Happy Valentines Day love birds

It is common knowledge how much I dislike Valentine’s Day. It’s not the fact that we choose to associate sex- let’s all face it, Valentines is all about sex- with a Roman Priest that was clubbed and then stoned (no pun intended) and finally when getting stoned didn’t kill him (Again, NACADA, I am not trying to convince people that weed is not harmful), he was beheaded to death. Or the fact that it is the one day that is full of more hypocrisy than a marriage. Where all ladies suddenly want you and want to spend the entire day by your side, for the cost of your entire January savings of course, the reward of which is that you’re not even sure you’ll get some at the end of the day.

In the light that this day is barely a week from now, following thorough research with the help of our learned friend the internet, I have come up with a complete full proof guide on how to avoid Valentine’s Day; but then again, nothing is ever truly full proof to a sufficiently talented fool. No, it doesn’t involve faking your death, or pretending to be sick. The former is too drastic while the latter will only make her want to come over to your place having bought herself roses and chocolates and whatever, with the excuse to make you feel better- you will refund the money she spent later. Anyway, ladies, it would be best you stopped reading from this point onwards.

My method is relatively simple: simply convince her you never existed. How you ask? I will expound.

Step 1: Sneak out at night:

Yes, you simply walk out while she’s asleep and you vanish into the night. It is of extreme importance that you remember to carry all your belongings with you. Clear everything, including your scent and your wank sock. The scent will be the hardest to clear, but it can be accomplished by soaking her clothes in Jik (make sure she’s aware) so that the entire house reeks of Jik. That way, your scent will be masked.

Step 2: Erase yourself from all her pictures:

Assuming you’re computer literate, then you’ve heard about Photoshop. You know, that little tool all women use to deceive us how they suddenly grew boobs. The same one darkskins use to alter the colour spectrum of their skins. Leave no traces. If she has password-protected her phone, throw it in the loo and flush it away. I doubt she will dip her hand in the loo anyway. This will also delay her from trying to call you in the morning. Burn all photographs and make sure you do it outside so she doesn’t smell the smell.

Step 3: Change your phone number:

Well, it goes without saying that if you’re running from her you need to change your phone number. It also means that you will have to delete your Twitter account as well your Facebook and Instagram profiles. I know you don’t use it, but your email address will have to go too. Don’t worry about your follower count. You can get new ones in no time.

Step 4: Pay everyone that knows you to deny your existence

This is the most crucial step. After she has tried to reach you on your phone, various social media accounts and email, the next logical step she will take will be to ask around whether anyone has seen you. It is therefore important that all your friends are in on the conspiracy too. Pay anyone who knows even as little as how your fart smells to the ones who know your deepest secrets. These include the bartender and your parents. Your parents might not take the news that you want to erase your existence, but you will have to convince them. I know you have what it takes to accomplish this. If you have a criminal record, pay whoever you have to, to expunge it, as well as remove records of your birth from government records. In short, be a ghost.

Step 5: Take a vacation

After you’ve accomplished all the above, you will be in the clear. Also, you need to make sure you’ll visit a faraway land so that she doesn’t run into you before she checks herself into Mathare. With that done, you will be a man, my son.

Difficulty level: 9/10

Disclaimer: If after you accomplish all that and she still manages to find you, wife that bitch. You’re safer if you keep her close to know her whereabouts and plans for you. Trust me.

(Special mention: http://iwastesomuchtime.com)

As i found out, this is actually not as easy as it looks.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine told me it was time to grow up and buy myself a wallet. Before we continue, I should mention that this friend was female, and to vanquish any other questions about her, we are just friends. You see, I have had this phobia of carrying money in a wallet ever since I got robbed in the company of a girl called Sofia.. I am not sure whether that was purely coincidental or not, because to date I still fear carrying lots of money when in the company of anyone called Sofia. Nhu, I decided it was a long time ago and bought myself a nice leather wallet. The kind that are just fat by nature regardless the presence of money, the ones you use to confuse both your enemies and would be chips fungas.

I was happy. I had just been paid. I swiftly headed to the bank after work and withdrew a sizeable amount of money, after which I proceeded to pay a house call on one of my oldest friends. Yes, the bartender. Within no time, I was singing mwenda wakwa mariru and feeling overly philanthropic. Alcohol makes you feel like you own the central bank. Knowing fully well I had to be at work the next day at 9 am, I was in no hurry. And that’s when she showed up. Shiku. She was beautiful. She had all the goods. With my blood draining from one head to another and with alcohol quickly replacing the blood draining from the former head, I made my move. We bonded almost instantly. I bought her a couple of drinks and when it was time to leave, you cannot imagine my joy at discovering she lived in Kasarani, which as it turns out, is where I live. The gods were on my side.

We boarded a matatu and very soon we were on our way. I had done my quick calculations and discovered that I could pass by her place and get some chips deep fried since her place was closer than mine, and that I would still make it to my place by 12 am. The makanga, after making sure all the seats were filled, started collecting bus fare. I told Shiku I’d pay for her fare. After all, a small amount of money was nothing compared to what I would get at Kasarani. So when the makanga was standing right next to where we were seated, I produced a note from my pocket without even bothering to check what its value was. I was pretty confident it was a Ksh 1000 note, which was sufficient to cover three objectives: one, pay for Shiku’s fare, two, impress Shiku that the money was not about to run out soon, and three, cover for my bus fare.

