I have just taken the VR3 for a slow drive to town. I went to the barber to get my locks shorn. Anyway while I was on my way there I saw and heard this huge ruckus which happened to be the world diabetes conference. Which is all fine. But then I heard the noise of bongo drums. Bongo drums in the rain. Bongo drums in the rain at a diabetes conference. I then asked my hairdresser, Shareen, why is it that every time South Africa hosts something involving the “World” that we have to show how African we are? For the love of God, this is Cape Town, not the fucking Kruger National Park. Cape Town, on a vain enough day (Which is every day for some), could be compared to New York. People here shop at Hugo Boss and at Louis Vuitton. We don’t shop at the fucking curio shop in Oudtshoorn. I always used to wonder why the Americans thought we have lions in our back yard. I thought they were dumb. But the impression we give off is one that says that we not only have a lion in our back yard, but our woman play the bongo drums topless while we go out and hunt for food while wearing real leopard skin underwear. At rugby games we have a whole tribe of herdsmen acting out our version of the haka. No wonder people think we keep lions. No wonder people feel sorry for us. They think we have to survive off the dry land and eat aloe and potatoe to survive. I think maybe our Health Minister is based overseas and therefore thinks we live in the bush. Maybe that’s why she thinks she can fuck with our heads and tell us that garlic, beetroot and olive oil cures AIDS. This diabetes conference has got to do with blood sugar imbalances. But clearly the people who organised it have a grey matter imbalance in those heads of theirs.
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