Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Anyhow, I promised a part 2 to my previous post, but I've been so busy whacking idiots on the head for wearing their sunglasses in the nightclub that I haven't had time to think. But a promise is a promise, so here I am, and here you are, so let's do this.
Women. Jesus. Where do I start? I love them, but not all of them. In fact, very few of them. I especially love the ones that know when to shut up, which, incidentally, is almost always. Unless of course the whiskey is running low, in which case a woman who keeps quiet upon seeing such an impending disaster should really just have a lethal substance injected in her vein the next time she sleeps, because she will have rendered herself useless to any man. Because anyone who knows anything about religion knows that God created Woman to be a helper to Man, and there's no greater help a woman can give than to carefully monitor her husband/boyfriend/hook up's whiskey level and promptly refill without being asked, and, should the bottle itself be dangerously low, SPEAK OUT before it's too late. Then shut up again thereafter.
But this article is about my contribution to the new constitution as it pertains to Zimbabwean women's criminal leanings when it comes to dressing. Let's talk about that, shall we? I put to you that the following should be made unconstitutional in the new dispensation.
Weaves that are past their expiry date. Call me the Weave Whisperer, because I can hear weaves cry out when a woman walks past me. Ladies, you know when your weave has performed its duty. Remove it from service. Please, for my sake. The number of tortured weaves I see on the heads of our women these days constitutes a crime on the level of genocide. I hear their anguished cries, these poor, long-suffering soulless things, they wish to be freed so they can die in peace. Daily they get batterings as their owner tries to combat the itching that has resulted from the cataclysmic build-up of dandruff on her scalp. They are stabbed, poked and prodded as women grab objects around me - a pen, a ruler, my sunglasses right off my frikkin' face, anything at all to plunge deep into the bosom of the weave to scratch the scalp. If you are going through these symptoms, I beg you: Give your weave a lifetime achievement award and let it retire. Recall it from Afghanistan, it has served its tour of duty. If you don't have money to replace it, it's not the end of the world to go a few weeks without a weave. Remember - you are not your hair. Also, the weave was not your hair, either. Make an alternative plan. We'll still appreciate you, as long as your mouth remains shut.
Open-toe shoes that cannot contain the toes. Don't call it a fetish (or call it that if you want, I don't care) but I'm one of those guys that notices women's shoes and feet a lot. If you are going to buy open-toe sandals, please make sure when you wear them your big toe doesn't look like it's trying to break out of jail and be finally free to live a life of its own. Buy the proper size of shoe, please, because if you have a long day in these wrong-sized shoes your toes will die of gangrene and will have to be amputated, I shit you not. Besides, it's simply not sexy. No one wants a woman without toes, there's uses in the bedroom for them.
Nasty, flaked nail/toenail polish. Or as we know it, Cutex. (Damn.) Every time I see a chick with chipped nail polish I want to kidnap her, blindfold her, take her to an abandoned warehouse in Ruwa and dunk her hands in a vat of acid. And then the rest of her body. Surely it's common sense: you paint your nails so your hands look pretty. When the paint starts to peel off, your hands don't look pretty anymore. Your hands may not look as pretty without nail polish, but certainly they can't look as unpretty as they do chipped nail polish? Can they? Is nail polish remover expensive for your budget? Or are you budgeting brain cells, rather? (Here's a hint: use your brain cells, your body will manufacture more.) This is serious, ladies, because having flaked nail polish really speaks to your lack of attention to detail when it comes to your body. How do I know where else on your body you display this kind of carelessness? This thought disturbs me so much that once, when I was in the Whiskey Lounge in Newlands, a pretty chick approached me, but then I noticed that she had chipped nail polish on pretty much all of her nails, so I jumped back in disgust, and in doing so knocked the glass out of this one guy's hand. It shattered on the floor, and a shard from it cut the shin of another chick who was standing next to him. She began to bleed profusely, and when her boyfriend noticed he tried to lunge at me viciously, but he slipped in the pool of blood and smashed his head on the corner of the table we were standing close to. He slumped to the floor unconscious, maybe dead, I don't know, because in the ensuing melee I slipped out and went to get a quarter chicken and chips across the street because Nando's was about to close. Then I then went home. For want of a nail the horse was lost, for want of nail polish a good night out was lost. Do you see how dangerous chipped nail polish is?
