January 12, 2023

District Man Vows Not To Die Before Climbing And Rocking On Mashwede Village Tables

By The Reporter; Intertwined-Zimbabwe

GOROMONZI - A local district man has reportedly vowed not to die before embarking on an exhilarating thrill of a lifetime; climbing and rocking the tables at the (in)famous Mashwede Village spot in the country's wretched and worryingly decrepit capital, Harare. 

Mr. Musanetseke Pfungwa Masimire, aged 43, intimated to his mesmerized neighbours and family and at the village court at some undisclosed "peasant" location in the vast district of Goromonzi that his only wish before departing this magnificently tortuous Earth was to go for a thrilling night out with his 'boys' to the popular hit Mashwede in Harare's historical high density suburbs for the "best experience of his lifetime" - climbing and rocking the immensely revered and desecrated Mashwede Village tables while loud music from the spot's exasperating speakers destroys his eardrums and Eustachian tubes. 

Addressing his excitable audience, much to "waals" and "ndikokos", Mr.  Musanetseke Pfungwa Masimire bellowed, "The only thing that has refused to leave my mind is Mashwede. I hear the groove in Harare can be pretty wild and releases the stress of providing for lazy wives and children. My only wish before I leave this planet is to go and climb and rock the tables at Mashwede. I also hear that's the best experience of a lifetime consuming the lives of urban yutes and baddies in H-town. Gaya, husiku hwese uchingokwira matebhuru apa ngoma richirira baad wakanamwa zvako nemukwava! Yooo, you guys, I can't wait. Even sabhuku has said 'go ye forth!' and bring back some juicy reports that even H-Metro reporters can't match. Those bloody liars [H-Metro journalists] anyway! Vachatengesa zhet kumukadzi wangu. Gaya." 

Mr. Masimire was reported to have included this supremely indispensable wish into his will; that even if he fails the little USD$50.00 making up his Estate in its entirety must be able to take his two sons Chamu and Biggie to go climb and rock Mashwede Village tables. 

At the time of going to press, The Reporters reached the district man for his invaluable comments on the unverified reports that had proliferated as nasty grapevine [like Robert Mugabe's infinite death rumours] all the way to Ruwa and Murehwa, and he quipped, in a manner betraying his good old days as the best student in O'Level English studies at Goromonzi High, "What you've heard is not a remote possibility. My faith exudes unshakeable belief and optimism. I'm not concerned with Unplugged or any other numerous outdoor 'chills' sprouting in the capital.  My only desire is Mashwede tables and perhaps some DJ Fantan and Levelz music on the loud speakers." 

"Best experience of my lifetime if it comes to fruition.  Don't tell H-Metro, I am my own story. And to the haters saying a district man in his 40s must not visit Mashwede, here's a massive fuck you to you, respectfully."

It is said he will not be hesitant doing the tables and alcohol and loud music with some 'baddies' from the wretched worryingly decrepit capital, Harare.

October 14, 2022

Local Man Seriously Depressed After Fresh Pair Of Socks Suddenly Decides To Go Missing In The House

By The Reporters; Intertwined-Zimbabwe 

GWERU, ZIMBABWE — Worrying reports coming in from Athlone in Gweru, Zimbabwe suggest that a local man has fallen into a serious episode of massive, life-threatening depression after his fresh pair of socks suddenly decided to conspire against him by going missing right inside his very own room. 

where do missing socks go meaning pic on article for zimbabwe satire latest comedy website mental health depression

Tanaka Mafero (26), who has just been introduced to the rough and unkind vagaries of life's insane vicissitudes, lamented how at exactly 8.50 am, just as he was preparing to go to Windsor Park to see his girlfriend Makaita Moyo (22), he realized his fresh pair of socks he bought last week suddenly went missing. He had scheduled to meet her at 9.00 am, and in the midst of all the chaos, just as he had finished wearing his loyal pair of blue ripped jeans after applying the body lotion and body spray, he realized the first sock was missing. 

Livid with frustration, he realized the other sock was missing exactly five minutes later. Makaita, afraid of yet another usual routine experience of "toxic niggas", kept buzzing the 26-year-old's iPhone 13 Pro Max till it couldn't take it any longer. 

The self-proclaimed city 'hustler' could only muster a few words in narrating his rather tragic ordeal to The Reporters.

