Vodka, Football and Beautiful Women...... No words

I love words, they make me. When am out of words, it's almost drowning, it makes me feel things only acceptable in relationships, a concept am not good at as they ruin the conquest part which is all it's really about for me, at least the relationship that require constant reminders of how we feel. Then there are the break-ups where you are supposed to hurt and someone has to hug you and tell you ''I'm there for you'' and all that crap.  You can almost conclude that am in a relationship with words, but am going to ask you not to.

Sunday, the 13th of May 2012, we had the most beautiful season finale ever witnessed in the English Premier League. Manchester United, the most decorated team in the EPL were about to lift their 13th premier league title. The 13th league title on the 13th of May would almost be poetic for the Red devils, but they needed their noisy neighbors Manchester city not to win against relegation bound Queens Park Rangers. Arsenal on the other hand needed to win to guarantee them a Champions League spot next season, or for Tottenham Hotspurs and Newcastle United to both loose. Arsenal didn't need Batman as they had Robin so for us it was more of a formality. The Manchesters on the other hand, gave us magic, three minutes of pure magic as Manchester City lost and found glory. It was a story that deserved words.

The two days that took precedent the 13th, we had a work-related retreat, team building if you may. Personally am not a firm believer of these bonding things because bonding without vodka isn't much. People mostly conform in these retreats to impress their bosses coz as much as we like to pretend we are better, we are human, we back-stab, withhold information, backbite and do a whole lot of calculated and unethical deeds to take care of number one unless number one is dependent on others goodwill. And bosses get new blackmailing material to use against the employees. I however enjoyed this particular retreat, probably because there was chicken for lunch (chicken is my new fetish), and there was a lake, it made me miss the beach terribly but I decided to view the lake as a small ocean without a beach which was somehow comforting. There was the vodka too, and a lot of beautiful women albeit after hours.

The thing is, I had a weekend of vodka, football and beautiful women, things that make me glow, things that give life meaning, things I never lack words to describe. I especially lacked the words to describe vodka and friends, which is just sad. I love my vodka whether its mango vodka, in cocktails, in coffee and my all time favorite, straight from the bottle. In forging friendship, arbitrating conflicts, foreplay, fighting boredom, healing broken hearts, making memories, and in all other life endeavors of mine, vodka plays a significant role. I couldn't find words for football either, lessons in three minutes, lessons on how people who work together will win whether it be against complex football defenses, or the problems of modern society (words of Vince Lombardi). The tragedy in my inability to talk directly to the hearts of beautiful women, to those all I wanted to say was, It is enough for me to sit beside them, who are an art mostly pleasant although demanding great skill and knowledge. Being unable to tell people how there are no unbeautiful women, only women who are yet to discover how beautiful they are. I am a bachelor and being a bachelor means walking to and fro the kitchen with only your boxers, sometimes naked even scratching your balls taking a drag. It's eating chemsha 8 days a week; it's knowing the route from the bed to the bathroom by heart, (between the bed and the bathroom is not clear of obstacles - difficulty game). Bachelorhood represents freedom and the ability to talk about vodka football and beautiful women at all times.

I have a writer’s block. Am not sure I can call it that, a writers block, coz am not much of a writer. Am more of a story teller, although my friends kind of use the wrong words to point out. I love to tell stories rather than write them. The facial expressions, the imitations, the tone of the voice. Story telling is supposed to be a one on one thing. You need to read the mood of the crowd, the attention they are giving your story. It pains me to lack words. Robert Collier once said, ''The great successful men of the world have used their imagination? They think ahead and create their mental picture in all its details, filling in here, adding a little there, altering this a bit and that a bit, but steadily building - steadily building." My imagination albeit visual is not built around pictures whether still or otherwise, nor is it audio, it's plain paper and pen. No words means I can't or am not in a position to concentrate on anything else, I scribble a couple of mini-posts, a collection of vanity I call them. I need words like a fat kid needs cake, as 50 Cent keeps saying in one of his badly done tracks. I feel like am losing a part of me whenever I stay too long without playing with words, restless, heartbroken, and lonely even. Words comfort me in more ways than I care to admit, especially calculated words and it drives me insane when I can't play with them regardless of whether y'all get the message or not, especially the ones I put down and am the only one who gets them. I think my lack of words lately is going to land me in a mental institute.

Here is where y'all coming in as friends. I think friends should always encourage friends to get their heads examined, or at least sit down, drink vodka and discuss football and beautiful women. I read somewhere that doctors do not categorize mango vodka as a fruit. But you have to understand that as a lover of vodka, I fail to see the doctors’ logic here because if we classify mango juice as an alternative vitamin source, mango vodka doesn't fall too far off. I'll bring this up with my best friend Jnr. I don't know whether you know this but not many men take the time, every day, to have a blunt, glass of vodka, to talk to their best friend. That's not something most men have.

Due to my current situation, my very painful distance with words, I will share with you something I found somewhere around the World Wide Web. It's something that talks to my inner soul. Two things in fact.

"Vodka is our enemy, so we’ll utterly consume it!” – Russian Proverb

"There cannot be not enough snacks, There can only be not enough vodka.
There can be no silly jokes, There can only be not enough vodka.
There can be no ugly women, There can only be not enough vodka.
There cannot be too much vodka, There can only be not enough vodka.”

-Popular Russian Saying

Good girls magnet.........so I've heard

''How many times am I going to forgive you? Huh?''

You just sit there and take it, nod and accept all the charges and promise to change your ways. I don't know if y'all have noticed but women seem happier when they are mad at you. When she's screaming at you, insulting your manhood, fighting to feel superior over you for that particular high-tempered moment, she feels great. And thus my conclusion, women love bad boys because they give them a reason to scream at them very so often.

My friend Mutinda thinks a little different. He likes women around him, and he feels he knows them better, not that am denying this or anything but hey, every man at some point think they've figured women out until the day they find out that they don't. Every man has gone through this stage, some of us for a short period and most of us a little bit longer a period, I fall on the ''some of us'' group. My boy Mutinda falls on the ''most of us'' who still believe that they have ''figured'' women. His theory about women and bad boys is that women love to correct mistakes, they don't feel at ease if they are not cleaning up after someone, they feel that they need to take care of someone. The harder the job, the longer the will stay because apparently, they are not in the business of leaving unfinished works.

