A LETTER TO THE DEVIL HIMSELF
Exceptional investigator of criminals and their despicable acts I am, man of the cloth I certainly am not. Combined, I guess you could say that the word cynical would describe me best. Yep, I'm one of those who can't watch movies without shredding the plot apart because the story line just does not make logical sense. For my father’s sins that was what I got blessed with. The power to spot a crook!
So, imagine my reaction when I first read about God’s main man, the 13th Apostle himself, actually alive and well, bodyguards and all living in the Sheraton Hotel in Pretoria nogal.
I saw you on television being reported on for a three-hour stand-off with the police, who were too scared to confront you and so they should be, after all you have set yourself up as God’s chommie! You got the desperate and naive to pay you their last cents, you drive a Lamborghini and live in a five-star hotel. F&%!, I wouldn't want to arrest you either... no, I lie – I would, in fact, love to! Although, I had to give you credit, anybody who has the nuts to refuse the undisputed Twitter king, Head of Police, one Fikile Mbalula, and his band of cops access to your suite must be a clever, saintly chap.
But then I heard you being interviewed and realised I had made a poor error in judgement. Apologies, for coming across rude, but I quickly saw that you are not that bright or believable. Tight with the big guy upstairs, no doubt, but clever? No! Prof (short for prophet) what's with the bodyguards? Shit, God sent you down here to milk the poor, but he didn't bestow any of those finger-dispensing lightning bolt jabs to your powers, not even the ability to run faster than Mr Bolt or dodge the dreaded crotch rot I heard about.
Hell (pun not intended), you got short changed by the Almighty himself. I suppose it could have been worse … damn, He could have dropped you off in South Carolina. Imagine that… a black prophet trying to cruise his Lamborghini through those streets lined with hateful rednecks, firmly holding onto their belief of the fifth amendment. No, I suppose you were lucky, you got South Africa… well not actually, as I understand it, you got Malawi, but the head count to make serious cash and the lack of a swanky five star plus hotel edged you down South to us. Blessed we are!
At least we got you. I mean, you say you can walk on water, f*&! it, please don't pull that stunt in Cape Town, they barely have enough water to drink, let alone after you put your dirty feet in it. Forgive me, but other than the water walking being a helluva move to pull out at the annual church rave, what's the point? Seriously, I've seen Dynamo magician impossible do that stunt. Hey I've got an idea, let's put these evil non-believing heathens to rest once and for all. Let's walk across the Vic falls. You go first, followed by that equally loved man of God, Prophet of "Doom Spray" Rabalogo. Shit, this idea seems more and more like my best truth finding investigation yet. We could have a "Prophet Off", two conmen, dueling it out in front of the poor masses that the two of you have so disgustingly conned out of their hard-earned money..
Then what's this stuff about "wives, respect your husbands, submit to your husbands"? That's alright for you to say, you drive a Lamborghini. Jacki (my wife) is not an easy woman to live with, let alone make her submit to me. Can you help? If you can pull that off I'll believe, heck, I'll even attend your Sunday bashes, cheque book and all!