"I bought a fresh pair of cool socks last week, you know, and just like the previous 3 pairs, it just suddenly goes missing. Totally ruining my day. Haa iskiri rechimero pazvinhu zvacho because mwana ndakamumisa gaya. It always starts with one sock going missing...I need a break from all this, my parents now afraid I'm having self-harm thoughts. Fucking socks. Dzokono boiz, washen [laundry] haiko."

At press time, The Reporters confirmed that Tanaka Mafero had resorted to his regular anti-depressants, which are reportedly kept in his mother's car (the same car he wanted to use to see Makaita)—but failed to get any comment from Makaita or the local man's parents. 

It has since emerged that the country's men are regularly being hit by crippling anxiety and depression whenever their pairs of socks start missing. 

The Ministry of Home Affairs has since launched a commission of inquiry to understand the phenomenon; though there are grave concerns that the President may not release the findings to the public in fearing that the masses will know that even the President's socks regularly and suddenly go missing.

September 16, 2022

25 Swear Words And Phrases To Help You Through The Pressures Of The Day - The Power Of Profane Expletives

By The Reporters; Intertwined-Zimbabwe.

HARARE, ZIMBABWE — Okay. We are just going to head straight into it. No brief write-up to motivate you out of your wretched and shitty world of adulting [adulting is a scam bruh!]. No parental guidance needed either. Just make sure your kids don't get hold of this inspiring and uplifting work. 

The Reporters [under tremendous social difficulties] carried out some incredibly far-reaching, deeper-than-deep, and extensive research, approved and sanctioned by the Supreme Editor of INTERTWINED ZW, just to come up with this easy-to-digest list of swear words to help you throughout the day. 

For your convenience, dear Intertwined Zim readers.

Also, make sure you don't accidentally and purposely blurt out these bad English curse words in front of your family, boss, or pastor. Especially around your kids — say them in your heart when you're around kids. 

You don't want 5-year-old and 10-year-old sons and daughters to have their sweet blissful innocence korrupted in this intrusive manner. Having them chant fuck! at creche or primary schools.

Nope. Suffer with your adulthood alone. Don't include children in your messy mess.

READ: 20-Year-Old Avondale Woman Already Tweeting That Adulting Is A Scam Bruh

Now, allow The Reporters to give you some free Therapy, and, no, it is definitely not fucked up. In fact, this shite is priceless, damn

OK OK, Here We Fucking Go:

  1. Fuck. 
  2. Shit. 
  3. What Tha Fuck (exclaimed with either a ? or a !)
  4. Holy Fuck. 
  5. Fuckshit. 
  6. Shitfuck. 
  7. Fucking shit.
  8. Jesus Christ. 
  9. Clusterfuck. 
  10. What in the fucking fuck ?! 
  11. A fucking flying fuck (as in, 'I don't give a fucking flying fuck'. Never catch flying fucks, please).
  12. Shitty.
  13. Damn/Goddamnit! 
  14. Fucked up. 
  15. Fucked bullshit. 
  16. Fucking bullshit. 
  17. Shitload. 
  18. Holy Mary Mother of Jesus (use it mostly when perplexed, flabbergasted, or in times of the utmost shock).
  19. Jesus Fucking Christ (this one is not highly recommended, deploy it cautiously and clandestinely). 
  20. Jesus Christ of Fucking Nazareth. What The Fuck? (see 19. above). 
  21. Motherfucker. 
  22. What in the motherfucking fuck is this fucking bullshit (this is some chakra level). 
  23. The fuck do I know? 
  24. Fuck you (the locus classicus of swearing). 
  25. Fuck my life/fuck me/I'm fucked.
Honourable Mentions:

  • Fuck this shit. 
  • Motherfucking bastard; you fucked up. 
  • Arsehole. 
  • Fucking piece of shite. 
  • Dickhead.
  • Bloody hell (elite profanity for Christ's sake, Jesus!)
  • Fuck off.
  • Piss off. 
  • Drown in your piss you fucking retard (protect your teeth soon after uttering this explosive expletive).
  • This fucking wanker. 
  • Bollocks! (you may come off as an admirer of the British; the bloody word means testicles - never forget the exclamation when uttering it).
  • Shit is difficult. 
  • Bitch/whore. 

Now, go have a good day. When it gets rough, this article (contrary to convention, nothing contained herein is socially offensive - oh, such a weak disclaimer, sincere apologies) will guide you to blissful numbness, tolerance, and stoicism.

The power of profane expletives. The healing.