You gotta understand that men are extremely simple beings, we don't trust ourselves which means we don't give too much information because in too much information we get ourselves in trouble. We therefore say exactly what we mean to avoid speculation. Women on the hand, although we get it wrong all the time, we try all the best to understand our lovely primates from Venus. Most of us do try, at least those that I know do try. I know most of us are still trying to learn the ''read between the lines'' language, the ''silent language'' and the ''sign language'' but even the Professors are yet to decipher these Venus dialects. We do try, but Mars taught us different, we don't ask for direction. We will try to fix everything without a manual, go everywhere without maps, we don't ask for direction because Mars taught us we only learn by losing our way. We will not ask our lovely ladies to teach us their language, and as soon as we think we've learnt, down goes we.

Mutinda, ''an expert'' in this subject of women believes that they love bad boys because bad boys are a challenge, they give them something Or someone to fix. They feel that if they can fix him, they can have a trophy of their own. If they can take a rugged man, polish him or rather upgrade him, they feel that they have accomplished something.

Good guys seem to have gotten their shit together, they can easily walk without a guide and they clean up after themselves. For a woman, this is child play for her, she needs someone who will give her a headache, whose polishing is going to take some thinking, they like to be challenged.

Lesson of the day, good girls like bad boys. What about the fuss with the bad girls? I will let you know when I know.

Talk less, listen more and buy her chocolate and flowers

I wrote a pretty awesome blog post on my other blog last night. For those not in the know, I had a pretty rough ride for the past couple of months, literally I mean. I believe bloggers and writers refer to it as a writers block but as I have always insisted, am not a writer nor a blogger but a story teller. That is why my stories tend to evolve a lot, I feel the need to sensitize points, and sometimes my blogger friends don't follow. I am sure at this particular point, most of you have already lost the plot (laughing at y'all in my head, blondes....hehehehehehe.....), so am going to back it up, a little.

I had a loss of words phace, a ''writers block'' if I may, and since I felt the need to keep you around, I decided to start this other blog (Uncle Serge), it's about conversations between me and my 8 year nephew. I posted last night, something about how to deal with women, and the lesson of the day was, talk less, listen more, buy her chocolate and flowers. When I re-read it, I thought about it a lot, because from past experiences these lessons have never really stuck. I know I should talk less, but I go ahead and talk a little more than I should, I will make promises that I might not fulfil and she will hold it against me for the rest of our relationship. I know I should listen more, but I sometimes listen to the cosmos and her voice feels like background music as you day dream, but you don't hear a thing. I don't know much about chocolate and flowers.

Talk less, listen more, buy her chocolate and flowers.

I maybe wrong, but let's test this theory.

Talk less:

As men, we are held to our word. Every word you utter is taken with the strength of your character. We would like to give our women all that they desire, and we try our best, sometimes we get there sometimes we don't. When we tell our women what we would love to do for them, we raise their expectations, we make promises under uncertain conditions, and if the situation goes south, we break it. As much as we wanted to keep the promise we find ourselves breaking it. Since your woman expected you to keep, trust gets scratched. Our words hurt us, if we talk, we commit ourselves and make our lives harder.

Listen more.

Women talk a lot, that's how we know how to treat them. A woman who loves books talks about books, a woman who talks about music is a lover of music, etcetera, etcetera. Women love different, they are choosy and specific, and they tell you every single time you are together. Problem is, they don't tell you in one word. When you listen to your woman, you get to know her, you get to know how to make her happy, how to fulfil her needs, how not to take her on drinking sprees with your friends, and so forth.

Buy her chocolate and flowers. This, I don't remember life teaching me much about it, all maybe I missed a couple of classes. However, based on heresy, women love chocolate and flowers.

The flip side. Men's stories are based on bruises in the battlefield, life isn't fun if we don't get in trouble. We are thirsty of acknowledgement as alpha, we don't get bruised easy. Some people will call it ego, others pride, and others will give it even bigger names woven around with scientific meaning. For me trouble is just fun, I don't need a reason to get in trouble, but most men do it for pride. Between ego and love, we choose ego until we are old enough to know how to follow the rules.

And now, as my nephew grows older, i will watch him get into trouble a little less than I did, because I've learnt.

Operation "Amani Ya Ghafla"

This is going to be short, as short a story as it can possibly be since the moral should not be lost in the details. I will start with the moral of this story if I may, peace in the house. The best gift you can give a man is peace in his house; the sacrifices he makes to accommodate a woman in his house should be reciprocated with peace at home.

This is a true story.

Sometime back, a policewoman was relieved off her duties for wearing the inner wears on the outer and vice versa. You see, in a broader sense, it would be her fault but we can credit a little fault in her mans pursuit of peace at home. This lady, let’s call her Joyce* was married to a very nice fella, let’s call him Paul*. Paul and Joyce had been married for a couple of years and Paul did his level best to keep his woman happy. He had come to accept that he was never right, he did not own the house or his pay slip, if he had a better day than his wife he never bragged about it and he had learnt to shut up even when he was right. He was a perfect husband in his opinion, and if I may throw in my two cents, I believe he gave up too much.

Joyce on the other hand loved chaos, she loved her tantrums so much and a day gone without one was considered a day lost in her books. She would complain whenever Paul went out for a drink with his boys and stayed out late, but staying in never guaranteed peace anyway. She would still find a reason to break glasses. Paul tried his level best to keep his cool, love his woman for better or for worse but peace he craved for, he dreamt big, dreamt because peace in his house was more of a dream and being the good husband that he was, he accepted that. At least until one day, that one day his need for peace overshadowed all else.

Paul was a social drinker, he consulted Mary Jane every once in a while. Those who knew him believed he stayed around for that long because even though they fought a lot, he was allowed to attend the sessions at Mary Jane’s therapy and spa. One Friday evening, he asked in group therapy for advice, peace mission in his house. Stoned heads come together in pursuit of peace.

