Trinicenter Trini News & Views
Raffique Shah


 ¤ Archives 2006 
 ¤ Archives 2005 
 ¤ Archives 2004 
 ¤ Archives 2003 
 ¤ Archives 2002 
 ¤ Archives 2001 
 ¤ Trinidad News 
 ¤ International 
 ¤ Caribbean News

Balls for 'Dooks', ham for Jack

December 24, 2006
By Raffique Shah

Rudy, Santa Shah gripes, I find it difficult to endure the perils of Christmas Eve night. Even from the relative safety of this Manning-donated blimp, I feel unsafe. Look at the traffic mayhem down there! Where are those fools rushing what ought to be the most peaceful night on earth? Look at those jackasses overtaking at breakneck speed on the shoulders of those er, highways. Wake up, lazy Rudy, and look carefully. See those car headlamps zipping past the others? And see the bigger blaze of crawling lights? I really don't know why God gave you and me this detail.

Anyway, we still have a job to do, like it or not. Have you checked out the mass of stuff I saw being loaded into the belly of this blimp? Kick-start the bloody blimp and let's be on our way. I can't wait to finish this labour-of-God, and to think She does not even pay overtime. I guess there are tyrants everywhere, heaven included. Santa whispers to Rudy: Hey, I know more than a handful of drug dealers, dictators, price-gougers and bandits who bribed their way past old Peter. Either the Old Man is getting too old to distinguish good from evil or he, too, has become corrupt. Can't say I blame him. Opening that massive gate for-what?-thousands of years, with no help, no pay, and seeing so many bling-bloated after-lives walk past him. He damn right.

Who's first on tonight's list? Oh, Winston Dookeran that name rings a jingle-bell. Aha! He's the fella who is trying to upset both Bas and Patos in some election. Seems to me he has been upsetting his own people more. I read in the local papers where he hand-picked a party executive, much to the dismay of many of his stalwarts.

What do we have for him? That's a mighty big bag! We may have to enter his house via the main door to get this bag through. Hell, Rudy, Dooks must play every ball game on earth! Look at balls in this bag! Big balls, small balls, hard balls, soft balls, round balls, balls-in-yuh-balls. What does the note say? "You'll need these, Winno, and many more, if you expect to fight Bas, Patos, Gillian and dotish Trinis at the same time. I've added a Samurai sword for emergency. That's in case you find hara-kiri a better option."

The friends some people have! They don't need enemies. But I guess Dooks will feel more secure now that he's armed with balls aplenty.

Step on the gas, Rudy, lazy sod! You know, I'm lucky that modernisation has spared me dependence on your reindeer fraternity. Right now your brethren must be slopping on fast foods and sloshing on babash! Next is Jack Warner. That's the guy who's obsessed with football and with politics. Now what can Santa give to the little boy who has everything? This guy makes miracles happen. He not only got the local team into the World Cup finals, but overnight he got a superior office suite for Bas when men-on-high threw the latter out of both the Red House and an office building.

Let's peep into his bag, Rudy. Looks like some kind of white ham .pretty big one, if you ask me. A ham for Jack? This man must own a whole piggery! Check the attached note: "For Jack: an ass you'd love to turn into grass! I sliced off Andrew Jenning's butt after finishing him off and before I did in those whores from Ipswich. Bet you'd love it on your breakfast table on Christmas Day. Merry Christmas, Jack. Signed, The Ipswich Ripper."

Rudy, I wonder how this got into our bag of goodies? What I mean, deer, is this is a human body part .and it is not halaal. Look, dump it on Jack's lawn and let's get the hell out of here before the police nab us. For all my jolliness, I can't see myself in a police cell all weekend. If Jack wants to make ah jail to show empathy with Bas, that's his business. Me? Not in my old days, Rudy. Jail 'ent make to ripe fig, but it also 'ent make for rotting figs!

Whew! I knew this annual gig was getting the better of me. Last week we almost got shot at MJ's residence. Now we are being asked to deliver 'dead meat'. Ugh! Let's do the final delivery and get out of here. Hmm. There are cases of liquid here, and the card reads "for all police stations". The label on one bottle reads: "Cobo Pee" and it's signed "Flags .heee heee, cyah cyah".

Ah, my late friend, you finally have the last laugh. Cobo really pee on the police. Bet even as we have fun bandits are playing Santa-in-reverse down there! And potow-pow rules the criminal roost. Cry, my beloved, for a country that once was fun, but is now ruled by the gun. Bandits' guns. Police guns. Ho, ho, ho! Ah gone ..not me nah! Live through the Christmas, people.

Part I