they ain't subversives, comin' down here an' interferin' wid de smoothe runnin' o' de Dark Continent, an' it don't mean dey ain't marines, neither, can't let a load o' marines slip through de net jus' on account o' they got de American passport, you think de Adolf Hitler wot already bin pubberlickly admired by me woulda got to de top if he botherin' readin' every bit o' paper wot land on 'is desk? Sit aroun' readin' six million passports, before you know it de oven gone out, Second Front openin' an' you never gittin' around to de 'orrible bit. All de top SS men, you spend a fortune on de trainin' an' flash uniforms etcetera, all standin' aroun' lookin' at de watches wonderin' why no-one turnin' up, ain't no way to run a progressive country.
Got no time for de Peace Corpse. Load o' freakies only comin' over here on account of we growin' de good stuff, couple o' deep puffs, feel like your head got legs. Soon as dey finished, dey starts bombin' roun' de countryside tryin' to pull de good works, gittin' de people all confused wid de irrigation schemes an' de intensive dairyfarmin' an' followin' 'em roun' wid de tape recorders tryin' to grab fust rights on de folk songs, before you know it, everybody sittin' roun' on de groun' shoutin' crap like "We all brudders, yeah, yeah, we into de peace bag, man, everybody gittin' to love one anudder, dat de way it is, we ain't gonna be moved, black an' white together, wow, heavy, man, and so forth." Fat lotta use, who de hell want de peace stuff, gimme de Gaddafi way, he comin' over here with de Kalachnikov 9mm machine gun in de brown carrier bag an' he showin' everyone how you blows a head off at five hunnerd yards, dat de sort o' foreign aid we lookin' for. Where Africa gonna be, everyone sittin' roun' on de bum an' lookin' at de artesian wells, all it git you is a load o' long grass. Ain't no use havin' long grass unless you gonna creep through it wid a view to puttin' in de bayonet. How else you gonna rule de worl' What I want to know is, wot Unca Sam done wid de half million soldiers he pullin' outa Vietnam, also guns, tanks, choppers, Phantoms, bombs, etcetera? All we gittin' is a lotta Harvard rubbish in de granny glasses wid de hair on de shoulders goin' round shovin' test tubes in our cows an' knockin' 'em up. Ain't no way to build a empire.
Collected Bulletins of President Idi Amin