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Going to a Nightclub
by Albert Russo

My hissing shenanigans prove quite efficient, coz people stare back at me open- mouthed then totally flabbyghosted, like they were the ones who did something wrong.

“Now, let’s not get excited,” I was finally able to udder, “my uncle doesn’t know how to sing at all. If Jacques Brel ever heard him so much as try to imitate him, he would rescoopcitate from his Polynesian grave, bones and all, and smack Unky Berky on his friggin head”.

Yeah, I know, it’s not my uncle’s fault, but better warn everybody at the same time, if you don’t want to have leaks.

The pair in front of us looked at me like I was the crazy one, not they. Well I never, so sayeth Shake ‘m Pears. And you should have seen Bonka’s expression, he looked like I had flogged him the way the Iranian mollars punish teenaged transgressors. Under that Mamluk regime young girls get flogged if they’re found wearing jeans under their mosquito-net cassocks, the poor dudesses. And of course, in this case I feel like twisting my uncle’s nose and both his ears, coz he loooves to show strangers what an underdog he is, specially after he gets scolded - by me, who else? Then, to win back my affection, he gives me that slavish labrador look which almost breaks my heart. Drivelling nincompoop that he is.

To break that poofy atmosphere, I turned towards Miki and asked him if we could go to one of them trendy nightclubs mentioned in Time Out magazine after dinner.

«Of course, Zapy,» answered the sweety pie - I felt like squeezing his cute lil chin and smooch him on the cheek, but I didn’t want to pass for a clot.

“I’ll take you to the best one, where we might come across some famous people from this country and even from abroad. The bouncer looks like an enraged gorilla, but don’t worry, he’s a buddy and always lets me in, along with my guests.”

Our pair of freaky chums started to clap their hands all the while my uncle was shifting his backside on his chair, and making squeaky noises on account that he wanted to intervene. He gave an unwanted fart, immediately followed by a boorish roar, which is totally unexpected from such a delicate and pussy-mouseyed guy. But I knew what it meant.

“Ahem ... er... grrr” he insisted, half barking, so that the audience paid attention. “Isn’t Zapy too young for such ... er ... a place? She’s not even thirteen you know.”

I cast him such a dirty look that he had to turn his gaze above my head, like he was suddenly staring at a bloomin fly.

“The lassie is as tall as I am, no one will see the age difference, specially inside the nightclub where the lights are dimmed!” said Shanty with a funny smile - was she jealous of me, the midget, or was it a compliment?