Except it turned out to be Ksh 100, as the makanga quickly pointed out. “Haya, hiyo nimelipia mresh,” I said in full confidence.

Shiku was smiling. Ah, simple mistake. That must have been the change I received from the bartender. I quickly slid my hand down my pocket to retrieve my wallet and get cash to accomplish objectives two and three in that order. So, you can imagine my shock when my hand came back with nothing but a few beads of sweat on them, more of which was quickly starting to form on my face.

“Mzae kama huna pesa ebu shuka. Ama hiyo umelipia mresh tuseme ikuwe yako alafu yeye ajilipie?” the conductor asked, with a menacing smile because he knew he was about to cock block me. I hated the bastard more because my fellow passengers, who had been intensely following the proceedings like a Mexican soap opera all laughed. As well know, Alcohol rarely lets you make well informed decisions. So, I found myself saying this next:

“Apana. Hiyo ni yake. Sa si juu tunashukia hapo Equity si unaeza nipea dakika mbili nikimbie ATM nitawithdraw nikulipe.”

The makanga after slight deliberation agreed, then as though we were thinking on the same wavelength, it dawned on both of us that there was no way I could withdraw money from the bank because, well, I had lost my wallet. My ATM card in it.

“Ah weh maze wacha za ovyo. Utawithdraw aje pesa ka ATM imeibiwa kwa wallet? Kwani wewe ni mwizi?”

More laughter. Shiku at this point declared she had no money on her either.

“Ama, hiyo simu yako si uniuzie elfu nne alafu nitatoa fare hapo. Halafu change nitakubeba sare miezi sita hadi iishe.”

If there’s one thing I absolutely love, it is my phone. I flatly refused. But then again, I was growing desperate. So, I slowly took out my phone and tried to call anyone that was willing to lend me cash on M Pesa at that time of night. As you might have guessed, I had forgotten to purchase credit before we boarded the matatu. All I had were internet bundles, which were of no use to me since my phone had no Whatsapp and all my closest friends have flatly refused to join Twitter because it is too complicated (?????). I decided there was only one thing left to do. I slowly stood up, much to the mixed emotions of amusement of my audience, some of whom felt I pity. By now, the matatu had stopped. I slowly walked to towards the door. Until one brave passanger, God bless his soul, suggested that I be given a chance to earn my money.

How you ask? I was to be a tout for the next trip to town and back to Kasarani. Everybody suddenly seemed to be on his side. Bear in mind that my knowledge of makanga-ing, if there’s such a word is limited to “Beba! Beba! Tao Mbao.”

Seeing as my only two options were to either sell my phone, was value was way above that Ksh 4000 offered, or to be a tout for two trips, I decided to go for the second option. The tout, having already completed collecting fare for the trip proceeded to hand me the maroon jacket all touts are required by law to wear and. Then after showing me how to hold on to the door and how to notify the driver how to stop by banging on a specific part of the vehicle’s body or window, left me to my means and went to his seat. Sorry, the seat I had been seated in next to Shiku. I deleted Shiku’s number from my phone.

Besides ‘The Dog ate my homework, blame it on the alcohol is the next best.

NACADA has today identified the main cause of Kenya’s population explosion, which has seen an unexplainable increase in Kenya’s population from 40 million as of the last census, to 48 million as of December 2013. This is expected to increase exponentially at the same rate to about 60 million by the year 2030.

In a press briefing held at NACADA offices, Mrs. Meakins today said that alcohol has been identified after many months of research to be the main cause of the ever increasing rate of growth in Kenya’s population.

She went on to add that men are not particularly hungry for sex, but like Mary the mother of Jesus who blamed it on the Spirit, we too should blame it on the Alcohol. She further went on to regret a heartfelt apology why NACADA did not take it seriously when Jammie Foxx declared that we should blame it on the alcohol.

As such, Mrs. Meakins has today warned all men that are regulars at parties, clubs, pubs and anywhere alcohol is sold to be wary of any alcohol that is offered by any female. She further went on to add that NACADA will partner with Mr. Mututho to battle Alcohol. Mr. Mututho further explained that 80% of the women in Kenya use this date drug called Alcohol and are in cahoots with EABL. According to Mr. Mututho, the drink is available in liquid form and is relatively cheaply available in all parts of the country.

The drug apparently comes in all forms of containers, ranging from glass bottles, which is the most common, to plastic bottles, cans, or from taps specially crafted by EABL for use in heavy metallic barrels otherwise referred to as kegs. The drug can also be brewed at home by people that are sufficiently knowledgeable from concoctions containing sugar, water and any carbohydrate among other ingredients such as preservatives like ARVs that can be broken down by an array of biological agents, usually bacteria. These local brews are commonly known as Chang’aa, Busaa, Muratina, among various other names depending on what part of the country you come from.

Alcohol is apparently used by most female predators at the above mentioned locations to persuade their male counterparts to go home with them and in many cases, to sleep with them. Usually, as few as five bottles are required and the female only has to ask the male to take her home. She doesn’t need to specify that she wants him to go home with her for a clever invention dubbed as ‘No strings attached’ sex. It is in fact rumoured that one Jonny Walker has been walking around the earth non-stop for nearly five decades now trying to find the woman that first offered him No strings attached sex. Jack Daniels and Jameson are a few other famous men that have in the past fallen prey to this vile act.

