There is really nothing smart about this boy

JUST in case some of you have forgotten, this widely read column is only meant to preserve the little that remains of moral fabric, nothing more or less!

In fact, Blabber is not driven by malice, hate or needless mudslinging.

This explains the need to expose this other loaded, but nincompoop transporter, whose passenger vehicles ply the route that meanders through the mountains and as far as that other popular bridge enroute that neighbouring country.

Those who religiously follow this column will remember when Yours Truly once penned a piece about how he gets out of his house backpedalling as part of his Sangoma’s prescription.

In fact, he hardly sleeps in that house! Word reaching Yours Truly is that his hands drip with innocent blood, all for love of money.

His coaches get involved in fatal accidents each time new ones are on their way. This, those who confided in Blabber say, is because each time he gets new toys, his bloodthirsty goblins, demand their share of human blood, hence the endless carnages.

When Alick Macheso coined Pfuma Yacho, off his latest album, should have had this guy in mind.

That is NOT what friends are for There is nothing unforgivable as bedding your friends’ wives. When talking about this bed-hopper who goes in-between sheets with his friends’ wives, Blabber would not help it, but reminisce about this other chartbuster from yesteryears titled ‘That is what friends are for’.

Unlike the title to that track, this is really NOT what friends are for!

I am blabbering about this other towering and murky dude so famous for supplying the waters of wisdom.

Blabber is has it on his finger tips that the guy has the tenacity not only to bed his friends’ wives but even bone of a very close relative.

In fact, Blabber is in the final stages of compiling a dossier about his sexual shenanigans and gentle reader, you will be the first to get the juicy details soon. Yes, you heard me right, very soon!

Boss, why butcher the innocent maid? What is this that Blabber hears about our overzealous brother who butchered his maid before whisking her away for medication in that town which derives its name from a river that never dries.

The attack was unprovoked, and sadly the innocent maid’s head was crushed into mince-meat that one fears her brains mixed with blood. Blabber understands that the maid remains holed in that town of ever-flowing waters where she is recuperating at this street photographer’s hospice.

Surely, for this one, our respected brother deserved a night in lice-infested cells and the keys thrown in the lake. Where are the women rights activists? Here is a given, a juicy one to pursue.

While Yours Truly thought our uncultured brother would limit his clownish theatrics to his workplace, he has taken it a notch higher and those in his own home are feeling the intense heat.

Blabbers’ long lenses will surely zoom in on this unfortunate incident, and like I have always said, the need to preserve the little that remains of our moral fabric is what keeps Yours Truly going.

I rest my case for now.

Have a joyous weekend and remember to take good care of your loved ones!