Coffins for the living!

You could have knocked me down with a feather when Chop Die drank poison hoping, foolishly, for Private Eye to die.

Wait a minute! I think that I should talk about this tomfoolery of the sadist much later, but not without slipping in the point that it is never prudent to climb the tree when you are looking for fish.

Remember the Rambler’s recent Government mass coffin production story and the utmost certainty of the regime having doled out staggering amounts of cash to emergency undertakers and other merchants of death.

For the records, in the 1980’s practically every official speech, even if it were made by a forest guard wasn’t considered complete if it didn’t contain the hackneyed phrase, “Health For All By the Year 2000”.

But when the year effectively came, it was the reverse. Cameroonians were dying like weevils sprayed with mosquito repellent. The healthcare delivery system had taken a wicked bashing from a

regime that had elevated corruption to an art.

Chop Die, the sanctimonious hypocrite, took advantage of the system and greedily feathered his nest. For decades, Chop Die was openly boasting at watering holes about how he had fixed his work time table where local or better put, grassroots governance is taught, never to work for more than eight hours in a month.

He “created” an outfit, conscripted slaving serfs and cajoled what he conveniently christened a putative board.

But all along, his vision was clear; to use everyone else, serfs and stakeholders alike, to hone his thieving skills and land the office of burgomaster. It was premeditated social rape by a moral leper, period!

Cash popped out for a scruffy coffin, each time one of Chop Die’s serfs went the way of all flesh. A dime was rarely provided for hospitalization. Chop Die would actually advise his Man Friday, who is today a renegade in retreat in ‘Uncle Sam’ to ‘disappear from the office’ so no franc would be doled out for basic aspirin. But, how the crocodile would show up at funerals, weep buckets and make Mark Antonio-type speeches.

The voodoo man charmed even the best of impostors and gullible hangers-on with his numerous amulets and talismans, which he planted all over the place, some of which he forgot to properly conceal.

This explained the “to-ing” and “fro-ing” of the flimflam man as well as the “big heavy girl” who would curse Chop Die in one instance and kiss his backside the very next instant.

Lest we forget, Chop Die taught very good social legislation, but practised it in the breach. Check the records at the National Social Insurance Fund and tell me sincerely, how many of his serfs got registered here even for one second of their miserable working lives.

Plus, how were/are those bills from the ‘new dealers’ whom Chop Die got to the village burgomaster’s office criticizing paid without recourse to taxes and other tariffs? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind. Talk of two-facedness, charlatanry, quackery… the smooth tongued serpent…!

A little bird told me that the flimflam man who might have double crossed his Gestapo paymasters was almost knocked down with a feather the other day after the National Assembly passed the obnoxious bill on landlords and defaulting tenants.

Private Eye should, in the days ahead, be testifying to the fact that Chop Die hardly paid even the routine starvation wages to the serfs.

This partly explains why the goatee mole spent months on end, sleeping at what constituted the hovel in which Chop Die’s empire was Post…ed. Of course, the whimpering, thieving mole had to hide from his landlord and other creditors whom he couldn’t pay.

Now that the parliamentary shit has hit the fan, that re-tired warder and other landlords before him who would approach The ill Posted project, complaining of the goatee flimflam’s unpaid rents may just have to take solace in a convoluted criminal justice system.

The new law should nail the misleading coffins of the fakes who, in the figment of their imagination, studied grammar and pen-pushing in Nigeria’s former political capital city.

Plus, Private Eye would not be surprised, if one day soon, Chop Die requests that rents be paid to him for ‘Posting’ the “kidnapped” project at his personal house of scandal.

By the way, trite knowledge, common sense and obvious dictates of prudence imply that the regime engages, as a matter of urgency, in building a strong, vibrant and reliable healthcare system for suffering masses.

Contracts should go out for curative drugs; coffins only coming in as a very unfortunate, last resort. It amounts to morbid logic to engage in the mass production of coffins as opposed to mass procurement of drugs for the living.

Hey! Watch out! the occult-prone Chop Die may one day soon, convey his amulets to the Cathedral, beseeching His Lordship to bless them. Talk of moral turpitude! The struggle definitely continues!