Congratulations Zulu Chief!

You’re a Zulu chief, which isn’t actually that weird or significant in modern life, and today you’re going to luck out. You’re going to find a briefcase full of money!

You’ll find it in a bank, in America of all places, that you just happen to be robbing.

“Oh, hello,” you’ll say, grabbing the briefcase and taking it out of the vault, polite mostly from your Southern Africa upbringing, where such values were stressed more than actual nicities.

“Nice briefcase,” one of your heist-mates will tell you, nodding his approval.

“Thank you,” you’ll respond in that incredible accent that all Zulu chiefs manage so effortlessly.

Then the lot of you will shoot your way out of the bank, murdering three police officers before going to live in Canada, where you have diplomatic immunity due to some obscure laws that came up when Afrika Bombaataa formed the Zulu Nation and some Prime Minister really dug his sound.

You’ll live fat, happy, and surrounded by children and die quiet and pleased with the life you’ve lived, and rightly so.

Congratulations Zulu Chief! You’re a prince among thieves!