Dress for your weight. Same story as we spoke about in the guy's section, except it's worse when ladies break this rule. Fat girls - and let's not be coy here, when you are fat you know you are fat - don't bother looking at yourself in the mirror very carefully after you dress and before you leave the house. You have proven that we cannot trust your opinion. Rather, it will be a law that fat people get the sign-off of at least 3 non-family members before they can be released from their houses on a daily basis. These 3 people must be honest, unbiased individuals, who have the courage to tell you that yes, your stomach looks huge in that and further, actually, your stomach looks huge in absolutely everyfuckingthing you wear that is not a tent. If people see your stomach and automatically ask you it's a boy or a girl, stop wearing tight fitting tops. We don't want to see your muffin top, it is not appetizing. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with big girls, sometimes I see big girls that are sexy as hell and I am awed. Mo'nique is a fine example of how to dress and handle yourself if you're big. It can be done. Don't wear clothing that accentuates your flaws, and yes, you have them. Tight-fitting mini-skirts are not for you.
The same goes for skinny chicks. Stop with the bone hugging dresses and tiny little shorts. They were not made with you in mind. Don't copy Paris Hilton. Her father's a billionaire. What does your father do? In any case, she still looks like a preying mantis with lipstick. In my proposal the law will have a stipulated "weight/length of skirt ratio" that will be strictly enforced. Be more creative ladies - short and tight does not automatically equal sexy.
So these are the things I'm working on in my draft. Forewarned is forearmed. A few more pointers: if you can't blush naturally because of your skin-tone, don't apply that shit artificially to your black ass, you will be fined. If a weave has more than two tones of color, no. Retailers will not be allowed to import it. Don't shave off all your eyebrows and then draw them back in - we keep wondering why you're so surprised to see us when you walk back into the room...it was only 5 minutes to the bathroom and back, did you forget we were here? However, shave or wax your hairy-ass legs, for Chrissake. God, there is nothing I can't stand more than a woman with hairy legs. Except maybe a woman with hairy legs and a big mouth. Yes, that's definitely worse. I don't care if you have the personality of Jennifer Aniston and the body of Nicki Minaj, if your legs are hairy I am leaving you wherever we are that I happen to notice it and speeding off into the distance, never to be heard from again. And while you're at it, trim, shave or best of all wax your nether regions. It gives a sense of cleanliness, and to me that is amazingly sexy.
These are all very easy things to do to ensure compliance with the soon-to-be gazetted laws. Ignorance is not an excuse. And if you have shitty ass comments about my suggestions, don't write them here, it's a waste of your time because no one cares, least of all me. Instead, draft your own suggestions and submit to the Constitutional Opinions of the People's Parliamentary Acceptable Constitution (COPAC) on firstname.lastname@example.org.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Anyway, I digressed before I even began. That's a talent, by the way, it's like taking a detour before you even start your car. Here's my story.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Friday, July 15, 2011
Driving around in Harare has become a tremendously interesting exercise for me. Because I drive an SUV with black tinted windows, people struggle to see the driver. This forces them – usually women, I should mention, because it rarely ever happens with men - to stare intently into my car, without realizing what they are doing, as I drive by. Obviously these are single women hoping they’ve caught the driver’s eye, whoever he may be. The trouble is that, even without seeing the driver, the majority (if not all) of these women should know simply by comparing themselves with my car that I am totally out of their league, so the intent owl-stare is totally misplaced. To clarify: if you are a woman and you exhibit any of the characteristics listed below, you have no chance of being anywhere near my league:
1. If you are walking around holding an empty. There’s nothing wrong with drinking soft drinks, of course. But if, after finishing your soft drink, you need to walk back to the store to collect your $0.20 bottle deposit or whatever, it’s probably safe to say I can’t take you clubbing at Whiskey Mist next time I’m in London. I cannot possibly foresee how you will dress, or behave. So, either buy your soft drink and let your gardener have the deposit, or better yet get a can and a straw.
2. If you are wearing a bhrugwa. Why would you do that in this day and age? Look, I understand that for some women, at certain times of the month, a full on zadza-dama panty is what they have to wear. I don’t support it - unless we’re boarding an Air Zimbabwe plane and might need to share a parachute in case of an emergency - but during that time of the month I can at least understand it. The women I don’t understand are those that wear these panties everyday. It’s 2011, honestly, get it together! I’m tempted to start a Thong Drive to collect thongs for those women who either can’t afford them or don’t know what they are. No matter how beautiful you are, a parachute panty is going to put me off 10 times out of 10. I know it boggles the mind that thongs have far less fabric than a full panty yet cost twice as much, but don’t question it – just buy them and wear them.
