Easy pickings

TIMES INT'L

Satiricus was still shaken up. He’d been awakened early in the morning by his editor and ordered to rush over to CJIA to get a fix on the Air Jamaica Flight that was forced to make a crash landing. He feared the worse. Wasn’t it just last week that Indonesian jet had crashed killing all 189 passengers and crew aboard? He hurried over to the Back-Street Bar now that a very stressful day was over.
“Tek wan ‘nadda beer, pa’dna,” said Cappo solicitously to Satiricus, after he’d explained his anxious state.
“T’ank Gad nobady na dead,” said Bungi, as he nodded his head contemplatively.
“That’s right,” said Hari. “But Sato, what’s this I hear about our Firemen stealing passengers’ phones and money and all kinds of stuff?”
“What can I tell you?” said Satiricus morosely. “It’s true! It’s so shameful!”
“Shame face does feel like cent ice,” said Bungi. “But nowadays nobady na gat shame.”
“Yuh mean fuh tell me when dem people run fuh dem life,” said Cappo in disbelief, “de Fi’ah-man who suppose fuh save dem, t’ief dem stuff?”
“Why are you surprised?” asked Hari. “Don’t the fellas who’re supposed to ‘serve and protect’ us always ripping us off!!”
“Now I know you fellas will now get on Rum Jhaat’s case,” said Satiricus. “Because he’s in charge of Firemen and Policemen. But that’s not fair!!”
“Fair? Fair? Na only dem!” said Cappo. “Yuh na hear ‘bout dat big Army affisa who charge fuh ha’f a millian gas ev’ry month?”
“Whe’h ‘e a drive to wuk fram ev’ry day?” asked Bungi. “Columbia?”
“Well, the fish always start to stink from the head,” said Hari, looking at Satiricus. “And the head is Rum Jhaat, you know.”
“C’mon fellas,” pleaded Satiricus. “You really don’t think these people listen to Rum Jhaat, do you?”
“Suh yuh accept Rum Jhaat a just wan Chrismuss blow-blow?” asked Cappo.
“Like my father used to say,” said Satiricus. “When yuh haan in tigah mout’ yuh gat fuh pat ‘e head!”
“But who tell am fuh put ‘e haan deh?” asked Bungi.

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