It has been a heated atmosphere lately in the country’s political climate. Of course, there has never been a time the polity is not heated up, only that we tell ourselves that all is well, pretending and dying in the silence created and orchestrated by some political devils. Until now when the Distinguished Senator from Kogi central thought enough must be enough and it was time the political cult of the congress of culture myopia assembled and manipulated by the arrogance of power and dictatorial recklessness of bully and blur was challenged, perhaps opinions had never had it this volcanic.
In the tragedy of a society where people are conditioned to stupidity and thoughtlessness to enable idiocies to thrive, there is always the caution not to walk carelessly and carefreely on the opinions of people’s sentiments of likes and dislikes where truth is a lie if that lie they consider to be truth would distort everything for their survival, as long as they have made up their minds that they do not have any fight left in them to confront the supreme ruler of sillimania, because in the silliness of the supreme ruler’s bigotville, they are held hostage to selves without knowing it. To these, survival matters most to their very immediate freedom.
Then, you begin to wonder; what is all this zeal and desperation to protect their president pompous? What are they protecting him from and against, and from whom? Why? Allowing the folly of a Pharaoh to go on unchecked making him to walk about as if he is the owner of planet earth and can lay a challenge on paradise and decide who should occupy it.
You question the docility and silence that continues to nourish the great buffoon’s ego making him feel that he is Captain All where the cult members should never have a say, and if says have to be had they must fan the commander crazy pants, or, otherwise.
She dared, with a suspension based on procedural hogwash, and Madam Ezekwesili dared, too. Against what Madam Ezekwesili could not bring herself to identify with, neither could any meaning thoughtfulness or reasonableness. That arrogance and grossness which continue to make the Igwe of Egotopia and many more like him forget that they are civil or public servants, therefore they are answerable to us, and not themselves- their simpleton, shameless and disgraceful selves.
That mantra; ‘Do you know who I am?’ Who are you, silly? The dangerous opportunists celebrated by the weaponised poor and intellectual deficit. ‘Do you know who I am?’ So desperately annoying! Where one wishes…
Did Madam Ezekwesili insult him? No, none that thinkers and reasoners heard or read. What some of us watched and read was someone being told to ‘shut it’ for conducting himself, as usual as a ‘hooligan’, in the public space of the home of the biased brave.
How could that be an insult, when the only cure for the loquacious and the mischievous is a ‘shut up!’ And how Ezekwesili’s response was not truth spoken directly to the hooliganism we have never stopped to experience in a united society of unequal opportunity and restricted rights by those who mistake the stolen mandate from the very insincere weaklings that made them representatives of the weak and squaloured for election granted them by the survivalists and the most weak not dumbfounding.
Was Madam Ezekwesili not lenient and civil with her choice of words when harsher words, besides, ‘shut it’ and hooligan’ would have been used to drive the message home? ‘Put a sock in it!’ and ‘Malefactor’; would have done the job so well because in his rascality and intellectual deficiency he would not have understood a thing, instead, he would have called Ezekwesili, ‘Mummy’, thinking he had been done a favour and eulogy as the weakling out there grants his like.
Were ‘hooligan’ and ‘shut it’ not befitting words to address the character of the societal frog hopping to protect the fabricator, not leaving any room for questions to be asked for all the reasons for the hopping?
Of course, as would be expected, every hooligan that goes about with his strong prevaricatorial muscles to protect the hostage master who prevents the opposite member from speaking and acting can be told to ‘shut it’ and a ‘hooligan’ by his sameness, but certainly not the like of Ezekwesili, else Ezekwesili would be a ‘disgrace to womanhood and motherhood’. Yet, the hooligan, ruffian, nuisance and scoundrel, clad in fake distinguished toga wants all of us not to forget that he is Distinguished. Even if he refuses to recognise that he is the Distinguished of concocted absurdity.
Distinguished indeed for calling your mother names for her reminding you of your sonship which should not be tarnished into the mischief and mischief-maker you have become by allowing truth to become a lie to fit into your power-drunk occult stronghold driven, which should never be challenged by truth and reality.
It is where we have mature to, by the enslavers, engineered by a waterlogged society of lily-minds and many more who have lost the ability to dare to think without being captive of the buffoon and his buffoonery.
Between Madam Ezekwesili and he,- whose name we cannot here mention before we are reminded that he is the disguised Lagos empty headed and brainless urchin who has graduated from that position to become the conductor of some reckless bus on wretched roads, until the fortune of rascality blessed him and gave him an upgrade to become the chauffer of the bus, clad in his sham by reminding all of us, the same way his emperor has done; ‘do you know who I am?’- are we not in the theatre of a liar, caught red-handed in his web of deceit, erupted into a frenzy of shouting and finger-pointing, desperately trying to deflect attention from his own culpability. His face reddened with rage, bellowing loud denials, attempting to drown out the truth with a cacophony of false indignation. With the veins on his neck bulged, and his voice cracked with strain, as he struggled to maintain the facade of innocence.
But beneath the bluster, we know his eyes betrayed a glimmer of guilt, revealing the depths of his dishonesty, with sweat beading on his forehead, the nervous twitch of his lip, and the fidgeting of his hands all which betrayed the turmoil within. Despite his best efforts to conceal it, he knew the truth was slowly seeping out, like blood from a wounded conscience.
Eberekpe Ogho
Was he not the liar who continued to rant and rave, until his words became increasingly disconnected from reality? Hurling accusations, making baseless claims, invoking empty justifications, all in a desperate bid to salvage his tattered reputation and salvage nothing that is left of his Dicty-pants in a prejudicestan cave? But with each passing moment, his credibility crumbled further, leaving him exposed and vulnerable, a hollow shell of a person, propped up by nothing but lies and deceit in the face of the credibility and integrity of the womanhood he insulted.
Oh, shut it and take a hike, you hooligan!