3. If you are over 18 and under 50 and use sanitary pads. I don’t care what anyone says, pads are fucking nasty. Use a tampon for chrissake. That way you won’t have to wear a bhrugwa, and we don’t have to visualize all that blood actually leaving your body.
4. If you drink beer, especially from a bottle. I know people have vastly differing opinions on this, but since this is my blog, only my opinion counts. If you’re in a club, be a lady and order a cider and drink it from a glass. Or order a cocktail. A wine even, sparkling or otherwise. Just don’t order a Lion Lager or Carling Black Label. Goodness, if I walk up to you, what on earth will I say? Beer was made by men for men, because it used to be the one thing we could safely enjoy without feminist bitches trying to copy, because quite honestly, it tastes nasty, and we didn’t enjoy it much in the early days either. But alas, it seems we can’t even enjoy shit we don’t enjoy alone and in peace anymore. You want the right to also not enjoy it. Now I have to wait for you to finish taking the swig from your bottle of Eagle Lager, watch you bypass your beer belly and thud the bottle back onto the table, and then burp out biological-weapon grade gases into my face before I can point out that that is the prettiest pair of shoes I’ve seen all night in this club, are they Prada? and by the way, my name’s Zak. Alternatively I’ll just go to the bathroom and lick the bristles of one of the toilet brushes for the rest of the night instead.
I could go on and on, but fuck it. It’s Friday, I’m ditching this shit. Please, stop staring into my car!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
For once, I am thoroughly upset at myself. Somehow I missed the beginning of the new season of Big Brother Africa. I started to suspect something was wrong when everyone else around me, in our day-to-day encounters, began to appear more fulfilled than I. This being an unusual and downright unacceptable state of affairs, I finally cornered one of my acquaintances yesterday to investigate. After a brief interrogation, he revealed the reason for his sudden smug satisfaction with his otherwise pathetic life: Big Brother Africa is back, and this time it is AMPLIFIED!
Needless to say, I am mortified for having missed the first several weeks of this show. Nothing titillates me more than watching, for 24 hours straight, a group of ugly, attention-seeking, cantankerous, belligerent people engaging in never-seen-before activities such as cooking, cleaning, showering, and talking. But hard as it is to believe, that’s not even my favorite part of the show. At various intervals, the producers of the show put these people through mind-melting tasks such as: naming the currencies of various countries; dancing like video girls; and acting like clowns (literally). The I.Q. level that is required to excel in this show is truly astounding.
It’s unfortunate I’ve been so busy lately with this other thing I have to do called Life. As soon as I’m done with that, I’m going to register myself online so I can meet like-minded people in the BBA chat room, where, it appears, great fun is being had by all. I revel in intellectual debates, and there are some comments on the site from other members of the intelligentsia that simply cannot go unchallenged. For example:
“Lets kip Confidence in that heads house othewise well die of boredom…” -vaughanz
“NSIL 7777 @ SHANI APO????........Q-RIOUS” -Anon 9692
“LUCLAYS BIZZY BODY IN HOUSE CANT B SEEN AS SWAGG”
How on earth can anyone not see Luclays bizzy body in house as swagg? Comments such as this cause me deep concern, so I will soon be deeply embedded in that chat room, engaging in mental warfare with these geniuses of our generation. And if I were the C.E.O. of M-Net, I would cancel all other channels and shows to ensure that this divinely-inspired and brilliantly executed show is broadcast to as many Africans as possible, as it is a true reflection of our various cultures and values, values which are important for our 13 year-old children, nieces and nephews to appreciate.
Well played, M-Net.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
It's IDIOTS like the author of this post whose put - downs discourage people from venturing into the unknown. The likes of California & most of the USA, South Africa, Australia e.t.c are great because of people who saw others making money in particular ventures and sought to do the same. In the process of so doing, there imaged some top & shrewd industrial, banking & commercial giants. A market is created by the entry of many participants. Not all those participants will become rich but the wealth of the nation increases because of their joint actions.
VW Toureg??????? For crying out loud, couldn't you have found a better car to use as an example? Your choice of car just shows how low you really are.
ZAKEO ZAKEOS you are an IDIOT, A LOW - LIFER with such a narrow mind who will NEVER make it onto the Forbes list."
