I'll Make The Punk's Day

Occasionally I do what my donors support me to do -- I do missionary work! There's no use in spying for this current regime like I used to for the previous one, spilling the baked beans on where the terrorist camps were dotted about Africa (which the Apartheid armed forces subsequently bombed into oblivion, I must add). And yes, I do still smuggle guns to freedom fighters and mercenaries who are fighting the good fight against Muslims and neo-communists. But I'm talking about the more boring, traditional stuff.

I'm in favour of the career missionary, like myself, who sacrifices his entire life to the missionary cause. How else are we ever going to convert the pagan masses to our Christian way of life? But Christians love the short-term thing and I sometimes allow some of these wannabes to come along with me so I can give them an indelible image of what a real missionary does. Bible in one hand, gun in the other, I march across the heathen continent and preach the Good News and watch the devil run for cover.

The other day a young guy came around to my mission offices and asked to accompany me on a mission. I was convinced he was a secular humanist spy from some New Age organisation, possibly Gun Free South Africa, as soon as I laid my righteous eyes on him. He had long hair, wore surfer attire and sported an ear ring. He also had a tattoo on his forearm: the words "Jesus rocks my world" in some diabolical gothic type.

He almost soiled himself when he entered my office and saw me cleaning a number of weapons while I listened to a modernised version of Onward Christian Soldiers at full volume. "Awesome! That's like lank impressive, bru," he said when he spotted my latest shooting range target pinned to my front door -- six bullet holes all crammed into the bullseye.

After two hours of interrogating him, I was less convinced that he was a spy, and more convinced that I needed to hold him down, shave his head, rip his ear ring out, and remove his tattoo with a sharp knife.

I may still do all of this. I've allowed him to come along with me next week when I lead a short-term mission to one of our mission stations in Zambia. No ways I'm going to let a long-haired punk taint my image and offend God. The little twit doesn't know what's coming his way, but I'm putting on a very friendly face so he remains unsuspecting. I'll keep you posted.

Fight the good fight.

Porn Prophet

The Adult World protest went down pretty well. I was a little disappointed that the leggy blonde who tried to assault me last time with a vibrator had either died of Aids, was off to a porn shoot or had been fired for her violent act of terror on a peaceful protestor. It's not often that a beautiful woman throws herself at me with a sex toy ... of course, that kind of behaviour deserves a violent act of self-defense, but the thrill of such a public scuffle leaves me with an indescribable feeling of righteous indignation and something else.

But instead of a leggy blonde, all I got was a few fuck-yous from a pimply faced youngster with greasy hair and an older guy with a grey ponytail and nose-ring offered to sodomise me. No vibrators, not even a blow-up doll this time. So all three of us protestors went home earlier than expected (for obvious reasons, my wife and kids don't accompany me on sex-shop protests). We left several Paintball Pete's Remedy for Porn Addiction tracts on car windshields, I prayed loudly for God to drive the sex shop into bankruptcy, and I left a special visual reminder of the terror that awaits all sexual perverts: a huge, blow-up replica dildo in front of the store with the words "Sex Toys Won't Be Of Any Use To You In Hell" written in large print with a permanent marker. I think the message will get through to the evildoers.

Fight the good fight.

Public Relations

I received an email from Dan Brown thanking me for all the great publicity I've been giving his book and the movie.

Moron! Hell awaits your kind.

Some anonymous coward has also sent me an email to inform me that my pro-death penalty stance is fascist, hateful and un-Christian.

Rot in hell, pagan.

I'm keeping things short and bitter-sweet today as I have another protest to get to. I've organised a picket line outside the biggest Adult World in the world -- this time I'm not there to purchase a few items for research purposes. Today it's all hellfire and brimstone. And I'm ready for the tall, leggy blonde who manages the place. She attacked me with a giant vibrator during a protest a few years ago. I was quickly able to wrestle it from her and now keep it as a memento in my secret bunker, but I can't promise not to hurt her if she pulls another disgusting prank like that on God's messenger of damnation.

Fight the good fight. If you're thinking of sending me a note of slander, remember Dan Brown's fate and think again. And if you're the porn lady, you better have something bigger than a vibrator this time.

My Glorious Gallows

I was reminded the other day of another protest I held a few years back that rivals anything I've ever done for the glory of God and the demise of evil. It was a mock execution outside parliament.

As you should know or may safely assume, I am pro-capital punishment. If we brought back the death penalty in this country, violent crime would all but disappear and we would go back to the good old days when whites ruled this wonderful land that blacks have now totally stuffed up! Bring back the death penalty, you soft-on-crime politicians!

