They have been known to strike back. Striking Taxi drivers. They strike back. Ahh fuck. Old joke. Anyway. On with the show. Today taxi drivers all over Joburg striked (struck?) over the introduction of the Metro Rea Vaya Bus Rapid Link Transit system, or more accurately, local and national government's inability to address their concerns at the city bringing in hundreds of new buses and dedicated traffic lanes to cart people back and forth during the upcoming FIFA Soccer World Cup (football?). You know what I mean. 10 - 15 000 angry fucking taxi drivers walking down the streets of urban Jozi wielding knob-kerries and shouting machine gun verse as their war-torn victor leader had done before them (many drivers are zulus who support, and who are supported by? Jacob. Zuma. Him of the techni-color scapegoat).
Reports of violence filtered in. Strangely I didn't take the taxis in today. No I mean haha I didn't have to even if there wasn't a strike on because I was sitting in for an absent manager at one of our bookstores (my role now with the bookgroup is very ill-defined. It's like I do everything and nothing). Of course, it wasn't the taxi drivers who committed these acts of atrocity (one putco bus driver was shot, and some people who caught a meter cab were accosted. somehow. vaguely. hurt. over the radio) it was detractors to the cause, arbitrary third party influences who played foul of the ball.
It's funny like that. A group of people do something that acts as an opening for another group of people to push the limits of the law (reference: looters during anarchy/ emergencies; violent perpetrators during demonstrations) yet the original group who created the opening want no part of the blame. Fuck that. GUILTY. Motherfuckers. Probably those same cunts who shot off those rounds at Bree Street Rank I was talking about. Good luck to them. The Rea Vaya Rabid bus lynx is coming to maul them in their spring-sprung seats, in their filthy 20-hour-a-day moth-beaten shirts, hanging on to their monkey-wrench steering wheels flinging their rattle-traps along the roads like ketties. Or, the projectiles that come out of ketties, once you release them. ...fuck.
Not that I mind, I must be honest. I haven't caught a bus in years. I don't know why. My blood might be red but I must have a black heart. Maybe I really am an African. I think I need to ask Julius Malema next time we meet to shoot the hoop, spear the queen on the corner by his donought shop. Because, of course, most of what I know about the world I have learnt from Julius Malema. My homeboy.
http://www.tshirtterrorist.co.za/
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