I can’t believe it!!!  I won!!!!  I am, truly, the comeback kid.  To think that, less that three months ago, I didn’t win a single constituency in Harare .  On Friday, I got a clean sweep!!  My share of the vote was an astonishing 85% (now that was astonishing; I’d ordered the ZEC to give it as 120%.  The pusillanimous little turds.  I feel a little re-education coming on….)  But what could’ve changed so many minds in such a short space of time?  I find myself mystified, yet gratified.  Truly, my people must love me. 

I must send that little dog Thabo a thank you gift.  I can always count on him.  I must remind him he promised me a box for the 2010 world cup.

 I had a first draft for my inauguration address, but once I ran it by Emerson, he thought I needed to make some changes. I really didn?t think there was anything wrong, but… For example he suggested that I refer to the assembled guest as; Your Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen, rather than; Yo, beyaches and Ho?s. Another suggestion was that I refer to the electorate as ?stake holders? (I need to stop sending him to Imperialist NGO workshops!) rather than loathsome maggots! He also thought I went a bit far when I described fellow members of the AU as spittle dribbling bootlickers and my opponents as pond scum.

I hope Grace keeps her head covered.  That blonde look is really starting to get to me.  Although I notice those glances Gideon sends her way.

AAaaahh, another election day!  In some ways they have become rather tiresome. My well-rehearsed look of surprise is made slightly harder by all the botox injections.  Preparing for the usual photo-call is made harder by my constantly losing consciousness, and only being able to stand unaided for four minutes at a time.  Most of all though, it’s the ungrateful bastards who I have to have clubbed into the polling booths. Come tomorrow they are going to expect me to feed, clothe, house and, I wouldn’t be surprised, even educate them. Talk about the great unwashed!  It’ll be sooo nice to get to a cultural metropolis like Tripoli…. No more election, no more bitching, and end to the constant yammering that they don’t have enough food!

Emerson just popped his head in.  Strangely he told me that he is not planning to accompany me to Tripoli this weekend. He said that he will be needed here for some “planning” meetings with the military. I don’t remember anything being mentioned about scheduled military planning meetings… In fact, when I asked what they were discussing, he stammered and seemed to blanche.   Hey ho.  I bet he is just planning a nice surprise for me after I return from my week away!!!

Sooooo much to do before tomorrow’s victory slaughter… Militia to be paid… voters to be displaced and intimidated… results to be forged and posted…. ZEC officials to bribe… Sheesh, election day in Zimbabwe is murder.

Am screening telephone calls from Little House Thabo.  Don’t want to talk about the SADC (a.k.a. the “SAD Club”, heh heh heh) today.  If I wanted to “negotiate” about anything, I would have called a used car salesman.

It’s time I took a holiday.  Tripoli is always nice this time of year.  The shopping’s good for Grace too, less so for me.  There’s just not so much on offer these days, since Gadafi gave up all his weapons to the laughable, god-bothering carbon blobs, Bush and Blair.  The last time we went up there, all I got was a pen-knife.

Still, it’ll be a pleasant break after the pent-up angst of election day.  Will I be elected again, by aclamation?   The tension’s killing me.

I decided to take a break from raping and pillaging to settle down for an evening with Elvis’ “Aloha From Hawaii”, when that dolt Matonga rang.  Apparently, the Queen had called to say that she was stripping me of my honourary knighthood.  My palms started sweating… my pulse raced up to 24 beats per minute… Panic.  Confusion.  Fear….  Would I have to give my favourite, green ceremonial sash back???  Damn, I look good in that thing.

Later…Revulsion…and Anger.  How dare she??? HOW DARE SHE????  That unelected dictator!!  That twisted old prune, perched atop a throne like a boil sitting on a beautiful breast!!  Doesn’t she realise?  She’s in her EIGHTIES!!!  Duh, Brenda.  Oh, Breeeenda!!!  Time to give up the ghost, luv.  Time for a change at the top.

Had a bizarre dream last night! I had just had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. While on the operating table, I had a near death experience.

Seeing God, I asked “Is my time up?”

God said, “No, you have another 13 years, 2 months, and 8 days to live.”

Upon recovery, I decided, what the hell, I’ll beat the crap out of my opponents, starve my people and threaten war against my people. I even decided to arrest the opposition leaders and try them for treason. Since I had so much more time to live, I figured I might as well make the most of it.
 
After I stole the election and was inaugurated I was riding back to a visit Katuma with the missus.  While crossing a busy intersection we were hit and crushed by one of my new Mercedes anti-riot vehicles.
 
