Man Books Appointment With Therapist Despite Being 100% Sure Of The Shitty Decisions He’s Going To Make Soon After

By The Reporters 

NEWLANDS, Harare - Area man Mike Tarumbwa (35) booked an appointment with a therapist in the capital despite being fully certain that he was going to engage in an exercise of disregarding everything that the therapist says to him and continue on his irredeemable path of incessant shitty decisions that have become such a huge marker of his existence ever since adulthood commenced.

Tarumbwa felt the overwhelming urge to put his life in order, compelling him to take the bold decision of booking an appointment with Feel Good Mental Health Services in Newlands, Harare. “Given how everything in my life has been going off script, I just thought it wise to book an appointment with a therapist, you know, get shit off my chest and all that. It’s a bold move, I have to say, and I’m scared as fuck. But we ball regardless,” Tarumbwa intimated to The Reporters just after five minutes of completing the scheduling of the appointment with the receptionist, whom he said was an “adorable hun”.

“You know, sometimes you have to make the uncomfortable decisions. I have always been doing shitty things in my life and I wonder what the cause could be. Maybe it’s the childhood trauma, maybe it’s my wife and our two bloody children, maybe it was the high school bullying. I don’t know. All I know is that the adrenaline and the high I get from making shitty decisions is simply comparable to none,” Tarumbwa continued.

Although he was proud of booking an appointment with Dr. Amy Sanders, one the finest therapists in the capital, Tarumbwa admitted that after the therapy session concludes, he will continue with making shitty decisions.

“Let’s see how this therapy thingy goes. My family – especially my older brother and big sis – have put me in a corner. This whole therapy thing was their idea. I can’t help myself though, I am so sure, hell, 100% sure, that I am going to make shitty, infuriating decisions after the therapy concludes. Dr. Sanders could despise me for it. She is a professional. My family though; those goddamned pricks could even disown me!” He said that regardless of the negativity spurred by his family, he will not stop making shitty decisions.

Dr. Sanders told Tarumbwa in a brief consultation, “You already know what you want to do, Mike.” Mr. Tarumbwa insisted the US$400-per-session appointment had to continue nonetheless. “It’s pretty much convenient to erase the guilt and shame of my own poor mental health actions through therapy,” he bellowed. Despite placing enormous and unwavering faith in liberal economics with his very own life ever since he started shitting solids, he often doesn’t know why he feels like shit every day, making shitty decisions in the process, he revealed to The Reporters.

Local man asked by barber in Harare CBD if he wants a haircut moments after he had just got a new haircut

By The Reporters 

HARARE – Much to his indescribable frustration, local resident Tatenda Matemera (24) was utterly flummoxed after a barber in Harare’s Central Business District (CBD) asked him whether or not he wanted a haircut minutes after he had just got a new haircut from another barber just a few streets away. Matemera, who lives in Houghton Park, told The Reporters that his first instinct upon hearing the question “Togera here?” was to throw a “big punch” to the barber. “I was just walking down Cameron Street, minding my business and feeling extremely victorious in this fresh cut, when all of a sudden I heard a barber asking me that stupid, silly question. To be honest, all I could think of was giving him a big punch right into his face. That would surely put him in his place. Because can’t you see I just got a new haircut here? Like, what the actual fuck?” 

He said the new haircut, which had just resurrected some much-needed points for him, was such a glorious crowning moment that being asked whether or not he wanted the haircut felt disrespectful. Matemera, who got his new haircut in a relatively pristine barbershop housed in the majestic Joina City, added that he knew he was likely going to be asked that “dreadful”question by walking along Cameron Street. “I kinda knew that this dreadful question was to be asked. It was a bit obvious because you know, that’s how it goes. There’s a ragtag bunch of barbers there. It's one of those things you can't avoid in town. But I was optimistic that it would be evident I just got a dope cut from Kingz Cuts at Joina. That stubborn faith terribly let me down.” Bystanders at the scene told The Reporters that Matemera opted not to respond to the question, instead, coming resolutely to the decision that it was better to cuss him silently. Efforts by The Reporters to get a comment from Ronald Kufahakurambwi (33), the barber who asked the question, were in vain as he was already asking another man whether or not he wanted a haircut.

