in the auction house...

[siger]

the heat is solid in the auction house. no amount of air-conditioning will help. the potency of the occupant's expectations only fervors the flames. greed is burning. lust is simmering. this is the auction house.

look. there and here sit our favourites of people. men and women whose spit is worth more than my left arm. they are the finest of our people.

can you not see? see how the plump bottom on that one can hardly fit in that chair. the belly on the other is so big he cant trim his own toe-nails. and the thick fat on that one's chin, that is the beauty of excess.
smell the air. the stench of day-old sweat, that oily sweat you see there, that is the smell of heaven. the vile perfumes will do nothing in this case. a whiff of liquor? is that tobacco? that is from the back benchers. scorn those. they are sinners. the rest of them are good christians and muslims. they smell like money. the sweet scent of the auction house.

can you not hear? listen to the one who just got back from that shopping trip in New York. she needed a pair of shoes for the who's-in party. she bought 12. that one is quoting scripture from the good book of the chosen. forget that he keeps scratching his crotch. how was he to know that what he bought on that dark street was dirty? she looked only 12. anyway, the sinner will burn. not him. aahhh. snort, grunt, bay neigh, snore!! the pleasant sounds of the elite. did you hear the words farming, community counselling, clean water for the poor? those bloody back benchers! ignore them and their foul toungues. then, someone farts.
silence.
followed by the long sip of a salivating mouth. the anticipation is ripe. like a mango in season. the chorus of noises returns, louder now than ever. the melodies of the auction house.

look. the most favoured of the favoured has arrived. yes. that is the best of us. skin so thick, cheeks so full, belly like a pot, the smell of sex still lingers on him. he huffs and puffs as he approaches his great sit. look closely. learn from that one. he has it all. he alone wears the horse's hair on his head. and that great gravel of fate. what is that looped around the end of his great gravel? the testicles of a baboon! well deserved. that piece of wood is the tool of wonders. the master auctioneer has arrived. now it begins...

to be continued... 

[siger]

"honourable members of parliament, i declare the <snort> session ...".
quiet! what are doing? listen and listen good. today you sit with the great of this land, partake well of their wisdom. notice how the occupants of this house do it. <snore here, fart there....> . now follow true!

the auction is set to start, and they say we have a guest auctioneer today. there!! at the door. could it be? yes!! the guest is none other than sir john s. lackey III . legendary stuff this. listen to the guttural sounds of those around us. the heat is solid. the money does not get any greener than this. it will be a good auction today.

what is that in tow. a girl maybe, yes, she looks about 12. naked and dirty. see how she follows, and pretends to be tagged along. those chains are for show. it is good for the auction if such memories are rekindled. she looks around, there's no fear in those eyes. no shame at her nakedness. nakedness is all she knows.

the silence is unusual. perhaps this is not the auction, they wonder. look how they reach into their cases. is that a mask? aaahhh. the mask of compassion, concern and pity. mothers remember they are mothers. fathers fathers. the backbenchers are hollering. uncouth savages. embarrasing us infront of the white man. cant they see the cameras are rolling? no. it is not yet time for the auction.

then the terms are read. for every ounce of pain the girl suffers, for everyday she lies in the dirt, every inch of skin unclothed, every pang of hunger, for everyday she remains as she is now, there is a unit of foreign currency. wired express.

roar. what? oh. it is relief. yes, tangible relief envelopes the room. so this was the auction after all. the masks are thrown off. to think they could have fallen for it. were you, good friend? i wasn't. the mango is ripe this season. they look hard at the specimen. not bad. some look harder still. hey, if you clean her up a bit, slap some fear into her eyes, she might actually look good. one scratches his crotch. the other squeezes her breast. somewhere, some one farts...

[siger]

my disgust at what purports to be our african law-houses is un-parrareled.
they are chambers of refuge to the vile, hypocrite, pedophile,..... <add>

that accursed aid

[Poetic_Princess]

We all are appaled at what goes on in them, you really captured it