Satiricus was anxious to get over to the Back Street Bar. It wasn’t as if he badly needed a beer – even though the day was unbearably humid and hot – but, once again, he figured he had the ammo to finally defend his leaders of the KFC – Nagga Man and Rum Jhaat. In this new year, he would be third time lucky!
“I hope you fella will now stop cussing out Nagga Man and Rum Jhaat for the sugar firings,” he blurted out as soon as he’d taken the obligatory swig of his beer.
“An’ wha’ mek abee sh’ud do da?” asked Cappo mildly.
“Didn’t you read Rum Jhaat explain the whole thing?” asked Satiricus with some annoyance. “It’s because God wanted it so.” His friends around the table all swiveled around and looked at him in disbelief.
“Yuh mean ah Gaad wuk dat Nagga Man guvment knack aff 5700 people?” asked Bungi indignantly.
“Well, think about it,” said Satiricus. “Don’t you believe everything is in God’s hands?”
“So when Hitler killed off six million Jews, that was also God’s work?” asked Hari as he leaned over the table and looked hard at Satiricus.
“C’mon fellas,” pleaded Satiricus. “That’s not fair!”
“Budday! Na de same t’ing?” asked Cappo. “If ev’ryt’ing ah Gaad wuk, and yuh cyaan blame de guvment fuh wha happen to abee suga worka, how yuh guh blame Hitla?”
“Well maybe what Rum Jhaat meant is those sugar estates were meant to be closed,” suggested Satiricus. “Their time was up.”
“Sato, lemme aks yuh somet’ing, ole fr’en,” said Bungi softly. “If Gaad a do ev’ryt’ing, wha’ mek Rum Jhaat an’ Nagga Man and all a dem in guvment a collect dem fat salary?”
“Well, I didn’t think of that,” Satiricus confessed after some reflection.
“Well, Sato,” said Cappo. “Jus’ like how Gaad gi’e abee brain fuh pick sense fram nansense, E gi’e Rum Jhaat an’ Nagga Man sense too.”
“It’s just that Nagga Man and Rum Jhaat use their brains to fill their own pockets!” said Hari with a grin.
