Beverley Buzzard's letter to Mama
I read in The Gleaner where one of your sons compared us to some members of the Green Party. So much so that some of its writers recently parodied the matter.
I first want to express our extreme displeasure with your son for making such an unfortunate comparison. How could he? He seems to have a knack for making asinine utterances. The divine needs to intervene and fire him, since you, Mama, don't have the mettle to do so.
And while we are happy the comparison wasn't made in the context of a metaphor, we really don't want any comparison with members of the Green Party, or the Orange one for that matter.
One is a set of idiots, and the other a gang of fools. I don't know which is which. For 53 years, you all have been going around in circles, fighting for scarce benefits, and globetrotting with open palms shamelessly seeking alms. When will you stop the begging and borrowing, straighten up and fly right?
We know what we are about, and for more than 53 years, we have been cleaning up the mess you all have been making, and we get absolutely no respect. We are of the view that you are a very ungrateful set of people - you Jamaicans - and we get the feeling that you are orange from hatred and green with envy because we are black and comely.
Anyway, if it weren't for us, stench, especially that coming from mongrels killed by reckless drivers, would have wafted from every nook and cranny of this fair isle. Yet, you are behaving as if we are the worst set of creatures on Earth.
You sicken us
We really don't like the tenor of your voice when you call our name. It's really is condescending. And some of the things we see you humans do actually sickens our stomachs. And you don't have to.
But, we are doing what nature has ordained us to do, and we are not ashamed. We enjoy those tender, succulent pieces of animal flesh. We marvel in the decadence, and we cherish every opportunity to swoop down and indulge.
Despite your discrimination, we will continue to soar to greater heights, from which we will look down on you, squirming in your socio-economic quagmire like moribund hogs being choked to death by the IMF.
But don't worry, for upon your death, your insipid flesh we will not peck, too tough for our stomachs to digest. Bright and out of order your son was to bring us into your distasteful political brouhaha! Why doesn't he find something else to do? Like banking.
Jamaica John Crow Society