Posted by yz on Tuesday, May 15, 2007 in consipiracy theories,

I, FRUIT and An African Interpretation of The Dancing Princesses

I need to stop getting sick. I need to start eating more fruit. Actually, more is a joke. Somehow I don’t believe a small banana once every two weeks is what the guy who made the food pyramid had in mind . But I hate intensely dislike fruit. You know how in I, Robot the super computer who controlled all the robots was planning to enslave humanity? Yeah, there’s a super fruit out there, probably a pawpaw, and he’s just waiting for all of humanity to give in and eat fruit and then bam! Probably spores. Yeah. Spores that the evil pawpaw has implanted in every single fruit will somehow become a virus that will travel to the brain causing giving the super pawpaw mind control over us. And thus we will be under the dictatorship of super pawpaw and cooperation. So yes, go ahead and drink that Mango Splash. Chew the straw if you want. You’re doing exactly what super pawpaw wants. In fact he probably put initial spores to make you think fruit is necessary for survival. Because see now he has his eye, not just on you but in you. Me, myself and I, we’ll drink coke which doesn’t deny being evil. It flaunts its evil like a prostitute flaunts her wares. We would be like Will Smith but really, a prosthetic fruit arm doesn’t rock our boat exactly.

Being sick, I got to go home early from work yesterday. And I learnt something new about living in flats. Everyone knows everyone else’s business and life is public like that. It’s all about the good, the bad and the ugly in your home with your neighbors getting front stage seats. Think National Theatre. No. Strike that. Think Theatre Bonita, except at the flats the show begins at the slightest hint of commotion. Everyone rushes to a balcony, snacks in hand, kids grabbing toy binoculars. People with cheap tickets watch from the road. You think I’m kidding but people keep stools, mats and chairs on their balconies. Yesterday, Afande from the block opposite got it into his head, which was already a little saturated with malwa, that his daughters were malayas. Based on this conclusion he waited for them at home and proceeded to give them a thorough meleeing. It was at approximately 9.30pm that the show for the evening, an African Interpretation of The Dancing Princesses commenced.

(Stage Left) It is dark. Three girls attempt mission impossible-like stealth moves to enter their house. They open door enter and then close it. Suddenly there is a scuffle and something breaks. The scuffle ends with the resounding smack of a slap as a careworn hand meets the soft flesh of cheek. Someone turns on a light. One girl graps her cheek, tears beginning to well up, the other two look up in fear at Afande, aka their father.

“Where have you been at this time of night? Eh? Where?” He asks angrily.

“We’re sorry!” One bursts out.

Slurred abuse then he looks at them and asks “Eh? You think I am Stupid? Eh? You think that?”

The girls burst into tears at the question.

“No!!!” “We do-do-don’t!” “ Please!” They say at once then stop as his face darkens with even more rage

“It is YOU who are Stupid! All of you, LIE DOWN!”

Crying increases.

“LIE DOWN!”

The girls’ bodies meet the floor and then the audience hears the canes. Whack! Whack! Whack! Not endless but it feels like that. Somehow he is able to cane them all at the same time. After the first three they all begin screaming. Not the same scream either. One moans, another yells endlessly for her savior while the last gives one shrill yelp each time the cane lands. Throughout it all, Afande heaps abuse on them.

Finally the last cane lands and the girls get up. Silent, except for the occasional gulp the girls exit, stage right. Afande mutters to himself then exists stage left .Curtains drop.

Then the intellectual dissertation of the show begins as people lean over balconies to chat with the neighbors sharing opinions, generally mouthing off…..and I, I returned to my feverish sleep….