By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr., Ph.D.
Well, the overgrown toddler, narcissistic butterball has made a very big mistake of presuming to lecture me on who the real Ghanaian freedom fighters are; he will pay dearly for such insolence, for he does not seem to fully appreciate the stark and glaring fact that if you grow up at the feet and under the giant shadow of a great-granduncle like the Doyen of Gold Coast and Ghanaian Politics, you do not need the belated "revolutionary" support or assistance of a Johnny-Just-Come-Lately who presumes the salutary birth of revolution to have begun on the Ghanaian political landscape in 1990.
That is rather late even on my own half-century old personal revolutionary calendar. The last time that I checked, I did not even see his name on the Who's Who Roll-Call of the legendary Movement For Freedom And Justice, so the little oversized man had better tell the world under which woman's bed he was hiding when the AK-47s were raining hailstones all over the place. Where was he when Capt. Joe Darko, my next-door neighbor, got himself and his police woman cousin killed in the operating theater of the hospital named for that Great Imperial Priest whom he falsely claims as his ancestor? And Osofo Asare's bullet-riddled corpse was set alight at Kejetia, where I once directed peak-hour traffic at high-noon tide? When I stood on the stage under the big shed at Anokyekrom, regaling revolutionary college students with patriotic poems from the trenches where were you, sourpuss?
Anyway, what rankles me more than all else is to "hear" this drunken Elephant of a reprobate attempt rather vacuously to lecture me about "Trenches." I am pretty sure this well-credentialled kleptocrat does not even know what a "trench" is, unless, of course, sticking his moon-face in-between the thighs of that seventy-year-old former PNDC Education Secretary is being deemed to be synonymous with "Writing from the Trenches." And if he really desires to know what a "Trench" is, well, I am apt not to disappoint him and his clinically blind and largely noetic supporters and sympathizers.
You see, I don't know how this swill-quaffing warthog remembers his teenage years, but maybe he would find it a tad instructive to learn that while I was in Lower-Six at Prempeh College, easily one of the best students of that great institutional landmark of my ancestral memory, I had authored THREE commentary notes on African Poetry and Prose for "O"-Level students that were in mandatory use from 1984 through 1987 by reputable secondary schools like Ghana National College, Cape Coast, and Sunyani Secondary School. By the way, I have never been to either Ghanaian municipality.
Now, if the preceding is not what haunching down the trenches is about, I don't know where this overfed SOB is coming from. And for good measure, the SOB may be mnemonically staggered to learn that I was born under the shade of the Silver Stool of Asante-Mampong (Atakora Amaninampong's great-grandnephew is me); I am also from Manhyia by way of Nkoranza and Akyem-Asiakwa, where I was raised by Odeefuo Nana Kwadwo Sintim-Aboagye; Asante-Dwaben is my paternal spiritual font and homestead; Adwuampong is my ancestral stool-house; I am also the Chief-Executioner for the Okyenhene, whose sister is Nana Yaa Asantewaa of Edweso; I am the direct scion of Otumfuo Osei-Tutu I, Emperor of the great African Savannah....
Now, tell me, ragamuffin Warthog, do I sound like one deathly afraid of blood?! Now, get this from me: I defended you against double-jeopardy in my Ghanaian Statesman article (it also appeared elsewhere in the mainstream Ghanaian media) on your GHANA-AT-FIFTY funding embezzlement as a matter of ideological principle, not because I sincerely believed in your innocence. And to be frank with you, soon after publishing that article, I held onto my sides, literally, and laughed so hard I nearly exploded!
I mean, what sort of even a cretin would believe that a whopping half of the funding for the GHANA-AT-FIFTY DISASTER came out of your own pocket? You ought to know by now that I am far and away smarter and linguistically better endowed than you to cravenly walk away from your faint-hearted gauntlet. I know yours is a faint-hearted gauntlet because you are morbidly afraid to even reference my name. Or maybe you are so superstitious, you believe the mere mention of my name could snuff the living daylights out of you?!
You know, you are quite right! But I am still waiting for your heart-in-mouth response, you M-fing unconvicted thief and thug!!!
Yours in the true service of genuine patriotism,
Osabarima Okoampa-Agyeman II,
Bronx, New York
May 26, 2013
E-mail: okoampaahoofe@optimum.net
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