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Cousin Tuk in Durban 6
by Albert Russo

Unky Berky croaked something no one understood, except me. He looked like one of them corny ostriches down in Oudtshoorn, and after several nerve-wracking seconds, he managed to stutter:

“Tuk ... Wook ... are you sure this is ... moo ... a place for a ... Yak ... teenager?”

“Oh, you may be right, I didn’t realize Zapy was so young, she looks so mature.” replied our cousin.

Panty gave me a sympathetic look, blinking his lovely eyelids like a bloomin’ puppet, to show how sorry he was that I couldn’t go with them to The Gay Lord.

“Why don’t we accompany Zapy to her hotel room?” Tuk suggested. “She’s a big girl now and doesn’t need you to tuck her in to bed, hey cousin Alberic, ha ha ha.” He added, sporting a very very stupid smile that made him look like the whistling thnake who whithpered into Eve’s ear in the garden of Eden.

“Waddaya mean, put me to bed! “ I blurted out, shooting a volley of my most snakishly venomous daggers at that Tuk-watchamacall of a cousin, who by the way I’m disavowing, coz who needs family like that, anyway? “Bonka is coming with me,” I commanded, “on account that I’m the one responsible for him during this trip. Then too, it’s his duty to accompany his lil niece night and day, like a good watchdog, specially in a foreign country, with perverts like youuu.”

Tuk looked at me with eyes rolling wildly - he resembled them Yapaneez robots with their high-pitched donkey voices -, like the ground had just shaken under his feet. His face turned all grey with ashes puffing out of his ears. Panty got so scared he jumped to his rescue, in case he lost his balance and maybe his teeth too, coz I’ve heard strange stories of people in great shock who found themselves suddenly totally bald or amnesiac - that’s like old-timers’ disease (alzheimer, alzheimer, by the time them poor old folks pronounce that word, they’ve sunk into the stage of an embryo) when a grandma thinks she’s a little girl again, or when a grandpa talks to his son, believing the son is his great-grandfather. Goddess Holy Shiva, I hope that never happens to me, I’d rather die on the spot of a heart attack, an embolism and a brain haemorrhage all at once. Now, you doctors, and you in particular, dear Amithab - don’t hide behind that cute, smart lil face of yours, coz if you were a little younger I would have fallen in love with you too, verbrans -, tell your colleagues who manage the Great Whoa Medical Dictionary, to simplify the spelling of all those diseases, it ain’t fair to have so many bowels and consonants lined up in a single word, for cryyying outt louddd!

From the GOSH ZAPINETTE! series (15 episodes in all)
9//21 Excerpted from Zulu Zapy wins the Rainbow Nation, by Albert Russo.