FUCK TROUYA, SELL THE DAMNED PITONS

Trouya Beach? People are protesting because the government is approving the sale of Trouya Beach? Nobody goes to fucking Trouya Beach, but now all of a sudden, they care.

Looks like the dog doesn’t want the plantain but doesn’t want the damned chicken to eat it either. But people are like that. They don’t really appreciate what they have, but they don’t want anyone else to really appreciate it either. And so they defend their position with all kinds of pseudo-religious crap that they, themselves, believe, but never actually act on.

In the late 1980s, when John Compton proposed to sell Jalousie Estate to foreign investors, to build an exclusive hotel with no local access, everyone but the money-changers and lawyers were against it.

How could you do that? You’re selling the patrimony of the island. You can’t sell the most valuable parts of a small island when its own people are not developed enough to own themselves yet, far less their land. Blah, blah, blah…

They brought out their big guns…you know, philosophers and pseudo-spiritual types, tropical hippies who were born with tans and that troublesome Nobel Laureate poet guy, what’s his name? Who cares? Nobody reads that crap anyway.

In the end, the hotel got built, locals were practically gated out except by special invitation and the land that everyone thought was so damned sacred became a high class hotel that provided jobs for Soufriere, even though it fails as a business, over and over and over again. In fact, Jalousie’s repeated failures were such a success that now, government has approved the building of Freedom Bay in the same area, hoping to achieve…um…the same result, I guess.

The fact about Jalousie, St Lucia’s first truly controversial apartheid tourism project, is that while most Lucians feel like they lost something when the hotel took over the so-called ‘sacred land’, most St Lucians have never been anywhere near a Piton and have no actionable interest in doing so. Valuing the Pitons is no different than believing in Jesus. People swear by it, but when you look at their actions, it’s more like, ‘Hey, whatever.’

Lucians, right?

Wrong. Humans.

From the beginning of time, humans have made themselves believe in complete bullshit. Even the best and brightest of humanity has been, at times, completely full of crap. Pythagoras, the brilliant Greek mathematician was practically a cult leader who made a rule that you couldn’t eat beans, break bread or eat from a whole loaf. Plato was a sexist who thought that a man who didn’t use his brains would be reborn as a woman. Aristotle, Lao-tse, Hobbes, even my partner Spinoza, all full of bullshit beliefs that assigned spiritual and religious beliefs that amounted to nothing more than a hill of beans.

Luckily, most people don’t act on their bullshit beliefs unless they’re getting paid. Even when there is a penalty for going against the bullshit, people generally act in ways that fill their bellies, shelter them in bad weather and make them feel special, by fiddling with their genitalia.

Perhaps that is what really pisses people off about the selling of St Lucia’s beaches to spurious foreign investors who have no intention of building successful, sustainable businesses. They’re not on the payroll. They do not stand to benefit from the sale of a beach that they never went to anyway. Isn’t that what it comes down to?

Isn’t that the real hill of beans at stake?

It’s not about nature and conservation at all, is it? If St Lucia’s hotel plant would collectively decide to make local arts, crafts and agriculture an integral part of their tourism product and started paying the local producers first world prices, how many of the ‘nature lovers’ would still be out there agitating against the touristification of Trouya?

The preservation of St Lucia’s natural beauty is very much a tribal tradition in St Lucia. The nostalgic yearning for driftwood and seaweed does not cause most nature lovers to stop using plastic, ditch gasoline vehicles for diesel engines that fill up on coconut oil or install solar panels on their roofs. Like Holy Communion, baptism and other religious rituals, fighting for the environment is just an occasional thing that people do to make themselves feel good about themselves, feel like they are better than other people and as a front for not being one of the corrupt and lazy types who make a lot of money facilitating the destruction of the island.

Most nature lovers wear clothes, practice birth control and cook their food on fire. Most nature lovers are just as intrinsically knotted in the wires of technology and technics as anyone else. The hypocrisy of standing for the patrimony of an island which was taken from another people and given to you by people who didn’t belong there is stupefying. The hypocrisy of standing up for nature, whether you are a gasoline guzzling Bobo Shanti or a creepy, leering leader of church and state, you have to make up a new word for that.