In the Bible, prophets who put on an elaborate show to demonstrate God's word got their message across better than those who took a timid approach. So that's one reason why I go all out when I want the world to stop and listen to what I have to say.

So I dressed up in a judge's robe, built a make-shift gallows, pronounced the death sentence on the evildoer, recited one of my imprecatory psalms written especially for public executions, and hung a mannequin. First time I did it, the gallows worked so effectively that the doll's head snapped right off. Not really the visual image I wanted to convey, but the sheer brutality of it was awesome to behold and all five spectators broke into applause at the sight of decapitated evil. I went through the whole exercise again, and this time the cursed piece of plastic stayed in one piece and hung there for all the world to see what should happen to every violent criminal, homosexuals and New Agers.

I got my picture in the papers, which is always a bonus. Works like a charm when I'm mailing my donors for additional funding -- include paper clippings of all my protests and the money comes flooding in. It costs money to buy a mannequin and build a decent gallows. (I've got the replica at home to keep Liberty on his toes.)

Fight the good fight.

I Love a Good Grilling 2

I interrupted my grilling session to inform you all about my anti-Da Vinci Code protest over the weekend. It went brilliantly. All three people who went to see the film and had the audacity to walk past my picket line, felt the spittle of my righteous anger against their haughty, blasphemous necks. One guy actually swore at me and spat on my youngest son's poster -- he was holding one that read 'Dan Brown is Gay'.

It's no small coincidence that Persecution begins with the same letter that Paintball Pete does!

Anyway, enough about the protest (which I have no doubt will cripple the ticket sales of this evil movie and drive Dan Brown into poverty and toward repentance). More about my critics stupid questions:

434. Are you really a missionary or a secret agent who used to work for the Apartheid regime but now works for the American government to topple emerging economies in Africa?

Nice one. When I retire from my efforts to convert the pagan ancestor worshipers, I'll join the CIA and assassinate African dictators, beginning with that idiot who ruined the great nation of Rhodesia! But no, for now I'm a bona fide missionary. Sure, I live in a nice comfortable house, drive a nice car, take my family out to nice dinners, all with donor money . . . but I also hand out the occasional tract and make the rare journey through Africa to deliver Bibles to illiterate blacks. I need to stick around here -- what's the use of protesting abortion and the Da Vinci Code in the jungles and deserts of Africa? I'm not an idiot -- Dan Brown may have the right ethnic name, but no one in a poor African village in the middle of Sudan knows who the white Brown guy is.


666. I was reading somewhere that you encourage your kids to play aggressive games in the garden to prepare them to take over the world? Did Jesus not encourage peacemaking as the path of righteousness?

You're way off the beaten path, you misguided twit. Have you read none of my previous blogs? For the uninitiated, let me give you a brief overview of the life of Jesus. He was God's Son, sent into the world to die for our sins. He was sent here to kick the devil's butt and open the way for sinners to go to heaven. He could have beaten the living crap out of the Romans and their Jewboy friends, but that would have defeated the objective of His Incarnation. But He said nothing to persuade His followers against taking up the sword, or in our day, guns and bullets and occasionally paintballs for sport. How else are we to make all nations Christian? You think the Muslim terrorists are going to stop praying to their false god just because we say Jesus loves them? And do you think the liberal secular humanists are going to stop financing abortion clinics? Get real!

So yes, I encourage my kids to learn the violent art of warfare and take after their earthly daddy and their Heavenly Father.


787. I feel sorry for you and fear you may burn in hell, if I believed in hell. Unfortunately, I believe that everyone will go to heaven.

This is not a question. But I will reply to this demonic-inspired excuse for a human being. There is a hell. You are going there simply because you don't believe it's there -- it's a kind of cosmic joke on all atheists and those who believe there is only a heaven. You think I want to share eternity with idiots like you? You need to take out some good fire insurance -- repent and become like me, and you may still get to heaven.


I'm off to organise another round of protests. This time we're going to burn a few Da Vinci Code books for special effect.

Fight the good fight.

Pete's Protest

I can't be upstaged by all those rioting security guards who are trashing cars and acting like British soccer hooligans let loose on European soil. So I'm staging my own semi-peaceful protest this weekend when the heretical, blasphemous, diabolical Da Vinci Code opens in the cinemas.

