Originally published in the November 1989 issue of the Collector and Emitter.
Speaking of turkeys, who should appear the other day at Honor Roll Ranch, just a hoot and a holler south of town, but Boris Badenov, ace Soviet DXer and longtime antagonist of our own beloved Q. R. Zedd,
Zedd, A5A, is, as we all know, the world’s GREATEST DXer. Pretenders come and pretenders go, but Zedd is immortal. Inventor of radar and the plastic milk carton, the great man has worked all stations on all bands, except for a couple of guys who weren’t listening. His DX exploits are world-famous, and together with his nubile blond bride, Tondelayo, he forms the most wonderful romantic couple since Hepburn and Tracy or maybe Kukla and Ollie.
Zedd’s problems with Badenov, notorious destroyer of Coors cans and Twinkie wrappers, have come from the fact that the Russian star has sometimes had the audacity to boast that he is the greatest. Along with his dark-haired, slinky QSL secretary from Box 88, Natasha Bullwinkle, Badenov has been a constant thorn in Zedd’s pinkie.
All that changed, however, when Badenov’s Russian jet airliner touched down on Zedd’s landing strip at Honor Roll just a few days ago.
“Holy tamales, hon, fetch my six-shooter!” Zedd growled, peeling out of the leather recliner at his No. 1 operating position as the jet’s wheels shrilled on the pavement outside. The great man keyed his mike. “QRX, boys and girls, QRX, All China and Shangrila stand by, I said! I got company. QRZ is temporarily QRT,”
With that, Zedd hurried across the hamshack area of the ranch house and started rummaging in a cabinet for his bulletproof vest and beerproof snakeskin boots, the ones with his latest DX confirmed totals tatooed on the sides in flashing red diodes.
Tondelayo, cute as Christmas in her yellow polka dot jeans and candycane-colored blouse (the one with no arms or shoulders) rushed back into the room, breathless, Zedd’s Colt 1872 Model thumb-buster and shellbelt in hand.
“Oh, Q!” cried the darling girl. Let’s try to be nice to him this time!”
“Consarn durned bodacious rathafritch,” Zedd muttered, strapping on his shooting iron. “How you gonna be polite to somebody like Boris? Why, if that Lithuanian bohunkus is here to say our trip to Africa last month didn’t set records, I might not be very polite atall, atall.”
“Oh, dear, oh, misery,” Tondelayo murmured, following her illustrious idol out of the ranch house and across the vast lawn under the antenna towers toward the airstrip.
Luckily for readers, your intrepid reporterjust happened to be on hand for all this, having dropped by to bask in the great one’s radiance. We pursued as fast as we could, Big Chief tablet and Crayolas in hand, and reached the scene planeside within moments of Zedd’s arrival there.
The door of the mighty Soviet jetliner had already opened, and the passenger jetway lowered. There, standing at the foot of the jetway, resplendent in his Red army uniform with all the medals and his Michael Jordan tennis shoes, stood Boris Badenov himself. And beside him, slinky and sinister and gorgeous and all in her neckless, shoulderless, armless. almost-everythingless black sundress, and her seven-inch spike heels, was Natasha.
“Badenov,” Zedd was heard to growl, Tondelayo hovering at his side, “What brings you down here this time, pandnuh? You hope to get some tips on how to turn on your rig?”
Badenov, looking pale behind his bushy black beard, swallowed hard. Natasha did not even make the slightest move toward trying to stick someone with her knife, which is what she always did before.
“Wal, ole son, ole sock,” Zedd went on, hoping to land several salvos in the usual bragging war before Badenov got himself untracked, “I heard a real rare one — for you — a while ago. I shore did, son. I heard England I bet you’d like to work that, wouldn’t you! Yuk yuk yuk.”
“Natasha, honey,” Tondelayo purred, getting into the spirit of things, “that’s a real cute flour sack you got on. My goodness yes! Is that the very same flour sack you wore when you worked all six stations you ever worked in your whole life? How sweet!”
Badenov and Natasha just stood there, blinking in the pale sunlight, and Zedd began to look a little flustered.
