It has been about one year since I stopped making regular posts to this blog. I am not an ardent blogger, nor am I a person who is committed to forging networked relationships through the World Wide Web. I am just a woman who had two objectives. One was for that stupid cow to give up being one of the Jamaica Observer's regular columnists. The other objective was to get sucked up to by that arsehole-slash-bigotry specialist. All I had to do was to persist in writing vitriol and all my dreams were fulfilled. The only regret I have was that the gay Jamaican blogger gave up his blog right after I stopped writing here. If I could take something back, it would be that one thing. If you don't approve of "homosexuals", please go and K-ef yourself.
Every story has a twist, and mine gets funnier when the see-you-next-Tuesday slash bun-connoisseur-for-hire becomes a public servant. Literally, she has become a person who "works for you", complete with fake pearls and a ponytail. I remember sitting on the desk in my study and saying those words to myself, "Lisa works for me". A few months later, the slogan was "Vote For Lisa She Will Work For You". How delicious! I don't live in Jamaica anymore so I cannot enjoy ignoring her in her role as advocate of the chicken farmer in the New Uric Atomosphere. It would be a perfect story line for season 3 of Ugly Betty. I could never have dreamed this up.
Don't get me wrong. I grew up on a farm with goats, cows, pigeons, doves, ducks and chickens, and I drank fresh cow or goat milk every morning. Now, I enjoy my life as a barefooted housewife and mother in the countryside, surrounded by a lush forest, a lake, mountains, insects from outer space, and kilometre after kilometre of impossibly green grass.
The point I make is that we must never forget that if this woman could have achieved her objectives in life by whoring her way up a (real or imaginary) ladder of social power and public visibility (and try she did), we would never have seen her "distributing" chickens in the country. We would never have a belly laugh at her using rhetoric and lip gloss to distract the viewing public from her New Uric Plight. She would have been getting her bushy eyebrows plucked at Jencare Skin Farm at this very moment, giving indiscreet customers her look, you know, the one with a tone that says, "Who the raasclaat are you looking at, Bitch?!"
I envisioned a scenario in which the former Prime Minister assured her the Obeah Man's prophecies would come to fruition. Of course, it was an irresistible proposal, given that her own mother had taught her a little Obeah when she was growing up. Did she make sure to clarify that she would become "Member of Parliament in the administration of [the former Prime Minister]"?
Or, maybe she did some metaphysical backstabbing because she really needed the extra income and she knew that she would get a guaranteed paycheck every month regardless of whomever was in power, if she won a parliamentary seat. When times get tough, the upper cursed will take up chicken farming (or dog breeding as the case may be). No matter what I say about her choices, this woman has achieved her aims. And that is what I call a flawless victory. Congratulations. And thank goodness for Revlon foundation.
See you next Tuesday!!!
P.S. Dear Bruce, stop walking around with that juvenile grin on your face. This is not about you and the fulfillment of your quest for leadership. You've got a country to run, and at some point, you actually have to do it. You can't fake being a good leader, just as how your predecessor could not fake not being vulgar. There are a thousand jackasses out there who are willing to frig up and they would happily take your place. Remember all the things you said you wanted to change, all those years ago, when I was in high school? Well, you've got the power. Don't be a chicken.
P.P.S. Did anyone think it was funny how two guys who screwed Imani Duncan in the same calendar year were sitting at the same table, side by side?!! Notice the ring flashing on the husband's hand. The ex-boyfriend has the husband sitting on his right side, which means that he has control over the rapport between them. This is just as well, considering that the ex-boyfriend has put food on their tables. Lawks missis. I'm still a skeptic because if I know Jamaicans as well as I do, the proverbial shoe and its impeccably polished twin will self destruct in 5 seconds. Hark! I hear horgasms.