“Operation Amani Ya Ghafla”

Come Saturday morning, Paul woke up earlier than the norm. He was not going to work, his wife was home too. He decided to make her breakfast in bed, a very noble idea. At this point, he wasn’t really sure if his idea was a mistake but the consequences at this point were outweighed by the benefits. Peace mission it was. He scrambled some eggs, threw in some bacon, spread some bread and made some coffee. The coffee was good, he knew it, he had made it some time back and liked it. The coffee had to work. He laced it with some wisdom, a little peace element, and a whole lot of love. Breakfast in bed it is.

Joyce loved the coffee, she loved it so much that he took a second cup, and a third too. It was relaxing, therapeutic too I must add. She was peaceful, smiling all morning, walking around the house with only her T-shirt on. She didn’t know what was happening but she liked the feeling, a sudden feel of peace had engulfed her.

10:00 a.m., a call on her cell came through, emergency at work. She took a quick shower, changed to her work clothes and rushed to the office. On arrival, her boss summoned her to the office.

Boss: Is everything okay ma’am?

Joyce: Yes Sir.

Boss: Are you sure?

Joyce: Yes sir.

Boss: Any trouble at home, or at work?

Joyce: No Sir.

Boss: Why is your petticoat worn on your skirt?

Joyce: (frozen, she checks herself out) Huh?

Joyce was the self conscious kind. She never made such kind of mistakes; she cared a lot about her appearances and was able, on a normal day, to talk herself out of most situations. But this was not a normal day, and this was not part of most situations.

Boss: Take some time off, and see a doctor. The good kind off doctor.

Note to Self

This is something I felt like I needed to inform those comic authors before my ramblings begin. Whenever I see call outs in the lines of figure II, I immediately assume that the subject is thinking and if the callout is as in figure I, the conclusion which I assume is universal is someone is actually talking. If you therefore use Figure II to indicate that someone is making an actual conversation, I am forced to believe that the person listening to this conversation has supernatural abilities enabling him or her to read peoples’ minds. It could also mean that the subject making this conversation has lost his mind and is thinking out loud (no relation to the tagline above).





Note to self:




Don't rush in to things, or leave something halfway to get to doing something else because you will probably end up doing two shoddy jobs. If you were halfway through your joint and your dad calls, don't pick up the phone, because he will definitely feel something is up, very high up there regardless of how hard you fight you aren't touching the ground. Let the phone ring and call the old guy after a safe landing.

One thing at a time people. If you want to really know your woman, just watch her, don't dart your eyes everywhere, watch your woman. You will notice trends, she loves cats, she can't stand dogs, she loves all things yellow, she loves kids, and she cooks best when she's sad or she's had a bad day, trends. If she's plastic, she won't last a week without you noticing she checks out other men a lot ~hoe, she loves your money - gold digger, and all those irritable little things she does, funny people she ''went to college with'', and so forth and so forth.

I'll be honest hear and tell all the women the truth, you are beautiful creatures. You were Gods masterpiece, beautiful, beautiful creation you are. When you smile at me and I smile back, that’s a sign of approval and believe you me we will smile back a lot especially if you are a beautiful woman, even those not too beautiful because even Mars did not make all of us on Sunday. Now women, walk to town, the closest town to you, and just walk smiling at strangers and see how many smile back, 7/10 is the least acceptable score if you are planning to brag about it. Women are rated with that first smile. You might be prettier than her but she took your man, she smiles better and I know men love happy women.

Now past the smile, you notice the things that her eyes lingers on a little longer, teddy bears, flowers, sundresses, beads, books, babies. The things she talks about, how her best friends name varies a little too often, the people she talks about. You study her movements, how random or routine are they? If men chose to study one woman at a time instead of trying to balance 3 to 4 girls that they try juggling, we will love our women better. She doesn't have to tell you that you are making her sad by your bad habits, coming home drunk smelling like freaking brewery the night she chose to change the shits. As a man, it is your job to make sure that no matter how bad her day was you won't let her go to bed angry. When women say they need security, it's not physical or financial; these are substitutes for their most pressing need, of protecting their dreams. When you were a little boy, or girl, if you had a bad dream you ran to your mum and dad, at least that is how it's supposed to be in an ideal world. A man who can give a woman that kind of protection, a man wherever her path leads her, she will always remember you if you ever took different paths. If she never finds that kind of protection again, she will try to substitute it with financial or physical protection.

At these points of my thoughts, I do try to unravel a little mystery. The basic need, how do we phrase this?.....''The thing you need protected from the most is a threat to your dreams'' I wonder what do you dream about? As a woman, basically if you breathe, you can't honestly say that pain being inflicted on you is part of your dreams......hehehehe, it's the effect of all these 'cuondos sias mias' they would literally die if they ever miss a single frame...... Hehehe, another thought real quick, is there any other kind of dying? - Ooooh, hypothetically...... They have a thing about a damsel in distress been carried into the sunset by a knight in shining armor kind of script. Problem is, living your dreams is not for everyone, and if you are waiting for a prince charming to come and save you from your bad marriage, bad news, not everyone lives their dreams. You can choose to wait for him to swing by when you are half dead in hospital after the thrashing he handed your sorry ass last night.......DAMN!! This is a very imaginative script; the prince charming is a doctor, now I get it. The women who take their thrashing dream that they we'll get married to a wife beater who will one day thrash her sooooo well for her to wink at death, and his prince charming will come in a lab coat, I wish all dreams would come true when I see the pain of those trying to live their dreams whether as gangsters reformed, reformed drug addicts, national heroes for blowing the whistle on corruption in governments, Goldenberg and Angloleasing whistleblowers, anyone seen them lately.

Dreams are called for a reason people, there is real life and there is dream land. The ratio of success in the pursuit of dreams is still very low, so low that the government had to keep it under the wraps. Some guy wants to be a gangster until he's 18 and then drop an album right after coming out of jail, problem is of all 1.62 million people had that dream. The 14.5 pc that tried to live it only a few 50 cents' Akons' managed to live it. That's a very small success rate, and it is therefore ill advised to follow your dreams. I know I wouldn't dare live my dreams, they are full of action, and I hurt myself a lot. Too many near death experiences have occurred in my dreams in the pursuit of fame, as a super hero, I can at least say am bullet proof in that armor, but in the dreams where am saving a damsel in distress, the pain that I endure, the graphics, the background music, with my abs jumping off helicopters, swimming across fighting with sharks --I loved this dream-- .........on second thought, I should really start living my dreams.