Stop annoying everyone else and read the damn article before commenting. My accomplishments, as extensive as they are, will not be catalogued here, for that is hardly the purpose of this blog. But in my article nowhere do I discourage people from starting businesses. I clearly state that even if you can't have an original business idea and want to copy, at least find a business that you can be passionate about, and that you'd be willing to stick with through lean times until it turns the corner. No matter how romantically you want to wax about it, building a successful business is about more than just having a dream. Its also about focus and discipline, hard work and passion. I'd love for Anonymous to point out to me anyone on the Forbes Rich List who didn't have these things, and whose business did not take at least a decade to build.
I also did not say people shouldn't try different ideas. I complained about people wading into already saturated markets, just because they heard such and such is making money, without a clue how that person runs their business profitably, and without the same level of passion for that type of business as that person has. I mention car dealerships; there are streets in Harare on which you will see six car dealerships on a 1km stretch of road, all selling the same entry level Japanese cars, with the same colors and the same prices. And then 100m on you see another guy spreading 3/4 stones and erecting shades to construct the 7th car dealership, to sell the exact same type of cars. This makes no business sense. What's his unique selling proposition: Will he offer better pricing? No. A different range of cars? No. A 30 day money back guarantee? Hell no. Free 2 day test drives? You must be kidding. Extended financing? Please. He has no clue what those things are, but he just wants a car dealership because "ine mari".
It's a waste of his time and energy. He will without fail lose money. But let's not "discourage him from venturing into the unknown", shall we? Let's let Tonderai follow his dream, because the sky is the limit and his "actions will poitively (??) impact not only himself but countless other lives." And from him will "image some top & shrewd commercial giant."
Cheesecake Factory forever.
Lastly, it's not my fault I don't watch MTV Cribs, or BBC's Top Gear, or read GQ Cars. I really thought the VW Toureg was the fanciest, most expensive car in the world. Obviously I'm mistaken. Can someone please tell me what better car exists in the world, so that next time I write about a bank teller's aspirations for two years in business I can use that car instead. That will be much more realistic, for a bank teller to have imagined buying a car just like Jay-Z's in two years rather than one his old classmate is now driving. How idiotic of me.
Intelligent people will more carefully consider their next business ventures because of this blog post, they will take from here what makes sense for them and filter the rest, and give themselves a better chance of success. The failures will say, "That guy is a low-life and an idiot, fuck him and his discouraging ideas, I will follow my dreams, all of them together, at once, and in 1 year I will be a billionaire and driving a Bugatti Veyron."
Thursday, April 21, 2011
So I'm reading an article in this little paper called Business Connect about this "Buy Zimbabwe" campaign that was recently launched in the capital. I had heard about this campaign and saw several other articles about it in other papers, but I did my best to ignore it, on account of my blood pressure. Then the bastards behind it went on to plan a whole seminar about it, and take time out of their busy schedules to meet and discuss how to get consumers to start buying more local products, and how best to lobby government to raise duties and limit importation of finished goods. A whole businessman by the name of Supa Mandiwanzira actually stood up to say, "...Government must put legislation in place that will force all supermarkets to put 50% of local goods on shelves at any given time." I now feel compelled to comment.
With all the common sense quite evidently seeping through my pores and making people around me smarter just by association, it amazes me that some people still choose to have seminars and such without consulting me first. Because if these learned gentlemen had taken 2 minutes to brief me that they are concerned about Zimbabweans not buying enough local products, I would have given them one devilishly simple but amazingly effective strategy:
Stop making shit.
There is no amount of campaigning that can persuade me to eat a turd. There is no legislation anyone can dream up that can force me to pay for a steaming plate of dog shit. And, unfortunately, dog shit is exactly what the majority of Zimbabwean companies are serving up and expecting us not only to buy, but to pay MORE for than the imported substitute on the basis of being patriotic. Let's take an in-depth look at some of the vaunted local products that sell-out unpatriotic Zimbos like me are shunning:
Charhon's Loose Biscuits: Affectionately known as "ma-doggie", these treats are a delight - if you have polycrystalline diamond cutters for teeth. Otherwise your teeth will disintegrate from just looking at a packet of these biscuits for too long. These are cookies for real men. I can't imagine why anyone would opt for imported Bakers Strawberry Whirls instead - unless they're gay. I think our President has gone to great lengths, on numerous occasions, to enunciate our national position on that particular group of people. If locals, particularly Zimbabwean men, continue to insist on eating soft yummy cookies that don't need a jackhammer to break, a law to ban them might well become necessary, if for no other reason than to stop us becoming pansies. These biscuits have remained the same for decades, while people's tastes have changed. Still, the dipshits at Charhon's insist on shoving them down our throats. Even when, at one time, Zimbabweans became so desperate for an alternative that they bought truckloads of dollar-for-two lemon creams from across the border, Charhon's did not budge from their strategy. Never mind that these dollar-for-two lemon creams weighed about 0.02 micrograms each and evaporated at the sight of your tongue. We just couldn't take ma-doggie anymore!