JUST A GIRL

The frigid winter mornings were always hard on Natasha. Not only did she have to brave the elements and help out with the chores around the house; but she also had to deal with the duties of being a deputy parent to her mischievous and often insufferable little and cousin bother. This particular morning strained her psyche for different reasons. The texture of the air was chilling, anxiety swirled with the cold winter air. The mood could have induced grand hysteria in even the dullest oracle.

“Natasha, hurry up you are going to miss the bus”, screamed her mother.

A cloud of mist suddenly enveloped the air outside as soon as she left the house, almost as if Natasha’s uneasiness was augmenting the weather itself. She was now ready to embark on her journey of self-discovery and personal growth. 

“I am right behind you Mama, why are you always like this?” replied Natasha in a hush tone as she lugged her suitcase out of the hut.

Natasha although possessing a modest build was just a girl. House tasks and the odd errand to the growth point or the watering hole gave her a semblance of strength, but the 16-year-old could hardly manage the luggage that her mother had given her to carry her belongings on her trip.

“How am I supposed to calm down when my precious Natasha is on her way to the big city for school? How am I supposed to survive without my brilliant daughter?”, pleaded her mother as she spotted Natasha’s bag on to the top of her head.

Natasha usually could not handle her mother’s overbearing nature, but she summoned strength from the very depths of her soul to refrain from taking her words literally and retreating into the house. It could have been the frigid morning air in Gweru, the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not the bus she was supposed to board had arrived at her station or the anxiousness of a village teenager setting off from her rural home in the reserves; embarking on a journey on roads less travelled that would warrant Natasha this level of vulnerability.

Natasha walked besides her mother, making casual conversation on their way to the bus stop until they reached their destination; trying her best to ease her mind from how much her life was about to change—stewing on how she was going to fare at Harare Polytech College and how much her lifestyle was going to change. As the prospects of leaving home started to become clearer the bus stop sign emerged from the mist.

“Natasha I am going to return home now, Dumisani and Farai will wake up soon and if I do not wake those boys up, they will wake up at noon,” proclaimed her mother as she helped Natasha bring down her often hand luggage at the bus stop.  

“Those silly boys are going to be late for school anyway, they will be fine mother,” insisted Natasha as she fixed her hair and straightened her floral dress with her hands.

“You might be right, but I have to leave you to board your bus now. Don’t forget to take care of yourself and greet your brother for me,” said her mother as she hugged and kissed her goodbye.

Natasha’s mother left her at the bus stop and disappeared into the dissipating mist, leaving her in a melancholy silence anguishing on her mother’s departure and contemplating when they would enjoy her company again. Then at the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Makoni push her wheelbarrow full of treats towards the bus stop.

As she observed the vendor, she had known all of her life roll into station she thought, “I wonder if Mai Makoni has any Lemony Creamy Biscuits.”, as the mist continued to roll back.

~Fin~

Thanks for reading drop a like and a comment and gear up for the next instalment.

-M.C Bvuma

An Encounter

Cruising down this boulevard is so surreal. The streets are clean, the roads devoid of blemishes, and the jacaranda flowers are cascading in an erratic yet persistent succession along the walkways from the trees. I understand why the Northerners are reluctant to leave this beautiful country. 

The traffic on my way to work is nominal, tranquil bordering on monotonous, yet the busy young pedestrians walking briskly to avoid getting stick from their bosses for clocking in late always catches my eye. Especially the younger ladies whom I have unknowingly conditioned myself to spot, “maybe my aunt is getting to me,” as they rush to the solitary vendor on Wellness Boulevard who had indicated to me on one of our rare interactions of their peculiar affinity to Lemony Creamy biscuits.

I have grown fond of my lifestyle and the amenities that come to it including my red minty 1987 Nissan 620 single cab, cozy yet compact 1-bedroom company flat and fair wage but there have been rumors that my company is looking to open a new branch in one of the cities satellite settlements recently renamed Chitungwiza. I have been a junior sales associate at Cleverly Builders Association for a couple of years and I am hoping that I get a managerial position. Imagine, little Tanunurwa from Bocha, a manager at one of the biggest insurance brokers in the country at 23; my eyes shimmer with excitement. The future that lies ahead entices me. A bigger salary, company car, loan facilities, company house … I think you get it. 

I reached the office, waved the guards, proceeded to my associate parking spot and hopped out of my bakkie (Single Cab). Rounding up my morning routine by checking my outfit in the glass mirror at the office. Today I was looking dapper in my tweed suit and presidential brogues, a rhinoceros wouldn’t be able to halt my charge.

