‘Your point is well made and well taken, comrade, but this committee is not convinced that petitioning the World Wildlife Foundation to rename the sperm whale is an appropriate way to launch comrade Tokyo’s candidacy. We have to consider what the voters want, and the voters want balloons and ANC-themed T-shirts. Batho Pele, that sort of thing.”
”I gave my son a Batho Pele shirt and he asked me if Batho Pele played for Brazil or Argentina.”
”Wasn’t he the fourth musketeer?”
”Pallo, please. Your bookish wiles may reassure the whites, but try to stay on topic.”
”Sorry. Athos, Aramis, and … was it Manto? No …”
”I must insist, Chairperson, that we not dismiss out of hand my suggestion about the sperm whale renaming. Please. Just take a moment. Picture it. Africa’s whale. Our whale. The Sex Whale. It’s big. It’s black. It’s shiny. It’s fast. It’s got sex. It’s got, you know, whale action. It’s got … it’s got a blow-hole.”
”And fins!”
”Loving the fins. Fins are totally in. Nokia is Finnish.”
”Not fins. It’s a fluke.”
”On the contrary, the numbers say he’d be the darling of business, and he’d probably go down fairly well with the conservatives.”
”And the Japanese shoot whales in the head with explosive harpoons. That’s sort of sexy, isn’t it? Tokyo loves Sex Whales. Self-love. Being loved starts with loving yourself. We could centre the campaign around…”
”Surely left-of-centre?”
”Whatever gets you through the night, Zwelinzima. We centre the campaign around a new African morality. Are you ready for this? Whale-being. A sense of Sex Whale-being.”
”I thought Nokia was made in Sweden.”
”Comrades, time, like public sentiment in Europe, is increasingly against us. Can we press on to the issue of the reinstatement of the party membership of Mbulelo Goniwe? Thank you. Now, as you may have read in this morning’s denials of yesterday’s obfuscations of last week’s counter-allegations, Comrade Goniwe will be rejoining us while a disciplinary hearing establishes whether or not his probe was flawed.”
”I didn’t know his probe was floored. Good God, how embarrassing.”
”It’s quite normal at his age.”
”Honourable member, please!”
”It’s no good begging. There comes a time in every fat, powerful man’s life when the honourable member just won’t do what it’s told. And none of that powdered tiger penis or graunched hippo colon works either. It’s hopeless.”
”You know what you need? Sex Whales!”
”Oh for God’s sake …”
”As I was saying: Comrade Goniwe will be presumed innocent until further …”
”D’Artagnan! It was D’Artagnan!”
”Thank you, Pallo, for your zeal, but I don’t think the liberal media will buy it. Most of the evidence points to Comrade Goniwe, and as far as I can tell this second disciplinary process is simply a matter of crossing Is and dotting Ts that weren’t dotted or crossed the first time around. But please don’t shelve that idea completely: we may need a name for the next time Koeberg goes down. D’Artagnan, you say? French. I like that. A Sarkozy brownshirt, dropped off by a submarine and …”
”What? No, he rode a horse. A steed, really. And it was the 18th century.”
”Pallo, please, it is counter revolutionary to show off. Besides, I see no problem, given that the technology used at Koeberg seems to date from the 18th century.”
”…”
”That was a joke, comrades. A laugh of solidarity is required … Thank you. Which brings us to Judge Nkola Motata.”
”Wasn’t he in The Lion King?”
”What is Martinus van Schalkwyk doing in this meeting?”
”No, serious, genuine. He was that meerkat oke, who sing that song. Hakuna Matata!”
”Somebody get this honky out. Quickly. Thank you, Zwelinzima. Gracious! Such verve! How much do you bench-press?”
”I don’t gym. It is the weight of the masses on my shoulders. It makes you quite buff.”
”Sharp, bro. Right, Judge Motata. Is this committee willing to endorse the fact, in light of Comrade Goniwe’s reinstatement after a structurally flawed hearing, that Judge Motata is the victim of a structurally flawed wall, and should therefore be exonerated? After all, had it not broken when he drove his car into it; and had he bounced off and continued on his merry, liquored-up way; and had the liberals with their cameras and microphones not found him crooning to a flowerbed, his reputation would today be smirchless! He is the victim here! Down with the flimsy Vibrocrete oppressor! Mr Chairperson, pull down your wall! Forward to invulnerable ramparts of secrecy and patronage!”
”Viva! Yeah! Right on! Gimme some skin!”
”Tres bien! All for one and one for all! Je t’aime! Baguette! Escargot!”
”Pallo. Seriously.”