Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 1

Just A Little Bit of Fun

An old warrior and his pretty young wife

Lived a quiet and peaceful life

With the spoils of war, and not a care

But a fire was raging in her

A great conqueror he'd once been

But his spirit was no longer keen

And her blood was hot and boiling

And her old man just a-toiling

So she made friends with a young man

A fierce warrior from a nearby clan

And they’d sneak away many nights

While the vet dreamt of his ancient fights

In no time, she had a fever

Her young champ had loved with fervour

And the oldie would soon come round

To her little growing mound

Can We Ever Like Our Cops?

Tell me - is there anything rarer in this land than a courteous traffic cop? (Not counting dollar transactions or the frequency of my blog posts). Recently, a cop 'arrested' my sister for jumping the "amber lights" at 10 pm. After apologies and a promise to be of good behaviour only made him angry, she resigned to going to the police station with him. Don't you think that should have pleased him? Well it didn't.

One hour later, he had failed to bully her to offer him a bribe of 400 Cedis. And he could no longer take her to the station because he couldn't explain why a 5-minute drive had taken an hour at traffic-less 10 pm. When passersby inched closer to smell what he was cooking up at the roadside at that time, he quickly crawled into a getaway hole.

The men in black

Are difficult to back.

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The Twelve Deaths of Chivalry

The door flies agape, and the boor slimes in. He flings it the other way, and nearly plasters the face of the woman in his wake. He plods to the queue, and snakes along to the head where a little kid stands. On the next turn, he swats the infant aside with his left hand. While making his order, his ‘megaphone’ bangs out of his pocket. In three minutes, he broadcasts his side affair to the whole world. Then, he makes his order. He foot-sweeps the tiles on his way out. He flops into the car before he remembers the woman he came with. She’s barely sat down, when he shoots the car forward, cutting across a moving car beside him. His music blares out in doltish decibels. His smirk shows he’s proved how important he is.

The Small Claims Man

That afternoon, he was uneasily installed behind a tiny, dark-wood desk. That morning, he’d chosen a chimera of a lime green shirt matched with a black necktie with dirty white stripes...or a white necktie with faded black stripes. If planned as a weapon to disorient me, then first blood to him. While he negotiated a small insurance claim with me, my eyes tried to negotiate a huge, yellow splotch out of his tie. Both negotiations failed. We agreed to come back another day. I then escaped from this semi-piebald-semi-skewbald circus.

On the Transience of Public Office

I want to live my life
Above political strife
The level I'm at today
Shouldn't overnight sneak away

Honey, I Changed My Face

I guess padded bras and bums fall in this category – duty of disclosure. My office mates cannot agree on whether she should have told him. I’m talking about the ‘ugly’ Chinese woman who went under the knife, erased her past, loathsome life, and then became a wife. If there’s a duty, is it legal or moral? Office Female Miss Little Naughty says she didn’t owe him zilch. But she says he’d have owed her a duty of disclosure if he was a transsexual. How about hair implants? Or breast enlargement? Or replaced teeth? Liposuction? It can get absurd. Oh, bleached / toned / lightened / de-melanin-ed skin? Duty, anyone?

Washington Monument to be Renamed for Obama!

This heading doesn't deserve 'funny'. But, then again, ha ha ha ha ha. Ha! Funny and disturbing at once. It is a joke. In more ways that one, it is. It would not happen in the United States. But it is threatening to happen ... in Ghana (where else, but God's own country of doltish pantomime?). Citizens stirred one morning to hear about a change. A monument named after the designer of our flag (God bless her flowery creativity) was about to be ... deflowered. The national hockey stadium was named after the hallowed matron and was well-received. Somebody ejected prematurely from their bed and decided to change that. It was going to be renamed after a much-loved ex president who died on the job. Never mind that the former 'High Street' and a few other monuments are already his in name (directly or indirectly). When the public rightly cried out, an anaemic explanation was offered: "We won't rename the entire stadium; only the brick and mortar; we will keep her name on the grass". Okay, so it is not really grass they play on, but you get my indignation. Rubbish, poppycock, claptrap! AND WHILE SHE IS STILL ALIVE! When people get hare-brain ideas (in a land of little light) and zoom off to announce it on the nearest working microphone, this is what happens.The president appears indigné aussi. There's said to be a summons to the presidency. How do you start to explain away such a cerebral non-event?

(Picture credit - www.edelgrass.com)