“I been in there working a few thousand new ones, old bean,” he said. “I guess that puts me even farther ahead of you. But maybe you’re still No. 2, hanh?”
Badenov cleared his throat, making his rows of medals tremble. “Is right, big guy,” he rumbled solemnly. “I and Natasha come here from great Union of Soviet Socialist Republics for congratulate you on be No. 1, and say we mighty proud be on same planet with you, Mistair Zedd, yessir.”
Zedd blinked. Tondelayo staggered back a step in shock.
“Oh, honey doll!” Natasha murmured solicitously. “Are you feeling faint? Can I help you? My, my! That’s the prettiest, most darling dress I ever saw! But you’re so cute anyhow, Tondelayo, I just always feel so dumb and plain in your presence. You must be cutest graduate in history of Harvard Business College, eh? — Not to mention best lady DXer of all time!”
“What is this?” Zedd croaked, after a moment’ stunned silence.
“My friend,” Badenov rumbled, clapping a brotherly hand on the great man’s shoulder, “is new age in Russia! Is time of glasnost and perestroika! A time of modernization and telling truth, da? So is come here to you, me and Natasha, admit you are No. 1, congratulate you, be friends at last!”
“Wal, now, Boris,” Zedd muttered, obviously thrown for a loop by all this good stuff, “I dunno what to say, pandnuh. Uh –”
“Is hope you have time for Colorado KoolAid, maybe few dozen them Twinkies,” Badenov said humbly. “We got nothing in Russia like your KoolAid, Twinkies.”
Zedd tried to rally, “It’s only fittin’, ole son, ole sock, for a country that produced the world’s greatest, namely me. Tell me, Boris ole buddy: how does it really feel to be No. 2?”
Little droplets of blood appeared on Badenov’s forehead, but he was still game. “Is good, being even this close to you, pal Q!”
“I worked all Africa last night,” Zedd said, but his flat tone showed that his heart was no longer in it. “I guess nobody has ever done that before, and its a feat the likes of you could never touch.”
Badenov just stood there, sort of twitching and looking sad.
“Right?” Zedd goaded. “RIGHT????”
“Is right,” Badenov said with a sickly smile. “Is true. I feel humble in presence of such grand American know-how. Maybe some day we can start learn be like you, cowboy.”
“And Tondelayo, dear?” Natasha purred. “Could you possibly find time to give me some advice on some new clothes, and how to fix my hair? You’re so much cuter than me, I sure would appreciate any advice you might give me.”
Zedd removed his Stetson and mopped his brow with his forearm. “Boys and girls, maybe we better get ourselfs outta the sun and go up on the porch and have a toddy.”
Which they did.
Zedd tried several more times to get Badenov going. Tondelayo even sank a couple more verbal harpoons in Natasha’s hide. But nothing worked. Nothing was the same.
It was almost dusk when the Russian duo walked back to their plane and climbed on board after much hugging and kissing, Soviet-style, all around. Zedd, still bemused, didn’t even have a parting wisecrack. He just kind of stood there, real sad, waving as the plane taxied out.
“Honey,” he said softly as the big jet roared down the runway and clawed into the night sky, “I’d heard of this glasnost and all. But maybe I better start reading up on it.
“That wasn’t even any fun,” Zedd went on, baffled. “How can you brag when there’s nobody to brag back? That dadburned Russian acted real nice! What am I supposed to make of that?”
“It looks, Q,” Tondelayo sighed, “like we all got a lot to learn, a lot of startin’ over to do.”
Zedd looked downcast.
But then he brightened.
“Maybe it won’t last,” he said hopefully. “Maybe we can get back to the Cold War real soon. You think, hon? Huh? Huh?”
“Sure,” the sweet thing replied soothingly, patting his arm. “Even Gorbachev will have to see the light on this one. There’s never been a polite DXer before; that’s surely an idea that will never fly!”
“You’re right,” Zedd said. “I feel better. Let’s get in to the rigs, darlin’, and start yelling at people, telling them they’re outta the band!”
— KU5B