The SUPREME EDITOR'S NOTE: When life gets utterly shitty and incredibly fucked up or down, a little dose of profanity might help. In actuality, it will help. 
Priceless Advice from our Therapist in this fucking capitalist world (yep, our The Reporters have a therapist in the newsroom). 
Incontrovertibly supreme Advice. Unrivalled preponderance. If you're an artist, this is for you. Real art is uncensored; hell it is (ditto Dambudzo Marechera). We say no to censored art and nefarious censorship boards.

September 03, 2022

Local Hatfield Woman Begs Council To Turn Airport Road Into Formula One Racetracks; The 'Grand Circuits'

By Intertwined-Zim 

A local Harare woman from Logan Park in Hatfield reportedly assailed the city authorities for not turning the “notoriously smooth” Airport Road into a Formula One racetrack.

Airport Road Harare
Airport Road. Random Internet Picture.

Muchadei Makundano, the spokesperson for City of Harare, confirmed the incident, saying that there is still much hesitancy at Town House to forward the complaint to the Town Clerk.

“I can confirm that a petition of some sort has been lodged here outlining the long-overdue need and desire to transform Airport Road into a Formula 1 racetrack.”

“We are still pretty much scared to inform our all-wise and all-listening and ever-patient Town Clerk that this is what is prevailing.”

Evelyn Sanders, the 36-year-old woman who fervently wishes for a Formula 1 live race in Zimbabwe — arguing that she is tired of seeing lighting-speed little cars on TV circling Europe and other fringe continents — suggested Airport Road, noting how it is “notoriously smooth” and “attractively wide”.

“Have you ever sailed this road in the comfort of, say, a Nissan Tiida, or something like that? I think Airport Road is marvellous. Who wouldn’t like an F1 race live in Harare? Even the presidential and ministerial convoys criss-cross this road with that same lighting-speed. 

The best road in Harare. Notoriously smooth, of course Don’t worry about crashes, it's a grand circuit. Well, at least Mbuya Dorcas Hospital is nearby.”

At the time of going to press, The Reporters uncovered, with great difficulty, that Evelyn Sanders is not aware of the fact that Airport Road is officially recognized as Joshua Nqabuko Nkomo Road. 

July 15, 2022

UZ Law Graduate Utterly Crushed After Finding Out That Real Life Law Practice Does Not Look Anything Like 'Suits' Or 'How To Get Away With Murder'

By Intertwined-Zimbabwe

ALEX PARK, HARARE – A buoyant graduate from the University of Zimbabwe’s law school was utterly crushed beyond any reasonable doubt upon his first week at a burgeoning law firm in Harare. His expectations of what the legal practice entails varied radically with what he spent digesting on TV during his law school years.  


Is this what a lawyer's office in Zim looks like?

Tinotenda Machiridza, the 24-year-old graduate who recently graduated from the country’s relic of an institution remarked that he expected to be doing what Harvey Spector and Annalise Keating did in the legal TV dramas Suits and How to Get Away with Murder – oblivious to the fact that these are merely fictitious characters in screen productions from the United States of fucking America. 


“I thought my first week here at McFodden and Mangwere Law Chambers would catapult me to the levels of a super lawyer as they do in Suits and How To Get Away With Murder. I was expecting that week in week out I would be crushing opponents ruthlessly and cleverly both in court and with out-of-court settlements. My averment here is that this is truly and by all accounts a phenomenally monumental disaster. This is how they do law in Zimbabwe? What a fuckery!” 


At the time of going to press, Machiridza, who now practices at McFodden and Mangwere Law Chambers in Alexandra Park, intimated to The Reporters how he hates the “atmosphere” at the courts in the capital.  


“How will I be able to do what Harvey does at this shite Magistrates Court where the atmosphere is like we are begging the Judicial Service Commission to practice law? Huh? I am a clever young man. I deserve better. The High Court feels like a gladiator's pit. No glamour there. And why didn’t anyone tell me that on top of a shite registration process to be a legal practitioner, I would be dealing with sub-standard pleadings all day and just waiting for postponements at the Magistrates? This is catastrophic. My soul is crushed.”


The Reporters confirmed that the crushed UZ law graduate vowed to bring better standards among the country’s lawyers and judges so as to reflect what is done in Suits and How to Get Away with Murder.  


However, one of the senior partners at his workplace, Donny McFodden, recommended that he better watch Better Call Saul for a true representation of what lawyering is like in the United States of fucking America. Perhaps even in Zimbabwe, too.

