Appreciate the value of a quick death

You will soon be able to have both your legs amputated for a mere 50 bucks!

Where?

At your nearest nationalised hospital, of course, with some complimentary sepsis thrown into the deal.

It’s like a communist Black Friday special.

I’m talking about the National Health Insurance (NHI) Bill.

If you know what I’m talking about, you’re one of the 15.8% who can afford medical aid, and probably having a reoccurring nightmare in which you’re chased by severed limbs but cannot get away because you’re slipping in pools of blood and falling face first in some Ebola.

If you haven’t heard of the NHI, well, then you’re one of the other 84.2% and cannot give a rat’s amputated rear end.

Look at those figures: 15.8% vs 84.2%.

Everything in this country is about big numbers and cheap yellow T-shirts, so NHI is going to happen, come hell or AfriForum.

So my advice to you is that if your prostate is giving you trouble, have it sorted out now, because if you leave it ‘til the Bill is passed, you might end up getting a hysterectomy instead.

In fact, I have a lot of handy tips for that petrified 15.8% because I belong to the other 84.2%-cannotgive-a-rat’s-rear-end group.

Yip, yours truly has never had medical aid and can therefore tell you all about playing footsie with the Grim Reaper.

I once told a cigar-reeking Cuban doctor that if he dares to remove my highly inflamed appendix, I would rip his arm off and beat him to death with it.

And just for good measure,

I added that I would go over to Havana and curse his mom and

Fidel Castro too.

And here I still am, 13 years later and very much alive with my appendix inside me where it belongs.

All it took was some very strong antibiotics and pretending to be a rabbit for a month, eating only greens.

I gave Covid-19 the middle finger too, laughing in its face and blowing smoke at that stupid woman who said I couldn’t buy cigarettes.

Yes I smoke, but that’s part of my masterplan to stay out of the government’s death traps.

You see, you want to live healthily but you don’t want to overdo it because you will get too old and when you pass 70, everything starts packing up, whether you like it or not.

So I’m holding Peter Stuyvesant accountable on his promise that ‘SMOKING CAN KILL YOU’, and want a quick and easy heart attack or my money back.

My masterplan also includes staying relatively fit by doing some sort of sport-like activity.

Here, too, I believe one shouldn’t overdo it, like running the Comrades, because you will just wear out your body and will need a knee replacement at 50.

Now we all know there are no pills for incompetence, so going to a State hospital and trusting them to fix your buggered knee will definitely end badly.

Rather stay fit by doing something more risky.

I prefer water sports and hope to someday drown or be made part of the food chain by something big, great and white, even if I get run over by a ski boat.

The last part of my anti-State hospital masterplan involves some clever self-deception which, I’ve concluded over the years, really works.

I tell myself I’m not sick, even when I am sick, and that if I get sick, I will have to go to a State hospital where I will die, so I think I’m not sick even when I’m close to collapsing.

And I haven’t missed one day’s work in my whole life.

So there you have it readers, if the NHI Bill is giving you nightmares, learn to smoke a Cuban doctor, eat some greens once in a while and appreciate the value of a quick death.

If you don’t, you better read up on Ebola and start teaching yourself to get by without all your body parts.

And look on the bright side; at least there’s no proposal to nationalise all the funeral parlours, yet...