Category Archives: Funny
Lagos Girl
I am not a Lagos girl. Zinny now is and this post is from her. NOT ME. I REPEAT, NOT ME!!!
Enjoy.
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I am a Calabar girl, born and bred. I thought I’d always be a Calabar girl… until Lagos.
I was raised every inch a lady. How to walk, how to sit, the proper decibels at which to speak given the occasion, how to observe other people’s personal space, whether standing or sitting, how to observe rules of polite behaviour when speaking, like ‘please’, ‘excuse me’, ‘may I?’, ‘sorry’, etc. These all formed part of my home training growing up, at a time when formal etiquette schools had yet to make their entrance. And about the only abusive term I was allowed use of was ‘you are silly’. My dad was that particular! So it was that I blossomed into a lovely young lady who observed etiquette and frankly could not understand it when others wouldn’t.
This, until I was thrown into the cesspool that is Lagos… Thrown, because I was unprepared. Imagine my horror and utter confusion to find that everything which formed the basis of great relationships and a structured society was upended. I was introduced to a society where everything unacceptable is the norm. Even worse, unacceptable is considered cool. Death rides with conductors hanging out of buses whilst speeding through Third Mainland Bridge. Who does that?! Why would you want to do that?! Jumping out of buses that are still in motion. What are you trying to prove? That you are death proof? So was Humpty Dumpty…until he fell.
Lagos is the stuff nightmares are made of. For the longest time, going out was daunting. Why, oh why is everyone soooo angry and suspicious? And where are you all running to? Really! Sir, do please, pretty please, tone down your voice. We are perfectly capable of hearing you – thanks to the two ears the creator planted on our heads. And you might as well lose the viciousness while at it: some things are not worth the hypertension. Errrrrr, Oga, we want to go to heaven in our own good time; no point driving as if hell’s own hounds are giving chase. Ha! If only I knew I was practically alone in thinking this.
Gotta say, Lagos has done a number on me. How do I know this? I’m numb to most of the things that used to make my hair stand on end. Progress, huh? I think so too.
In Calabar, I would go to bed to the occasional bark of a dog and soft music playing in the background. Now I go to bed to the sound of blaring horns, screaming tires and humans who want to prove to each other that they know more abuses in the Yoruba language, and this at roaring volumes expected only in tunnels, so those of us who have nothing to do would be held captive. As it turns out, this is now music to my ears. As it plays on, I sleep on.
In Cally, I would awaken every morning to birds chirping, tweeting in the trees outside my room and the crunch of farmers’ boots on the way to their farms. Now I wake up at what is internationally recognised as an ungodly hour -4 A.M.- thanks to the loudspeaker in the mosque which is situated on the street directly across my house. During Ramadan, I am woken up at least three times a night by that darned gramophone. Oh who cares? I’m alive and it’s a new day, thank you Jesus!
One of my best features was my catwalk: a measured, somewhat seductive way of moving my hips in time to my feet. It was, if I say so myself, musical and paced just right. I am what people call shapely and my gait helped emphasize that. But noooooooooo, Lagos said it was snail pace and utterly unnecessary, when my job description did not read ‘model’. Buses zoomed off before I got to the spot where they had been standing. Conductors cursed and jeered. So I learned to gallop. It’s a cross between walking and running. Forget seductive, forget beauty. I need to get to where I’m going and do so in time. What’s the point of pacing yourself just so if it is lost on everyone?
In secondary school, in Calabar of course, we used to eat to time. If you hadn’t finished when the bell went off, you had to chuck your food. I was that girl who stood at the bins after every meal throwing away half my food because I couldn’t rush eating. There were times when students engaged in what was called massacre. They would rush at the servers with giant bowls and cart away huge quantities of food or an entire pot of meat or fish. The servers would be helpless to do anything because they were few and we were many and there were no prefects to bring order to the chaos. Even in those dire times, I would stand back and watch because I did not have the capacity for such violence. I was too ladylike for such extremities! I would be mauled! Not anymore. Now, when there’s scarcity of transport here in Lagos, I find myself rushing with the spring of an accomplished acrobat and the menace of a wild animal.
And don’t ask me what I do to my food.
