Satiricus was smirking. But then his face always had a smirk at this time of the year, with Christmas less than two weeks away. Satiricus and his wife Caustic were discussing their plans for the holidays and Satiricus could only think about the festivities with “the boys” ahead. “Let the good times roll!” he thought to himself.
“So how many pounds of Black Cake you baking this year, gyaal?” was Satiricus’ opening gambit. He figured he couldn’t do better than mention the things near and dear to Caustic’s heart. And Black Cake was right up there!
“You blasted well know I have to cut back,” Caustic snapped. “Less than half what I baked last year.”
“And why is that, dear,” mumbled Satiricus in alarm. This discussion wasn’t starting out the way he’d envisaged.
“Is you and your KFC party raising taxes on every blasted thing,” Caustic glared at Satiricus. “And you didn’t even get no bonus this year!”
“But I thought all the stuff in your Black Cake was local, darling,” said Satiricus in a soothing voice. “And they weren’t taxed any higher.”
“Local me behind!” snarled Caustic. “Don’t get me started on this “zero rated” and “exempt” business! All I know your paycheck is shrinking when you look at all our expenses!”
“So how many of the fellas I should invite over for the Christmas sport?” Satiricus asked with a wide, if forced smile.
“Sport! Sport!” Caustic’s face was becoming red with rage. “You just heard me telling you I have to cut back with my Black Cake, which all my relatives expect from me every year…and you talking about SPORT??!” By this time Caustic was screaming. “You better ask Nagga Man and Rum Jhaat to give you money to sport!”
“But, dear, the boys expect me to do something,” pleaded Satiricus. “It will look bad.”
“Bad?” Caustic snarled. “You better worry how YOU will look when I’m done with you , if your Government don’t reduce taxes tomorrow and let me bake more Black Cake!”