I'm not sure it will have the same theatrical power that my annual protest of the Day Babies Were Slaughtered By Baby Killers -- my ongoing anti-abortion campaign. I and a handful of like-minded anti-abortionists dress in black as if we're on our way to a morbid funeral -- which we are, in a way. We march on Parliament and lay down several tiny coffins and wreaths to symbolise the millions of children torn out of their mother's wombs by evil murderous doctors and tossed into rubbish bins like animal waste at the abattoir. I get to recite the best of my imprecatory psalms and pray that fire will rain down on the heads of every lawmaker responsible for this wicked legislation and that every person who has ever had an abortion will die of some dreaded disease.

This weekend's protest will be less emotive. We can't exactly hold up posters that say Dan Brown is a baby killer. Although if I were able to prove that anyone on the crew of the movie ever had an abortion, well that would taint the whole thing for them and I could claim that Da Vinci Code is actually making money for a secret abortion clinic. All is fair in love and war -- I think I will use this line of logic to oppose my enemies. No doubt there are numerous baby killers behind the scenes of the film.

I'll have each of my kids and faithful wife stand with me outside the local cinema. We'll hold placards that say: Dan Brown hates God! Brown is a Black Satanist! Da Vinci Code is Pornographic! Dan Brown Supports Abortion On Demand!

If you are a true believer (read all my previous blog entries to understand what true Christianity stands for) and even think of going to see this evil movie and I find out about it, there is nowhere you can hide. Pain. Torture. Death. Hell.

Fight the good fight.

I Love a Good Grilling

I have so many critics out there I can't keep up -- the liberal secular atheist humanists hate me because I'm a devoted disciple of King Jesus, and the liberal practically-secular compromising Christians don't like me too much either because I supposedly present a distorted view of the faith. They don't like being painted with the same brush. Well, I'd like to paint them with something -- a million frozen paintballs to the back of the head at close range! I don't have anger management issues, either -- righteous rage is totally biblical. You think throwing evildoers into the Lake of Fire is a peaceful gesture? Think again, my misguided critic! If God can get pissed off, so can I.

Anyway, thought I'd spend some time answering the scathing, defamatory, character-assassinating questions of my critics. So here goes, no iron fist in a velvet glove -- Pete does not pull his punches. (Ask Liberty any day if you doubt me, infidel.)


1. Are you really a Christian?

At the risk of answering a question with a question (a clever tactic when being interrogated by semi-illiterate terrorists): What kind of question is this? Of course I'm a Christian. I doubt your salvation for assuming a Christian who loves guns as much as I do, who promotes as much fundamentalist separation as I do, and who lacks even an ounce of compassion for the poor and downtrodden as I do, could not be a true Christian. I am the poster boy for true masculine Christianity.


2. Have you ever had a gun accident?

Other than ruining my TV by blasting it with my paintball gun when the grinning face of Nelson Mandela desecrated my inner sanctuary? No. I don't call shooting others because of mistaken identity as accidental. Unfortunate for them, but serves them right for being in the wrong place at the wrong time -- in my gun sites!


3. How can you be anti-abortion and pro-capital punishment, pro-war, pro-guns . . . ? Isn't that a contradiction of the term 'pro-life'?

Ooooh, I would love to get this critic alone in a dark alley. Idiot! Baby killers are nothing but murderers -- mothers and doctors are equal butchers of the innocent and powerless! Criminals who rape, murder innocents, hijack cars, steal loaves of bread, steal tyres off cars, have same-gender sex . . . people like this can't be tolerated and should be punished. And pagan nations that threaten our freedoms should be stopped, even if it means nuking the whole lot of them. This is the meting out of divine justice. It's what God has called us to do on His behalf. Read Romans 13. So I see no contradiction. I am pro-life -- I'm just not pro the life of criminals or anyone who doesn't agree with me.

I hear Liberty crying hysterically in the garden -- I think some demon-like bug has been attacking his prize rose bushes again. I better go and sort him out. I'll answer some more critter questions next time.

Fight the good fight. Always be prepared to give an intelligent-sounding answer to all of your detractors.

Nightmare on Pete Street

Someone asked me what my worst nightmare is. Well, to tell the truth, I don't have bad dreams. Most of my dreams are about me dressed like Chuck Norris in very tight jeans, wearing a bandanna around my head and brandishing two semi-automatic weapons while the demon-possessed hordes emerge from Darkest Africa to attack my family. But just like Chuck in all his war movies, I save the day. I never run out of ammo, I never take a hit, and I always remain unflinching no matter how many dead bodies pile up on my doorstep. I actually wake up feeling quite refreshed after such a dream and give my submissive wife a good seeing to in the trusted missionary way.