Anyway, let’s finish this line of thought, and then clear with its source and finish up with the initial thought.

We all have dreams. Some are sweet flowery, poetic kind, others are violent, others extremely gothic, but dreams. The universe has to balance the dreams and life. If we were allowed to see what is hidden behind the curtain of dreams we would live in a very chaotic world.

The second thought, protection of dreams. There is a quote that is thrown around, ''don't go to bed angry'' if you are a man who doesn't let her woman go to bed angry is the kind of man our women are looking for. These men are however very few, am not even sure if am one of them. After a long day and a fight with your boss, you want your man to just sit there and listen to you whine -this definitely a dream too.

I must confess that women are difficult to study because all this information is seriously crashing. I was sure I had figured out this is what women want thing but DAMN!! Back to studying the trees.

-Insert- I do have other lesser graphical dreams, with nature, waterfalls and naked Puerto Rico women, yes I dream big. I guess they kind off even out because they range on the extremes, pain and pleasure even out.

The initial thought. Watching one woman at a time. If we want to know women I should study one at a time, her ill habits to her beautiful finishing. It's all about watching one woman at a time, and look for the ill habits before her beautiful finishing sweep your ass all the way to the alter blind.

PS: This post is categorized under Figure I. Since am not the kind to question my sanity, I can confidently say that y'all got super powers and can read my mind.

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Halleluuuuuuuuuuuujaaaaaah

That was my heart singing throwing my hands in the air as every part of me joined in and screamed louder. Whatever was happening to me could not be described, not a word in the current oxford dictionary can describe it although astounding, rapturous, or maybe euphoric comes close. It all started with a couple of vodka shots earlier. Alone at the counter, I normally prefer it with some slices of lemon although some days like today, neat works for me. In a good way it burns, and most parts of me go ballistic including the big toe, ooohh vodka, how sweet thy taste. I gotta say, for god so loved the world that he gave us his only begotten son who turned water into wine. How I wish he knew something about the vodka then. I’ll admit that I was a little disappointed when the second coming of JC was postponed for the umpteenth time, all the water I had packed will now go to waste.
 

Looking around me, it seems am not the only one who is feeling the vibe of the clear fluid. There is this chic on the floor clad in a black dress and spotting one of those extra huge handbags commonly referred to as ‘vitz packing zone’. She’s clearly in the zone, her face, her dance moves, the smile, the unmistakable smile which is a resultant of the best man made bliss, am clearly home here. A little sweat dripping, it’s arousing, satisfying. She looks, at me and we’re nsync. We are thinking along the same lines, she licks her lips, throws her hair back and smiles. She walks over to the counter, “double shot of vodka please”. She looks at me flashes a smile and starts walking away. I couldn’t just let my soul mate walk away from me, not today, not after Mary Jane told me that she’s around the corner.

We didn’t have definite plans, but vodka is extremely spontaneous. We want to watch the stars, the new moon, we can’t see it from here, maybe at the beach the outline will be clearer. Vodka stays close by and Mary Jane is a pretty awesome guide as we kick our shoes and play with the water. Roll in the sand naked, her body, so many curves and I want to know them all, I can never have enough of this fine body. Her lips, chocolate they taste. Her breasts rise, her breath is faster; her legs around my back and our bodies are carelessly free. None of us knows why we are feeling this good; it’s too good to be true. Maybe it’s the vodka or it’s us or a fraction of each poured in a glass, shaken together, and served with a slice of lemon to come up with a concoction none of us has ever tasted.

Its morning now, and after last night, I don’t ever wanna go back to the real world. I want to stay here, raw food, and sex in the beach, eat berries in the morning, fish for lunch and vodka for dinner. We’ll wake up with a big fat smile in the morning, smoke weed all day and night, siesta in the afternoons, and we’ll just chill. I want to wake up every day and sing

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Halleluuuuuuuuuuuujaaaaaah

I want to grow dreadlocks, and she can play with them when we’re making love. I will learn to fish and she’ll learn to grill on open fire. I’ll write her poetry at the beach and read them to her in bed. We’ll live in a tree house, with a small garden where we’ll grow the herbs that we need. Live like a Sherman, and make babies. Teach them to play mini rugby at the beach, fishing, to live happy without the pressures of money but with pleasures of nature.


Just a minute, gotta press the snooze button and get back to my dream, HOLY FUCK!!! Am dreaming!!

Gotta go, Mary Jane is in session!!

Boundless freedom

I keep telling myself that there is nothing wrong with this scene, she probably does the same coz that's the only way we can sleep at night. We are not really hurting anyone, at least not now but she's way too deep into my skin. Her smile, light chuckle, her eyes, damn those eyes, she looks at me and she sees right through me, her voice touches me in places only she knows. She turns my world upside down at will, and when she looks at me, I become whatever she needs me to be.

The distance is supposed to be a bad thing but with us, it's probably the best thing that ever happened to us. Being close to her is a blessing and a curse, it's effortless only felt by the insane, we are insane and that's our curse. We are free to be us if only for a second, but that one second where we steal glances at each other and smile in our hearts we are free. With everyone else running around the room to get this and that done, we are in a completely different world, a place only we know, serene, our little world with sandy beaches, sometimes the wild, in deserts every once in a while, war zones, but always there is us and that's where we fall in love over and over again. Everyday is a perfect day.

When we kiss, words can't describe how the world moves, gravity can't hold us as we float and let the wind carry us to your world. Our bodies burning and we are not trying to understand the feeling, nor learn the words to the music as long as the rhythm is right. It's raw, in an open sea and we could drown but that is not enough to deter us from venturing deeper in a path of bliss we barely understand. A place where all reason, memory, thoughts are suspended and all you can do is feel.

