KABURU: The End of the World

Written by Kaburu
Friday, 19 August 2011 12:07

If you are reading this then the odds are good that the world did not, as predicted by Family Stations Inc, end at 7pm on 21 May 2011. The “end of the world” is of course a relative statement when one is Afrikaans, because this could mean anything from your daughter marrying a black man, to the truly unthinkable the Springboks losing a Test match (God forbid!)

A nobly Calvinistic tribe, the Afrikaner is renowned for what could generously be described as having a rather conservative view of heaven. It’s a place reserved for souls who religiously refused to have any fun on the sinful earthly plane. According to the true Afrikaner, there were extremely personal relations between the tribe of Ham and non-NG Kerk draadsitters and hensoppers, thus resulting in the heathen Patricia de Lille.

Patricia and her ilk (and by this the Afrikaner refers to all women) are, according to the Bible, the root of all evil. Think of Adam’s Eve, John’s Salome, Lot’s wife, and, of course, Satan’s own spawn: the maid. Her foul, tempting ways have led many to damnation via brief and desperate trysts in the garage. Should there be any doubt about this, then remember Dr Piet Koornhof. His vile, unholy alliance with that kleurlingvrou of his (and he, a National Party minister!) resulted in his paying the ultimate price for betraying Dr Verwoerd: membership of the ANC. Oh, beware the temptation of the woman, broeders!

It is not only in matters of disgraceful carnality that woman seeks to destroy man. Oh no, her devious machinations know no boundaries. Here, I must first provide some background: even though the Jewish nation has not found salvation through the Messiah (this possibly for reasons of tax evasion) they remain a venerated nation in the eyes of the Afrikaner (this definitely for reasons of rugby as Dr Craven famously stated that a Jew in the Springbok team brings good luck).

Now, the world abounds with theories concerning Jewish conspiracy. Theorists point, for example, at Hollywood, where the overwhelming majority of producers have had a Bar Mitzvah. Alas, the truth is more Machiavellian than one could dare imagine. The Jewish nation is, whether its male film producers like it or not, matriarchal, as it also is with the Afrikaner. Even the godverdomde Engelse are ruled by a woman. And women, broeders, have conspired. They have created the single most fearful concept the world has seen since the All Blacks: the shopping centre.

Concentrated inside its outwardly harmless facade is a conglomeration of evil where against the laws of nature and God, man is unwillingly yet helplessly subjected to tortures beyond description – but that must be described! Dragged helplessly thence by a provoked sense of guilt and “familial duty”, man endures the un-endurable. Having been trapped into siring offspring, he now spends hours dragging his own screaming progeny around whilst trying desperately to dodge the snot of the progeny of other equally doomed emasculated ones who share knowing glances of agony.

He will be subjected to clothing stores, where the woman will pretend to be making “careful” choices taking whole days, his only respite in sharing a huddle of despair with other men outside the change rooms. The woman will come out and inquire whether or not the hideous garment (in both style and price) that she is wearing “makes her look fat”. He will resist the truth and not utter the logical: “No, dear. It’s the fat that makes you look fat.” Instead he will say she looks lovely. She will respond that he is not even paying attention and then drag him to another store, where the process will be repeated. Once she has spent his annual salary, she will give him the bags to carry.

Now he will endure the food court, where there is no bar (or Mitzvah!) The food court has been cunningly designed to amplify high pitched sounds, i.e. any pre-pubescent voice and that of the woman on her cell phone, which she has hauled out to talk to her “BFF” who is standing right next to her. Sitting miserably at the cramped table strewn with strawberry milk shake and hamburgers, the man gazes longingly at the manful fog of the smoking section, which is filled by as yet blissfully unaware and therefore single men (woe betide them.)

The final agony he will endure is proof of the global female conspiracy: The WASPs* own the malls. In the malls are cinemas. The WASPs conspire with kugel* owned Hollywood. And the end result is the total obliteration of the man’s soul: the chick flick. All two hours of it.

I would finish this column, but I have to go and mow the lawn.

*White Anglo-Saxon Princesses.
*The same, but kosher.