But if I did have the misfortune of having a nightmare, I guess it would be a combination of things. One of my sons would tell me that he is a homosexual and that he has joined the ANC, and he would tell me this wearing a Gun Free South Africa T-shirt, sporting long hair and a pierced ear.

I break into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

Fright the good fight. I mean fight the good fright. [Word delete]! I mean fight the good fight.

Love Notes and Hate List

Some famous people I like:

Jesus Christ because He is God and that should be enough reason to top my list. But I particularly like the bits in the Bible about Him coming back from Heaven to wipe out evildoers.

Chuck Norris because he is lethal and loves Jesus. What better combination can you wish for in a man?

Dick Cheney because he enjoys shooting and isn't afraid to take a pot-shot at a mate then cover it up as a case of mistaken identity. And he's also pro-war, which is always a good thing in my books for all the obvious reasons.

Eugene Terreblanche because he believes much the same as I do, that a white man without a gun in Africa is as good as dead. And that blacks are subservient to whites. And he loves guns and isn't afraid to use them. Also love the firebrand oratory, hatred for communism and understanding that this land belongs to Christian whites, not blacks. He should just try and stay on his black horse next time he gets out of prison and the media are around. They love to watch a good man fall!

Jacob Zuma because he can get away with murder. Well, in his case, rape and corruption, but you know what I mean. He is a complete paradox -- I like him and hate him equally. Read on to learn why.


Some famous people I hate:

Everyone who is ANC because they ruined our country. So that includes my good friend JZ.

FW de Klerk because he let Nelson Mandela out of prison and then let him ruin our country by letting him become president. Sell out.

Those Gun Free South Africa people because they have threatened my family with extinction. If they really think I'm going to willingly hand over all my guns so I can become a sitting duck for criminals and assassins, they have totally underestimated me. And my firepower. Including all my illegal weapons hidden in arms caches throughout the country and elsewhere in Africa.

Darwin because he taught that men are descendants of apes. He was right about the survival of the fittest bit, though, except the fittest are Christian fundamentalists who are destined to rule the world on behalf of Jesus.

Harry Potter because he is a wizard serving the dark lord and leading our kids astray with all his books and movies. One of the kids we paintballed last Halloween looked a bit like him. If he shows up again next Halloween, he is seriously going to get a frozen pellet lodged between his evil eyes.

Dan Brown because he wrote a heretical book about Jesus having sex and fathering a child. I mean, if that were the case I'm sure I'm directly descended from that righteous offspring, but it's all a pack of lies because there's nothing in the Bible about Jesus being a normal human. He was more like Chuck Norris. Even down to the beard.


Fight the good fight. Real or imaginary, makes no difference, oppose them with truth and righteousness.

Bring Back the Battle Hymn

I'm sick of these weak twits who pass as pastors. One of them had the audacity to say that I am too militant. How can anyone be too militant? We live in a world where suicide bombers are blowing themselves up together with innocent coffee drinkers or bus commuters, where baby killers are masquerading as doctors and nurses, and where atheist political leaders are trying to take away the guns of semi-law-abiding citizens like me. How can you not be militant in such a world?

Pastors like these probably don't like their congregation singing the greatest hymn of all time -- Onward Christian Soldiers . . . Marching as to war, hmmm, hmmm, you see, I'm going on a tangent already, it's such a stirring war cry!

And pussy pastors like this probably don't really like their Sunday schools teaching kids that child-friendly battle hymn, I'm In the Lord's Army. I mean, it's a terrific tune with all the actions about riding in the cavalry, swooshing down in fighter jets and marching in unified aggression to obliterate the enemy. What's wrong with teaching kids songs like this? They have been staples in my home ever since my five kids saw the light of day.

I have always taught my children, especially my sons, that they are destined to rule the world, to subdue the pagan multitudes who refuse to convert. Long before the glorious days of paintball, my kids have played aggressive games with a military theme rather than waste-of-time sports like soccer and tennis. What good is a tennis racket against the demon-possessed hordes out there?

So to all those pastors out there who think I'm too mercenary, too militant in tone and behaviour, I say go to hell. I mean it. I doubt their salvation if they come up with such compromising pacifist views, which means they're on their way to hell. And believe me, just like God, Satan is no pacifist. His torture chambers will be filled with the eternal cries of pastors who teach their flock that nonviolence is what Jesus taught. We're only supposed to be peaceful to fellow fundamentalist Christians who believe exactly as we do. To hell with the rest!

