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Chess has always been in my DNA, nonetheless for years, the genesis of this passion remained an enigma, for none of my family known, counted it a hubby.
Chess as life
Having said that, those chess years provided unparalleled nostalgia, of that inauspicious Main Street locale, a conspicuously dilapidated construction. In fact, Chess Hall was the registered address, but for us young enthusiasts, it served as our weekend escape.
But 18 registered years, the flames of this enthusiasm, was expeditiously extinguished with a challenge accepted, testing wits against a man unknown. In fact, initially it mirrored the countless many challenge exhausting hours, of another cerebral marathon. But with skies darken, and lead insurmountable, the exit appeared temptingly irresistible. However, such an undertaking was cruelly impeded, not of barricades, but through information unsolicited, delivered with the most callous of decorum- “HE IS YOUR FATHER.”
Predictably, this detail dagger provided clarity to that chess passion enigma, but in so doing, imprisoned my being to the anger of ten thousand active volcanoes. Anger at Black men, who lacerated our psyches with indescribable pain. A hatred of him. A hatred that euthanised the passion, as valiant was the effort to be emancipated from his DNA.
But my personality remained inseparably married to chess. Paranoid. Trust no one. Face value nonexistent, cognisant that all are with ulterior motives. But that’s descriptive of chess. An outwitting to deceive and conquer. A challenge that prerequisite an intellectual gift, to birth the invisibly invisible strategy. That outer-sphere where chess meets life.
And it was at this point, my chess transitioned the study of life, where the unsuspecting are reduced to pieces, with our competitive world, the chequered board. Where the busied boards discern many with strategies to conquer, but counted failures, not for lack of effort, but more so a reflection of the vacuum between their ears. Brainless! In fact, such register counts Bharat Jagdeo and Freddie Kissoon, two demonstrably unintelligent morons, of the stratum visibly visible.
Farce Kissoon
For the pre and post-election period remain an intrigue, as Farce Kissoon of PPP wine reddened lips, endeavoured to convince the many that his pens aren’t PPP endorsed. But cognisant we are, it takes peerless intellect to strategise that invisibly invisible scheme. However, Farce Kissoon isn’t of such preeminence, boasting an unimpressive record of a quasi-academic, a doctor pretender, and a high school dropout.
Thus, it’s through this lens of mediocrity, his nonexistent literary creativity, is embarrassingly projected unto the naked daily columns. The fact is, they’re mostly of street gossips, eavesdropped as his dog walks him. But occasionally, his daily hearsay would narrate a Survival Supermarket jaunt, where a tirade tortured random stranger, is confronted with two choices- his bill or his bile.
Clinical dunce
Notwithstanding his limitations, this PPP lackey, heavily burdened with the intellectual aptitude of a wet doormat, continues to crave the limelight. For Amanza Walton-Desir MP, once opined that PPP supporters are mentally lazy, which many heard to either counter or concur. However, Farce Kissoon ever the bumbling fool, interpreted to extrapolate that Lady Amanza’s comment was referring to Indians, even though race was never mentioned.
So forced to daily hurdle the foolery of this loudmouth, his macabre interpretation was hastened for an intellectual deconstruction. Thus, firstly the analytical processes informing his Lady Amanza conclusion, was interrogated. But astonishingly, the quasi-academic defence was of the toddler in pampers gradation- “He just knows that.” However, recognising his stunted intellectuality, edified he was that such a conclusion is only possible, if he occupied Lady Amanza’s head, at that moment of utterance. But this goes without saying, even on his best day, Farce Kissoon cannot get into anything of Lady Amanza, much less her head.
Election 2020
Nevertheless, daily he labours for his keeps, as whispers echo of his morbid fascination with Burnham’s mausoleum. But this we know, the established norm when closer to death than birth, would be that of atonement, for youthful indiscretions. Not unrepentant Farce Kissoon, for in his self-appointed capacity, Election 2020 Bastion, he unashamedly registers mountainous indiscretions, in defence of PPP electoral lies.
But here’s the thing, conspicuously absent in his daily diatribes, are the many unanswered dark cloud questions, surrounding the elections. Thus our exasperating- The con-artist of no legal training, screaming like drunken cane cutters, that APNU+AFC rigged the elections. But here’s a reminder. Justice Saunders, the President of the CCJ, recently upbraided the clueless DPP, that she shouldn’t treat her opinions as established facts. Nevertheless, even with edification, the pompous buffoon, of no apparent functional braincells, continues his bovine bottom house ramblings. Now an inevitable, lonely political widow, he cuddles in bed with the perennial failure, Jagdeo, to
propagate the SOP non-argument.
For daily we observe, his Blah Blah Jagdeo of disrepute, standing at street corners, soliciting SOP from everyman who catches his eyes. But unbothered we are, if poles are his fancy, since preoccupied we are, with his many irrationalities. Why the anal obsession with SOP, albeit rejecting election COI or petition?
Thus, in search of answers, we explore the known. And this we know, Blah Blah Jagdeo is a koala dunce, so much so, that his schemes are conspicuously visibly visible. For this we recall. His first undertaking on self-appointing VP, was ensuring that the key players for an election COI, are placed before the Courts. So now confronted with inquisitions on PPP reluctance to have a COI, this was his predictable response. Many who can testify at a COI are presently facing the Courts, hence would wish not to self-incriminate in a COI. Certainly, this halfwit is as transparent as a glass crappo.
But evident it’s that Farce Kissoon ego, has outgrown his microcephalic brain. For in the radiant sunlit day, this nincompoop not only coronated himself as the Pantheon on Election 2020, but has census our 83,000sq miles, from six to two people: Pro- Kissoon election impasse advocates and anti-Kissoon election impasse rejectors. Where in his delusional world, the only opinion that matters, is that of the iodine deficient idiot and his anal advocates. As a result, any engagement with him is predicated on the answer to this question- What was your position during the election impasse?
Nevertheless, Blah Blah Jagdeo we revisit, to communicate news not so good- The pole you are insistent on seeing, will remain unseen. For this the rational. Consequent to the election recount, your favoured pole was rendered impotent, hence replaced with a Statement Of Recount, which you did inseparably embraced. Thus, even with tears of recount remorse, this impotent pole shall remain your eternal fantasy.