When we chose to walk this road, we promised to trend with care, no hearts, all flesh but we lied. Instead we created a religion with a fallible god. We always knew the first step was going to lead us to something that defies, surpasses extacy. I look at you and realize we are heading there and even though at this point its not too late to turn back, we aren't planning to coz once you've tasted a piece of heaven, there is no letting go, we don't want to let go, we won't let go.

Lovers Anonymous

“You wake up in the morning, walk to the bathroom, check the size of your dick in the mirror, and then take a look of yourself. Girls don’t love your face, or the fact that you’re good in bed, but money is really sexy. Nothing makes her wetter than the S500 you bought her for her birthday, or that beach house you take her for the holidays and most definitely, the no limit credit card in her purse. I do believe there is a possibility that she loves you too among others and other things but it’s not in my place to judge considering the situation is little sticky right now. I guess I shouldn’t have being carried away as I did, but you gotta admit, it’s pretty hard (hehehe……hard) not to.

“Let’s back up a little bit, where do I fit in this picture? Am an average guy, who really appreciates a nice frothy warm Tusker, and every once in a while (once a day or two I mean) the vodka, preferably in shots does me a great deal of good. I happen to love places where such delicacies are served, and so do sexually starved women. Am not saying yours is one of them, she did, and it’s my fault that I tend to take words at face value. I guess that’s probably why I suck at relationships, with the whole read between the lines thing not working great for me, although I do try. 

“Anyway, she’s hot, extremely hot, she burns holes through souls of men, mine included. There is a sensation that you experience if you take a straight double in what some people call “kwa gengor” or in layman’s terms, bottoms up. You feel your whole body tingle, down to your toes. If you take a few more in succession, well, those who’ve being there understand that it won’t kill you, but it just might hurt something, or not. But her, she’s specific. If you could concentrate all that sensation and aim it at a particular part of the body, the brain could literally trip, especially if that specific place is a soft spot, with no bone to soak in the pressure or pleasure, and the blood vessels just love the rush. She has a way of doing that, and she made prey out of me and when she asked me to honestly tell her what I thought of her, as she stood naked in front of me, I just couldn’t lie to her. She was, is a piece of work, and even if I was pretty stoned, I was right coz she was still super hot when she was riding in the morning.  

“Problem is, she has become an addiction and I haven’t heard of a rehab that I could go to. I have being trying to cut on my addictions which hasn’t being working the way I expected. Am not sure if it’s a good or a great thing but I think I might drop all of my other addictions and just stick with this one.”

“Thanks for sharing Jack. Anyone else would like to share.”

“Hello, my name is Mary, and am a lover.”

Yes I do

It’s like jetting on a stolen car and my main concern is not the police, but how long it will take to get to her. So what if she don’t feel the same, this emptiness at this particular moment, it is of least importance since those words are not from her mouth. Self doubt has always hung around me even when my mind is aflame, not exactly sure how it fits in this equation but somehow it does. All I know is when the moon is round and full am going to teach her tricks that'll blow her mind. 

I am running towards something, someone, anything. A reason to believe that I might since I know the one thing that I want the most is the one I can’t; or rather don’t want to have. It might not be common but an illness of the heart could be terminal if not caught on early. I heard initial symptoms may include the smiles, the flowers, chocolates and wines. It’s the latter symptoms that I am afraid of but since they invented a cure in the form of vodka, am not too afraid to run and collide.

The sad part is all this could have being avoided if I could have garnered the courage to say those three words when she asked if I needed another drink, “yes I do” isn’t that hard. It would have given us another half hour, and what we would have done would probably have being better than what she or I did on our own. Maybe we would have gone home, or partied all night and in the winding down of the night and a few therapy sessions later learnt how to deal with her episodes. Maybe she’d have driven me away with her bitching, tantrums, self absorption, or the makeup sex would be so great I never wanna leave, and I just love to piss her off coz when she’s mad, she’s out of control and there is no stopping with the scratching, the biting………., the violence is the foreplay we love and how peaceful she is thereafter is angelic.

I haven’t heard her side of the story. That’s probably because I let her leave before I could catch her name and number. If only I could take my eyes off of her for a little while and think, rather than just turn the lights around her down low, change the music to something slower, smoother, and make everything around us just disappear, then maybe she would tell me her story. Now I just look for her face in crowds wherever I go and hope that one day she’ll get to ask me if I need another drink, “Yes I do” won’t be too hard then.

Cupid is gone rogue

I haven't had a drink in a couple of days. Haven't seen Mary Jane or Betty Brown either and they are getting concerned. The drink is afraid that am getting comfortable sober which isn't good for me, according to him. Mary Jane, she acts all concerned and all, last time we met she questioned me on my state of mind, if am getting better and all since I've being missing therapy a lot. I know she's afraid am seing someone else, she's a lil protective and after that rendeveous with Betty Brown, she has every reason to be concerned.
Betty Brown ain't the jealous type and she kinda just let things slide. I guess she knows one way or another, I.ll probably go back looking for her. She's that cocky.

Am not very good with walking away from my ills, and am not really planning on starting to. However, am usually curious about what else I can play with and in my experience, there is always something out there that has a better hi than what am using. I did find s'thing. It's not illegal, but it happens to be socially unacceptable. I would love to share this hi wit' ya'll but if I did, it would make you crave it and the scarcity might just start a war.

It all started a couple of months back, the crave however started much earlier when she first flashed that smile and every fibre in my body knew I had to have it. Amy happens to be nicer than MJ, not that MJ is being a bad sport, but a nice girl is a scarce commodity. This means you have to steal moments because in your pursuit of bad girls, the good ones were snatched and the few ones remaining are not yet legal. Her unavailability happens to be her stronger ingredient and a minute in her world spins your world so fast you don't want to go back to the real world.

She takes me places, in her world, there are small pieces of heaven. She holds my hand, shows me around and in more ways than one the experiences are magical. Last night, she taught me how blissful deserts in her world can be, at an oasis with just fresh fruits and no condoms.

Am trying to take a step at a time, but am pretty sure cupid is gone rogue, and as much as am not supposed to think this, cupid should be punched in the face, or shot. Otherwise am in some deep shit. Good thing is, whatever happens, I can always go back to my ills, and I don't need to buy roses.