Temperament wise, I have always called myself a melancholic. I won’t speak unless I need to. I enjoy my own company. I’m mellow and soft spoken; aggressive only when arguing a point (and that you can blame on my profession: Law). That’s all in the past now. I have undergone a whole personality change. I don’t remember what bedroom tones sound like. I scream at conductors with gusto. I am brash for no reason. I speak pidgin like an upcoming Warri babe. I even think in pidgin now (scary!). I tend to get bored of my company too soon. I look at me sometimes and I don’t recognize me. LAGOS!!!
Lagos is not just a place, it is a culture; an identity; a frame of reference. Lasgidi. Lagosian. It is an identity a lot hold dear and beat their chests loudly to in proclamation. It is an identity I loathe and embrace in equal parts. Think about it, what does Lagosian mean? It means one is tough, ready and able to do the necessary to achieve success, even if that means exerting grievous effort or taking on the lowliest of jobs. It means one is acclimated to traffic and its accompanying exhaustion and yet can still rise before cocks crow the next day headed for new traffic. It means one is aggressive enough to stand up to touts and their ilk and the quickest to head off in the opposite direction if a rape, beating, theft or murder is taking place. It means one can spot a cheat a mile off and never misses an opportunity to make an extra buck. It means one can live in filth without flinching. It means clubbing and working are one and the same and aso-ebis would never leave the no.1 spot on ‘trending’. It means strangers and beggars deserve the same treatment: ignore.
Lagos, the owners claim, is survived by only the fittest. Well, I have survived two years and counting and intend to do so until hubby dearest whisks me off to a destination island where we would spend the rest of our days. Come quickly honey, for although I am surviving considerably, the tell-tale signs are beginning to show. You see, all hustle and no fun, and there you have it – the perfect recipe for aging.
I just found my new tagline…
Lagos: Age Quickly.
A Crash Course in Old Nick’s Dealings
You might not be familiar with some of the terminologies used if you haven’t read the first and the second editions of Crash Course. Try to enjoy. And subscribe. Tagging is a royal pain.
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Devil dey work o. Who tell you say devil no dey work dey lie. Devil dey work pass ashewo wey get target.
I been dey house wen Napodia papa wan use cutlass do me like mallam suya.
“Open dis door! Make I see d tin wey you use give Napo belle! Wen I finish wit you, you go see woman run.”
Small time, him halla come turn to cry.
“Ooooh. My Napodia. My innocent Napodia!”
Innocent ko, flourescent ni. Napodia wey like Patrick pass pure water. I wish say I been snap picture wen Napodia dey show me skill wey she see for blu feem. Abi u tink say na ordinary eye dey turn Crash Course to Credit? No be only innocent. Small time, Napo papa vexation return.
“Foolish boy. Come out now!”
My guy wan break dis door sha.
I remember d oyinbo wey Pastor been blow on Sunday. Wetin Crashito dey find for church? You dey mad? Where I wan see offering tiff before? “When God closes a door, he opens a window!”
I look my burglary proof again. Omo dis window lock die. I come hear noise inside ceiling. Idea. E no reach two minutes wey I use remove ceiling board, enter roof begin dey run. As I dey up dey run, I see space for down where anoda ceiling board don remove. I tink say na inside person room I dey go land. As I jump down, I see myself for d corridor of our face-me-I-slap-you.
Also, one man (wey ugly pass gorilla wey smell crase man armpit) carry cutlass dey wait me. “You must marry my Napodia or else I will feed you to wild animals.” I no tink. I just look him cutlass answer, “Sir, which day make I come pay dowry?”
Devil dey work.
I dey do construction work. My company dey send for us anytime wey work dey. So if I no dey house or my friend place, I dey site. One day, I dey site for Lekki. We dey build one big house. Dat day my oga say I no go carry load. Na only to supervise one small tin so I wear beta cloth come dat day. I dey work my own jeje when horn sound outside gate. I look but d gateman no dey.
“Heyss! Ol boy! Oga pikin don land. Go open gate.” Na one of d boys wey I dey supervise dey open him mama gutter dey follow me yan. No fear. Normally we dey follow work sha. So no yawa. And I reason say na me neat pass so I first threaten him life before I go open d gate. One fine, clean motor enter d yard. D motor park, and oga pikin come out. I tink say na man. Omo na babe. Finest babe.
Money good o.
See as d babe skin fresh. Goddddd! Her face too fine and her body make sense. She get front but back no too full. Like 504. And na small pikin o. She no fit pass 22, 23. I senior am for sure but I no kno when I greet am.
“Aunty good afternoon.” see wetin bobbi dey cause.
“Hello, good afternoon. How are you?”
