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Mo as an Ostrich
by Albert Russo

We all know how stupid ostriches are, apart from the fact that ostrich steaks are the best in the world. I had a taste of it in South Africa, not only is it as lekker delicious as roast beef, but it is sans all the bad cholesterol of red meat.

Now that I think of it, maybe the ostriches aren’t that dumb. They hide their heads so they can’t see or hear the booming volley of bullets shot at them through their behinds. It’s like them poor prisoners of war who are blindfolded so that they won’t know who their executioners are. If, Goddess forbid, something like that should happen to me and I fail to escape my pursuers, I’d always have a headband with me so that I could tie it around both my eyes and my ears. In any case, the sight of blood makes me swoon, even though I don’t perform the way my uncle does, who, as soon as he has a tiny lil scratch on his knee, starts howling like a cry-baby, or worse, like them hijab-clad mourners following the coffin of a terrorist relative who has failed to blow up the innocent people he wanted to kill, and instead died alone on account that his bomb exploded too early. When my uncle does that - cry in the highest pitched voice, only an opera singeress can match, after having downed a full bottle of vodka - not kill, you nerd, he couldn’t harm a mosquito even if that lil bugger pricks him from head to toe, it happens to him in summer or when we visited Senegal and South Africa - in the middle of a crowd, like that time we were strolling in the Jardin des Tuileries, I’m the one then who wants to hide my head in the sand. He’s so quiet otherwise that you ask yourself if suddenly he isn’t possessed by the devil voodoowise.

Oh so, I’m tiring you with my digressions! What? It gives you indigestions, hey. Next time bring a tube of Alka Seltzer, so you’ll be prepared. Good reading is a most intelletchual exercise, and yeah I’m an interesting and imaginative writer, my prestigious pears and apples have repeatedly said so, and to hell with the critics who don’t like my work. You’ve been warned.

Still hiding his face, Moses heard Goddess’ injunction piercing his poor ears:

“Go back to Egypt, deliver my suffering people from Pharaoh’s clutches and bring them to the new land I’ve chosen for them. It’s a place flowing with milk and honey”.

In them olden days, they were the healthiest food you could have. I can’t stand milk, specially the type with thick cream forming on the surface when it is piping hot. The first time a nun forced me to drink it at kindergarten, I threw it up on her white robe, and loo and bee bee hold, she slapped me on both cheeks, can you believe it?

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