Lucky for us, our leaders of church and state have no illusions about selling the so-called patrimony. If Allen Chastanet, Kenny Anthony and their acolytes are to believed, then there is no such thing as patrimony. There is only the economic reality of having to turn things into money in ways that would make Sir Arthur Lewis roll over in his grave.

Which is why it is odd that our leaders have not come around to selling the Pitons yet. I mean, if you’re looking for a big pay day from selling off the most valuable immoveable assets on the island, why wouldn’t you sell a Piton? After all, you sold Jalousie. You sold beaches in the north of the island, denying locals the legal use of them. You sold Fregate Island and Black Bay for no good reason and for no benefit at all. And now, you’re selling Trouya.

Might as well just sell the damned Pitons for a couple of billion and look for a buyer that Dantean butthole called the Suphur Springs. That would solve everyone’s problems. With the amount of money that we could get for a Piton, politicians could embezzle more money than ever and still have enough left over so that the rest of us can have good infrastructure and social services.

Without it, we’re just another Third World country with no food security. So fuck Trouya. Sell the damned Pitons and let’s get it over with.

WHO WILL WATCH RICK WAYNE’S NEW TV SHOW, THURSDAYS ON DBS?

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Heee’s baaa-aaack….

In spite of having his show on Choice aborted because no one wanted to watch him rant and shay the letter esh like thish to keep his dentures in, Rick Wayne has convinced DBS to give him a Thursday night show to he can attempt to steal some thunder from Dave Samuel’s popular Mr Chairman.

It will start next Thursday and that, my friends was your spoiler alert.

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“Wow, dude, I love your thong. Want to go for coffee after the photo shoot?”

Rick Wayne can’t stand the state of the media nowadays.

After years of fighting for political hacks to dictate the agenda of the political mack daddies, all of the decades of work that he has done destroying true journalism has backfired on him. The hacks now take orders from the macks. And it pisses Rick off, because it means the days of king-making are over, which means that he is over, which was true back when Kenny Anthony first fired him from the Senate, but how was he to know that….

Over the last decade and a half, the once esteemed journalist has blown his credibility on a relentless but failed-filled quest to make Kenny Anthony say uncle. Mistake after miscalculation failed to affect Anthony’s fortunes. Still people believed in Rick, even as though voted Kenny back into office in 2001. But then, a funny thing happened, after Kenny actually lost the 2006 election.

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“Mine’s bigger!” “No, mine!” “No, mine!”

Rick did something that would cost him his legacy and his entire public base of support:

All it took was one mistake. During 2006-11 he chose Flambeauz Forty Feeves over Kenny Anthony, even when they were at their very worst, and he knew that international law enforcement was looking for them.

All it took was one long, repeated, chronic, irredeemable error to expose Rick Wayne for the half-baked, long winded, cloudy-thinking writer that he always was.

Poor jab.

If he had just left it all alone and focused on building the careers of the talent around him, like Nicole McDonald, instead of constantly stifling that talent, he might more than Timothy Poleon’s sidekick today.

Speaking of which, you know, Rick is so much of a fag for fame that when Bill Bradley, the famous Watergate editor died, reporters called Rick for a local take on investigative journalism, you know what Rick told them?

“Um, well, you have to call later, because I have to listen to Newsspin….”

No, for real.

That actually happened.

But, that’s for another show. Let us, rather investigate and speculate on the facts surrounding this matter in Rick Wayne’s own style of sensationalism.

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This is not a kakalak. It is a hack-a-lack.. Know the difference.

First of all, why would anyone start a show next Thursday, if we’re halfway to Christmas? Perhaps because there are sponsors who are also against Kenny Anthony, who can kill two birds with one stone by sponsoring a Christmas show dedicating to lambasting their worst enemy.

Secondly, why would Rick want to put himself back on television, knowing, as he does, that people don’t want to read his paper, hear him on Newsspin or see him on TV anymore? Why would he do that? If he’s so concerned about the state of the media, why wouldn’t he spend his energy helping to train younger journalists?