“I dey fine ma,”
“There are some things in the back seat. Please help me carry them.”
Make I explain give una small. This work no be new house. Na renovate we dey renovate. Dem break one side but the people wey get house dey live another side inside the same compound. I carry some small small things then follow madam go where she dey go. As we dey pass, some of the boys dem wey dey work begin shout give me.
“Crashito, dis one wey you follow madam for back, no too near am o. You know say you dey smell,”
“Yes na,” I answer d guy, “na me do mistake borrow your papa perfume!” D babe troway face like say she no dey hear but I see am dey laugh small small.
“Crash Cos!” Another idiot. All these yeye boys can sabi misbehave once dem see babe. “Why you tiff my shirt wear come work na?”
“No vex. Your sister open your wardrobe dash me after I give am Patrick chop!” Me sef sabi shout. Boys dem just dey laugh as we waka pass. Madam just face front. We waka reach back of their house na im she open their back door from kitchen side. She show me where to drop d tins dem. After I drop them, I see her face. She dey smile.
“What is your name?”
“Crash Cos,” as I dey answer, she dey bust laugh.
“I was afraid of that,” her foné no be here. I no too dey hear am sef.
“My name is Colette, by the way,” I shock.
“Sorry ma, you be D’banj pikin?” She bust more laugh.
“Why do I always get that? It’s Colette not freaking ‘cocolet,'”
“Oookay. Co…lette.”
“Yes. Colette. Now could you do me a favour?”
“Like wetin?”
“I’m an English major doing my thesis and I’d like to ask you some questions about broken English.” D only tin wey I hear na ‘question’, ‘broken’ and ‘English’. But trust mumu wey I be. I just answer.
“Yes ma,” next tin wey I know, d babe collect my number come tell she say she go buzz me. Jesu mi. My life don beta na. Levels don change. Dis kain babe collect my number, na happiness and joy and hammering remain na. As I wan commot go return my work, she come ask me JAMB question.
“So I have to ask. What’s does it mean when you say ‘Patrick?'”
Wallahi, I know say baba God dey my side, but devil dey work.
Devil dey work but sometimes, e be like say God dey work too. My phone ring the next day and na Napo.
“Hello. Napo, na wetin?”
“Hello. Crash Cos, na so u dey ansa your future wife?”
“Make thunder use old crayfish solder dat ya mouth. Who be your husband?”
“Wait first. Who dey pursue you?” D only tin be say devil dey use dem family. If not, Napo voice sexy die. Temptation.
“Pursue? Dem no tell you say ya popsy wan take my bloqos do dog food?” D idiot start to laugh. Dem don swear for dis one?
“Crash Cos, no vex. If na your daughter, abi our daughter, you sef no go vex?”
“Which one be our daughter? Napodia, you follow ojuju dance for dream?” I don dey vex. Which kain nonsense?
“Crash Cos relax. My mama don follow my papa talk. Me and you no go marry. Money you no get. And no be say you too fine. Plus you no kuku get respect for elders.”
To start d matter, I happy say Napo dem people don free me. Na d insult wey she follow join for back na im dey pain me.
“Napo, who no fine? Me and you who fine pass. Na only yansh you get o. You wey do face like burnt offering,”
“Oya e don do, e don do for you Crash Cos,” she sef don dey vex. Make she see as e be to collect insult na. Idiot.
“No be d tin wey make me call you sef. No dey use my credit curse me,”
“I don hear. Wetin make you call me?”
“I tell you say my mama follow my papa talk. But before we do anything about dis pikin, dem say make you come house make we follow talk.” Which house? To go die? I answer Napo straight.
“Ah. Una don see cheap market abi? E be like say your papa don see buyer for d dog food atink?”
“No o. No be so. My popsy don calm down. True talk. Just come. Me sef I know where him dey keep d cutlass. I go hide am. Trust me.” Napo voice come sexy again.
“Which day make I come?”
“Next week Tuesday. Around 6 when you go don close work,” I tink am small.
“Okay. I go try. But I no go wear shoe come o. Na pam slippers. In case I need run,” Napo start laugh again.
“Okay, I don hear. Bye bye.” She cut phone.
On Tuesday, I jam Colette for work again. That day, she come where we dey work come find me. All those boys come begin jealous me.
“Crashito, madam dey find you,” I do go meet am where she stand.
