Category: Satiricus

…the rotten apples The minister of home affairs has obviously had it with the excuses from the police force brass on why the patent abuses by policemen aren’t being reduced but are actually rising. There are no excuses any more. The stations were run down, they’ve been all rebuilt. There was no transportation… there’re now official cars galore – in addition to duty-free cars for a whole lot of medium and top brass. There are new training schools in Berbice and Essequibo. And on top of it, there’ve been increased…

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Satiricus wasn’t as ebullient as he usually was about the New Year. He’d realised that a new year meant being one year older. And his body was beginning to tell him that “older” meant aches and pains. Satiricus wondered when some local politician would come up with a local version of Obamacare – taking care of all health worries. He knew Guyana already had free health care. But he knew too, as Prezzie pointed out, government hospitals and clinics were terrible when it came to keeping records on drugs. They…

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Satiricus was waiting for his wife to return. Mrs Satiricus had gone berserk over the blackout. The power was still not back on after almost half a day. It was now Christmas Day. She hadn’t gone because all her meats in the freezer have all spoiled. Even the turkey ham. It was not that the low voltage just before the blackout had blown her microwave. She’d lost it when her Christmas cakes “fell” in the oven when there was no electricity to switch back on the oven flame. Mrs Satiricus…

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Satiricus was agog. Not that he was “fast” or a “pot salt” or anything like that but as a fella always eager to know what’s going on, Satiricus was frequently “agog”. This time he was all agog about the wonderful way the Leader of the KFC party, Rum Jhaat, had with words. And how misunderstood he also was. The thing was… in Guyana… ordinary people didn’t know how important words were to a highly trained senior lawyer like Rum Jhaat. Just as how a cutlass was the tool of a…

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Satiricus was confused. As a news hack, he’d been assigned to cover the march. The big march by the servants of the people (SOP). All week long, the editors had been gathering around in a huddle to plan their strategy on how to cover the event. Everybody agreed it was going to be “massive”. And why not? After all, the SOP had faithfully served the people of this country through rain and sun, water and mud, thick and thin all year long and look what the government was giving them…

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Satiricus sighed. If only… That’s what a little voice inside his head was telling him. The little voice spoke often to Satiricus nowadays. It was the season to be jolly and Satiricus was not one to miss out on any jollity or jollification that might be going on. He was jolly often and he was jolly long. And the little voice was telling him, “If only prezzie had taken GrainJa to South Africa.” The problem was that the little voice would say no more. So Satiricus had to fill in…

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Satiricus was proud of his country. In America, the people believe anyone can grow up to be president. And lo and behold… even though some cynics thought it was just a saying, a little black boy named Hussein, who wasn’t even born in America (says the “birthers”) and grew up in Hawaii, became president. And gave a wonderful speech at the funeral of Nelson Mandela. Now in Guyana, even though anyone could also be president, Satiricus had to admit that some needed a whole lotta help. Like Forbes Burnham. It…

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Satiricus marvelled at the poll fella from New York. Not because he seemed to be the ultimate globe trotter (imagine the frequent-flyer miles!) but at how he could write about anything under the sun. And even under the moon. Anyhow, Satiricus was intrigued at the jet-setters proposal to strip the president of his powers. And on the man’s second anniversary in office. Satiricus, like the frequent flyer, was a bit leery about fellas with too much powers. Look at Superman. If it wasnt for the fear of Kryptonite, he bet…

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Satiricus smiled as he saw the two agri ministers sign off their pre-nup agreement. Progress. It used to be – people just rushed into marriage, thinking that love gon conquer all. Then after the first few months of waking up and seeing a face with no makeup or smelling a breath with no mouthwash… Baddam! … Messy breakup and fighting over the property – and kids. As in so many things, the Americans showed we how it should be done: they invent the “pre-nuptial agreement”. The Americans don’t like “long…

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Satiricus had missed Lilawatee, his wife’s niece. Well, he’d missed the diaries she would filch from the opposition’s drawers (!) for him to peruse. She was the maid that came with the big bucks now funding the “Office of the Opposition”. Satiricus, like the old newspaper hound he was, liked to know what made these fellas tick. Lilawatee had been on vacation – she got the same three months vacation with salary as the opposition members. She was a contract worker. But she was back and here it was Satiricus…

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