“ENTREPRENEURSHIP, STARTUPS AND CREATIVE TECHNOLOGY IS THE FUTURE OF A NATION AND MANKIND”

“Labbish!” President GhostSound Hari exclaimed with incoherence, slamming the tablet on the shiny mahogany desk in front of him. His aides justled around him, ready to lick his feet again. He smiled, revealing his diastema as he beheld his lickers with their white embroidery and babariga lying on the floor admiring his scrawny feet, a juicy meal to them.

“Baba, If we do not lick your feet, who will?” they chorused.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to savor the sensation of tongues on his old soldier toes. This was what he fought for. This was the reason he cried on television and tried past his prime to reach the highest seat of government in the nation. That men might lick his feet. How does an economic recession compare to the tickle of flattering tongues on his bony feet?

“When you fifu have zetisfy yaself, go and give zose lazy yous sam cetlass to go vack to za farm,” he uttered with disgust.

“Sai baba,” the grown men on their bellies replied.

They started to leave one by one. The tall one with a sinister moustache took a romantic look at baba, walked up to his friend with long strides and whispered “I have decided to graduate from licking Baba’s feet.”

His friend, shocked, grabbed him by the elbow and asked “what do you mean?”

Taking another lustful look at Baba again, he giggled “I have decided to start licking his behind.”

The friend put his hand on his chin to reminisce about what his partner said. Looking up at his counterpart, he smiled and said “you are right, he is like snow.”