June 05, 2022

LONG READ: “The Sound Has Changed!” Cry Pundits Who Called for ZimDancehall Sound to Change

 By Intertwined-Zimbabwe

HARARE, ZIMBABWE; AND BERLIN, GERMANY – “If you call this ZimDancehall, you may need to get checked!” These are the incendiary words that a prominent cultural critic - the vital but contradictory head honcho of the burgeoning platform Ear-on-the-Speaker-Zw - screamed and bellowed upon hearing Killer T’s new sizzling Sungura-Afropop-And-Unknown-Kanindo-influenced smash hit ‘Hakete.’

Snapshot of Killer T's 'Hakete' YouTube music video. Image sourced from the randomness of the interwebs' search engines.

This is despite the precedent of the same critic leading the charge against the genre’s perceived resistance to change.  His contradictions (expressed primarily via the Digital Streets Wherein the Social meets the Media, notably Facebook, and to a lesser extent the bird app Twitter) in demanding an urgent evolution of the ZimDancehall sound, for an organically distinctive original Zim sound free from Jamaica/Caribbean copycatism, yet at the same time humorously but seriously denouncing the same evolution as expressed by the former dem-po-po-po-po-po-po Matapi Zion chanter Killer T, are spectacularly incredible. 

The contradictions are unparalleled, par-excellence. The Reporters, as such, delved into a tremendously deep excursion of investigative journalism to get to the bottom of this ZimDancehall evolutionary sound-change phenomenon; a bulwark against the conventionally misguided tropes of Jamaica/Caribbean copycatism. 

(The Ear-on-the-Speaker-Zw boss, who incited the notion that Killer T's Hakete is not ZimDancehall, is alleged by other non-musical and musical gatekeepers of the genre that he sometimes exudes the uncanny habit of revelling in such contradictions. Probably another classic case of the legendary ‘svoto’ or ‘finhu’: just like a certain political party that rules the teapot-shaped country with a bronze and silver fist, ZIFA, the Warriors, and/or the Chevrons. We digress. Apologies.)

Announcing itself as a distinct, stubborn, parent-hated, and Christian-and-Hegemony-hated genre of urban music in the mid 2000s, ZimDancehall became arguably the most eminent genre (and certainly among the perennially misguided & truant urban youth) over the course of the 2010s.

Throughout its turbulent existence, it has come under a myriad of scathing, disingenuous, and often fake-deep criticisms. In predictable cases of extremism, this baseless bashing and slander exercise that ZimDancehall is ruthlessly subjected to, often without context and nuance, has come from Christianity, Parents, and Hegemony; this ominous three-pronged arch-nemesis really hates ZimDancehall, its chanters & producers, as well as its loyal and fickle fans alike. 

While most of the criticism has come from the moral police who fault the music for its perceived vices and societal decadence (conveniently forgetting that the debauchery and decay that the Dancehall kids sing about reigned supreme way before the proliferation of the genre – but again, we digress), the frequently recurrent condemnation of its sound has been, “It’s simply ripped off Jamaican Dancehall music!”

With the genre experiencing tumults as well as a slight dip in popularity in recent years, the self-positioned and crudely hegemonic cultural polymaths have diagnosed this very [stubborn] insistence on retaining the Caribbean influence of the music (also known as copycatism) as the dominant cause of waning popularity — and not, maybe, just a result of the same goddamn cyclical nature of the arts that affects just about any music, nay, cultural trend. Vapid or with substance. 

Some arm-chair non-musical experts (in their purported polemic and/or apologetic rants of diagnosing ZimDancehall's fucked up problem with an attendant panacea), attribute this slight popularity dip mainly due to the immensely saddening and untimely demise of its selfless revolutionary iconoclast popularly known in ZimDancehall parlance as Sauro or Ngwendeza. 

But such lazy intellectual apologetics are terribly flimsy; as The Reporters have unearthed in a ground-breaking investigation conducted on the actual ground, this shaky and unfounded lazy intellectual argument is flimsy because non-mainstream ZimDancehall chanters & producers have kept the torch alive. 

The Reporters also discovered, with tremendous perplexity, that some of the moral police are ostensibly dizzied by the lofty heights of the high ground. 

Perhaps heeding this criticism or, more likely, allowing the music to evolve organically as the years have passed, many of the prominent artists within ZimDancehall have now created a sound/sounds—or rather, a conflated potpourri of sounds— that are distinctive to either the genre or themselves. Harare's extrication from Kingston's ReggaeDancehall, Dub, and Soca. This new ZimDancehall sound, which is passionately loved and pushed vociferously by hardcore mainstream adherents (listeners, media practitioners, Editors, and non-musical academics and gatekeepers), is largely and conspicuously unrecognizable when played alongside its Jamaican Dancehall counterparts. The new ZimDancehall sound, which does not sound like copycatism-clogged original ZimDancehall, radically differs from Bob Marley's likkle-but-wi-tallawah ReggaeDancehall sound of the Caribbean island of Jamaica.

