My Contribution to the New Constitution (Part Deux)

You know, I just read my last post and I finally have to admit: I AM A GENIUS. That shit was so funny I think I have to buy a new Macbook, my current one is now malfunctioning due to moisture damage from the tears of laughter flowing all over the keyboard. If any of my posts touch a nerve when you read them, it's probably because you don't like the truth about yourself. Either that or you totally have no sense of humor whatsoever. In which case you really shouldn't be reading a satirical blog in the first place. I hate people like you - you're the type of person that went to the Brick & Lace concert at Borrowdale Racecourse a couple of years ago and then afterwards bitched no end about how terrible it was because they only sang two good songs. Bitch, Brick & Lace only have two songs, period. What the fuck did you expect when you bought your ticket??? I was there, but it was just a night out for me; my expectations were realistic. I knew that after "Love Is Wicked" the party was over, regardless if they played it first or last in their set.

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 dumshitsuggestions@copac.org.zw.


zakeozim@gmail.com
www.zim-madness.blogspot.co.zw