Archive for the ‘Letters’ Category

Dear Njoki Chege

Posted: January 24, 2016 by ketihapa in Letters
Tags: , , , ,
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Njoki Chege, the creative City Girl....

Dear Njoki Chege,

First and foremost I have to congratulate you on your new role. I mean, the upgrade from being a blogger to a creative writer at Nation Media! What! Hell of an accomplishment. It’s so sad that when I Google you I find you listed as a blogger though. Someone ought to inform Google (and everyone in Kenya for that matter) that you are no longer a blogger. You are now a creative writer – the City Girl- for Nation Media.

Because, how could they think of you as a blogger? It is deplorable to imagine why. After all, you did say that “A blogger is typically any dimwit with internet connection, rent to pay and a lot of free time.” Why then, should they think of you as a dimwit with an internet connection that has to pay rent but is too idle to go work to find money to pay for the said rent? I fail to understand that part. Especially because you submit your work via emails which don’t require an internet connection ( I am so envious right now) and you also don’t need to pay rent.

I am not certain of one thing though. You did not define whom a dimwit is; because you see, Urban Dictionary defines a dimwit as “someone who does things just to gain acceptance from others, not because he is a real personality.” In other words, an attention seeker, or as most people call that, an attention hoe. Sorry, as a blogger I have no money and rent to pay and the only dictionary I could afford was the online one; so please forgive me if my grammar is not up to your standards.

But back to the point at hand here; I am particularly confused because that definition of a dimwit describes you perfectly – every post you have written, including the one that landed you that job as a blogger, sorry, as a creative writer for Nation Media, has always been scathing enough to get people to notice you. Advertising agencies typically use boobs to get people’s attention; hell, those guys could advertise hell using boobs and people would line up to buy tickets to hell. Personally I know I would.

But what you do is essentially the same thing, only you can’t use your boobs because, after all, you are the polished ‘City Girl.’ Instead, you write stuff to trash other people, which you excel at by the way, (congratulations are in order – I should buy you a drink to celebrate that but as I mentioned earlier on, I am just but a poor blogger with rent to pay. And it’s Njaanuary.) so they are pissed off enough to respond to you and read your work.

I hope you see where I am going with this. You write rubbish, sit, wait for comments (that you don’t bother replying to) and then sit back as you think about whom to trash next. You are like that street preacher that will call our girls sluts because they chose to dress up in tights and tells them that they get raped because of their choice in dressing, as he looks on in gratification when they pass by sneering at him. But hey, they noticed him in the end, didn’t they?

In other words, hopefully much easier for your top-notch brain to comprehend, you are just an attention hoe as well. Rather a dimwit just like the rest of us. Which therefore makes you a blogger as well, just an expensive one that hates Eastlands and Subarus and pretty much everyone except yourself.

And we will only consider you a writer when you can get over your insecurities and actually do write anything worth reading, like a novel for instance, or a play, or just a simple manuscript for the ailing Tahidi High. Before that happens, you too are a blogger.

Yours faithfully,

Keti Hapa.

@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?