It is reported that men are often rendered helpless against this demonic approach, especially because after a few beers lose the ability to determine whether a female was born in the zoo or not. As a result, men have little option but to accept to sleep with women whose faces look like Satan peed on them, whom they would normally not have sex with. These women are said to target these men since it would require a mallet to hit that. It has been suggested that Alcohol was discovered by the descendants of one @JoyceSabali, who is remembered as being remarkably ugly.

After drinking this Alcohol, men will usually not wake up with any memories of the previous night, with one of our informants saying he woke up with the so called ‘dents.’ These females are reported to escape the homes of their victims very early in the morning, avoiding sight by any other male in the region, which is often referred to as the Walk of Shame. At KetiHapa, we suspect he was a poor victim of a fight among Alcohol influenced men to fight for a descendant of @JoyceSabali. Our interviewee, like most other interviewees we talked to, said he woke up with the feeling that he had did something really ugly. We weren’t sure whether he said it with or without pun intended.

Occasionally, a few of these men are coerced into spending all of their savings for Alcohol in a scam that has apparently been going on since time immemorial known as ‘Relationships.’ In extreme cases, a few of these females capture unsuspecting males for the above mentioned No strings attached sex and entrap them into lives of pain, misery and self-pity that they refer to as ‘Marriage.’ It has been discovered that men are much more susceptible to this scam after Beer is administered and sex is offered by these predatory females.

NACADA, in conjunction with Mututho, have enlisted the help of the Kenya Police to try and curb this heinous act and ensure that all men will be free of Alcohol. A nationwide campaign has also been launched to encourage men to avoid Alcohol offered by women in a desperate attempt to manage Kenya’s rapidly rising population. Three hours after the launch of the program, they are seemingly miserably losing, and as one of our reporters reports, most pubs are full and packed to the brim.

@Kym254, isnt she a beauty?

My dearest Kym,

It has come to my attention in recent days that I might be on the brink of forever losing you to one @_Kaana_ as a result of his so called ‘new found Christian faith.’ It greatly saddens me and the sorrow in my heart is beyond words. I can hardly concentrate on anything else nowadays and I almost lost my job as a result. In truth, nowadays, every morning is the dawn of a new error. My taste buds have deteriorated to the extent food has become tasteless. Water is bitter. I find myself shivering even in the hottest of days. The doctor suggested I might have a combination of flu and malaria, but I am convinced it is the prospect of falling further down your friendzone that is responsible for these adverse reactions.

My system is crashing and very soon I fear it will refuse to boot up. My hardware is turning into software. My hard disk has somehow turned into a floppy disk. As a result, all my CDs don’t fit my disk drive, which now seems too floppy and small for them. I cannot connect to anyone. Both my Wi-fi and Ethernet cards are not working properly. My Bluetooth has a cavity and now even my Adobe Reader doesn’t want to update either. My monitor tells me life has become a smoke screen for me and my Windows don’t even open anymore. Sweetheart I am suffocating. I feel you have thrown away all my feelings for you in the Recycle Bin.

If I knew where to sue for careless driving, I would sue you; because you are driving me crazy. If you were a mathematical symbol you’d be pi, because you are sweet. Your curves define perfect polygons and the two nodes on your chest make it complex for me to focus. You are a matrix that I want to solve. I want to part your legs like asymptotes, and if you let me, to perform a deviation of Runge Kutta and integrate you till you oscillate. I believe you are the one to turn the fraction that I am into a whole number.

Kaana may have promised to take you to the Promised Land but we both know the devil is a liar. He asked you to be his chic. But baby you are forgetting that it is never wise to trust a Lunje with chicks; hell, even their county government wants to introduce a tax on chicken. He said he has found Christ. Ask him a simple question, is he AVA find? As far as I am concerned, we are still waiting for his second coming. I might as well make you come in the meantime as we wait. In his letter he said he is a caring, sweet, handsome man. Honey I assure you that is a lie because all those men are already taken. By their boyfriends. I believe I have previously stated that.

In short, Kym, i want you to be mine. I want you to be the only element in my periodic table and the only ion in my electron configuration. Because baby you are the solvent in my solution; You dissolved my heart and nothing can distill what I feel for you out of this solution. Not even Kaana. You reacted with the base of my heart and now, no pH scale can measure how acidic my love for you is. You are the syllabus of my Chemistry and honestly Kym, I love you.

Yours forever,

Mwangi.

Ps. LOL jokes, I don’t really mean forever. One day you’ll get old and grumpy and the only difference between the you then and the you now will be the tits sagging between your knees.

Pss. If this letter doesn’t successfully win you over, could you at least demote Kaana back into the Friendzone so that he doesn’t roast me as we’ll both be at the same level?

End of Days: Judgement Day. Is it real?

“Next!”

I slowly approach the towering man dressed in white. He looks too old to be standing upright and I somewhat envy his large white beard. He has what looks like a scroll in his left hand and a bic biro pen in his right. I take my time to study my surroundings; Directly in front of me is another man sitting behind a desk that seems overly too large. He too, like the man on his left holding the scroll, is dressed in a white robe. To his right is a huge TV screen. Apple. Those fucktards have taken over here too. “Oh God please let nobody fart here and there is no sign of Windows here,” I find myself thinking. Behind the man seated at the desk is a huge gate that is heavily guarded and behind me is a long queue that extends to God knows where.

“State your name for the record please.”

“Mwangi.”

The man with the biro ticks something on his scroll and I assume it is a register. Now the man behind the desk clasps his hands together and looks directly into my eyes.

“Mwangi do you know why you are here?”