“So I was thinking we could do that interview today,” Interview? So all d grammar wey she dey blow since na for interview? Well, I no too complain. She fit be d future Mrs. Crashito. Baba God abeg.
“Which time?” I gats tell am say I get waka for dem Napo house but I no tell am wetin d waka dey about o. I sha tell am say we go meet after I finish for dem Napo side. She come call d name of one restaurant say make we meet there. Before she go, she press 2k inside my hand say make I use am join taxi.
For evening, I surprise for Napo dem house o. Dem papa don mellow. Na d babe mama dey look me like say I carry dustbin for head. Dem tori no too plenty. Story no too long. Dem just wan know my face and dem tell me say na me go drop money for anytin wey Napo need do for hospital. I just dey remember Napo papa cutlass dey answer “yes sir, yes ma.” When I reason say yans don finish, I stand up say make I dey go. Na Napo voice I come hear:
“Crash Cos, you must chop na,” Chopology. Awoof dey cut spirit for Orile o. My guy Kajeta, na awoof finish am for area. Im tiff for the place wey im dey work houseboy before. D people know say e tiff. D next day wen im come, dem mix juju and cement give am chop inside ogbono. My guy chop am finish dey happy. Since dem sack am, rumour be say na only Julius Berger gree employ am.
Because im dey helep dem shit block.
Devil dey work.
But last week, wen I dey ‘collect’ church offering, I hear dem pastor dey preach.
“The devil is liar!!!” Na so church shout “AMEN!”
“No weapon fashioned against you shall prosper!” As I dey commot d money, na so I dey use style dey shout “Amen!” Baba, I believe.
Juju no dey kill herbalist.
“Bring am make I chop,”
Omo dem give rice and beans chop. No be say d food no sweet. E sweet die. D yawa be say I suppose see Colette after I commot here and na egg and bread I chop since morning. D food sweet. Wella. I chop am one time clean mouth. Small time, I move.
I reach d place wey Colette say make I jam am. One fresh joint for VI. D people get restaurant inside come get joint outside for open air. She been don dey wait me sef. Chai.
“Hey Crash Cos, why are you sweating?”
“Nothing ma,” Omo na something o. Wen I dey inside bus dey come, na im my belle begin turn. I just dey hold myself since.
“Would you like something to eat?”
“No ma,” dis one want make I die? I just dey under breeze dey sweat. E be like say she tink say na fear wey dey make me sweat.
My hand been dey on top table. I no know wetin push d babe: she just carry her hand put on top my own.
“Relax,” omo as she talk dat tin, see as joy full my heart. I no know wen laugh catch me. And na dat time yawa come gas. Well, na me actually commot gas but d smell na yawa. And d breeze dey move well. Chineke God of Orile criminals. Which kain mature mess be dis?
“What died in here? Crash Course, did you fart?” D tin smell na instant.
I swear, cry dey my eye as I dey confess. I no fit lie dat kain lie: everybody know say I no get weight, “Aunty I no fat. Na mess I mess.”
“Oh my God!”
Since she run go dat day, she never call me again.
Devil dey work.
Tina
Una well done o!
Yes, e don tey. I know.
The worst part is that I come bearing no reassurance that this will change. Indeed, my writing juices have not flowed much. I thought getting a bb would help the matter but alas, no such luck.
You see, these days, a brother is without employment. And a jobless Cikko is an uninspired one. It’s how I function. This situation should get better real soon sha. Emem?
I also need a netbook. My big 17″ laptop is groovy but not great for typing at 2am in the morning when the craziest ideas hit or for taking with me into the crapper where all the best stuff is born. Donations are allowed of course!
On to today’s post. I wrote the first three stanzas when I was in ss2. I couldn’t remember the rest but I really loved the idea. So I rewrote it yesterday. Hopefully, the thought process feels the same. Enjoy…
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Tina
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If pehsin die today no vex,
Na God want am like dat,
No let woman break una neck
Weda she tin or fat.
I know why I dey tell una,
Woman don do me so
Na one girl dem dey call Tina
Wey make me catch gono.
D first time I been see dat one,
My head turn upside down
My plan den na to hit and run
God hear dat one come frown
I waka meet d babe and den
Omo boy start to rap:
No do, no do, lyrics no gel
Na im she tear me slap
Shakara sef na normal tin
I just gats to change style
When guy man start to drop kishi
D babe come begin smile.
E reach two weeks before Tina
Begin dey gree for me
But after dat e no too tey:
She come show me bobbie!
