By Godfrey Chitalu
During those old days when saints took over the Kingdom the prices of gold, diamonds, emeralds, and sugilite were equated to that of copper, nickel, zinc, and tin.
Being in the champion’s league, the nation started prospering and another law was passed that all precious stones would no longer be transported by slow trains and trucks but by air.
A plan was hatched to import fast gold stream and sugilite jets for the urgent mission. The only hindrance was that a pilot license needed connections in high offices.
The high office was perched atop a mountain that was only accessible by those with long outstretched arms using a zipline that also zipped their minds. Ordinary people like Tyre Lee were painfully excluded.
Before long all forward stretched hands and mere mosquitoes seamlessly received both mine exploration and private jet licenses. Dejected members of the closed-fisted pub wattle were too busy with their general conference to know the happenings.
The hands of media houses were tied and their faculties zipped, except for Car Lame Bar, Noose Diggers, and one scribe who wrote for pleasure.
Because all airport passengers were in love with hung air ran sausages, the king changed the name of the airport to sausage. This did not amuse the masses who were fed soya anger ran meals. Before long sausage airport security impounded two golden jets. One was laden with diamonds and US dollars while the other had charcoal and Zim dollars.
Mineral experts, headed by their mini star were called to identify the loot. Their drunken decision was to quickly release one jet, without consultations from the high office.
When it disappeared from the horizon, it was realized that the kingdom was stuck with a jet that contained Zim dollars, charcoal, and toy guns. This is the watertight evidence we now hope to use for prosecution.
The author is a social commentator who writes for pleasure
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