Willard's Corn Flakes: Willard's Corn Flakes have a unique ability that is as startling as it is odd - they turn soggy the second you say the word "milk" in their presence. By the time you pour the milk in, they're already porridge. How great is that?! Fuck Kellogg's - who wants corn flakes that stay crunchy and delicious for so long anyway? Unless you're a retard and need more than 2 minutes to finish a bowl of cereal. Lightbulb! Let's legislate to send all the Kellogg's Corn Flakes to hospitals for the mentally challenged! Even though they're 10c cheaper than the local version, they must be removed from the shelves before they kill the local corn flake industry, or the retards starve, whichever might come soonest. Seriously, Willard, wherever you are, do us all a favor and suffocate yourself with a fucking cereal bag.
Gloria Self-Raising Flour: The quality of this flour is as inconsistent as a woman on...well as a woman in general. It started out that you never knew how your mafet-kook (yes I know that's not the spelling, leave me alone) would come out with this flour. Now if you bake with it, you are almost guaranteed a disaster. Unless you tie the bag with a long string and hoist it up to your roof, it simply DOES NOT RISE. Sort of defeats the purpose of calling it "self-raising" - it's about as self-raising as my dick if I sat watching Thabo Mbeki skinny-dipping on a frigid winter night in Cape Town. But I suppose that's not important. The important thing is to buy Zimbabwean, and forget about imported Snowflake Self-Raising Flour which actually rises.
Fresh Produce: Mr. Mandiwanzira is quoted as saying: "It's sad that we are importing carrots and tomatoes from South Africa when local farmers are throwing away their tomatoes that would have rotten (sic) because they don't have markets." Really? Who's throwing away their tomatoes because of lack of a local market? Tomatoes?? Perhaps he was exaggerating for effect, but tomatoes are one product I know the masses in Zimbabwe are willing to buy locally. Potatoes, on the other hand, are a different story. Whereas South African potatoes come washed and look presentable, local potatoes come with clumps of red soil attached. These clumps of soil are genetically engineered to remain attached to the potato no matter what you do, until you get home and soak them for at least 30 minutes. The problem is when the store assistant weighs my potatoes at the supermarket, I want 10kg of potato only, not 8.5kg of potato and 1.5kg of soil. We all know the soil is ours - ivhu nderedu - and we will never pay for it.
Various local sweets: Crystal mints have had the same boring taste and the same packaging since I was in Grade 2. Crystal toffees still have that amazing ability to adhere to your back tooth the second you pop one into your mouth, and then slowly dissolve and leave a rather disconcerting, oily, thin film on the roof of your mouth. Despite the advancements in chewing gum technology, Dandy is still churning out the same flavors in the same packaging they had 25 years ago. Dandy bubblegum loses its taste as soon as you unwrap it, still. After approximately 1.5 seconds of chewing, the taste has disappeared like an MDC bandana at a ZANU-PF rally. Freddo chocolate is still the same Freddo chocolate I used to buy at the tuckshop in primary school, with the same stupid white and green packaging with the same stupid jokes, like "Why did Freddo cross the road?" "Because he hopped the Buy Zim campaign would get people to eat him again even though he tastes like ass." Or something like that. Should I really forego my velvety Cadbury's Chocolate Eclairs for hard-as-rock Crystal Toffees? Or forget about smooth Endearmints in favor of Crystal mints, even though they shred the roof of my mouth and leave a faintly bloody taste on my tongue? No sir, I will not.