But bobbie no be food at all
Man must to chop complete
If I say Tina no sabi,
Na lie: her tin too sweet.
One day my Johnny no respond
When I wan piss by force
E pain me sotey I wan die
D tin wan tear blockos.
“Tina what is this you have done?
Why you give me gono?
D tin wan scatter my pomo
You go say you no know?”
D gyal come look me up to down
Come hiss like village snake:
“You get luck say I no kill you.
Idiot. Waka shege.”
And so my country people
Na so d matter end
Tina carry disease give me
Come follow weather blend.
He who chops and runs away
Must chop again of course
But if you chop Tina commot,
Ya mouth go commot pus!
Captain von Clapp Trapp (2)- Shattap!
Hello, ardent followers of crap. It’s that time of the month again. Not for you, silly woman! I meant me. Gee whiz! It’s football season and I play with my small team once every month. The games are always hectic. Meaning? I cramp too!
Ok. Where were we? Ah yes…
Two people were trying to fall for each other: what else is new?
This week, I decided to include a trivia section. Why? Yep, you guessed it: for no bloody reason at all. Nice to see you guys are catching on swiftly. I reserve the right to remain quirky!
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THIS WEEK’S POINTLESS TRIVIA
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In the 1800s, advancements in the inner workings of toilets were made, the bulk of which form the basis for the structure of the toilets we use today. Those refinements were made by an English plumber called… wait for it… Sir Thomas CRAPPER!!! Seriously…
Now how’s that for toilet humour?!
“Back to you M and T….”
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Book II: Freedom of Screech
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Theo Gee: gess wat
Morim P: What?
Theo Gee: its bn two weeks since our little… wateva this iz… startd
Morim P: Really?
Theo Gee: yea.
Morim P: and they say boys don’t remember dates…
Theo Gee: oh but we do. we just choose not to
Morim P: Pardon?
Theo Gee: never mind. I’m just makin excuses for our fathomless amnesia
Morim P: Lol.
Theo Gee: anyways… I gotta question for you
Morim P: aks away
Morim P: I meant ask
Theo Gee: HOLY SMOKERSVILLE!!!
Morim P: what???
Theo Gee: u jst made a typo!
Theo Gee: she breathes! by God shes human!
Morim P: hehe. you’re not seriouhsd
Theo Gee: pinch me. anoda!
Theo Gee: hey, evil spirit… wat v u done wit my friend?
Morim P: I make typos, don’t I?
Theo Gee: nt wen we’re chattin dear
Morim P: really? that’s mighty surprising. But oh well… I guess your carefree style has caught me some
Theo Gee: ouchie. anywy bak 2 my questn
Morim P: yeah
Theo Gee: well, questionS
Morim P: Whatever. Fire!
Theo Gee: do u ave any tattoos?
Morim P: hmmm
Theo Gee: wat r u thinkin about? u do or you don’t!
Morim P: I’m trying to figure out how many I should tell you abt.
Theo Gee: *&@^%^$#@#@!!!
Morim P: what? Can’t handle a girl with tatts? You asked didn’t you?
Theo Gee: w/out expectin a positive reply
Morim P: Well, you got one. I have a bunch of tattoos.
Theo Gee: Where
Theo Gee: ?
Morim P: EVE
Morim P: RYW
Morim P: HERE
Morim P: !
Theo Gee: (gulp)
Morim P: And piercings…
Theo Gee: KM. KMN…
Morim P: In english please
Theo Gee: kill me. kill me now.
Morim P: Lmao. So… not so keen on meeting me now, are you?
Theo Gee: emmm…
Morim P: Theo?
Theo Gee: yes?
Morim P: BUZZINGA!
Theo Gee: wat?
Morim P: ever seen ‘the Big Bang Theory?’
Theo Gee: nope
Morim P: you should. A character in that show says ‘BUZZINGA’ everytime he plays a prank
Theo Gee: oh. so that means… no piercings?
Morim P: or tatts
Theo Gee: praise d livin Jesus!!!
Morim P: You’re such a dumbass
Theo Gee: phew. Ok. clozest I’v com 2 a heart attck
Morim P: but I thought you were devoid of prejudices. Especially after you said you didn’t mind that I was Yoruba
Theo Gee: I have limits o! imagine carryin a tattooed up chic to my folx.
Morim P: our parents can be sooo conservative
Theo Gee: imagine my speech: “hi mom. hi dad. dis is my gf. she might look crazy but I swear she isn’t. besides, she has perfect teeth!”