I nod.

“Good,” he says, now pointing a remote at the TV screen. “Mwangi today you are here because you died a few hours ago and we are here to determine whether you will go to Heaven or Hell. The gentleman you that just ticked your register is Moses and I am Saint Peter. Welcome to the Pearly gates. Since you did not repent before you died, the TV screen is here to display all the wrongs you have ever committed.”

A sweat starts breaking out when the TV comes on, not because I do not see a way out of this, but because everyone else standing behind me in line is going to see what sort of jackass I was back on Earth. Then, as luck would have it, lightning flashes followed closely by a loud clap of thunder, which somewhat seems to make the TV go off.

“Jesus! Dammit man do you have to do that every time I am about to start judgment? Ok, Moses, tell Steve Jobs to bring another TV.”

“I’m sorry Sir, Jesus told Jobs to go hell… “

“….to fix the iFire,” he adds, on realizing what he’s just done. “Apparently some idiot tried to jailbreak it and now it’s dead.”

Saint Peter does a face-palm and shakes his head. “Ok, we are going to have to take a break people,” he says, as he leaves for the gate. The beautiful lady standing behind me taps my shoulder.

“You can stop trembling now, LOL. Besides, with the high number of spirits here I’d think you’d be drunk enough to not care.”

I resist the urge to laugh as I turn to face her. She is pretty, no doubt and I find myself wondering whether if we’d met back on Earth I’d hit that.. or whether I’d require a hammer to hit that. Just then, a man that looks too confused appears from nowhere.

“Saint Peter Sir, Hell is hell right now. Those idiots are rioting. When the iFire didn’t work we tried to go back analogue and light the fire, but it is impossible. A group of gay men have taken over the fireplace and now everyone is afraid to bend over to put any firewood or light the fire for that matter. I barely escaped. Angel Michael told me to call for backup.”

He must be Steve Jobs, I assume. Saint Peter clenches his fist and says “Son of a…”

“Son of God!”

“Ok, we will have to revert to plan B. Ok, all ye sinners, since it appears we cannot send you to hell to burn in the everlasting fire of brimstone and sulfur, we will have to send you back to Earth as Zombies. “

He raises his hands and says something I cannot comprehend (I assume it’s Heavenly language) and suddenly, I find myself back on Earth. Suddenly a huge pang of hunger hits me and all I can see is meat. I try to run towards the source of the smell but I cant. I am dragging myself with both hands pointing away from me and I am groaning. Seriously, did he have to turn us into fucking zombies? Now someone is going to blow my brains out.

As if from nowhere, a sharp pain hits my head and I close my eyes. Some bastard must have blown my brains out just as I feared. Oh well, I had a good run – ok, sluggish walk- as a zombie. But then, I don’t die. Instead, I hear what sounds like a female voice.

“Mwangi snap the hell out of it!” I open my eyes and look at the source of the voice. A girl. “You smoked too much weed and now you are experiencing a severe case of munchies. You fucking tried to eat my arm. NKT!”

Silence.

I black out.

Are you a terrorist? Find out here.

I am sorry I have taken this long to say it, but I would like to say sorry to everyone that lost anyone at the recent Westgate attack by terrorists, Al Shaabab and Al Qaeda to be precise. It was in my opinion an act of cowardice and extreme disregard for human life. We lost many good people and I hope that God rests the souls of those that lost their lives in eternal peace. To those that lost loved ones, friends, enemies, frenemies, or basically anyone, I would like to first and foremost encourage you that all is going to be well. Have faith.

I therefore decided to do this piece to try and at least make you smile. God knows you deserve it. I know some of you might think it is racial, but I would like to assure you that it’s not. I am simply taking the worst of a bad situation and using it to make you smile, even if for just a day. The one thing we have in common is our hate for terrorists and people who kill others for pure pleasure and badly misguided morals. So, here is my list of warning signs that could tell you’re a terrorist:

  1. You love Terrific Tuesdays.
  2. When she tells you she wants you to blow her, you do it literally.
  3. You consider bacon, pork and sausages unclean and very vile but you don’t see the irony in wiping your butt with your hands.
  4. One of your hobbies is photo bombing.
  5. The first question on your exam paper was: Compare ‘White House Down’ and ‘Olympus Has Fallen’. What would you have done differently to ensure the president of the US died?
  6. Your favourite pick up line is “Is your father Osama? Because I think you’re the bomb.” Never mind that it earns you get slapped infinitely more than you get banged.
  7. You are an expert at explosive devices but you don’t know jackshit about fixing the antenna of your Tv. In fact, the only aerial you know is the detergent. You might have placed it on top of your Tv once to see if the signal improves. If your Tv is black and white, you might also have attempted to paint it so it views in colour.
  8. You own a rocket launcher that costs $5000 dollars, but you cannot afford to buy underwear. Or shoes for that matter.
  9. You own a cell phone, but your knowledge of it’s uses is limited to detonating bombs.
  10. You have more wives than teeth. And even less baths per year.
  11. You vehemently object to consumption of alcohol because it is harmful for your body, but you don’t object to wearing a suicide vest and blowing yourself up. You also don’t see the irony in refining heroine.
  12. You think your neighbor’s goat is cute. You even have a goatee in her honour.
  13. In Physics class, your teacher started by telling you “Pay attention fellas. I am only going to demonstrate this once.”
  14. Whenever you board a plane, the guy seated next to you always starts by asking whether you have any plans for tomorrow.

