South African voters will before long dispatch the surfeit / annoyingly abundant numbers of useless career politicians to the museum.

Tito will be the chief cook. All and sundry will be fat (sorry, the F word is not PC, replace with “their circumferences will outstrip their height”), but the museum will be bankrupt in no time.

Ace will be in charge of procuring dairy and liaison with the nearest dairy farm. You need not worry, no one in the museum will be afflicted by lactose intolerance. Entitlement, narcissism and delusions of grandeur yes, but no lactose intolerance.

Nobody will want to do business with the museum, but Pravin will insist that the facility must be salvaged from the dead and recapitalized as the nation requires a command and control museum.

Samson Gwede and Tito both eye the delivery girl, but Gwede wins out as the more generous blesser. His abdomen bulges with pride. After all, his first name is Samson.

Helen Zille will be put in charge of Twitter marketing. Soon she will sing the praises of colonialism and claim that the museum has a lot to offer to all those senile geezers who hark back to the times of singing God Save the Queen, but on closer scrutiny patrons will discover that the only reminder of colonial times is Naledi Pandor’s accent.

Nomvula is put in charge of water supply, but she wants to run away from the haunted museum. She is convinced the walls whisper “Bosasa” at night.

Lindiwe has to take over, but there is still no water supply as she has to split her time between the hair salon and consulting with her consultant.

Petrus Johannes Groenewald, bar a short break has been  part of the furniture in Parliament since 1989, but he will only participate in the museum if an additional tenth room is built for him as he insists upon developing separately. He has no idea where it should be built.

Lindiwe drops in briefly, just to remind all in the asylum, sorry museum, that Human Settlement is also her purview and that Groenewald should be given a 2 by 3 m patch next to the outhouse, the latter an unfortunate necessity as she is too busy to provide Sanitation. “We must blame these outhouses on apartheid”, she shouts before running off to consult with her consultant.

Petrus Johannes welcomes the advent of a new dawn and takes the patch next to the outhouse. Oorwinning vir die Volk! For the first time in forty odd years someone has noticed and listened to him.

Soon a putrid odour emanates from the general direction of the outhouse and homeland.

Ramaphosa says he is not aware of the rotten state of affairs. He has not seen or heard anything and he is unlikely to discover in this lifetime which of his special senses to utilize.

Mbeki denies that something fishy is going on, but if you must, chuck some beetroot into the pit.

Jacob Zuma occupies a special room with a view, where he is hidden from the neighbours, prying eyes and all those who claim to be his offspring. He is treated as deity, for as head of intelligence (an oxymoron, I know) he still has a docket on every inmate.

Jacob’s erstwhile paramour, Nkosazana Dlamini, issues a decree that all should wear a kopdoek. Only the DA and Groenewald adhere to the dictate.

Herman Mashaba says he will join, but only if he can run the museum. Shampoo and cosmetics will be supplied from surplus stock. Superficially all go well until  Malema is put in charge of tenders and issued with a virtual card. Guzzi shoes and bunions everywhere. The audit trail is readily apparent, but Julius says he is not to blame for the expense account. It was his shadow who used a virtual card, not a real one.

The  Chinese Communist Party bails out the museum and hoists their flag at the entrance.

The domain is overcrowded with Jacob’s floozies. All inconsequentials are requested to return to the farm. Holomisa says he wants his private army back before he will consider leaving the museum. The PAC Auntie demands more pet projects for the 5 IDs still alive.

Almost daily, two gents, erstwhile best buddies, want to approach the High Court to create a semblance of order, but Steenhuisen and Miamane are not on speaking terms.

Miamane appears much more comfortable in his new role as vicar/ preacher/ pastor to the museum of yesterday’s non heroes, but it has yet to dawn on him.

The inhabitants are all beyond redemption.

And the property belongs to the Chinese.