I'm off to play another game of find-the-terrorist-behind-the-bush. You guessed it, the progressively brain-damaged Liberty is the moving target . . . I wonder if this may be the reason he made a run for it the other day?

Fight the good fight.

Pete for President

I assume you assume I'm one of those Rapture pundits, right? You know, the Left Behind types who believe Jesus is going to miraculously vaporise His chosen people and then punish the rest of the world for seven terrible long years, during which time there will be some dramatic conversions to Christianity and a worldwide assault of demonic proportions on all that is godly and good. Armageddon, call it what you want. Then Jesus appears and obliterates the antichrist who has led the whole world astray except for the newly redeemed fundamentalists.

I like it in theory, I really do. Who wouldn't like this kind of godly mayhem to straighten out sinners? But it's all bull[rest of word deleted].

Sure, the Lord Jesus is going to return. Mark my words. Better yet, highlight your Bible in all the right places, especially those that say He is going to hurl evildoers into the Lake of Fire together with homosexuals and ancestor worshipers.

But I'm into a world takeover kind of theology. It's also called Dominion Theology. I like that -- take dominion of the planet, baby! When we do finally rule the world, we'll bring back the Mosaic Law so we can put to death all the evildoers in one gigantic bloodfest. Man, what a day. I can't wait and I certainly hope I'm still around or the Lord sends me back to see the spectacle. One thousand years of torturing reprobates, homosexuals, liberals, Muslim terrorists and black communists, school teachers who insist on teaching kids that we're related to apes and everyone else who won't get with the programme.

So that's it in a nutshell. The world is going to get better, much better. As soon as every nation can have a Christian president -- or one superpower with a godly leader can subdue the rest of the planet -- then the thousand year Reich will begin.

I would stand for president, yes I would.

Fight the good fight. Vote me for president of the New World Order.

The Rock from Hell

I suspect the same cowardly servant of the dark lord who threw a rock over my wall with a note tied to it, also sprayed graffiti on my wall. I was walking around the garden inspecting Liberty's work from the day before, when I came across the offending piece of masonry -- forged in hell, no doubt, and hurled from the wicked hand of one of Satan's scornful servants. I can't repeat what was written on the note -- even I was shocked, and I've personally penned some of the most hate-filled curses against God's enemies in my imprecatory psalms.

Without repeating the exact evil words, I'll simply give you the gist of it's diabolical slander . . .

The demonic author of the devilish note has obviously been reading my blog and had the audacity to insinuate that I read porn in my secret bunker, that I am a slave owner, and that I terrorise innocent children. Moreover, the sinner suggested that I may be psychotic and present a distorted view of Christianity that would even dissuade Jesus from being a Christian. Blasphemy of the highest order! People like this should be publicly executed, but not with a wasted bullet. Burn 'em, I say. Or seen as he likes to throw rocks over the walls of godly Christian people, he could be stoned like they did in the good old Bible days.

I took a stroll beyond the walls of my fortress after I had digested -- and almost puked twice -- this evil diatribe aimed to rattle me (I admit I was a bit shaken at first, but I recited one of my psalms and felt invincible almost immediately). And then I saw it, scribbled on the outside wall: Paintball Pete Loves Porn!

I almost lost control of my bowels like I did all those years ago in Hillbrow.

After Liberty repainted the wall with five coats and I recited all 234 imprecatory psalms loudly in the street, I called a family prayer meeting and we asked God to rain down fire on the satanic pervert who dared defile my holy sanctuary. My favourite Bible story to tell my kids before I tuck them in is the one about the reprobate youths who jeered at the prophet Elisha and called him a baldhead. He called down a curse on them and two bears came out the woods and tore 42 kids to pieces. (And they think my exploding bunnies were over the top!) You can read this superb Sunday school lesson in 2 Kings 2:23-25.

I don't mind fire or bears, by the way. Both at the same time would really get the message across.

I also double-checked to see if the sicko graffiti artist had somehow managed to break into my secret bunker and plundered my stock, but it was all secure. I had to page through each magazine and watch every last video again to make sure there were no hidden messages left there, or signs of tampering, but it all appears clean. As clean as filth can get, I mean.

Fight the good fight. And watch the news for reports of a bear mauling someone to death.

Pete's Favourite Things

I know I've presented a truly heroic side to my life -- the righteous warrior kind of thing, teaching kids not to follow the dark lord Satan by pelting them with paintballs, blowing up their Easter eggs, publicly burning piles of pornographic literature and occasionally making a daring raid across the border into another country to spread the Good News of King Jesus, with whom I and all white right-wing fundamentalist believers will rule the universe . . . you know, that side of my life.