The Reporters, in a thoroughly in-depth investigative journalistic drive that left no stone literally unturned, strenuously uncovered that the predictable innovators of this new sound [akin to bubblegum-chewing auditory jaw-waves] include the enviable likes of Killer T, Enzo Ishall, Freeman, Jah Signal, Chillspot Records, and Seh Calaz, but to a lesser, reasonable extent. They portend, but most importantly materialize, the much-vaunted evolution of ZimDancehall. 

This predictable coterie of evolutionary sonic innovators has integrated elements of Sungura, Jiti, Kanindo, Rhumba, hazy Pop, and other regional sounds such as the nascent Amapiano into their music (sonic scientists in Johannesburg and Bloemfontein confirmed when Amapiano is played non-stop the whole day, the eardrum and mental faculties of an individual become severely and dangerously irritated). This integration of distinct sounds happens as if the innovators, currently led by Killer T, want to spiritedly beat A-Level Math students solving Integration problems. 

(Which is painfully insignificant in the cosmos' grand scheme of things; as long as the sonic innovators led by Kelvin Kusikwenyu [Killer T's real name] deviate from the shackles of alleged Caribbean copycatism, ZimDancehall might be given another 7-year lease of life. A 99-year lease of life is highly unlikely because of unrestrained commercialization of mainstream ZimDancehall. The same disease that seems to afflict the genre's misunderstood sibling called Zim Hip Hop.)

Even the most iconic flag bearer and unrivalled luminary of ZimDancehall – Winky D; who, at some point during the genre's nostalgic peak, faced fiery competition from Ngwendeza aka Sauro; although they rightly and immediately made peace that was infused with profound mutual respect via a Deed of Settlement signed between Vigilance and Conquering – even Winky D has dropped monster hits that look and sound more at home on an 80s movie soundtrack than Jamaican Dancehall. All in spirited, innovative attempts to avoid allegations of Caribbean copycatism hindering organic ZimDancehall evolution. 

The consensus among arm-chair or non-musical intellectual academics and gatekeepers is that Winky D seems to be doing this ZimDancehall sound-change better than the others (read Killer T, especially). 

The Reporters have it on credible authority that reportedly, only musical intellectual academics, nay gatekeepers, such as University of Zimbabwe's Fred Zindi, are the remaining voice of reason; musical experts who actually stepped into the studio and made music and distributed it while upholding tremendous journalism, writing, lecturing, policy and institutional advocacy, and in-depth/contextual understanding of Zimbabwean music in its holistic entirety. 

In an odd but not entirely surprising case of lacking a pivot, the non-musical gatekeepers of the [pseudo-beloved yet much-maligned] genre have been utterly flabbergasted by the very evolution for which they clamoured.

They say the deviation from Caribbean copycatism, that has brought in this Kanindo-type evolution in ZimDancehall which they have been crying for since time immemorial, is strangulating their beloved genre.

With all these changes, it is safe to say ‘ZimDancehall is dead!” said one Editor of an unscrupulous popular music blog at the Emergency Digital and Social Meeting of the Arts & Entertainment and Media in Zimbabwe disseminated from Germany. As well as from Austria, Hungary, and Britain. 

When asked to clarify about their [the non-musical gatekeepers of the genre] earlier comments calling for an urgent evolution,  the Editor of the unscrupulous popular music blog hastily added, “We wanted it to change…but also not change at the same time. I don't know, does it make sense?

At press time, the displeased crowd in the Meeting was being pointed to the principled likes of Silent Killer, Blot, Dobba Don, Dadza D, Hwindi President, Kinnah, DJ Inno [Chino neChino], I-Ratty, Mobstar & Feego [Royal Dynasty Records], Fire King, Malon T, Oskid, Gzzy, Guspy Warrior, and Master H, whose sound has retained much of the earlier original essence of perceived real ZimDancehall.

The Reporters also discovered, with the highest degree of confidence, that unlike the above fickle sonic innovators earlier on mentioned herein, this coterie of perceived principled and real ZimDancehall chanters is facing unfounded claims and allegations of kupera, kusarira, and being one-or-two-three-hit-wonders. In the Global North, this slander exercise may be referred to as being cancelled.

