Killing the President - Episode One. (fiction)

AUTHORS NOTE:

You should understand that the following cheerfully vicious and quite fictional article, was written in a country that - every single day - has 120 murders, 600 AID's deaths, as well as aproximately 1.69 million rapes every year.

So just which is more tasteless - the following article, or the reality of South Africa today - is rather difficult to decide.

The author, at this time of writing, is facing potential charges by the SA Government, for the writing of this article, and the placing of it online.


-------------------------------------->killing the president

I have decided that Thabo Mbeki - the South African president - must die. To this end I figure an ongoing blog detailing my best efforts to kill him, would be a useful thing.

First off, my reasons. Okay, despite the fact that more citizens have died in ten years of democracy' than died in 40 years of Apartheid - this isn't my reason. I don't really care about the mass deaths that are occurring on a daily basis, thanks to a killer virus or the uneducated killer thugs roaming around slaughtering people for a few cents. Who cares? Not me.

I figure the only clever way to operate, is to think like my target thinks.
Therefore, I don't give a sh*t about the suffering, the poverty, the hunger, or even Zimbabwe.

Kill off everyone, I say.

I never used to think like this, but its part of basic big game hunting, to think like your prey - so
therefore, I've had to readjust some of mymindset, and to begin to see the world as my future victim sees it.

I began practising today, and made a point of laughing in the faces of three cripples, two beggars,
and half a dozen illegal immigrants selling coat hangers and crack outside a local fleamarket.

This being the weekend, there werent any hungry women sitting at traffic lights with young
children, coughing in the exhaust fumes - but I'm sure that from early tomorrow morning, at
traffic intersections across Johannesburg, I'll have my pick of pitiful ragged women with
emaciated children to snigger at.

In case you misunderstand me, I get no pleasure from this at all. But its obvious that our
President and his fat overweight cronies DO, therefore, in order to track this animal succesfully,
I have to force myself into his fairly repulsive worldview.

But to explain. Why kill the President? It's simple really. He's got 'one of those faces' that brings
out the 'put a bullet right through the centre of it and the view will be massively improved' in me. I don't have this reaction with everyone, but Mbeki looks like an extra crispy unwiped
bottom that's found a suit and stubble to disguise itself in. And that vice president - 'Zuma' - I
have to admit, looks very much like those creepy old guys you see in bad '70's gay Swedish porn,
begging for someone to urinate on them.

In fact, on a number of occasions when I've seen the thing known as Zuma on television, I'm
convinced it's urine droplets on his forehead, still glistening from some deviant watersports
session.

He's climbed out of a bath of foul smelling liquid, wiped down with a towel, or Thabo Mbeki's
face, pulled his clothes on, and stepped into the next room in front of camera's to deny yet again,
that he's a fat ignorant thief with about as much fashion sense as his Swedish friends back in the
other room, still fisting each other and waiting for him to return, so that the gushing liquid games
can continue.

But the President has 'one of those faces' and an attitude that only a long range weapon with
telescopic sights can love. Airy dismissal of simple questions? Boom, shoot the hand off, mid
gesture. That ought to slow him down from shrugging off questions about the growing sewer this
country has become.
On the other hand, the ANC being the smiling gloating democracy-stating killing machine that it seems to be, for over a hundred new corpses every day - Thabo would probably appear in a nice little cast and milk the publicity for all its worth - appearing in endless photographs looking like a bad SPCA poster of a kicked poodle.

Therefore, any attempts have to be precision attacks, preferably impacting in the centre of what
passes for his face, thus removing it forever, except in archival footage - and best of all, removing any ANC dreams of an open casket 'dead president lying in State' excuse to whip up
the snot and wailing from the lumpenproletariat contingent.

Bollocks to that. I've already made contact with a Czech cell of radical anarchist circus workers,
and if the ANC think they can get away with an open casket funeral for Thabo, when the time
comes - its going to be very interesting to see how the media deals with 17 clowns erupting from
the crowd, climbing into his coffin, and taking turns at doing as many repulsive and unhygenic
things as possible, with his head.
So if its an open casket funeral, because of a botched hit - Thabo Mbeki's mouth is going to be
violated by loudly shouting clowns, in front of horrified mourners, for all the world to see.

(Let no one say I dont prepare back up plans for every situation.)

Already my cell and I have discovered that the Union Buildings windows are not double-glazed.

This may seem nonsensical to you, but to anyone with the laser and audio equipment, to focus a
beam on a window, and translate the vibrations of the glass back into audible sound, to a distant
listener, this will make perfect sense. So the locals know about as much of security precautions,
as neanderthals did about gravity.
Good.

The hit will be all the more unexpected when it comes.

So I've contacted the Acme Company, and asked them to send me their catalogue of weaponry,
on the very good references I've received about their distribution network from a Mr Coyote.

I'll be detailing my cell's and my various attacks on this Mbeki creature, and his cohorts, as they
occur.

Naturally, I have the clowns on standby, should we meet with success sooner rather than later.

I'll keep you posted.