The end of the workday beckoned the exodus of Tanunurwa from the busy offices of Cleverly Builders Society. I strolled out of the building dejected; starved of the promotion I had been praying for which initiated a dilemma in my brain, putting it through a ringer, “ancestors, have they forsaken me,” I debated in my head as I climbed into my bakkie and drove out of my spot. I waved the security guard on my way out and continued to contemplate plotting my prospects. “I should visit Rupert and follow up on his proposal since this Cleverly gig is not progressing the way I want it to. I might as well take that risk you’ll never know in this life,” rang the voice in my head as I turned into Wellness Boulevard, when my stomach let out a vicarious growl prompting me to pull over to the side of the road to procure a bag of crisps and Gush, my favorite tropical dairy drink.  

As I made my way to the local vendor I felt the presence of the most beautiful woman in the world right behind me. I never thought I would be the man to be at a loss for words but her round face, smooth brown skin and gentle smile had taken my breath away and unfortunately for me she seemed to have taken noticed. So in the spur of the moment I made an abrupt motion I turned to her and said in a muffled panic with a subtle smile, “Hi I’m Tanunurwa would you mind if I bought you some Lemon Creamys?”

~ End ~

Thanks for reading, and gear up for the next instalment that is coming next.

-M.C Bvuma

Zimbabwe’s Department of Public Inconvenience Assures Citizens of More Inconveniences, And There Won’t Be Any Sincere Regrets

By The Reporters

HARARE – True to its revolutionary and unwavering fashion, Zimbabwe’s Department of Public Inconvenience (DOPI), which is under the purview of Ministry of Home Affairs, gave rock-solid assurances to the country’s patriotic and unpatriotic citizens that a lot more exasperating public inconveniences will be the order of the day as we joyously enter in 2024—and that DOPI will not convey any sincere regrets for the inconveniences caused since it is assiduously working round the clock to beat the Second Republic’s deadline of Vision 2030 for a middle-income economy. 

In a hastily arranged press conference at the imposing Public Affairs Building on New Year’s Eve, the Head Chairperson of DOPI Cde Tasimba Mashayamombe said that public inconveniences remain the sole definitive feature in the country to distinguish, beyond any reasonable doubt, patriotic and unpatriotic citizens; with a stern warning that hotspots such as passport offices will multiply the inconveniences a hundred times. 

“The problem we are facing in this country, and which must be addressed with pressing alacrity, is that of born-frees and a motley of other counter-revolutionaries hell bent on tarnishing the image of Zimbabwe and most importantly, the image of the glorious Second Republic. It has come to our attention that any little inconvenience experienced allegedly at the behest of Home Affairs and DOPI, then a person rushes to X and Facebook and starts calling for the West to bomb this great rising country of Zimbabwe, a towering beacon of hope for everyone to see,” Mashayamombe said. 

He further stated that those who endure the public inconveniences without registering any complaints are the truest and most patriotic citizens of the country, as they perfectly understand the history of Zimbabwe and the current works of the Second Republic to change Zimbabwe. “These spoilt kids, do they know that under Smith’s Rhodesia we did not even have all these luxuries. We go to war, spill our precious blood for you, and actually die for you only to complain of trivial issues saying the economy is not working—an economy we won through war. We commend those who have gone through the inconveniences silently, we will handsomely rewards them in the near future.” An effort to confirm this development by Intertwined’s The Reporters from Home Affairs Minister at the time of printing was fruitless, as it surfaced that he is on holiday in Dubai, UAE.

God Says “He Is Not In It” As He Issues Statement Refusing To Come Down From Heaven To Help Nelson Chamisa

By The Reporters

HEAVEN, THE COSMOS—Expressing bouts of exasperation over the insufferable futility of repeatedly attempting to intervene in the domestic, sovereign affairs of Zimbabwe, God The Almighty, The Heavenly Father, Creator & Ruler Of All The Universes, issued out a press statement exclusively seen by The Reporters from His Holy Throne stating that “He Is Not In It”, and that from now on he will block any requests from Nelson Chamisa and Citizens Coalition for Change (CCC) to use His name in solving their political mess. 