Furniture: Entering a local furniture shop such as Pelhams, TV Sales & Hire, Banet and Harris etc. is like walking into The Land That Time Forgot. They still have the same design of lounge suites that our mothers bought before we were born. Yet here we are, the new consumer, this generation of MTV Cribs and Forbes Top 20 Celebrity Mansions on E! We don't want leather couches with polished wood in the armrests. We don't want couches that have buttons. We don't want bedroom suites that have so much wood they'd be deemed a fire hazard in any other country. We don't want velvet or floral material on our lounge suites. No, damn it. We want corner couches in white leather. We want shaggy rugs that feel like heaven under our feet. We want bedroom suites that are sexy, not just functional. As long as we don't have these made in Zimbabwe, don't expect us to "buy Zimbabwe."
Clothing: Edgars and Truworths have been flighting lots of press ads recently, showcasing their new range of work and casual wear. Trouble is, none of their designers have ever heard of Cosmo, or GQ, or any fashion magazine that exists in the world, apparently. Their clothes are appealing only to a very Christian receptionist from Budiriro going to an interview at a briefcase company which recently expanded out of the briefcase and into a cubicle on the 2nd floor of a non-descript building just opposite pa Charge Office. You can get more fashionable gear at Mr. Price in Musina for a fraction of the cost, true story. Would it really kill these idiots to glance at a style magazine now and again?
Cordials: Otherwise generically known as Mazoe, because that's what us Zimbos do. All toothpaste is Colgate, and any soft drink is Kokora. Only at a Zim restaurant can you say to the waitress "I'll have a Coke please", and she smiles sweetly and says: "Ok, what kind?" And then you...without a moment's pause, you say, "Cherry Plum". That will never happen in Indianapolis or Birmingham. Anyway, I digress. Whilst Mazoe itself is an excellent brand, all other locally produced brands in that category should be ashamed of themselves for even claiming to be brands. I bought a 2L bottle of Squish Squash Cream Soda the other day. I wouldn't have, if I'd known the mixing ratio is 1 part water to 5 parts juice. My first glass was unbelievably watery after mixing it using the universally accepted ratio of 1 part juice to 4 parts water. Mr. Mandiwanzira sir, do you know how frustrating it is to add juice, sip to taste, add juice, sip, add juice, sip, and on and on for 20 minutes before getting the taste of your juice right?! For my second glass I simply resorted to using a shot glass to measure one shot of water, then filled up the glass with juice. You don't dare put ice in a glass of Squish Squash - may as well drink a glass of colored water. Tacoola, Quench, Citrade - all the shit's the same. Is it any wonder I now choose to stick to Ceres or Liqui-Fruit when I can't get Mazoe?
Eversharp pens: Before I rant about Eversharp pens, I must give credit where it's due. Despite what I'm about to say about them, the honest truth is that ever since I was allowed to use a pen in school, I have been guaranteed that no matter where an Eversharp pen has been, when I needed to write, the thing writes! It generally doesn't need persuading, it doesn't think twice, it doesn't stutter, it just writes. Brilliant! But my God, its been 50 years and we still have the same gold-tipped refill, the same grey hexagonal barrel, capped by the same ridiculous blue, red or black plastic cap. Not a single brain cell has been expended in trying to innovate this pen, for over 50 years! Meanwhile, Bic now has gel pens, rollerball pens, glitter gel pens, 0.5mm pens, 0.7mm pens, purple, pink and gold pens...the list is endless! So while my staff are happy to use an Eversharp pen to write notes in a staff meeting, my 14 year old niece would slit her wrists if she were forced to use one at school. Surely it wouldn't kill the geniuses at Eversharp Pvt. Ltd. to sit down and even copy the innovations of 10 years ago. That would be a giant leap forward compared to where they are now.
I could go on and on, but this is really not a profitable endeavor for me, since none of you bastards donate money to my blog. I think my point is clear. If "Buy Zimbabwe" means the same as "Buy Shit", then the Zim manufacturers can go to Hell. We are not prepared to sacrifice our hard-earned cash and our taste-buds on this garbage.
Before this campaign gains steam, I think we as consumers should start our own. We can aim it at the manufacturers, and call it the "Stop Making Shit Campaign". We can have our own seminar and media coverage, and I can be the spokesman. We can even have a logo or badge of some sort, which can be put on products we certify worthwhile. Instead of saying "Proudly Zimbabwean", it can say "Guaranteed: Not Shit" or something to that effect. If anyone can design such a logo please let me know. I won't pay you, but you'll feel good for bringing down a fellow Zimbabwean's blood pressure.