The Holy Bible, the gun, the vodka

Fuck it, fuck it fuck it!!! FUCK IT!! Moving too fast, faster than the rest, the moment doesn't fit, it never does. The wheels just……… he had no control over anything. Their faces joined almost at the tip of their eyes, unsuspecting intent. Her words just a whisper, his words get in his way. He was her, she was him, and they were them. All they prayed for was a healthier today than yesterday, a safe place to sleep at night, enough money in their pocket so they are not hungry and a feeling that they matter to someone. The Holy Bible, the gun, the vodka. Never should have picked the phone but he did, not that he cares, or anyone else, especially them. The heart and the brain are never supposed to agree on anything.

The Holy Bible, the gun, the vodka. Head trauma, depression, awesomeness was what he felt. Too many days just disappeared too many times in a year, minute after minute and nobody even notices that she smiles different when he’s around. She loved him but she was not his to keep.  Eternity, things go on forever, what does that even mean? Things were moving too slow, slower, clearer, recollection, all the things that matter in one frame. The picture, soul in a dungeon, the picture is a little hazy, there is no picture. Catching grenades, trains, head on a blade, who the fuck loves that much? Who knows the difference between wrong and right any more?

He needed it to be still, still enough to listen to the humming of the cosmos. It’s loud; he can’t listen to himself, to God. He needs to talk to God and explain himself, or rather his actions. How come we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? It’s probably because we are not the person involved. He was not feeling guilty; he didn’t understand why, correction, what he felt. We are human, sinners, sin is part of us. At this point, they didn’t remember whose idea it was in the first place, it was wrong, but they didn’t care that she was someone else’s woman. They took the risk, hoped and prayed there was an afterlife; the only place they didn’t need to sneak around was in another life.

The Holy Bible, the gun, the vodka. She still won’t hear him; she lied there and smiled, not quite the same way. She was waiting for him in another life. He loaded the gun. Let’s rewrite the book.

Upgrading needed

I’ve being studying myself for a while now. Am a pretty interesting fellow, regardless of the fact that almost everything I do is routine. All I do is eat, drink, work and sleep (and a few other things that would give you a reason to judge me). The study shows I need a tad bit of upgrading. This was not necessary of my own making but getting into the details of how this crossed my mind won’t exactly make me less of a man, but neither will it improve my image in the social scene. I need some upgrading but my upgrading should however not affect my awesomeness, which means no one, and I mean no one should touch my after 1800 hrs schedule.

I was looking at my bed this morning, same as I do every morning and the art looks a little different. It had additional features. There was a sock, another sock, an extra t-shirt and where did that other sock come from?  The reason I study my bed every morning is to try and understand why anyone would like to destroy the masterpiece you’ve being making all night by making it. The beauty is legendary. I know this would be affected if I ever decide to leave my manhood to the mercies of a woman. Am not sure if it is a bad or a good thing, but the raging debate in my head isn’t leaning on the feminine side. My sister always tells me that I need a woman in my life and as much as I love her with all my heart, the fact that she suggests it makes me a little more wary of the species from Venus.

When I say upgrading, from my point of view, it’s more of home cooked meals and curtains. For the curtains, there is no sense of urgency since the kikoi has being working out alright so far. A home cooked meal is a problem not because I can’t cook (am a terrific cook, so I’ve being told), it’s cooking for one that doesn’t work for me. It makes me feel a tad bit lonely, it’s sad actually. I do cook if I have a friend over but with my hours, there is really no point of inviting people over at that time unless you’re getting some. Now here comes the big question, between the cooking and the “business”, which is of importance? If she’s visiting for the night, cooking doesn’t make a lot of sense, unless it’s a quick mix of vodka and coffee. Maybe it’s just me but hey……… I’ve never tried to win the battle of the sexes, too much fraternizing with the enemy has happened.

At this precise moment, I just realized how much of a feminist I sound. It is not my fault exactly since in the world we are brought up in, the emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says, "It's a girl." With the women having accepted the position right below, it’s a little difficult to wake up today and just change the way men think. Personally, I am all for compelling her strength, not doubting her courage or her toughness, not believing her to be naïve or innocent, and gathering the courage to treat her like a woman. That may make me a lesser of a man in front of other men, but what does a man gain from treating a woman as a lesser being.

Getting to yes, that’s the yes on that soft bargaining, negotiation of positions rather than interests, offering concessions easily in the interests of preserving (or creating) a good relationship with the other side she also has to learn a few things too.

1. A drink with the boys is not cheating on her. If am out with the boys, I would appreciate if my phone does not ring after every five minutes. I am probably in the middle of a story of how am cheating on you with my imaginary girlfriend (just to prove to the boys am not whooped)
2. You have your book clubs, swimming thingies, South American soap operas and church stuff with the girls, I have sports. If I can’t watch them in the house, you are kindly asked to refrain from getting mad, and if you must get mad at me, at least act like you’re not. I do understand that all the nice games fall in the weekend and you would love us to go out too, but if only you would give me a little space, i.e. 1500 hrs to 2200hrs I will dedicate the rest of the night to you.
3.   I do understand that all your life, circumstances beyond your control (being born a woman) have forced you to imply rather than express how you feel. I would also want you to understand that the opposite applies to me, and a breakdown in communication will be a constant feature in this arrangement.

I know am not supposed to be thinking about these things right now, but since I did, a few things came to me. After all this thinking, I do believe am going through a period of nostalgia, and I seem to think yesterday was better than today.  I don't know if it was, and I would advise you not to wait ten years before admitting today was great.  If you're hung up on nostalgia, pretend today is yesterday and just go out and have one hell of a time. Am going to join those who can laugh without cause, for they have either found the true meaning of happiness or have gone stark raving mad.

How about that upgrading ladies. I just realized I don’t know what I want.

Love, loyalty and blood.

“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion - 
I have shuddered at it. 
I shudder no more. 
I could be martyred for my religion 
Love is my religion 
And I could die for that. 
I could die for you.” 
 
