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.