**Feel free to come up with more stupid signs to add to this list. LOL.

No, this is not the kind of wet i am talking about..

As a fact, God punished women with periods and child birth and getting wet when it’s not even raining; doesn’t matter if they have umbrellas. Of course, our God is a fair God; He had to punish men too. He made us deal with women on their periods. I have stated this before in this blog time and again, I am NOT homophobic; but you understand why God hates gay people. They obviously found a loop hole in His punishments.

Away from religion, there are few things that scare me. Among them are losing the people that I love and care about and being anally raped by any one. Ask the guy that was robbed at dick point, Wateba it was, I think, if you don’t think this fear is valid. I also fear failing. No, scratch that. I hate failing. I fear that I will end up alone- and at this rate that is where I am headed- and I also fear that the Muslims were right all long and that Christianity is bullshit and we’ll all end up in hell as the terrorists have sex with their 70 virgins. Naturally, I also fear death, as well as my dear team, Arsenal, losing. Not to worry though, we have the Wizard of Oz11.

Then, there is the new fear I discovered I have not very long ago. Over the last weekend actually. I fear being pissed on. Especially if the person that’s going to pee on you is female.

I am not insinuating anything. But one thing is clear; I am never talking to any female first year students. With the exception of Daisy that is. Ever. Let me explain my decision.

As everyone who reads this blog knows, I am a drunk. I love beer and everything it stands for. As I once pointed out, beer is possibly the best thing ever invented. Beer allows you to see things as they are. Beer helps you get rid of that brain so everything is clear.

That ugly neighbor of yours, just drink two bottles and suddenly you will see beauty as God intended it to be; in the inside. That girl you’ve wanted to hit on for ages, beer will make that possible; It will give you all the confidence you need to grab a hammer to hit that. Beer will allow you to tell that asshole that’s been making you feel like shit that he’s shit. Yes, beer allows you tell him he’s shit even when you’re not in the toilet. Beer is also the best slimming chemical ever invented; beer makes you lean. On tables and random strangers though.

But that’s beside the point.

So, last weekend I found myself drinking beer for all its above mentioned benefits. And she walked in. She was beautiful. Again, refer to the benefits afore mentioned. She wore a short dress that exposed her long legs and made her cleavage seem like it would divert the attention of any sniper. That includes the sniper from the movie Saving Private Ryan. Yes, she got a number of men slapped by their girlfriends for staring too long at her. I needn’t say the girl I was currently hitting on slapped me too. From the moment she walked into the place, for me it was love at first site. Literally. And no Pepper, that wasn’t a typo.

Anyway, this beautiful lass walks up to the counter and orders a bottle of vodka. Vodka; and she’s on her own, which effectively signals the race to get her number. After all, we’re in Juja. Men here sense fresh female blood the moment it steps out of a jav. Count Dracula would be proud. If you don’t believe me just visit the JKUAT swimming pool. If God suddenly decided to unleash a virus that made all men cum at the very same moment, the JKUAT swimming pool would be a national resource for sperms.

Nonetheless, the girl walks up, aware of the attention she’s receiving and (miraculously) sits at the table next to the one we’re seated in. I assume my natural charms have something to do with it. I mean, it wasn’t my fault I was born very handsome. Wafunya, when I talk about handsome I am not talking about the other kind of handsome that involves Vaseline Petroleum Jelly. Anyhu, either that or the Axe deodorant I’m wearing if the Axe adverts are to be believed. I decide to take advantage of my obvious advantage. I ‘accidentally’ spill what’s left of my drink with a very precise aim that’s aimed at her shoes and I curse out loud, of course after saying sorry. She turns and laughs. My cue.

I turn to her and boldly proclaim her hotness must have heated my bottle to the point I couldn’t hold it any more. Cheesy, I know, even for my standards. She keeps on drinking her vodka. My pals, who’ve been following the proceedings carefully burst out laughing. One of them offers me his not yet opened bottle of Tusker.

Then a waiter places an empty glass on the table, right where my arms are. Suddenly, the girl pours alcohol into my glass and says she’s sorry her hotness made me spill my drink. Yeah, my pals shut up in unison. First time that’s happened in ages. She raises her arm and greets me.

“I’m Audrey.”

“I’m Victor. And I have no idea what’s going on.”

Audrey laughs and says takes a sip off her glass. Then:

“You’re an idiot. If that’s the pickup line you use to get girls you deserve to die a virgin. You’re lame.

“Do you see me in a wheel chair?”

Audrey gives me this priceless WTF look.

“Plus you just poured alcohol into my glass.”

“Yeah, I was sorry for your obvious effort.”

At this point in time I have to mention I can’t really remember anything else because Audrey’s vodka got me pretty drunk. So we’ll just fast forward to 9 am the next day. However, right now I do feel like I have just drank a bottle of varnish… I do expect a lovely finish.

******* 9 a.m. The Next Morning***********

We’re at my pal’s house. On the couch. I refuse to speculate whether we had sex or not. As afore mentioned, I can’t really remember anything. Killi and someone else I can’t really remember are playing FIFA. Killi is losing- as always- and Audrey is texting on her phone. And then I reach for my phone in my right pocket and freeze. My pants are wet. I instantly wake up like Rihanna and Ariana Grande just told me we’re having a threesome. I rush for the loo.

