Carol’s Column

ET and money make many very happy

They say nothing unites a country as much as a war against a common enemy. Well, sadly, I can agree with that.

However, this past week two joyous things happened that united South Africa in a way I haven't seen since we held our first democratic election.

The first was the State Lottery with the chance of winning over R13-million and the second was the thought of Eugene TerreBlanche on his crusty steed trotting off to the Potchefstroom jail in which he is to be imprisoned for a year.

Both events were greeted with extraordinary enthusiasm from all sectors of the population, regardless of hue, political persuasion, language group, socio-political status, sex, age, disability, religion, hair colour, income and any other ridiculous politically correct classifications that exist in this country.

Take the lottery.

Late Saturday afternoon, we decided to walk the few blocks down to the local café which has the nearest lottery machine. Half a kilometre down the road, we could see hundreds of people converging on the shop. From their sense of purpose it was obviously not the run-out-of-bread crowd.

When we arrived, the queue wound around the block so we grabbed a ticket and took our place to ponder our number choice.

You see, choosing the numbers on a lottery ticket is not something you can do in a hurry. Like a good beer, it needs to be mulled over.

Around us, people discussed their methodology. Some were much more complicated than others.

"I always vote 2, 3, 4, 6, 20 and 25," said the guy directly in front of us.

"Two for my bum, left and right, three for my chins, four for my limbs, six for my body orifices, 20 for the sum of my fingers and toes and then 25 for how many years I've been married."

"Excuse me, I think you've made a mistake," said a tall woman towering above him. "You do not have six bodily orifices. To be accurate, you have eight."

"My mouth, nostrils and ears, that's five," he calculated counting on his fingers. "Then there's the one which is impolite to mention," he added. "That makes six."

"Which particular orifice is impolite to mention?" snapped the gangly lass. "If you're talking about your back body waste evacuation vent, that is six, then there's your front body waste evacuation vent. That makes seven. Finally, your navel makes eight."

By now, the entire crowd was involved in the Great Orifice Debate.

Some yelled for the exclusion of the navel and ears on the grounds that these orifices were sealed.

"Define the word orifice," shouted a philosopher.

"Hole, gat, aperture, cavity, opening." Other terms were too impolite to print.

Eventually, it was universally agreed an orifice was an unconditional opening and therefore the ears and navel qualified.

By this time, we'd moved almost to the head of the queue.

Which is when the incarcerated AWB leader became the topic of conversation.

Without exception, everyone was really delighted that the chief thug of thugs was jailed and sharing a cell with several other prisoners.

All the hairy witticisms about orifice-filled green underpants and the person occupying them were revived. By now, we were at the entrance of the café and hadn't marked our ticket.

I randomly crossed six numbers and handed in my R13-million hope.

As I received change, the chap behind said: "Do you know what's wrong with Eugene TerreBlanche?"

"No," howled the crowd.

"He's got short legs so his brains are too near his ass!"

Everyone laughed heartily. It's amazing how a lottery and a lout unite people.

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