But I thought I'd pull more of a touchy-feely Oprah kind of thing and let you know what some of my favourite things are . . . but if you read into this that I am having homo-erotic fantasies and need to vent my female side, I will hunt you down and make you beg for mercy.

So here goes . . . Pete's Favourite Things!

* My guns. All of them. I can't choose one. I love all of them equally.

* My paintball equipment. If paintballs worked as effectively as real bullets, this would top my list.

* My Bible. Every inspired letter, but not in any paraphrased modern version.

* My camo pants. The kid who made the wise crack about them the other day at the mall is still recovering in hospital.

* My collection of spent cartridges and shrapnel. I have collected them over the years on my travels throughout Africa.

* Everything in my secret bunker, including my stock of literature I keep for research purposes. I have added a few videos lately -- also for research purposes, of course.

* Playing with penguins.

* Playing godly soldier and evil communist / muslim terrorist with my kids. Liberty is always the bad guy and I fear he may be suffering some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder from repeated hits to the head by frozen paintballs, but my daily debriefing sessions with him should keep him going for a while longer.

* Playing 'hide the rocket launcher' with my submissive wife. The missionary approach to the game, if you know what I mean. If you don't, you must be pagan or homosexual and should prepare yourself for eternity in hell.

* My righteous offspring.

* Any war movie starring Chuck Norris.

* Will and Grace. I have no reasonable explanation for this, other than research purposes. But if I find myself laughing at any gay jokes, I use the mobile mini-electrocution device I bought on my last trip to the States and shock myself in unmentionable places.

* Photos of myself. Usually posing beside a blown-up tank somewhere in Africa or unloading big containers of Bibles [if you want to believe there are also weapons in these containers for my mercenary missionaries, that's up to you, but I won't deny it].

That's about it. I'm concerned that if I carry on I may actually end up on the Oprah show.

Fight the good fight. Whatever your favourite things are, make sure guns and Jesus are on your list and not much else matters.

Born to Serve

Slippery little snake . . . but I finally got him! And I've successfully re-educated the ungrateful bugger. It took a few days of intense physical manipulation [if you want to read torture and brainwashing into this, that's entirely up to you . . . but you never heard it from me]. He has once again submitted to my godly lordship and is pruning rose bushes and picking up dog turds like nothing ever happened.

Just to refresh your memory: I'm talking about the escaped Sudanese convert of mine who made a run for it while I was somewhere in Africa waiting for the dust to settle after my Easter bunny shock-and-awe mission. He was attending to his garden duties and no one realised -- until it was too late -- that he had slipped into one of my escape tunnels and disappeared on the other side of the wall. My warrior wife drove around the neighbourhood in one of our armour-plated SUVs [South Africans call them 4X4 vehicles, but I don't want to confuse my faithful supporters somewhere in the US]. But she could not find him anywhere. Only two street kids, who she slapped around a bit trying to get some information about his whereabouts.

During one of our physical manipulation sessions, I managed to extract the truth from the scrawny bastard. Once out of the tunnel he had run in a blind panic up the street, but he was lost almost immediately. He had been blindfolded when he was first brought from Farmer Frik's farm to my suburban property. My cunning strategy paid off. Imagine how much longer it would have taken me to find the twit if he knew where he was? So he climbed the first tree he could locate and stayed there until dark. I guess this is why my faithful wife couldn't find the snivelling rat.

But I got him. It didn't take too long after I'd activated the tracking device. I found him hiding behind the refuse bins at the local shopping mall. I know how much he likes biltong [sorry, beef jerky for my American brothers], so I tossed a piece a few metres from his hiding spot. The hungry sod abandoned all reason and came crawling like a dog to the morsel. Zap! The paralysing dart was imbedded in his neck before he could even take a single bite of biltong.

You do so much for these people. You give them the Good News about their second-class ticket to heaven, where they will be clothed in righteous garments of white and serve the ruling saints like me who were born with the right skin colour. You give them so much -- a decent job in a white man's garden, at least one meal per day, and plenty of time to read the Bible and pray for their brothers and sisters back home. And what do you get? Ungrateful escape artists who make a run for it when you turn your back for a few days! Well, I'm having none of it. Next time he pulls this stunt, it's a frozen paintball pellet at close range to the back of the head. And he's getting no more biltong in his daily ration pack.

Fight the good fight. And keep a watchful eye on your servants.