The moment I’ve locked the door I reach for my boxers. They’re dry; which doesn’t make any sense at all. I calmly remove my pants and smell them. I hope it’s beer. As you’ve all guessed by now, it’s not. I slowly wear my pants and walk out of the toilet.

“Audrey, ebu kuja nje kiasi.” I don’t really care for English now. I walk out and Audrey follows.

“Ok,what happened? Why do my pants stink of pee?”

Silence.

“Errrrm, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry boo. *whispering* I peed on myself. I didn’t think it reached to your pants.”

Silence.

“You whaaaaaaaaaattttttt?????????”

“I’m sorry.”

At least, she does look genuinely sorry. I calmly walk into the house and get the cushion. Killi and the other guy I can’t remember are too busy with FIFA to notice. Killi has just equalized. I place the cushion on the rail in the balcony.

“If anybody asks, you accidentally spilled water on the seat.”

Audrey nods.

I tell Killi I’ll see him later on during the day and walk out. Audrey tries to pretend nothing happened. As I walk out, I delete her number from my phone. It officially goes down in history as the first time I got a girl wet and she returned the favour. Only her’s is too literal to be even minutely sexual. You can thus understand why I am never hitting on any girl that’s more than two years younger than me.

Can we all just agree that the Zombies in The Walking Dead are scarier than the zombies in World War Z, please?

No doubt you’ve watched the much anticipated World War Z, or you’re an ardent fan of AMC’s The Walking Dead, Warm Bodies, or all three. All of them typically are about a world overrun by zombies. For those that haven’t, zombies are creatures that have somehow defied death and come back to ‘life’; ok life here is relative. They have control of their exoskeletons hence can walk, albeit at the pace of a slug, maybe slower. In addition, they have no heartbeat and zero brain activity, which means they are only driven by their desire for a taste of human blood. As if that’s not gross enough, their favorite dessert are human brains. Warm Bodies did go further to explain that zombies love eating brains because it allows them to relieve thoughts and memories of other people, but hey, it doesn’t change the fact that it is a gross affair.

Regardless, neither explains how to survive such a zombie apocalypse. I doubt any production will in future either, hence the reason for this post; of course based on what I have learnt from watching them.

  1. First and foremost, the easiest way to survive a zombie attack is to shoot them in the head. Yes, I mean accurate headshots that will blow their rotting brains out. You could do better and cut off their heads, although you do risk the zombie pinning you down and biting you, or worse, making a feast of your brain. I repeat, I encourage you not to give them your thoughts, literally. If you’re bitten, you’re prolly turn into one yourself and someone else will blow off your head. Either way, you’re dead.
  2. There is this story I love of three women that were to be executed by firing squad, I suppose for treason; I am not sure. So, as the story goes, the army commander was generous enough to allow the women to say whatever last words they had, only unknown to him, the women had agreed to each mention a disaster, which would divert attention and give them a chance to escape. So the first woman, an African, on being asked for her last words, shouted “FLASH FLOOD!!!” which was enough to divert attention and she climbed over the wall and ran. The second woman, a brunette, shouted “VOLCANO!!” and she too escaped. The third woman on being asked for her last words shouted “FIREEEE!!!” Needless to say, she was a blonde.

    What’s the point of that story? Simple. Zombies are slower than a blonde’s brain activity. Therefore, when you meet one, or more, trust your legs. RUN the fuck away like you’re a Kalenjin woman that wants to give her boyfriend a lap dance.

  3. Zombies may have zero brain activity, but that doesn’t mean that their senses do not work (Don’t ask me how; I thought the brain is what causes reaction to stimuli). My point is, zombies have excellent sense of hearing. Avoid loud mouths. In fact, I’d urge you not to be anywhere near Jaguar, Mike Sonko, Shebesh, 2 Chainz, Souljah Boy, or whoever else you deem to be a source of loud noise. For instance, keep off Kidero in case he decides to slap anyone and the sound that follows attracts unwanted attention from zombies to you.

    You could also do yourself a good deal to learn using weapons such as swords, crossbows, knives, etc. That goes to you too terrorists. Kindly avoid guns and bombs for the obvious reason that they are loud. And if you have to use a bomb, please use it wisely to blow yourself up and take out as many zombies as you can in the process. I know it could be a new concept blowing yourself up to save other people, but you might just double the number of virgins waiting for you in the afterlife.

  4. In addition, as afore mentioned in number 3, zombies have excellent senses. This applies to their sense of smell and sight too. However, not to worry. There is a way to fool them. However, this might be somewhat gross, so light skins, you might have to hope it doesn’t come to this. This is because it will require you to blow a zombies brains out. Then, you will be required to smear their rotting remains on yourself, which automatically covers up your natural scent with that of a zombie, meaning other zombies cannot smell you out, even if they do see you. However, only use this method if you won’t vomit your intestines out, since vomiting does tend to be a loud, messy affair and we don’t want you attracting zombies to yourself now, do we?

    Alternatively, you could cut off a two zombie’s hands off as well as their teeth and nails, then tie the zombies close to you. This will have the same effect of masking your scent. You can walk with them wherever without rousing suspicion.

