The Unholy Spirit

One of the many reasons I love my leafy suburb is that we don't have the vices that plague many other communities. You will not find a single Adult World in these parts, although I did find a discarded dildo in the street the other day. And you definitely will not find a liquor store, although I have spotted a few drunken teenagers around the mall. Angry protests have ensured that every application for a booze-selling license has been dis-allowed. You guessed it -- yours truly was at the helm of these protests.

But I've kept my ear to the ground to find out if any bootlegging is taking place, and sure as hell is real, I've discovered a shebeen operating from a home just walking distance from my fortress. If you visit a black township (not that I would), shebeens are common dens of iniquity. One does not expect such heathen behaviour in my neck of the woods. But with the dismantling of apartheid, blacks can now live anywhere they damn well please. They don't need to be indentured servants to live on a white man's property -- in fact, they can own the property if they have the money, and believe me, these commie politicians have the money. And now they've brought their evil watering holes into my homeland.

I do not permit Liberty, my Sudanese convert garden boy, to leave our property. But since his last attempted escape, I've embedded a tracking device in his body. This has enabled me to use him as an undercover agent to case the shebeen. I sent him there last night with a hidden camera. Sure as Jesus is the saviour, he let me down. Badly. He was given one hour to pull off the mission, but three hours later there was still no sign of the heathen convert.

I used my sophisticated tracking device to locate him -- five hundred metres from the shebeen, I found him. Drunk as a skunk, stinking like he'd been marinated in cheap vodka for ten days, he was passed out on the pavement. No amount of slapping and kicking would revive him.

I'll have to figure out another way to infiltrate the shebeen without being recognised -- it could negatively impact my reputation as a righteous warrior for Jesus to be seen going into such a den of iniquity. I may have to disguise myself as a fat cat commie politician.

I'm off to check up on Liberty. He was complaining of a killer hangover this morning. Can't let him loose on my precious rose bushes if he can't see straight ... the bastard has got what he deserves for being filled with the unholy spirit. Hope his head hurts like hell.

Fight the good fight.