~ By John Keats ~

His breathing was heavier, and his legs were giving in. He had run for too long, not fast enough and they were catching up too fast. Fast forward this story and it becomes a story of war. Take a step back and it was a story of loyalty. Two steps back it was a story of love and a few more steps back it was still a story of love, the forbidden kind.

His name is not as important as what he represented. He was a loyal friend to his and when one of them was killed, he couldn’t let it slide. He went to the local where the deed took place and watched his victim as he laughed with his. They were joking and laughing about it. He was a child of royalty, which meant him and his walked on air, water and through walls. Untouchable they were, not like him and his. His were not very affluent but had learnt to cope, keep their distance from the arrogant that had and it seemed to work until she came into the picture.

Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes…just be an illusion. She was the girl of his dreams. When she walked she made them all look and that made him feel important, at least when they were she did. He had never felt this way about a woman before. When they were together, they were naked in the clouds and in their world they had their feet in the sand and the beach was their ground. Do you ever put your arms out and just spin and spin and spin? Well, that’s what their love was. Everything inside of them kept telling them to stop before they fall, but they just keep going. She was however making too many people look. He knew, no, they knew roses wither and dry but still held on hoping that they will last.   They did until he came into the picture and stole a kiss from his love. A lawful kiss is never worth a stolen one, but its worth is worth if you’re not caught, he caught him.

He was the quiet kind, loveable too and well mannered. His were cowboys and though his mama always warned him about them, their loyalty to him would not let him betray them. His always brought him the best laughs, memories and in times of uncertainty, clear mind. Like that one time when his heart was first broken, the liquor store blues with his and exposure to a few more pussycats courtesy of his was enough to aid the pain and heal the wounds. He couldn’t let his difference of opinion with his mother get in the middle of that.

His mother had aged gracefully. She was beautiful, caring and most importantly, she was the kind type. When she was much younger, even more beautiful and although she was modest, tales of her beauty had travelled far and wide. She had made more than her equal share look and a power did look. He came from royalty, rolled with royalty and was expected to marry from royalty, but he didn’t. What lied behind them, and what lied before them were tiny matters compared to what lied within them. He promised she would marry her but the father would not stand by and watch royal blood tainted. So he ran away from her, but deep inside he knew if she didn’t come after him, he would die, and he died. Everyday he died a little inside until this one day she came calling, crying.

She told him about his son, their son, their only son. Their son loved this woman; he killed for her, died for it and lost one of his friends for it. Their son reminded her of him, they had taken the only thing that he loved and reminded her of the love of his life. He couldn’t sit back and watch her heart breaking; it was breaking his heart too.

Rage was what was happening to him now. He gathered his troops.

Losing and winning

 When I was 13 years old, I had my first fight with a girl about our relationship. I lost and a trend of loosing battles against women began. The problem with my skill is as Chris Rock says, "trying to be logical" while all she wants is to "win, win, win". I among other like sexed individuals we will never learn to play dirty, remember her past mistakes and use them against them or at least use the tear card. The tear cards, ooooh, damn the tear card. It should be made illegal just like they did that Mututho archaic law.



 And now, a quick question about the villain of the moment. If someone in self defense, or defiance, accidentally shot Mututho with a semi automatic, sprayed around seventeen round after a sniper shot him right below the ear, crashed all his bones and took his internal organs (private too) just in case someone discovered a way to bring back the dead to life what would you rather he be reincarnated as? (20 mks)


a)      A beer mug
b)      A beer bottle
c)       A keg pump
d)      The bar urinal.


 Let's go back to the topic in hand, the losses and wins. The wins have being few, spaced out and without enough evidence or witnesses to celebrate them. The losses on the other hand have being slightly above what you would say acceptable. In my book however, I've won a lot more fights than I'd love to admit depending on what you were fighting for. I have learn't some relationship changing tricks on the other side of the dirt, blood and bruises to my heart, body and soul; am not supposed to say this out loud but the losses have done wonders for my sex life, with the break up and make up sex, drunk sex, angry sex which is the best among other unnamed types of the beautiful act.


The fight with my first girlfriend. The details aren't too vivid but apparently the problem I had with her was the same I have had with all the girls who came after her, communication. She won't say what she wants and I can't read minds. This particular problem isn't really going anywhere but since I gave up on a remedy for miscommunication, I have at least found an antidote for the tension thereafter. A bottle of fine cognac vodka, some lime and an edible chocolate glass for the missus. You can try something else and furnish your fellow men with ideas but for now……..testing, testing, 1,2,3 testing.


And on other news, Happy B-day Dj Feddy.

When we knew

I have this theory that when we were younger, girls and boys thought along the same lines. We would grow up to be something, get married to a nice other and raise flawless kids. Somewhere along the way, it became apparent that we are living in a man’s world where men have to work their asses off to make a living whereas all the women had to do was look pretty (kinda sounds like a woman’s world). Don’t get it twisted, we have a few women who understand the value of hard work but the remaining lot has made it a habit of quoting sexism or using their invaluable assets to make a living. These are the women who make us men wary of giving our all in our relationships. I do believe there are good girls already born but in between finding them, we have to go through too many false starts it becomes tiresome to a point where we don’t see the point of looking anymore.

Being a man is a very tiresome job especially a man who actually makes a living and is still single. You have to go to work every day, come home to an empty bed, dirty laundry, empty fridge and so many wrongs in the house. For someone who’s just moved from home, the shock is beyond apprehension. One is left with the choice of getting an untested broad to help out or learn the ropes by self. The former always looks like the better option until one finds it simpler to look after a five year old than handle a full grown woman, no pun intended. What a man is used to is a straight up conversation where one takes words at face value, hanging out with friends is routine, missing a football match is a crime, and tomorrow always takes care of itself, at least that is what I expect. When the status quo changes, adapting becomes a big problem.

It became worse when the women of the world decided to go to the city of lil men with small eyes a.k.a Beijing. Worse still, the Beyonce era kicked in where all the single ladies are standing up, becoming independent screaming to the left. They refused to go to the kitchen, do laundry, and decided men too can change diapers. The suffocation became unbearable which scared the hell out of the remaining good men who were more than willing to be heroes. The ratio of men to women being barely comparable, these women have forced some of the men to run to the bars, coke joints, commercial sex workers and same sex relationships, creating an even bigger gap between eligible men and women. A brave few are still hoping for the good old days of our fathers and try their best but end up in courtrooms fighting for their hard earned money in divorce settlements.