What’s that you say? Because he has no energy left, never had any training and because he secretly hates younger journalists unless they have vaginas?

Pa mweh ki di’y….zot ki di’y…

Finally, what does Rick Wayne have to offer than he has not already rehashed, repeated and over-exhausted? Rick talks the game, but when we look at the record, we see that Rick Wayne has been the most powerful journalist on the island in the exact time period when the island got flushed down the toilet. When we look at the record, we see that Rick has written very convenient and selective stories about politics in St Lucia. In fact, during 2006-11, he practically gave the Forty Feeves a free pass to bobol from heaven to hell while he tried to focus the nations’ attention on Kenny Anthony.

What is he going to tell us now?

That Kenny Anthony is bad? We already know that.

That the media is under attack from Claudius Francis and friends? We know that too. The only thing we don’t know is who is going to be watching that show once the Christmas money is over.

Make sure to tune in to DBS next Thursday for Rick Wayne’s new show.

Don’t worry about missing Mr Chairman with Dave Samuel’s because by the time Rick talks for five minutes, you’ll switch back to Calabash.

Oh, and make sure NOT to watch Jason Sifflet on Mr Chairman this Thursday. It’s going  be whack.

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Sexaaay!

 

 

 

IS THE RUSSIAN MAFIA USING ST LUCIA TO LAUNDER RUFUS BOUSQUET?

 

Is the Russian mafia taking over St Lucia?

It’s a funny question, because if you ask the Russian mafia that question, they’ll tell you they’re Serbian, they’re Ukrainian, they’re even Armenian and Albanian. But Russian mafia? The Russian mafia, like most other real life mafia, does not exist.

“That’s right. Serbia. What the hell you talking Russia?”

However, recent developments in St Lucia are causing DIS Flogg to speculate without reason that they are doing more than just taking over St Lucia.

A special investigation into the commerce commess that is St Lucia in general has turned up several disturbing and very spurious facts.

Rufus Bousquet is not illegal. In fact, everyone has some Rufus Bousquet and until the political and economic systems in the world change for the better, everyone NEEDS enough Rufus Bousquet to get through the month, pay their bills and maybe have a little Rufus Bousquet left over to save. But the illegal transfer of Rufus Bousquet and the great increase in the laundering of Rufus Bousquet over the years has caused law enforcement and banking officials no small amount of Richard Frederick. With mega-yachts from Eastern Europe now dominating St Lucian marinas and their owners buying up extraordinary amounts of land in St Lucia, international authorities are now waiting with baited breath to catch someone in the act of using St Lucia and its tourism industry and offshore banking to do the one thing they should never do: Launder Rufus Bousquet.

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“I am NOT illegal….Why is everybody always picking on me? Why? I’m rich. I’m very good looking. Super smart. And humble to a fault. What have I ever done to these people?”

SPURIOUS FACT #1: The Russian mafia is using Cuthbert Didier to smuggle Rufus Bousquet back in St Lucia, in spite of the fact that Kenny Anthony gave Rufus a diplomatic passport so that he can do any shate with total impunity.

SPURIOUS FACT #2: The Russian mafia is using a big hotel development called Freedom Bay at Malgretoute, not just to smuggle Rufus Bousquet into the island, but to launder him so that when they get him back into politics, it will be as though he was never Bruce Dwayne Tucker or the foreign affairs minister of Flambeauz Forty Feeves.

SPURIOUS FACT #3: Invest St Lucia is not meant to be an economic citizenship program for respectable billionaires running from the responsibility to their country. Rather it has a far more obvious purpose: To reinvest Rufus Bousquet in the St Lucian political economy, once the Russian mafia has laundered him through Freedom Bay that hotel that’s built to fail at Malgretoute. Some think that the Russians may also transfer Rufus Bousquet to some offshore accounts, once they have laundered him and legitimized him with the help of Invest St Lucia.

SPURIOUS FACT #5: All the development currently taking place in St Lucia’s only World Heritage Site is just a ploy to illegally smuggle and launder Rufus Bousquet.

