Krisjan Lemmer
Great excitement in the Dorsbult Bar when word circulated that the California multi-millionaire, Deepak Chopra, was in town.
Deepak, as everyone knows, is guru to California and all its hangers-on, including Hillary Clinton, Michael Jackson, George Harrison, Liz Taylor and Demi Moore – the latter of whom announced, after consulting him, that she had been put on Earth for a deeper purpose, the nature of which has been reserved for a later announcement.
It was agreed, on a show of hands here in the Groot Marico’s finest watering hole, that the dominee would benefit most from Oom Chopra’s spiritual advice. Unfortunately, a whip-round among patrons failed to realise the R150 needed to gain the dominee entrance to the Houghton estate where Oom Chopra was to tell all.
Instead it was decided that the money raised would be invested in Sea Sick, running in the third race at Turfontein, the certain winnings from which would in turn be invested in Oom Chopra’s latest best-seller, Creative Affluence or The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, the proceeds from which would be used to ensure that the next time a California guru came by, the Groot Marico would not be embarrassed at the continued ignorance of its pastor as to why Moore was placed among us.
The proprietors of this journal would like to make it clear, to Peter Soller and any other ambulance chasers hanging around the High Court, that all references to Oom Chopra in this edition are motivated by their high regard for the great man (not to mention his millions) and genuine appreciation of the contributions to the sum total of human knowledge provided by such insightful statements as: “The present moment is a very difficult place to reach.” (From The Path to Love Rider Books, R80, plain brown wrapper free of charge.)
In particular, the proprietors would like to disassociate themselves from the foul libel propagated by Rupert Murdoch in his filthy American rag, the Weekly Standard, alleging without any foundation whatsoever that Oom Chopra paid unspecified sums of money to one Judy Bangert (sic) for nefarious purposes relating more to the body than the mind and that he wilfully allowed rodent hairs and bug parts to contaminate herbal remedies flogged by his company.
In summation, the proprietors applaud Oom Chopra for suing the Dirty Digger for $35-million, note the grovelling apology proffered by his horrible periodical and, in anticipation of the great man’s undoubted commitment to freedom of information, stand ready to publish the secret terms of the out-of-court settlement reached by the two sides.
The setback to the dominee’s travel plans on the road to enlightenment led to much philosophising around the Dorsbult Bar, facilitated by an enhanced state of spirituality fostered in turn by copious quantities of peach brandy. These thoughts, on the unanimous vote of Krisjan Lemmer, who was the last delegate left standing, are to be collated into an anthology titled The Wisdom of the Groot Marico, published by the Guru Press.
The following are some extracts from this spiritual work, which will shortly be offered to subscribers on a confidential basis, in a limited edition, at a very reasonable price, in United States dollars: “Every cell is a miniature terminal connected to the cosmic computer which, on present evidence, is badly in need of a re-boot.”
“Every person is an infinite being, unlimited by time and space, until it is time to do the washing up.”
“Every second is a door to eternity, only some idiot forgot to wind the clock.”
“If you sit under a banyan tree, make sure the fruit doesn’t land on your head, or you’ll go dilly like Sir Isaac Newton who claimed never to have met a banyan tree.”
Talking about gurus, the patron saint of a group of unmentionable rags south of the Limpopo (his local lackeys have been whining at the repeated appearance of their titles in this column), Professor Anthony “Beggorah” O’Reilly (PhD Rhodes), is about to seize control of The Independent in London.
His move on that sickly infant has created much interest in the British press, but has been sadly under-reported here. One newspaper commentator in the UK recalled that in 1995 O’Reilly, who owns 75% of the press in the Land of Saints and Bogs, was rebuked by the local equivalent of the competitions board for buying into a rival publication, the Irish Press, upon which his honchos squeaked indignantly that it was no more than an act of patriotism – that it was “important to prevent foreign owners moving into Ireland”.
When the above line was read out to the Dorsbult Bar, Oom Schalk Lourens laughed so hard his false teeth fell into the spittoon. “‘Tis the curse of the Irish …”
Lemmer’s plans to announce a new Day of the Covenant – in recognition of his deal with the Almighty under which the Earl Charles Spencer’s departure from these shores was guaranteed – have had to be postponed with word from London that this blot on a republican landscape has been sneaking around Camps Bay looking for a “lock-up-and-go”.
Until assurances are forthcoming that Charley intends a literal interpretation of the phrase, Lemmer has no choice but to put off the celebrations of our nation’s second liberation.
It has been pointed out that Charley has a four-year-old son and it can only be a matter of years before he departs these shores to be ritually beaten at Eton – daddy presumably accompanying him to share these painful rites of passage enjoyed by the English aristocracy. But, without wishing to cast doubts on the probity of the other side, as they say in the Groot Marico: “A deal is a deal …”
A reporter endeavouring to make contact with the Women’s Investment Portfolio this week phoned 1023 and was told the nearest they could get to it was the “Women’s Lobby,” who, the operator suggested, might be able to help.
The reporter duly phoned the number and asked for the Women’s Lobby, to which a woman’s voice replied: “The madam’s not in.”