Thanks to the Mighty Sparrow—who may have eaten more white meat than was good for him—what comes to the legendary one-track mind of the Caribbean man the minute he sets eyes on a set of nicely spaced female fangs, especially when the mouth that contains them is a danger-ahead shade of red, ceased a long time ago to be a Grynberg-type secret.
Certainly no one knows this particular truth better than our prime minister’s one-of-a-kind over-pampered press secretary. Indeed, I suspect she is quite conscious of the fact that no one really gives a rat’s whisker about what she has to say on TV about her boss’ latest miraculous achievement; or about Pip and Guy’s back and forths; or about bat-faced Alvina—who is living proof that you are what you eat.
The PM’s multi-tasking apparatchik is well aware that while her virgin voice and en-rouge mouth are turn-ons for sweet-toothed Looshan males and females of a particular persuasion, they are hardly what keep pubescent schoolboys coming again and again to Choice on a Monday evening.
Nobody knows better than the Jade that it’s all about da lips. All about da teeth. All about da splits. Which is why she smiles and smiles and smiles, whether on TV, on Facebook or while fingering her social media gadgets at televised House sessions.
Which is why I was taken aback when someone who insists I stay in touch with the tax-funded Jade’s extra-official activities (since I consider FB even more virulent than Ebola!) sent me a screen shot of a recent post by the prime minister’s favorite functionary.
Now, let me say, judging only by those sent me, the Jade’s contributions to the FB virus have generally been inadvertently hilarious, not the least bit indicative of her intellect. That anomaly I put down to her playing to the Red-Zone plebes; coming down to their perceived level, so to speak. Hardly worthy of serious comment.
Oh, but Thursday’s post was of another ilk. Let us remember the day’s big news was that two more Saint Lucians had been driven by whatever demons to kill themselves.
Yes, by any measure horrifying, disturbing, regrettable, sad . . . certainly not an occurrence to be ignored, definitely not by the woman closest to our beleaguered country’s prime minister—whom many hold, fairly or otherwise, responsible for the circumstances allegedly responsible for the shocking spate of suicides.
Evidently yesterday’s debilitating announcement was not nearly as important to the Jade as was a local store’s TV advertisement featuring some mismatched female models attempting the booty-shaking moves of Meghan Trainor and her dancers, as featured in their video for All About Da Bass—a universal hit.
Consider this, posted by the PM’s press secretary and addressed to the targeted store: “I was being nice to you yesterday, hoping you would get the message that your disgusting advertisement needs to be pulled off the air. I see you didn’t get the message. I note that ‘All About That Bass’ [sic] is the song used in the advertisement for your clothes. Now I have seen the fashion in the video for this song and it is hideous. If this is the message you wish to send to the public you can do it without allowing these beautiful women to disrespect and embahemselves [???].
“Why exactly are women touching their bodies to model your clothes? Why does one of the models have her panty line visible? Is that how women should dress? Is that respectable? There is no order in this production . . . this is not even a production. I do not know where it begins or ends.
“My eleven-year-old thinks this advertisement sucks and has no place on television. Guess what? I am proud of her. Take my foolish advice and take this advertisement off the air. If you choose to keep your cheap advertisement I will go where the things that sold cheap are not cheap things.”
Who knew those wide-split pearlies had such bite?
Presumably, the Jade also gives her boss “foolish advice,” judging by his countless faux pas—including his usurping of the governor general’s authority and his acceptance of a vehicle from a business person with whom he later burdened the Saint Lucia Senate.
On Thursday’s TALK I played two short clips. The first featured young people in jounen kweyol costume performing a cultural dance known as juk fouye. Loosely translated into English, I guess that would be “stick it in and dig.”
In any event the dance, as presented, was a combination of the waltz and and some pretty suggestive grinding by young boys and girls, such as would surely get you arrested if you were reckless enough to “do it in the road,” to quote John Lennon. It is what it is, folks, and I have no problem with it.
The other clip featured the ad that “sucks,” according to the Jade quoting her eleven-year-old daughter. To regular eyes there is no question which was the more suggestive of the featured performances.
But that’s hardly the point, anyway. The Jade and daughter are entitled to their views—even though it seems most irregular that the prime minister’s press secretary, who is paid by business people under unbearable economic stress, should be campaigning on FB against a particular private sector establishment.
In any event I said my critical piece on TALK about the Jade’s post. Within minutes the PM’s press secretary had posted the following: “Well Rick Wayne, I expected your sick and twisted mind to defend such a disgusting advertisement. This is very, very mild compared to what you expose people to in the STAR. Furthermore, you are nowhere near my house or my child to know what she is exposed to culturally or otherwise. So I will simply place you on the list of the Jadiarized. Your history already defines you.”
Jadiarized? Is that the same as genital mutilation? Does it mean the person “Jadiarized” has been given a new look, split-fangs and all? Whatever it is, I suspect it’s something you would not wish on your worst enemy. As for my “history,” I sense some girly stone-throwing in a house of glass.
But never mind. Glutton for punishment that I am, I still think the Jade is, as they say, a bit of all right—never mind that her own not-quite-Mother Theresa history too often drives her to over-compensate.—RW