Shooting Mandela

I was tempted to revise my views on gun control this afternoon. I was relaxing in the lounge watching the cricket after my afternoon nap -- missionary work takes it out of you, so I need to recharge every now and again. Well, during a break in the cricket I decided to replay a video of the 1994 election euphoria. I don't call it euphoria in my house -- I call it the day God was evicted. I mean, we had a Christian nation one day that acknowledged God and kept blacks in their place, then the next day we have this convicted terrorist as our president and we have no mention of God at all. Ok, I agree, the new national anthem does mention God, but you have to speak a black language to realise that.

I watch this taped recording of the inauguration of the new former president, that Mandela fella who says he went to a missionary school when he was a kid -- well, I don't know what those missionaries taught him, but they should be executed for doing such a kak job.

Anyway, I watch it just to remind myself of the Great Darkness that flooded our land. I usually clean one of my many guns while I'm sitting in front of the TV, but this morning I had taken two of my five kids to play paintball -- a fellow missionary who lives on a small holding has built his own paintball course that is killer fun. Booby traps, the works. Anyway, I'm sitting in front of the TV with my paintball gun on my lap, and all of a sudden this Mandela guy comes on the screen with his insane, demonic smile. I can't believe so many white people think he's just a gentle old man who has forgiveness in his heart. Forgiveness for what? He was and always will be a terrorist and should still be on that little prison island today! So I aimed my paintball at his big grinning face and pulled the trigger. Damnation! I had forgotten to unload and now my TV is splattered in paint!

Good thing I didn't use one of those frozen paint pellets today. I usually keep those for days when we invite a potential sell-out pastor to the course for a bit of fun and pull a Dick Cheney stunt and pop him "by accident" right where it hurts. A missing testicle will teach the twit to watch his back when he's fooling around with Paintball Pete, and will hopefully scare him enough to get back to the basics of teaching the Bible to pagans instead of doing all that phoney community work.

I'd better go. I have to write another letter to my donors. I need a new TV.

Fight the good fight. And please, people, remember to unload your weapons. TVs cost money.