LODGING WITH DRENKO
Copyright 2001 www.tombraiderchronicles.com
[ November 24th 2001 ]
of the famous Strandfontein Landfill as a National
Heritage Site is yet another argument for staying
at home this Christmas.
the rand so poorly, it's best to take your annual
break either in your very own back yard, house-training
your big red ants, or tooling around in your psychedelic
Beetle with the kids and the long yellow puppy
in the boot with their virtual reality bubble
suit. When you climb into it, you clasp a sensual
Angelina Jolie simulacrum unless the software
has been mined by Microsoft and you fall into
the fetid embrace of the Springbok pack after
a very rough match.
wheel inordinately large sums of money to travel
agents in exchange for holidays in far-off romantic
Afghanistan in the 0,025-star Osama bin Laden
Memorial Bunker; or Thailand, home of the hungry
dog-lovers? Stuff the cash under your bed.
plan to visit the Strandfontein Landfill Site
as often as possible. This is partly because selling
season tickets has been entrusted to the quavering
paws of my tattooed clone Knuckles McDuck (not
his real name) and he will keep me company while
scouring the wind-blown sands for nude bathers
with those large bottoms he so much prefers. I
have also been promised a scrumptious lunch of
sealburgers and battery acid by that mistress
of haute cuisine, and indeed mistress of the rand
billionaire Drenko Mad Dog Grbrvich, the Serbian
war criminal who has done so much for inward investment
in the Cape. I refer to Grisha Snodgrassia, flame-haired
temptress of the Little Karoo.
drifting through the Valley of Desolation often
see Grisha spring into the leaden road, gaily
tossing away her well-reamed copy of Crime and
Punishment and flashing her crimson toes in the
hot air, as temptresses are wont to do. She's
best left behind, though, since Drenko's revenge
is terrible to behold. He forces his enemies to
eat prickly pears, prickles, worms and all.
and Grisha hold court at the up-market malaria-free
Landfill Lodge, a stilty construction of indigenous
sneezewood surmounted by a platform of faux quagga
hide. Here, while merrily drinking slivovitz for
weeks on end, visitors observe the natural beauty
and wildlife of the site the gangsters rapping
as trucks deliver giant loads of disposable nappies,
thin plastic draped over many exotic and endangered
piscine species, the remnants of bergie picnics,
and decaying comic books.
at sunset, huge clouds of feral crows descend
to feast upon offal and one can catch glimpses
of the shy peckerbird. In such company, while
Knuckles wanders off to The Spineless Maggot for
refreshment, one feels so, so very civilised.
Just the other night Mad Dog turned to Grisha
and remarked: I see, my darling, that a Sydney
abattoir worker has been given a life sentence
for killing, skinning and cooking her husband.
She then fed him to the children, except for the
head which was later found steaming in a pot.
A good enough reason to stay just where we are,
wouldn't you say?
cackled acquiescence while I was compelled to
concur. One should never emigrate to Australia.
If husband cooking becomes de rigueur, I'm sure
there will be many volunteers right here at home,
safely trapped by our roadkill-style currency.
The Strandfontein Landfill Heritage Site would
be immeasurably enhanced if chosen as a venue
for competitive cannibalism. SA can boast many
fine game lodges and wilderness preserves, but
few match what Drenko and Grisha offer, within
reach of exquisite oil slicks and toxic waste
so much to choose from, frankly, Rome and Venice
can get stuffed.