  5. World War Z also finds an even better solution. Find yourself a scientist first. Then, you will have to inject yourself with a serum of a weakened form of the virus that causes people to turn into zombies and pray to God your immunity is strong enough to resist the changing process. This virus will alter your DNA to match a zombie’s and they cannot attack one of their own. However, this method should be used with a lot of caution. You should be locked in a room just in case you turn into a zombie and start eating other people’s brains, which will translate into absolutely zero work done; like having sex with a Socialite with a basin pussy and you’re Asian… we all know that if an Asian with an erection is running and he collides into a wall it’s his nose that will get broken.
  6. Finally, ok, actually this should have been number one on this guide, you should learn how to be a thief. This particular skill set will enable you stock up food, medication and an adequate supply of water. Yes, steal, stock it up. You’re going to need a huge supply of those because you can’t really go fishing or farming. Not with zombies wandering all over the place. Ladies, you can stock up cucumbers too just in case all men in the world turn into zombies and there’s no one anymore to help you deal with when you’re horny. Do whatever you have to; just don’t get bit in the process.

    If you do get bit, take heart. You will turn into a zombie soon and the only thing you have to be scared of is a man with a gun trying to blow your brains off. If you’re the sensible type, or you don’t want to die as a zombie, kill yourself; but by shooting yourself in the head. DO NOT try to hang yourself, or you’ll spend eternity dangling from a tree growling senseless things and you can’t even go to sleep because zombies can’t fall asleep. DO NOT try to drown yourself either, or you’ll be stuck in water forever because zombies can’t swim either. Also, dont believe for a second what Warm Bodies purports, that zombies can be healed with love. BLOW THEIR FUCKING BRAINS OUT!

Vera Farmiga, who plays the character Norma Louise Bates in the TV hit series Bates Motel in the episode where she was assaulted.

She sweeps across the room, her gaze tilted at an angle of 90 degrees; you see, she’s lying on the cold, hard floor. She breathes softly, calm, waiting for the inevitable. She’s too weak to lift her already bloody hands now, but she can feel her fingers twitch. In the distance, she hears the wailing sirens of police cars as they quickly approach. She knows she’s slowly losing the fight, but hey, she wants it this way. No pain, no regrets. She’s lived the best she ever could…

********** 1 hour earlier****************

The cup of coffee in her left hand, she picks up the remote control of her 32 inch TV and turns it on, and lets herself fall into the embracing arm rests of her couch. Slowly, she flicks the channels till she comes across something she likes. In this case, BBC News Channel. She takes a sip of her warm, soothing coffee, listening carefully to the beautiful female news anchor. She’s talking about the crisis that faces Kenya if her two principles do get convicted by the International Criminal Court, and the African Union’s efforts in intervening to plead with the ICC to let the accused miss some of their court days in order to carry out their executive duties in the country.

Personally, she could care less. She knows it is probably going to destabilize the country if the president and his vice are convicted by the court, but hey, she knows Kenya, her country has always got through her obstacles. Her Black Berry phone beeps once; a text message from work. Her boss is reminding her of her presentation to the board tomorrow but she knows she’s ready for it. She texts back a single line, “I am ready sir, don’t worry.” She knows how much her boss hates shortened words in texts. All the same, she promises herself to go through her prepared presentation before she goes to bed, as well as take her meds.

She now shifts her attention to the hissing noise in the kitchen, which alerts her that her dinner is ready, or almost ready. Lazily, she drags herself up and towards the kitchen. She’s almost halfway when her dog starts barking. She assumes he’s hungry, as usual, when it stops barking after 20 seconds. She lifts the lid of her brass cooking pot and immediately the smell of a meal that promises to be sumptuous hits her nostrils. She takes a spoon and tastes it to check whether she put in the right amount of seasoning. She smiles to herself; boy does she love cooking for herself. She decides she’ll eat it later after taking a shower.

That is when she hears the scratching noise on her front door, followed moments later by a window crashing, which alerts her of an intruder. Her dog has resumed with its barking. Never the type to panic, she calmly dials the police hotline and requests for immediate assistance, before she picks her kitchen knife. She walks towards the kitchen door, swiftly, in order to lock herself in. Really, she doesn’t care whether the intruder takes any of her valuables; she doesn’t care jack shit about any of those things. She knows that her life is more precious.

Now she’s at the door and firmly but quickly, she shuts it, but she’s a second too late. Her intruder is already at the door pushing at it to force it open. In the end, her frail arms give in and she curses herself for not being strong enough as she sprawls towards the floor from the sheer force; she lets go of her knife in the process. Less than a minute later, a hand is grabbing her and she barely has time to reach out for the knife nor to see her assailant’s face.

“Please, take all you want, just leave me alone,” she says, turning to her assailant. Then she sees the muzzle of the gun facing her face and terror rips through her face.

“Pleeeeeaaaaassssseeeee!!!!”

She starts sobbing.

The man, she’s figured out that much now, lifts his fat palm and slams a slap that easily makes Kidero’s to Shebesh look like child’s play.

“What-do-you-want-?” she manages to say amidst her sobs, but it only seems to make him angrier.

Now, he shoves the gun further in her face and orders her to lie still or he’s going to shoot. Vaguely, she has an idea of what she wants but she finds herself praying that it isn’t it her assailant wants. Her fears are confirmed when he pins her face up on the kitchen table, his huge hands urgently grabbing at her skirt. She starts to scream, but the man fires into the air. He rips apart her panties as he methodically opens his fly to reveal his erection.

“Please, you don’t have to do this….” She begs, but the man proceeds to rip open her blouse and in the process her bra, to reveal her tender breasts; she is now fully aware what the man wants to do to her.

