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Ben Trovato

@ Sunday Times Books LIVE

Julius Malema’s future is so bright, you’re going to need sunglasses

My deviant loinfruit, Clive, came to me this week and asked for a pair of sunglasses. I smacked him affectionately across the side of the head and asked what he needed them for.

They don’t make kids like they used to. When he regained consciousness, he said because Julius Malema warned that the future was so bright, we’d need sunglasses.

I made myself a stiff drink and sat down. “You’re quoting Malema?” He looked a bit sheepish and didn’t say anything. After I had used interrogation methods not yet approved by the United Nations Children’s Fund, he admitted that Malema was his hero.

“Brenda!” I shouted. “Call an ambulance. The brat has concussion.” As it turned out, he didn’t. The paramedics seemed reluctant to leave, so I bought a bankie of schedule 7 drugs and sent them on their way.

Once my nerves had settled and my pupils were dilated, I asked Clive what he meant when he said Malema was his hero. “Dunno,” he said, as eloquent as ever. “S’pose coz he’s black.” I gestured for him to continue, spilling whisky on the cat.

“Black’s the new white, dude.” Did he just call me dude or dad? I couldn’t be certain. I contemplated taking my belt to him, but the last time I tried that, my pants fell down, closely followed by me. This is how children lose respect for their elders.

“You do realise,” I said, “that your hero thinks white people are a bunch of hate-mongering, land-grabbing criminals?” Clive was quiet for a while. Too quiet. He had left the room while I was putting the cat on the trickle system. Judging by the amount of tongue action going on, it was more than happy.

I tracked the boy down to his bedroom, where I found him hunched over his computer watching gay porn. I raised my hand to smite him, as the Bible says I must, but on closer inspection saw he was watching a clip of Malema making a speech. I thought it was a big black willy. Stupid of me, I know. A shouting willy. Ridiculous.

 

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