Give me a leader who doesn’t speak snakes through a metre of Goebbels lipstick. Give me a leader with morals to match promises. Give me a leader who’s bigger than this mess and I will fight with them for a better South Africa. Until then, South Africa will continue screaming at the Wolves, “What BIG COCKS you have!”

SOUTH AFRICA, A COUNTRY THAT DOESN’T CARE ABOUT ITS CITIZENS WHO, IN TURN, DO WHAT THOSE WHO HATE THEM TELL THEM TO DO

South Africa dug into the pavement but her determination was no match for their callous, blue strength. Shluck, shluck, shluck, shluck… her arms and feet left behind as Mmusi Maimane and James Selfe dragged her onto the highway of their sin.

36-wheeler trucks of gargantuan greed ground Africa’s ribs into dust that Helen Zille snort-snorted with good governance cackles.

Africa cried for help until the Liberal Bull arrived in a blue tie and shoes. But Cyril Ramaphosa only gave her a wink of cold comfort, and, at his command, Piet Bergh, Gideon Landman, Oupa Segalwe, Geordin Hill-Lewis and Eleanore Spies dropped their pants.

Africa said to the wolves, “What big cocks you have,” to which they responded, ‘All the better to…”

And they did, until she had no mouth to admire them with.

The Cows had gathered, infertile millions voyeuring with the violence of apathy.

“She had the dangerous idea that a country was bigger than its leaders,” Ramaphosa explained to them. “It’s best you leave no trace.”

And they complied, for that is what a herd does best – petrol and match until brain and hope detached.

Not a single tear fell for South Africa that evening because sadness is impossible for what’s conveniently forgotten.