His gun trained on her forehead, the man forces himself into her, as pain spreads through her almost instantly; he has no condom on. She closes her eyes and prays a prayer to God, not for him, but for herself. The man has absolutely no idea what he’s done to himself. She feels the tears trickle down her face, as the man’s sweat drips on her nipples, which seems to get the man even hornier and her grabs at her breasts. It’s too late for her to scream out now, she decides, and waits for an eternity for him to finish.

It doesn’t take very long. She feels his seed splash into her vagina; amidst a moan that would make any porn star jealous from the man. He pulls out, leaving fluid dripping out of her; a mixture of blood and sperm. Still pointing his gun at her, he proceeds to dress up, as she sobs softly, tasting her bitter tears in the process.

When he’s done, he takes one look at her and starts walking away. With every strength left in her, she brings herself to sit up on the table, holding herself.

“Sir, if you’d listened to me when I told you to stop I wouldn’t have to tell you that you’ve just contracted HIV,” she says, once again calm.

Her assailant stops dead in in his tracks and in a spur of anger and shock, fires a bullet that connects with her upper body, puncturing her left lung. He takes to his heels as sirens scream in the distance and as she force of the impact from the bullet sends her to the ground. She is clutching desperately at her wound.

The police arrive just in time to see cough blood, as a medic desperately tries to hold on to her dear life for her. Maybe this is not the end after all, she decides, as she slowly fades into unconsciousness.

The unwritten rule of life: Hold your child’s hand till you’re sure they wont fall when you let go

If you’re reading this one of three things has happened; one, I resigned my chairmanship of #teamMafisi and got married, or two, one of my mortal enemies found out where I keep my stash of condoms and decided to poke holes, or three, I discovered I could earn money by watching pornography then jerking off and selling my stuff. Whichever the case, the inevitable truth is that here you are reading this letter. Also, it means you’ve turned 18 today… Still, Happy Birthday son.

In truth though, this letter is more of a contingency plan. Not that I do not love you, because I do- my balls are rolling at the moment actually- Your birth may have averted the apocalypse. And now God is so pissed off He wants to send me to hell. Son, I refuse to be sent to hell. I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity telling Osama how his daughter was the bomb. That is the reason I had to make sure you reached 18 before you could read this letter and the reason I didn’t tell you before my untimely demise; because only then can I be sure that you’ve grown enough to handle what I’m to tell you.

So here goes. First of all ensure you have no gas leaks in the house- just a safety precaution because this letter will self-destruct in approximately five minutes if the lab results are anything to go by. That gives you roughly four and a half minutes to finish reading. Now, I need you to kiss the top right part of this letter with an X on it. Your saliva will contain sufficient DNA to reveal the rest of the letter.

Good. The fact that you can read this means that you are indeed my son and not the milkman’s. Sorry, I had to confirm. If you were born as a result of my supposed marriage to your mother or as a result of the holes in the condom (refer to the first paragraph), your mother still blames me for the tattoo on her butt. Marriage wasn’t exactly my idea son, I wanted to die a virgin. Then God said he’d grant me eternal life. I am sorry I had to turn down that offer as appealing as it was.

That aside, I’d very much like to know whom you’re dating before we go any further. Oh shit, wait. I forgot there’s no return address. Doesn’t matter. Coz guess whom I’m hanging out with!!!!!!

HENRY MOTHERFUCKING FORD!!!!!!

Don’t know about you, but I think this guy is just a dick. He brags how he invented the Ford, ati how his vehicles have perfect braking systems and superior engines even if they look ugly. Then to make matters worse, he once tried to criticize God ati how Women were God’s worst invention of all time. You should have seen his face when Jesus told him his invention is shit. Jesus simply pointed out, I’ll quote “My ‘HORRIBLE’ invention, granted, may have a rear end that protrudes too much and emits too much exhaust fumes when they’re asleep, but at least men still ride my invention to date.”

Crap, I just realized you have only two minutes left before the letter explodes. Anyway, back to the reason I wrote this letter, the contingency plan (sorry, I was waiting for the saliva to dry up). After your birth son, I might have glued your glued your mom’s vagina shut. I’m sorry, at the time it seemed like a good idea because apparently our milkman, Wanjala, was taking advantage of the increase in the price of milk to seduce your mother. The bastard was selling her milk for 10 shillings cheaper. But that’s not the point, to cut the story short, apparently it was God’s plan for Wanjala to seduce your mother and get her pregnant. And as we all know, it was the glued vagina that killed her.

Your mother was supposed to give birth to the Antichrist.

I know it’s a hard decision, but I want you to find the notebook your mother buried in the garden outside our house. In it you’ll find detailed instructions on how to invent a time machine. When I wrote it I thought it was utter gibberish but apparently Einstein thinks it was brilliant and that it just might work.

So will you build a time machine son? Your mother’s vagina depends on it.

And I think time should be up now, so I’ll need you to get rid of this letter very urgently or it’ll blow up in your face, and I mean literally.

Goodbye son. Remember, no matter what, I love you. The tattoo of your name on my butt proves it. (Seriously, they allow tattoos in HEAVEN!)

Yours faithfully,

Dad here resting in peace (LQTM).

P.S: When you build that time machine and unglue her vagina, please do me a favour and kill that idiot Wanjala, of course BEFORE he has sex with your mother. Or this letter will be pointless. I lied, it’s a fucking revenge letter.

P.S.S. You’ll get further instructions when you build the time machine, coz well, if you reverse time you’ll undo my death in the process as well and I’ll get to re-watch Kidero slap Shebesh. Neither of them will see it coming till it hits her.