It’s a long and winding story incorporating intrigue, kidnap, lost opportunities, abuse and new friendships. I, Nasser Bin Benstead was kidnapped a week before the tour when I was snatched out of my father Angus’ hands by my grandmother (who I had always considered as my mother) and given to a group of marauding rugby players to toughen me up called the Exiles. I was whisked to the airport in a large scary vehicle which was horrifying, bloody hell you should see the drivers. At Dubai International airport I was put into the hands of an International Bear Trafficking ring and prostituted out to the various members over the following week. Some of them showed me compassion but others gave me the willies….hanging me over balconies, then if that wasn’t scary enough over the side of Table Mountain without safety ropes. They let me take in the view and I tried to use the telescope as a heliograph to attract rescue but all that came was a bucktoothed freak called a Dassie that tried to steal my nuts.
They were taking me to Cape Point and I tried to make a break for it in a bus, but
what dark magic are these things wheels I felt like I was in a tumble dryer. When I had recovered my lunch I thought a disguise might work and selected a pink bunny head but I couldn’t hide my dish dash and as a good Muslim couldn’t be seen naked in public. My captors were strange fellows in that they periodically shared women’s lingerie
On the journey they tried to befriend me, initially I resisted but eventually Stockholm Syndrome took over and I started to sympathise with my captors particularly when they took me on a boat journey and gave me a life ring. Ghost looked after me beyond my wildest dreams, giving me the keys to a fast sports car, which gave me my first taste of the high life that was to become an almost magnetic attraction. I had been told by my obsessive mother to wash my hands and only do Pepsi due to its rejuvenating qualities. That was when I fell into doing Coke! It made me a little groggy so on arrival at Cape Point they let me go to the toilet but not before sticking a pink lampshade on my head
so that they would be able to spot me if I did a runner.
We then went for a training session in beautiful surroundings below Table Mountain where they tried to wean me off my coke habit through exercise and tasters of the Pepsi. They said going to grass from coke would stave off my coke withdrawal symptoms but do nothing for my lingerie or sex addictions. They showed me a shanty-town to shock me into realizing where a life of coke abuse could lead me. What has happened to my 5-bedroom house in Jumeirah and the lovely family that sold me into slavery?
Eventually one of the team took a particular shine to me and protected me from a storm and I hope one day he may even feel the same way I do about him and become my boyfriend. During my tour I became actively involved in African politics and the need for bear equality, meeting up with other notable leaders such as Nelson Mandela. For consorting with the wrong types and cross dressing I ended up in a small prison cell with regular torture by the feared Soft Drinks Security Police.
Fortunately I was put in a cell with my unrequited boyfriend Riddler and took immediate charge by grabbing the top bunk and getting first use of the squalid toilets, calling “doorknob” to warn my cell mates when I had done what bears do in the woods.
Eventually I squeezed out of the cell and with a small band of renegades took control of the island through military might. Some of my compatriots caught leprosy and bits started to fall off, first an ear then other bits. While playing cards one threw his hand in and the other laughed his head off. Eventually I found a healing spring and was looked after by Irish Nuns who nursed me back to health. I lead a band of prisoners from the island and we split up to try and get to safety. I hopped back onto a boat and who should be on but the Exiles….noooooooooo!
But then my fortunes changed, all the Pepsi was starting to take effect and a friendly soul at the South African sports institute put me in the care of a demi-god personal trainer known as the Keymaster who built my guns.
They introduced me to Manager a rugby coach and working together with a high roller called Banker, who paid for my training, I turned my life around. Eventually I made my debut for the Western Province Stormers taking the place of one of the slower players…..Brian Habana.
With the wealth and fortune I gained from my rugby career I built an empire of businesses in the post Apartbear era. There was Tortoise Rodeo riding, Great White Shark cage diving, whale feeding, penguin milking, and a Safari park. The crowning jewel my portfolio was my vineyard called ‘Throwing Dung” after the popular African game of the same name. We had red wine, white wine and a particularly nice marmalade wine that was popular amongst our South American clients. For those English rugby players that didn’t like throwing dung we had 6 fat dwarves.
At my Safari park we have all of the big 5 apart from 2 but the other rare animals make up for it. There are: The sloths cousin Slodge, Pacman the lesser spotted leopard, Munch the White Rhino, Missile the anteater, Plumshot the dung beetle, Kermit the Tasmanian Devil, Ears the elephant, Yoko the
plastic buffalo, Sox the organ grinder’s monkey, Rocket the lion, Boots the armadillo, Sleepy the lemur, Lines the giraffe, Riddler the purple booted baboon, Spaceman the flying squirrel, Red Snapper the blood sweating Hippo, Loopy the Hyena, Tackles the giraffe, Squeaky the cheatah, Ghost the chipmunk, Sneaks the rutting goat, Puck the warthog and last but not least Bomber the pygmy Hippo.
With the cash made I started to gain political influence and took over from Nelson Mandela as Nasser the first Brown Bear president of South Africa. Now all creeds, colours and animals are united except for 23 marauding Exiles who were deported to Dubai the only country that would accept them.
Scroll down for a pictorial record of my journey taken by my best friend Ghost and his mates.
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