Morim P: You are just not serious
Theo Gee: thank ya! b4 I forgt: if somday we ever have kids…
Morim P: in your marijuana-induced dreams. But keep going
Theo Gee: lolz. aas I was saying, if we eva hav kidz, never evr make us call one of em Bolaji
Morim P: why on earth not? it’s actually a cool name
Theo Gee: why not? cuz all my demented friends will call me ‘daddy b.j.’ till I die of frustration!
Morim P: hahahahahaha. But I’d love for you to die of frustration!
Theo Gee: I wont evn reply dat
Morim P: why not, daddy? lol
Theo Gee: movin on… next question. any hidden skill/talent?
Morim P: explain
Theo Gee: lyk can u burp d alphabet or sing lyk lena horne?
Morim P: who on earth’s Lena Horne?!
Theo Gee: old skool crooner. one of the best I tel u
Morim P: whatever you say, Methuselah…
Theo Gee: so? any talents?
Morim P: Nah. I’m a talentless member of the proletariat. I slave to my paycheck… What about you?
Theo Gee: I make jokes. sometyms
Morim P: really? who’d have thought. Bleh. Dude that’s not ‘special’
Morim P: everybody’s funny at one point in time or the other. Besides, I already know you’re funny
Theo Gee: not like that. I mean I write jokes dt I send to get published in mags. for real.
Morim P: any of your jokes got published?
Theo Gee: one
Morim P: no kiddin. can I see?
Theo Gee: I’ll av to dig it up. thru it smwhr
Morim P: …
Theo Gee: found it! it’s dirty tho
Morim P: the joke?
Theo Gee: no, the paper I wrote it on
Morim P: oh. lol
Theo Gee: and of corse the joke. bt make up yr mind 4 yrself
Theo Gee: sendin now
Morim P: okay
Theo Gee: do you si it?
Morim P: i… just did. Hang on a sec while I read
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While we wait for Morim to finish reading said joke (how slow can she be, right?) could I indulge you in some witty anecdote about why oysters are an aphrodisiac? No? You want to get back to the story? Well, I don’t! Choir sing with me:
“This is my story, this is my song…
I’ll say my rubbish,
Long as I want,
This is my story, this is my song
Pissing you all off,
Turns me right on!”
How do you like that? Ooh before I forget: “Aaaaaa-men!”
My nephew has gone to school today. His parents think he’ll get smarter this way. That might work for genuine dimwits but this fella’ couldn’t get any wiser if his school was called I.Q.Points-R-Us.com.
“M and T, take it away…”
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Morim P: Theo?
Theo Gee: Im hia
Morim P: my question
Theo Gee: ask
Morim P: what mag published this joke of yours?
Theo Gee: *big smile* PENTHOUSE!
Morim P: that mag filled with naked models?
Theo Gee: yeah baby!
Morim P: You read that?
Theo Gee: Umm. no. bt my uncle does. he subscrybs sef
Morim P: Little wonder
Theo Gee: wat?
Morim P: that is one vile joke
Theo Gee: its not DAT vile
Morim P: but it kinda is. luckily though, it’s mildly funny.
Theo Gee: mildly?
Morim P: work with me here dude. I’m trying
Theo Gee: ok
Morim P: but you could take this a step further
Theo Gee: ??
Morim P: your joke thing. Ever considered stand-up comedy as a part-time commitment?
Theo Gee: no. scared of krowdz
Morim P: you shouldn’t be. You seem (I’m guessing) like someone who has a big presence
Theo Gee: *blushing*
Morim P: Technically, black people can’t blush
Theo Gee: quit sidetrackin
Morim P: Okay. Anyway, my point is that you could do this.
Theo Gee: Rily? stand-up?
Morim P: yessir! even the way you chat is hilarious!
Theo Gee: hmm. I’l think abt it
Morim P: don’t think. Act. Now.
Theo Gee: y now?
Morim P: because I know enough to believe you can do it. It’s a lady’s cliché but ‘you have potential’
Theo Gee: wow. thanx
Morim P: you’re welcome
Theo Gee: no 1 has ever sed dt to me before..
Morim P: hahahaha. Dude! You sound like a cheap, z-list rom-com. I understand but please.
Theo Gee: I see wat u mean. it just came out lyk dat sha. I fil exposd
Morim P: then put some clothes on!
