Diaries of The Jhaat

Satiricus had been enjoying the peeks into the diaries of various members of the opposition. Brought to him courtesy of his wife’s niece – five times removed but she still called him ‘poopa’! He’d been allowed a glimpse into what actually made these fellows ‘tick’. But to tell the truth, he didn’t relish looking into the diary he held in his hands. Ram Jhaat Tan – or The Jhaat, as everyone called him – was definitely a sick man. Satiricus felt like he was looking into an open sewer.

Dear Diary,
Is the same fri** ing thing I bin saying to you all this time, dear diary. People not realistic! They upset with me because I bringing up matters in Parliament that would help me clients. Can you believe it? Me not like Cheddi – I like to eat, drink and be merry. And that cost money, you know. Why the hell they think the clients come to me to begin with???
Because of my good looks? Even my mother used to put a brown paper bag over me face when I was a baby. Because of my knowledge of the law? Pleeeeease!!! Why you think I had to cog my way through law school? I remain in the PPP for so long because that is how I got clients – Cheddi and the other leaders used to send people to me.
(Leh me tek a drink, dear diary. I so pi** ed when I think how that Jagdesh expelled me. Took bread from me mouth. And XM rum too.)
But now I on me own, they expect me to starve? The only way I could get clients is if I promise to bring up they case in Parliament. The clients get me to blackmail the courts and I can charge extra for the service. And lemme tell you dear diary, I does charge big extra.
Nowadays I get to like Grey Goose. And you know that don’t cost two cents. They talking about “conflict of interest”. Well if I don’t bring in the big bucks they don’t know about the conflict in me mind when I don’t get me drinks. Call me alcoholic or call me “daaroo baap” but I like me drinks. And I don’t care what anybody says.
(Man, those two shots went down real good! I had to wipe me hand, dear diary. That bungal chicken cutters taste better when I eat it with me hand. Berbice style.  You can tek the boy out of the village but you cyaan tek the liquor out of the man.)
Well dear diary, is lucky they pick up only two of the cases I making big bucks privately and making big noise in public. But what mek me even more pleased is that I got NoGel Huge and the Naga Man jumping up and down while I rake in all the moolaa.
But they got they own runnings. You remember Naga Man cutting both ways wid the bridge people? And NoGel wife drawing millions while NoGel and we cussing she client?
(I gonna finish the bottle right now, dear diary. And don’t tell me a ‘scraven’. It’s rum till I die!)