Bitch Please! I’m Toilet Paper – by Khanyi Mbau – An Analysis
I’m fresh from adjudicating good literature over the weekend so pardon me if I am suddenly scathing in my post and sound like a literary purist. Purity kills; I know. My morality is not yours; I know. However I reckon this uneasiness should be expected after a jolly Sabbatical that started in July this year with 75-brilliantly written books that kept my mind stimulated for three months. Books that all deserve to be prescribed for schools and given awards.
Still fresh from a one-man literary marathon I have got rubbish on my infra-red sniper rifle scope and my finger is aching to peel a cap. The kak I want to snipe as you might have figured out by now is the paperback of South Afrika's pseudo-gold digger Khanyi Mbau titled Bitch please! I’m Khanyi Mbau written by none other than 'celebrity' journalist Lesley Mofokeng. That this piece of bollocks was even published as a book is an indictment on the lowered standards of some publishing houses in this country that see vanity publishing as their short-cut to tenderpreneurship.
What did literary editors and fruit-pickers see in the little twat’s story? I used to understand why magazines do it because since there are advertisements for hair products between their pages and it’s a science to distinguish fake Mexican weave from the real. But it’s hardly an art to tell a fake person from a real. The last time Mbau had a reality show on e.tv the only insects attracted to my TV screen were flies. And I am left wondering if bookstores that also carry on their shelves quality titles are that desperate for Summer decor that they will even risk butchery ambience.
Quite frankly, based on the serialised chapters and a quick perusal of the pulp there is no book [literary work] between those poor white pages.
The second indictment for promotion of such intellectual bankruptcy goes to local entertainment journalism [read BLACK JOURNALISM]. The standards have lowered so much that these youthful journos who love launch-party freebies cannot even tell the difference between a book and a publicity stunt. I’m a book reviewer/publisher and literary judge so I know; truth is, Khanyi’s story is the most boring piece of crap since I read Julius Malema’s biography that failed to rise to the occasion regardless of being romanticised excessively by the gutter press; especially City Press which has developed compulsive obsession with Juju.
South African media is obsessed with so-called celebrities. Which leaves me wondering what a celebrity is when there often is nothing to celebrate but promiscuous lifestyles which end in AIDS and death. These folks are not celebrated, not even by their pets at home excerpt for a group of mediocre journos who worship at the altar of alcohol and drugs. Thus, in that narcotic induced state they see a Marilyn Monroe and a Madonna in Khanyi. What an insult to talented people since to draw parallels Madonna, though controversial and kinky actually had some grey matter between her ears.
I doubt any sober minded person who has not been whipped can say the same for Khanyi. I mean there is even a whole 15000 kilometres of Atlantic difference between her and recording artist Nicki Minaj.
We must probably be the only country where people who work for radio stations, television stations, newspapers, magazines and online news outlets are classified celebrities. In other countries celebrities are innovators and creatives who are bound to leave traces decades after they are gone.
For the life of me who wants to know how a married couple [Khanyi and Mandla Mthembu] bonked when there are trivial mysteries to crack skulls over such as why a caged bird sings [thanks to Sista Maya]. If you want to share your sexual antics you make a sex tape and license it to taxi rank vendors at Noord and Berea ranks. I don’t mean to attack Khanyi as a ‘hustler’ but the society that makes her feel worthy of the attention. I cannot engage Khanyi intellectually because it is abusive to indulge in a battle of wits with an unarmed zit.
If you think that piece of trash deserves a slot on your book shelf it’s still your right. However you also need to ask yourself if it’s acquired as a book or souvenir. Is it another Capitalist Nigger, I Write What I like, The Battle for the Soul of the ANC, Thabo Mbeki; A Dream Deferred, Rich Dad Poor Dad, Losing My Virginity etc which I see all the time in households of people whose conduct defies the contents of the book. Unfortunately they were bought as souvenirs.
Khanyi should try to focus on something she might be good at; the real reason ‘rational’ ex-Robben Islander Mandla married her and not other girls he could have chosen. That’s where her goldmine lies. But writing books; B*TCH PLEASE! THAT SH*T IS TRASH!
TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall
I’m fresh from adjudicating good literature over the weekend so pardon me if I am suddenly scathing in my post and sound like a literary purist. Purity kills; I know. My morality is not yours; I know. However I reckon this uneasiness should be expected after a jolly Sabbatical that started in July this year with 75-brilliantly written books that kept my mind stimulated for three months. Books that all deserve to be prescribed for schools and given awards.
Still fresh from a one-man literary marathon I have got rubbish on my infra-red sniper rifle scope and my finger is aching to peel a cap. The kak I want to snipe as you might have figured out by now is the paperback of South Afrika's pseudo-gold digger Khanyi Mbau titled Bitch please! I’m Khanyi Mbau written by none other than 'celebrity' journalist Lesley Mofokeng. That this piece of bollocks was even published as a book is an indictment on the lowered standards of some publishing houses in this country that see vanity publishing as their short-cut to tenderpreneurship.
What did literary editors and fruit-pickers see in the little twat’s story? I used to understand why magazines do it because since there are advertisements for hair products between their pages and it’s a science to distinguish fake Mexican weave from the real. But it’s hardly an art to tell a fake person from a real. The last time Mbau had a reality show on e.tv the only insects attracted to my TV screen were flies. And I am left wondering if bookstores that also carry on their shelves quality titles are that desperate for Summer decor that they will even risk butchery ambience. Quite frankly, based on the serialised chapters and a quick perusal of the pulp there is no book [literary work] between those poor white pages.
The second indictment for promotion of such intellectual bankruptcy goes to local entertainment journalism [read BLACK JOURNALISM]. The standards have lowered so much that these youthful journos who love launch-party freebies cannot even tell the difference between a book and a publicity stunt. I’m a book reviewer/publisher and literary judge so I know; truth is, Khanyi’s story is the most boring piece of crap since I read Julius Malema’s biography that failed to rise to the occasion regardless of being romanticised excessively by the gutter press; especially City Press which has developed compulsive obsession with Juju.
South African media is obsessed with so-called celebrities. Which leaves me wondering what a celebrity is when there often is nothing to celebrate but promiscuous lifestyles which end in AIDS and death. These folks are not celebrated, not even by their pets at home excerpt for a group of mediocre journos who worship at the altar of alcohol and drugs. Thus, in that narcotic induced state they see a Marilyn Monroe and a Madonna in Khanyi. What an insult to talented people since to draw parallels Madonna, though controversial and kinky actually had some grey matter between her ears.
I doubt any sober minded person who has not been whipped can say the same for Khanyi. I mean there is even a whole 15000 kilometres of Atlantic difference between her and recording artist Nicki Minaj.
We must probably be the only country where people who work for radio stations, television stations, newspapers, magazines and online news outlets are classified celebrities. In other countries celebrities are innovators and creatives who are bound to leave traces decades after they are gone.
For the life of me who wants to know how a married couple [Khanyi and Mandla Mthembu] bonked when there are trivial mysteries to crack skulls over such as why a caged bird sings [thanks to Sista Maya]. If you want to share your sexual antics you make a sex tape and license it to taxi rank vendors at Noord and Berea ranks. I don’t mean to attack Khanyi as a ‘hustler’ but the society that makes her feel worthy of the attention. I cannot engage Khanyi intellectually because it is abusive to indulge in a battle of wits with an unarmed zit.
If you think that piece of trash deserves a slot on your book shelf it’s still your right. However you also need to ask yourself if it’s acquired as a book or souvenir. Is it another Capitalist Nigger, I Write What I like, The Battle for the Soul of the ANC, Thabo Mbeki; A Dream Deferred, Rich Dad Poor Dad, Losing My Virginity etc which I see all the time in households of people whose conduct defies the contents of the book. Unfortunately they were bought as souvenirs.
Khanyi should try to focus on something she might be good at; the real reason ‘rational’ ex-Robben Islander Mandla married her and not other girls he could have chosen. That’s where her goldmine lies. But writing books; B*TCH PLEASE! THAT SH*T IS TRASH!
TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall
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