No-braina
by Albert Russo
Where the hell did they get
the name Corona from, which is Eyetalian for
crown? Queen Lilibet who has as many crowns as
there are m&m’s in a 500-gram package is
a real cutie pie with her hats of all shapes and
colors. I still find her so cool in spite of her
being a great-über-grandmom who is rapidly
dwindling into midgetdom, on account
that her spine is bending to the point that soon
she will be licking her toes. Did the ole gal
travel during her triple-chin life! I do envy her.
Alas, Unky Berky and I can no longer ply the
world, let alone go and visit her in Backgammon
Palace. Poor dear Ole Lilibet, she too is locked
down and under and has to wear a mask - Cartier
has made her one in alpaca and cashmere, rimmed
with dozens of precious stones, including lil
diamonds, emeralds and rubies - what else? as
Jorge MacClownie repeats when he drinks coffee.
Since she can’t see any of her chidren,
grand-children or the mini ones, she has long
discussions with the ghost of her beloved Filippo.
Apparently they still fight over why he did not
become king. He tells her that now that he is in
the Kingdom of Heaven, he has his own throne. He
is lying, and actually resides in Purgatory
Palace, on account of all the gallivanting and
partying he did during the century he spent on
earth. He probably felt he was treated like the
royal corgis - wow I wouldn’t mind being one
of Lilibet’s pets, being fed by a chef and
lodged in a private golden kennel with silk
cushions, and … above all, nobody would ever
bug me.
We visited four continents already, remember?
From the North Pole, where I never saw a polecat,
to the land of the Zulus - there, I learned that
I have South African cousins who are Afrikaners (white
Hug-‘em-not Protestants of Dutch
and French origin), of mixed blood (black and
white, or white and black, I really didn’t
ask), or gay like my uncle - he insists on
remaining in the closet, coz ‘no children
should be exposed to indecent adult shenanigans’.
He has no right to talk for me, I’m a free tinker.
We even tequilad in Mexico, catching la
turista every second day, and got lost in a
cave in Maimland China - I screamed my
head off for an umpteenth - oomph - number of
times, so much so that the echo of my voice made
me lose my balance, and I had to claw Unky Berky’s
arm in order not to slip down to the river (he
too began to howl, from pain, all the while he
was bleeding gooey-like, yuk!), while the bang of
our ukulelations resounded something
awful in my ears; I feared that my brain would
pop out of my skull any second and fall plop to
my feet, like a ripe melon ready to burst.
Excerpt
1 from CORONA ZAPINETTE by Albert Russo
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