Arriving in front of God, I demanded, “I thought you said I had another 13 years? Why didn’t you divert me from the path of my new Mercedes anti-riot vehicles?”

God replied, “You hadn’t asked me to remove you from power yet!”

PS: Was just handed the ANC press release. Those half-baked Blair-Bush boot-lickers!!  I was fighting the limey imperialist B’staads while most of them were still an annoyance in their father’s nether regions. I hope they do lose the sodding 2010 World Cup!!!!

Busy, busy, busy day!  Need to start planning the coronation, err…, I mean inauguration.  In fact, bugger it.  Call it a coronation.  Think it’s about time Zimbabwe had a new King.  One that says “don’t step on my blue suede Jimmy Choos.”  Heh heh.

Esch.  Grace just popped her head in, saying she needed to go buy a new dress for the party.  I told her no, she just bought several dresses in Rome. What does that woman think, I just print the damned money?? 

Later…  So Tsvangirai’s hiding out with the bloody Dutch!!!  Goddamit, just when I thought I had that scab inside my vice-like (trembling) grip, they step in and give the rat-bastard, milque toast turd-burgular asylum.  Another day… another fire to put out.  And some people think I knew there was a reason I never like Gouda. 

That bog-trotting, Commie boot-polisher Tsvangirari is all over the airwaves calling on me to stand down.  He says I have no support.  Hogwash!!  Grace supports me.  Bright Matonga supports me.  I support me….

Wait.  Not so sure about Matonga.  Anyway, it’s time I got my 84 year-old lead out, to prove I can still swing it.  Here’s the address I intend to give tonight:

My fellow Zimbababweanees.

Today we find ourselves at a critical junction in our history.  Between the future and the past.

Some might say that the kind of leadership that has left our fields barren, our economy a joke and an inflation rate that looks more like a telephone number, has probably had its day.

That it’s the kind of leadership that should probably just shuffle off stage, with a rather apologetic shrug.

I say NO!!!!  (and not just because I’m going deaf)

I say what created our recent past can indeed obliterate our future.

And to those who say I can’t do this, I say… “yes I can!!”

To those who say I cannot stand unaided any more, I say…. “yes I can!!!”

To those who say I can’t continue to govern with the same, crap policies and no bedrock of public support, I say “YES I CAAAAAAAAAN!!!!”  [Thank you, Barack Obama.  Heh heh]

I say hang the bastards who point out what’s as obvious as the nose on your face.

Call them traitors!!!  Call them pathetic!!!  Call them liars!!!

Because if I sneer and shout loudly enough, then IT MUST BE TRUE.

Now THAT, my friends, is leadership.

Only God can remove me now.  (and if the tingling sensation I get down my left-hand side is anything to go by, He might be thinking about it)

Or Elvis.  If he got in touch, I might consider it too.

Thank ya very much (apologises to the King).  And God bless Zimbabwe.

Later…. Received text from Tutu.  Said God had called, wanted me out.

Up before dawn as usual (4.00am), ever since I started having the Jing-Jang blood transfusions I can’t sleep past 10.00am Hong Kong time. I guess one benefit is that I have a few hours of peace before I have to suffer the dulcet tones of the misses!

Bummer to hear the news about my good friend Sir Martin Sorrell, some say he is a spin-doctor, but he is my ‘sangoma’. Still hope he’ll be able to finish running my campaign, the Bell has not finished tolling there! Besides, us little guys with Napoleonic complexes need to stick together.

I do wish that Grace wouldn’t dye her hair blonde.  She knows how much I hate it.  It reminds me of one of those British bimbos I so despise.  How can I rail against the imperialist flunkies when my wife looks like an imperialist floosie?

I said this to Gideon the other day and he said he found her hair quite fetching.  What is going on with those two?  I hope that Grace is not shopping around again.

I saw a nice young soldier during a parade today. I do like a man in uniform!!! I don’t know why am stressing about Grace.  There are other ways to be liberated.

The cleaners finally got out of here late this afternoon. I hate having them around, but the place was a bit of a tip after Thabo’s (aka ‘Little House’) birthday party yesterday.  He is an annoying little shit, but he is MY little shit!!!  Besides he is the only one that seems to save me from dining alone with Grace.  Goddamn that youthful trollop, with her imperialist hair, youthful, 44-year-old, ever-open legs and clothes that always smell of other men… urgh.  If I was thirty years younger…

Still, good news.  The MDC morons still think we want to negotiate.  Hahahahaha good old Thabo!