SCRUBS ALERT!

 

SCRUBS ALERT!

Nowadays, scrubs want to be pursued, courted, and taken care of like young brides. You will see their idle selves laying before the television screen on a Monday morning, comfortably scrolling over a multitude of packaged channels they did not pay for, shamelessly munching on breakfast they did not work for, and living off the back of some clueless woman's blood and sweat.

Scrubs are a piece of work, and I do not mean those protective surgical gowns worn by intelligent and hardworking medics at the hospital. As a matter of fact, scrubs are men who scrounge off others, particularly so ingenuous women. Thus, an adult scrub can eat plenty and sleep peacefully, yet when he is called to fend for himself, he suddenly develops an allergy to work. Who takes the blame for this boy's slothfulness? Should we point our fingers at his malleable mother or his absentee father?

The incompetent scrub says there are not enough decent jobs for him to work on, and make himself a useful member of society. As soon as his donkey of a wife goes to work to cater to him, he turns into a potato couch for the remaining part of the day that is until his unemployed passie rings his cell phone requesting him to join them for a mindless tête a tête at their favourite spot, the jobless corner.

Who raised this guy to be a buster? His parasitic ways are a cause for annoyance. But what is most infuriating is his virtuous wife. This woman is a serious enabler, dedicated to breaking her back for a toy boy, all in the name of love. What is more, at the risk of not wanting to be bachelorette well into her forties, she swallowed her pride, and settled for a leech. Inevitably, she willingly will shoulder his burden, until death do them part.

God forbid that his enamoured wife departs the earth before him. He will do the predictable, marry the house help, and squander his dead wife's wealth. I pity her children the most. Since dad has zero say so in the home front, the kids will learn the art of becoming simpletons, and leeching off of their prey.

Shame on you scrub! Your entire existence is a public waste. Here is a rake and a hoe. Make yourself useful, rush to the shamba, put your back onto it, and produce something for once in your life. Yet, I know you will make excuses for why your idle self cannot work. As a result, let us see how tight and right your game is, after the law screws you over.

Consequently, I do propose for new legislative laws to our constitutions, which target these scrubs. If only our governments could implement impunitive measures, in order to curb this new age type of behaviour, for it is unnaturally African. Perhaps I could be of help, with regards to carving out a grim set of rules, which would ensure that there will be no scrub males in our African society.

The first law would be compulsory hard-core military training for all the scrubs, inclusive of all suspected playboys, Casanovas, as well as heartbreakers. As soon as you young bloods begin to display scrub-like tendencies, the government would be accorded all authority to net and ship you to the desert, for an intense military drill, in order to militarize your co-dependent selves into universal soldiers. After all, we need this generation of scrubs to be upstanding citizens, and two years of military training would be an ideal way of transforming scrubs into generals.

The second law would aim at banning all scrubs from accessing a bed and breakfast. The appropriate slogan for these freeloaders would be, "No sleep and food for a lazy scrub." They would instead be subjected to hard labour, so as to eradicate their parasitic nature. Equally, thirty lashes on the back of a scrub, would potentially diminish foolishness from their brains by fifty percent.

Hence, thirty strokes of the cane, would be more than a scrub could bear, because anymore, and the moocher would just collapse and die. Moreover, I would also recommend hard labour, so as to jog the mind of a scrub from slumber. Perhaps a strong whip would do in the case of a sponger scrub. Yet, if corporal punishment does not work, then our governments could consider jail terms for weaklings, so that they gain growth and depth, although this is not a guarantee, especially for those scrubs who are mentally slow.

The third rule for scrubs would be, no romance without finance. You heard it here. There is nothing for nothing sir. Maybe all scrubs would have visibly branded tattoos printed on their foreheads, which would help other citizens identify them. This barbaric move by our governments, would potentially curb heart breaks by seventy five percent.

Equally, every rehabilitated scrub, with an extensive military and sensitivity training, would no better than to break any woman's heart. However, for those hard knock scrubs who easily malfunction, would be sent back to the dog house for minor alterations and technical adjustments. After all, our governments cannot afford loose cannons parading our streets like mindless zombies.

The fourth rule would be that the wealth of all the women bank-rolling these scrubs should be frozen, until their self-esteem increases up to eighty percent. Our governments will then enforce mental re-adjustment programmes nationwide, for all women who are related to these scrubs, including their very own mothers.

Moreover, the women who partake in this mind-adjustment programmes, will be encouraged to find equally balanced relationships, so as to completely gain their self-worth. The rule will be simple, either you get with a fruitful partner or remain single for the rest of your life.

The fifth rule that our governments would impose on the scrub challenge are breakthrough prayers, as a last resort. In case the aforementioned stringent laws fail to curb scrubolisis, then prayer warriors will be summoned to pray travailing prayers, especially on those brutish scrubs, who are bad to the bone, if possible exorcise foolishness and stupidity out of them. God help us all.