“It has come to My attention that Nelson Chamisa is still using the old, tired mantra ‘God is in it’ as his slogan despite several warnings issued against him notifying him that I am tired and frustrated of being used in his personal and political shit. Let it known in All The Universes, Heaven and earth, that from now on I will not answer any request or prayer claiming that I Am In It—on the contrary, I Am Not In It. From now on I will not meddle in the sovereign affairs of Zimbabwe, and I distance myself from all those yellow-infested heretics and counter-revolutionaries. I will not come down from Heaven for that nonsense,” God bellowed as all the Angels trembled at His tantrums. 

Nelson Chamisa’s comments that if SADC refuses to help the CCC yellow-adorned party leader in seizing power from Zimbabwe’s principal troublemaker Emmerson Dambudzo Mnangagwa then God will step in to help have been dismissed by God Himself as “utterly ludicrous, ill-conceived”, adding that this time He won’t be in Chamisa’s corner. 

“I discussed this issue with My Son Jesus Christ yesterday in our closed-door meeting in a far-away galaxy, away from the glare of the Holy Throne. My Boy Jesus here intimated to Me that given Chamisa’s helpless cluelessness, it is imprudent for the Heaven brand to be associated with such stupidity and hollow-sounding ‘God is in it’ chants and tweets. Or posts. Whatever you call them on that wretched planet.

“We unanimously agreed that besides all this shitty drama, the colour yellow disgusts us and tarnished our image, and we strongly hate those little pulpits he uses when addressing the masses of the Sheep. We will let SADC do want it wants. Remember even though as Heaven we refused to stand with them during their irksome liberation struggles, they continued to worship us anyway when they got their independence. It has been a hard decision to make. But it must be done. It reminds me that time we forsook the whole of this humanity and saved Noah plus a bunch of animals. Who knows what may happen this time? Do they really want us to climb down from Heaven for this BS?”

At the time of going press, it was incredibly difficult to reach Nelson Chamisa or Promise Mkwananzi for a comment. The Reporters verified credible information from insider sources that Chamisa was deliberating on what next to say since God The Almighty refused to be associated with him. God called on the Angels to withdraw any form of Divine Protection that Chamisa and CCC were enjoying, leaving the yellow party in an extremely precarious position; left only with Bible Verses that lack legitimacy amidst political uncertainty.

Harare Man Wishes If Stream Of Consciousness Could Be Used As Source For Clean, Safe Tap Water In City

 By The Reporters

GLEN VIEW, HARARE – A local Harare man, Tafara Mahofa, ruminating deeply beyond the comprehension of human feeble minds in the streets of Glen View 1, expressed his wish for his stream of consciousness, and that of other comrades, to be used as a source for “safe, clean, humane drinking water” in the beleaguered city.

As if falling into a philosophical trance that could have been arduously turned into a PhD thesis, Tafara Mahofa pointed out with much poignancy, “It is utterly exasperating and absolutely dehumanizing that City of Harare cannot provide clean, safe, humane, mouthwatering and free water out of our taps. I don’t know what their problem is. It is a horrendous experience. Imagine, we’re in 2023. Either the water is not there, or when it’s there, it just comes out in a way that makes you want to vomit. Where do they get that water from? I often wonder. Yet, everyday, I have to sip some from my stream of consciousness. Such a clean source. A clean stream. Natural, for that matter. Clean water.”

He went on, almost rambling, that perhaps it is safe for City of Harare to get the city’s water from the “clean and safe” stream of consciousness. “I’m not really sure how the city engineers and surveyors can lay out and build the pipes to draw water from our stream of consciousness to our taps in our homes. But all I know, and I’m really tired just from thinking about this, is that perhaps the so-called city fathers can use our stream of consciousness as a source for clean and safe water. My stream, and the streams of my comrades, are natural, clean, and safe.”

At press time, The Reporters failed to get a word from the Town Clerk of City of Harare on whether this grand innovative plan to ameliorate the city’s unending water woes is viable. Tafara Mahofa later said that it is particularly the stream of consciousness of writers and other artistes that can be perfectly harnessed for these purposes as it is always “oozing water”.

Tafara Mahofa indicated to The Reporters that it is an utterly fucked up situation, a whole clusterfuck, that the “city fathers” continuously buy brand new cars and stands while people have no water. He suggested it is now time for the “city mothers” to run the city – highlighting the complexity and haphazard nature of his stream of consciousness.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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. 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. 

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.

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!”

xxxxx

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.