Like Goldilocks displeased with the bear’s porridge at different temperatures, the non-musical cultural critics and faux intellectuals and other chanters & producers were up in arms again, declaring that their inability to evolve would be the death of their careers and ZimDancehall, yet the genre refuses to die; it will not succumb to nefarious provisional death sentences.

Our Chief Foreign Arts & Entertainment and Media correspondent, Shingai-Hama Paul Hunter (based in Berlin, Germany) for The Reporters, who was clearly befuddled by this debilitatingly vexing debacle, ended the Meeting (in which Qounfuzed quipped that the genre is not confused) by posing an incendiary yet amorphous inquiry to the so-called non-musical experts and gatekeepers. 

Which is it? Should the genre evolve with time, or stay the same? Like, if we’re to quote thee legendary Mungoshi, ‘walking still’ type of vibes?

To which they swiftly replied with a boldly emphatic and aptly amorphous “Yes!”


NOTA BENE [NB]: The Supreme Editor of Intertwined-Zimbabwe notes, with the highest reverence for tremendous journalistic standards and professional ethics (like those unwaveringly upheld by The Reporters), that the Editor of the unscrupulous popular music blog desires an in-depth face-to-face interview with Intertwined-Zimbabwe to clarify certain issues falling in the amorphous grey area.

June 01, 2022

Local Man Not Congratulated by Family and Friends After Buying Toyota Platz

 By Intertwined-Zimbabwe

NORTH END, BULAWAYO – In what was expected to be the biggest achievement of his not-so-rosy yet fiercely ambitious life, a local man in Bulawayo failed to please the entirety of his immediate and extended family plus his huge consortium of friends after he imported a brand new second-hand Toyota Platz from an advanced Far East country in Asia.

Image sourced from some random site selling brand new 2nd-hand cars which the Supreme Editor has since forgotten about [as in the random site].

Phakamile Njabulo, the Platz owner, was ecstatic after his friend Jamie Sithole brought the vehicle from a certain port into the City of Kings and Queens.

However, in a dark plot twist, the friend’s apparently dejected face signalled ominous gloom for  Phakamile's fierce ambitions for urban success and city recognition.

It got unbearably worse when he resignedly discovered his parents (particularly his father who spoke to the press), were “dismally dismayed and disheartened” with the “atrocity” that Phakamile brazenly committed.

“We’re having an incredibly hard time dealing with this ignominy. How can our only son fail us like this and bring shame to our family name? We sent him to the best private schools in the country and gave him a decent university education at Wits, only for him to turn on our backs like this by committing such a fucking atrocity? Surely a Corolla or Fit or even a Wish would have sufficed, you know? To say we are dismally dismayed and disheartened by this lack of gratitude to all the investments we made in him is a gross understatement.”

The mother also weighed in when the family spoke to the B-Metro at a press conference held at the Njabulos residence in North End.

“Phakamile has disappointed us. How can a son buy an ugly car like that? His three sisters are doing well here and in Jo'burg and Harare, they have classy BMWs and Mercs. Not ugly cars. I hope this is not the same trend he exhibits in his haphazard selection of girlfriends.”

The Reporters scurried for the Platz owner's word at press time. “Shit's difficult you scheme? I thought I had arrived. What’s the purpose of the car when your family thinks you bought a bicycle all the way from Japan? I don't know man.”

His consortium of friends, through their spokes-guy Jamie Sithole, said that although they were “extremely disappointed” with the Platz, it is still a whole goddamned car that demands petrol (or blend?) and that it makes their rounds in the city easier. Jamie's vice in the consortium of friends – a local man from Masvingo's Rujeko – said that “haaa, hazvina pressure izvo mdara. Kungodeepisawo uko.”

At the time of writing, The Reporters could not get a word from the Njabulo sisters, or from Phakamile's girlfriend; the latter who’s always at loggerheads with the mother over certain unspecified cultural issues.

The girlfriend is reportedly in hiding in Lupane at another lover's car park. It is speculated that she “can’t stand the Platz”.

Although Phakamile painstakingly explained the middle-class origins of the now-maligned sedan by the advanced Far East country in Asia, and that Platz is a German word meaning space, the disappointment from family and friends was too an enormous disease to cure.

District Man Vows Not To Die Before Climbing And Rocking On Mashwede Village Tables

By The Reporter; Intertwined-Zimbabwe GOROMONZI - A local district man has reportedly vowed not to die before embarking on an exhilarating t...