Theo Gee: lolz again. should I be d one doin d standup?
Morim P: I don’t know about that…
Theo Gee: Morim?
Morim P: yes?
Theo Gee: I think I like you
Morim P: wow. the way you said that
Theo Gee: well?
Morim P: well, what?
Theo Gee: I jst used the miniature ‘L’ word dats wat!
Morim P: well then, I think I have a question
Theo Gee: shoot
Morim P: why does your profile say that you’re ‘in a relationship with Tina Q?’
* * * * * *
I personally think this is a good place to yell ‘cut!’ Don’t you? Your opinions don’t matter anyway. Besides, what better way to keep my ratings up than with a nice little cliffhanger of sorts. So till I come your way again, same time next…
I’m not sure when I’ll be back.
Some of you are expecting me to say something funny to end this entry. Well, I shan’t. Moral of the story? Never provoke a quirky cramping person.
I’m off to watch a series of naughty movies. I solemnly pledge to tell you about them.
For those who think I’m harsh towards my nephew, consider this: I gave him the honour of picking out a word that rhymes ‘clap’ and ‘trap’ so that I could add the chosen word to the title for the sequel.
See what he came up with?
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Closing Snippet: Theo’s Joke
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Q: Why did the nurse at the sperm bank give Shaquille O’Neal a tiny cup?
A: Because big things come in small packages!
Me and My Women
I am now convinced that I am going to die single.
Growing up, I had been tutored to have high demands when it came to women. I was encouraged not to ‘settle’. So, as early as JSS3, I had made up my list of requirements. Whoever would be my main squeeze had to have the following exact characteristics:
1. Pretty face. Females who were ogres in their former lives were advised to stay far. Very far.
2. Hot figure. Something of a mix between Eva Longoria and Beyonce.
3. Height. Pygmies not welcome.
4. Fair complexion. This particular idiosyncrasy was handed down from Dad: you should see my mother.
5. Ample bosom. I’m a big dude with man-boobs. We shouldn’t be competing!
But you see, dear readers, I met Jennifer during my first year of university. She had all but number 4. Her chocolate complexion was exquisite. I fell in lust instantly (she dumped me after I farted in bed). Anyway, I had then realized that I could date dark chicks. Awesome. Then I met Bimbo who kind of looked like a bimbo. However, she was missing numbers 3 and 4. Our relationship went down the drain after she caught me ogling at her mother. What? Don’t judge. The woman had all 5! But she also had her blasted husband’s stupid wedding ring. Aaaaargh…
It all went downhill from there. Eno, while of average height, was shaped like a pedestrian bridge: straight and narrow. Daphne made me rethink item 5. She put the ‘2’ in too much. The Jews could have hidden from Hitler’s Nazis in her cleavage!
I once dated a girl called Ugochi. Ugochi was not ugly. Rather, ugly WAS Ugochi. The day her ‘jazz’ wore off, I texted her to end our fling. Rubbish.
Recently, I finally let go of my precepts. I made but one new rule: conversation. I want a woman I can talk to. All my friends lauded the new and improved me. I had indeed matured, they all said.
And so I happened upon Ingrid. She was a colleague at work. And –you guessed it- she had all five. Plus, she was single. How ironic that I should meet the girl of my dreams AFTER I’d contrived to trash those prerequisites. I’d only seen her a few times when she came to our floor and… my oh my: she was stunning! First she was half caste, and then her figure was to die for. On top of that, she was at least 5feet 10inches.
I once snuck a peek while she was talking to Clinton (another colleague). I couldn’t make out what she was saying from where I stood but I figured she must be a pretty powerful orator because Clinton clearly had tears in his eyes. Amazing! What could make such a macho man cry? If my curiosity was piqued before, I was nearing obsession by now. It seemed my search was finally over. I couldn’t wait to meet Ingrid and have terrific conversations with this intelligent, hot girl.
My chance came soon enough. One day, I spotted her at an eatery my colleagues and I frequented during lunch breaks. I was about to order when our eyes clashed. I ignored the attendant and walked over to where she sat.
“Hi”, I started, “my name is Chris and I’ve been dying to meet you.” By the time she was done replying, I was weeping like Clinton. She said:
“Hello Chris. I’m Ingrid. Let me start by apologizing. I have a birth defect which accounts for my incurable, tear inducing halitosis…” I wiped my face without bothering to hear more and trudged back to the counter.
See why I wrote the first line?