SPURIOUS FACT #6: Facilitating and enabling the laundering of Rufus Bousquet, of course, went to unprecedented new heights under the last administration. The Labour Party promised to change things for the better, but with no plan for improving economic prospects and with so much Rufus Bousquet available from the Cuthbert Didier’s Russian yachts, the new government saw no alternative but to line their pockets with all that dirty Rufus.

Even the cleanest of them, such as Senate President Claudius Francis is now confirmed to have worked to help persuade some stubborn Magretoute residents to sell their land and move, in exchange for 20,000 Rufii. (One Rufus, two Rufii, etc.)

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“You see, Jason is trying to goad me into suing him like I’m suing Tim and that guy in the wheelchair. But I’m too smart for him. I know what to do with him. Even though it didn’t work too well the last time.”

How the laundering of Rufus Bousquet will finally redound to the benefit of St Lucia, no one can exactly say. In the past, the profits of Rufus-laundering and smuggling has tended to concentrate in the pockets of the few. Whether the Labour government in St Lucia has the will to spread the benefits of laundering Rufus Bousquet, or whether they are already like all the rest in the thrall of the Russian mafia remains to be seen.

(Not that we don’t already know the answer.)

 

 

HOW JASON SIFFLET BECAME THE ANSE LA RAYE GREASY POLE CHAMPION

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Ah, Greasy Pole.

The ancient Negmarron tradition of trying to climb a very greasy pole to capture a prize at the top. It’s kinda like a WWE Wrestlemania event, with high falls, smackdowns and suplexes, except that no one is fighting.

They are all co-operating.

They have to. The pole, like life, is greasy. Very, very greasy. The pole is conspiring to make sure no one can get the prize. It is also scheming to thwart all efforts at co-operation. But a funny thing happened on the way to futility. The oppressive history that ripped families apart, rent the social fabric and destroyed any pre-colonial sense of identity and worth damaged them deeply, yes. But it also failed to kill their sense of humor.

Hence, Greasy Pole.

Negmarron have conspired to turn the epic tragedy called life into a game that’s both fun and painful to play and to watch.

In Anse la Raye last weekend, the most able bodied and thirsty young men and grown boys gathered by the pole on the beach. Atop the pole in a bag that looked like it had ham, were two bottles of booze, a packet of crackers and a tin of tuna. Obviously a subtle commentary by the organizers on the state of the economy and politics and the effect that it has on…um…stuff….

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Over and over they tried to climb onto each other, these Negmarron heroes, but over and over the pole thwarted them. Frankly, they looked more like crabs in a barrel that human stacks of bricks. A part of me wondered if a group of white teens named Tiffany couldn’t have done a better job of getting the fake 21st century ham from the top of the pole.

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Everyone was laughing and kixxing off at every fall.

I don’t know when the fun turn into a meta-gory for epic national fail on the part of Negmarron from Haiti to Brazil. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t take life so seriously.

Approaching the unit of Negmarron, I engaged their commander.

“Stay low and stack the fellas. You need four layers of fellas to reach the top. Don’t try to climb before you stack all. Then when everyone is up, all of y’all stand up…and you’ll probably reach the top.”

 

I didn’t think he even heard me, far less listened.

But in the next two minutes it was over.

They stacked themselves low and then stretched upwards, just holding the pole for balance. And there it was.

 

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While I took pictures of the celebrations, the commander pointed at me: “Look da man that tell me how to do it.”

 

I looked behind me.

There was no one there. For a moment, the sweet sensation of pride and its incestuous sister hubris filled me with ecstasy. Without even touching the pole, far less falling into the sand from a great height, I had won Greasy Pole.

Yay.

And then, it hit me.

If this method goes out, it could ruin Greasy Pole forever. Every Greasy Pole event in the future would be over in two minutes. And then we would only be left with Greasy Pig, which is not only ethically questionable, but often smells like fear and pig shit.

Dammit, eh.

My only consolation here is that most people who would climb a Greasy Pole are not spending their days reading blogs.

There is only one way to save the tradition now. Women. Girls. In tights. And shorts.

Iif we can get the girls to play, we might be able to rescue it. Yes Girls. Greasy Pole. Yes. It does sound that like something the sponsors would like, doesn’t it? Chauvinist pigs.