As it stands, we are creating a new breed of men. Loving a woman was supposed to be the only reason a man would stay under the same roof with the significant other. Times have changed, for the worse, and men are compromising love for stability and procreation. It’s always being African to have a heir and family pressure is forcing men to make decisions they will most likely regret.

What am trying to say is, times were better when we knew men are animals, women are beautiful and marriage was a commitment.

Dealing with a woman

I guess free time is not necessarily a bad thing, with the all knowing dead people having convinced the masses the devil likes them idle it's going to be a lil difficult for a lowly being like a mortal to convince you otherwise. But then, even those who said it are dead, mortals, same guys who convinced you that Tom Dick and Harry are bad. Am not saying they were always wrong, coz in the process of giving you the wrong advice, they also said Gods way of showing us he loves us was via the refreshment of the working class.

Anyway, in my idle state I discovered a sure way of dealing with women, it's yet to be tested but expectations are high. Unluckily am not as lucky as the doctors thus lab rats are not readily available. This means I'll be forced to experiment on real people with an untested remedy hoping to prove myself right. If I had a few lab rats, maybe one male and two females, two because I'd need a bad lady rat and a nice lady rat to take notes on the effects depending on the type of woman I'd be dealing with. It would also be very helpful if the female rats had mood swings every once in a while in the course of the tests just to know the reaction on account of the mood.

Did you know that a frog can't empty its stomach by vomitting. To empty its stomach contents, a frog throws up it's stomach first, so the stomach is dangling out of it's mouth. Then the frog uses its forearms to dig out all of the stomach's contents and then swallows the stomach back down again. Just thought you should.

So what did I discover in my idle state, the only way to deal with a woman is not to get her everything she wants, nor listen to everything that she says, and all those things that they say you should do. Just act like you can! You can buy her a few of her favorite things in moderation, use words that signal that she can keep talking as you listen, and whatever you do, make sure your day was not as dramatic as hers. It doesn't matter if you fought a lion outside the state house, and almost had a head on collision with the presidents jet on your way to Ivory Coast to successfully broker a peace deal between the feuding powers, shut up and listen.

If the above advice doesn't work and you end up loosing your private parts by your loving wife, or partner or whatever you kids are calling each other these days its very important that you remember, you don't know me!!

All this thinking has made me thirsty. Time to drink until Rihanna turns white.

Chosing words

The first time she broke his little heart, he wrapped it real nice, placed a ribbon on it and sent it to heaven. He had heard that's where broken hearts go. For healing that is. After a couple of months, a year or so, he got his heart back. He locked it up and threw away the key.

He was bored one Monday afternoon. He wrote a note. She saw the note and talked to him. He didn't know what to say. It was a good piece of writing she said. You should write.He makes mistakes when he's a lil' on the rocks. He bears out his heart, his soul, his entire being. He tells her things. She tells him things. She gives him hope. He don't like hope. It's for the hopeless. But he's hopelessly in love with her. She's not, at least that's what she says.She should have tried to make it work. That's what she said. That makes it better she thinks. He wishes it did. It doesn't.

He writes about her. The first time he saw her. At 18, the most beautiful virgin on the green. No age could furnish this nymph so graceful, wise and fair; with half the lustre of her eyes, half her wit. He had hit the bottle a little early, but still, the adrenaline, excitement and slight anxiety raced. Perfectly curved, walking around, he noticed. She probably didn't. She was the desire that fulfilled his ultimate fantasy. Her face almost angelic. It was lust eating him up. He schemed, took another shot of whiskey and talked to her. A beautiful young thing is what he needed.

She didn't give it up. A few months down the line, he took his eyes off the goal and got carried away by this being. It was not sexual anymore. He had felt this before. A long time ago. Maybe it's,no,it's different this time. He told her about it. She felt it, he knew she felt it. She freaked. She was afraid. She ran.
She thought about him, probably a lot. She called him. They talked about it, they tried again. They were both cautious, sometimes careless with words, but mostly cautious. A bit too cautious. She liked to bite his lower lip and look into his eyes. He couldn't hide anything from her. She probably knew that. They were now moving in circles. On for a couple of months, then off for a couple of months. They were afraid to invest emotions. She wanted it. He wanted it. They acted like two little kids who didn't know what they wanted. But he wanted it more than she did. He worked harder than she did on it. Until eventually he couldn't no more.
She told him she wanted out. He was too drained to fight anymore. He reluctantly said yes. He said he understood and it was okay. But it was not okay and he didn't understand. He could feel his heart crashing but he put on a brave face. She kissed him goodbye. He walked away.

He told his friends about it. They didn't understand what he was going through. Disappointments in his past had taught him to take a blow with a smile. He hurt alone. He drunk his beer. He might sleep alright tonight and hurt tomorrow. His liqour does that for him.

He's met a few nice girls since then. He likes them a lot sometimes. He can't give his heart to them though. He doesn't have the key. He thinks about her when he's with them. He compares her with them. Some almost do compare but always fall short. Others just, well, they just don't.

They talk sometimes. Sometimes for long on the phone. She seems happy. She met someone else. He's happy for her. He just wants her to be happy. It's being a while now, pretty long while and he knows she couldn't wait. As long as she's happy, he's happy.

He never got over her. He however learn't to live without her. She taught her a lot of things, but living without her,he had to learn the hard way.
They were different when they were;
He writes, she reads
He likes the outdoors, she's into indoors
He likes his liqour, she's not much of a fan
He likes all music, she's a rock lover
He spends, she saves
He's a wild one, she's a nice girl
They were a little different but they did okay. They differed in opinion sometimes but didn't really fight. They should have fought at least a few times, but that's not important now.

He might be seeing her soon. She says she wants them to be friends. He's got to be cautious with his words when he sees her. She's going to too. Choose words carefully. Probably talk about everything except what they feel. He knows and she knows. It's time to start choosing words.