The number one illogical election debating society

THANK goodness that’s all over. We can get back to our pointless lives without those overweight serial baby kissers pretending that we’re more important than tiny pimples on a mosquito’s butt.

I have selfish reasons for being grateful that the end of the political campaign season has come. During this period I find myself perpetually harassed by radio and television stations, news agencies and institutions with rambling names to give opinions or participate in political debates.

I’m never quite sure why anyone thinks I have anything of value to contribute towards these debates. I’m not enough of a fraud to pretend that I know why Julius wears an adult version of an infant’s jumpsuit, let alone why he says the things he says.

I have no idea who advises President Zuma to make sarcastic remarks about “bright people” two days before the polls. I have no idea whose idea it was for Helen Zille to pose for the cameras looking like a Nkandla housewife. And I feel uncomfortable speculating about these mysteries.

Also, I do not enjoy political debates. First, I’m a really crappy debater. My approach is to mock my opponents and tackle them into submission. My motto: “What’s the point of playing the ball when the man is right there in front of you?” As a result, most debates I’m in end up degenerating into insult swapping. That’s not nice.

The second reason is that when you make a point in a debate, people don’t listen. They just wait for you to finish so they can say whatever the hell they have prepared.

You could say: “I think Angie Motshekga makes a fair point about the positions-for-sale saga.” And someone will retort: “Yeah, but what has she done about the books in Limpopo?” And then you’re left sitting there, mouth open, trying to find the connection between the two issues. You could remark that Lindiwe Mazibuko seems to have a firm grasp of parliamentary procedures and

Humans are not too dissimilar to kettles. Pour in any liquid, and steam comes out

the response is: “Yeah, but the DA built open toilets in Cape Town.”

I think most people are incapable of hearing full sentences, let alone of deciphering the meaning of said sentences. I think most people just listen out for certain key words that serve as red flags, and then respond with whatever they associate those words with.

Let’s put my theory to the test. I’ll give you a name and you tell me what came to mind. Ready? Jacob Zuma. I bet you immediately thought “Nkandla”, didn’t you? You know I’m right. It’s such a deliciously Pavlovian phenomenon. One that prompted Dilbert creator Scott Adams to say: “I respectfully decline the invitation to participate in your hallucinations about what you think I said.” I have used that line a few times on Twitter and Facebook.

This reminds me of a fellow from my folks’ neighbourhood in the Valley of a Thousand Hills. Let’s call him Sbu, to conceal his identity. Sbu is a jovial fellow who is notoriously fond of his tipple. He lives for nothing else. In the 18 years I have known him, I have never had a conversation with him that didn’t either start out or end up being about alcohol.

Whenever he sees my car in my folks’ yard, he makes his way there and the first thing he says is: “Awenze phela” (Let me have it). He could enter a chat about Sundowns’ PSL title and his contribution will be: “Cishe babuhlabile emva komdlalo” (I bet they got sloshed after the game).

You’d be amazed at how many people out there can take any subject and make it about whatever obsession they harbour. I see this on a daily basis on Facebook. I recently posted an observation about some lady I’d seen in a queue, and a fanatical Christian chimed in with: “Do you know she is also made in the likeness of God?”

I was fazed. Now imagine trying to have a debate with her. You: “I think Mayweather won that fight.” Her: “I didn’t see him pray before the fight.” In this regard, humans are not too dissimilar to kettles. Pour any liquid into a kettle and you’re likely to get steam out of it.

I bet you’re wondering about the timing of this column. “Why write about politics only after the elections, you intellectual coward?” That is because during the campaigning all the human kettles are incapable of listening to the merits of any argument presented. After you’ve eloquently articulated your point about the need for Metrorail infrastructure maintenance, you’re only ever likely to get: “I’m not sure I get what you’re saying. Are you saying you’re voting ANC or EFF?”

And then you’re defeated. This is why I could never be an MP. Imagine standing up to present an argument that you sat up drafting until the wee hours of the morning and an honourable member of the House talks about the length of your skirt. I bet that would drive me to suicide. LS