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 had the diary of Duvid GrainJa in his sweaty palms. He looked at the last page: Dear Diary, I don’t know what the heck I let Short Man GreenRidge push me into. Imagine the man mek we tek on the whole business class and cuss them out to boot. About the money laundering bill.
Well he didn’t really push me… but how could I let such a swingey, prune-faced old man look more radical than me? I am the leader… and everybody got to “follow de leader” – not the leader following them.
Dear Diary, all them businessmen carrying on about how I should be thinking about the country. And how it gon get squeeze. Well excuse me… I been getting squeeze inside the party – right in the nuts! Nobody talking about that. They say I soft. How could I take that? In the army they used to call me “Dagger”. Tell me, is “dagger” soft, Dear Diary? But now that I show them I ain’t soft, I waiting for the businessmen to soften me up. I hope that Ramo don’t call election now. For the PNCEE it going to be like jumping out of the plane without your parachute.
That happened to me once when I was training in the jungle. I landed on my head and that is why I have this blank look on my face all the time and don’t smile much. I don’t even mek joke with you, Dear Diary.
Even though we does talk about support from “the people”, when it come to paying for the campaign, you know is only the businessmen does pick up the tab. The “people” does just shake you hand. But right now the only “picking up” the businessmen will be doing is picking up a piece of wood to hit we over we head.
And I can’t tek more hits on me head, Dear Diary. Bye for now.