Posts Tagged ‘Hell’

SUNDAYS

Posted: April 10, 2016 by ketihapa in Dating, Life
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Sundays... Learn to love Sundays!

So, today is Sunday; Sunday evening to be precise if you’re reading this now, or Monday, if you’ll be reading it in the next few hours. Sunday is a great day; it is slow and mostly very boring, but it is one full of blessings. Even people who got paid before you and happened to finish their salaries before you finally remember they are your friends and are willing to pay you a visit for you to buy them lunch or whatever. A drink sometimes even. Your pastor reminds you how wonderful you are and how much God is taking care of you. And even better, you do not have to go to work! So yes, Sunday is a really great day.

But somehow, Sunday is never your best day. In addition to being bored and nursing a hangover, you’re mostly upset and angry that in a few hours, it will be Monday morning and you will be expected to be at work at 8:00 am which means unlike Sunday morning you will have to wake up at 5:00 am to get ready and find a good enough vehicle to drive you to town or to your office. (3:00 am if you’re the female types that have to shower twice, make sure the reading on the weighing machines says the makeup on their faces hasn’t exceeded a ton, blend vegetables and drink the sloth to keep themselves very fit in case the traffic forces them to run to the office to avoid being late and getting fired.)

If you’re a man, Sunday is an even worse day for you. Even worse than the fact that tomorrow morning you will have to be in the office in a suit, ironed pants and shirt, polished shoes and a tie whose colour the vendor assured you is red but you aren’t sure of. Yet- which is a bad reminder that you have no woman with you to tell you that the tie you have chosen is pink and that your boot accepts luggage too, instead of red.

This is also a reminder that for the rest of the week, you will experience nothing but a growing shade of blue on your balls till Friday. Unless you will manage to convince one of the ladies that abruptly remembered were more than friends with you last Sunday that instead of the lunch you both had then cooked by someone a friend just warned you cooks dog meat instead of beef, this time, you will make dinner for her; a dinner she will never forget and one her friends will be salivating over when she posts the photos you will let her take on Instagram, probably more than they are currently over this Brock O’Hurn illuminati fellow causing most of their bodies to heat up more than Judas in Hell’s flames.

You will therefore convince her that you have perfected your cooking skills in a week and that in fact, you are on your way to being awarded a certificate of merit to show how amazing a chef you have become if she will taste the food and give her testimonial to your trainers. That you will be genuinely happy to know she won’t have to spend the coming week heavily sedated on meds and in pampers should she decline the dinner and eats food cooked by someone she doesn’t know and trust again. In short, that she is very important to you today. Woe unto you if she is not convinced after your well rehearsed lines.

After you have successfully convinced her how important she is to you (mostly to your testicles though), you still have the uphill task of finding a car to pick her, because you will be so busy trying to convince the other one from last night that suddenly believes she will be meeting your parents (her parents in law to be) next week, that you were born in Mbabane, hence you are a citizen of Swaziland but you have perfected your Swahili, so your parents will not let you marry her since when you met her she wasn’t a virgin; hell, you are afraid of the curse they would mete out should you marry her.

After successfully organizing for a ride to pick her (you will later on sort out your friend with a good through pass to the girl you can’t marry because you’re from Swaziland and she wasn’t a virgin when you met her), you will then have to work out how to ensure the food she will dare to come see and take photos of is ready. There is only one problem however, even boiling eggs is problematic for you; one it takes too long for them to cook, you don’t even know if they are cooked when the water finally boils and even the ones you buy from street vendors are better than yours. The only eggs you could possibly prepare perfectly are hers… for pregnancy and childbirth.

Which will remind you yet another thing- after you have paid off some mama to cook food in your house that you will later on declare you cooked and offer to teach her how to do it- that you bloody need a dozen condoms in your house. You are in absolutely no mood to prepare any eggs yet. Not now, and not in the foreseeable future. The only responsibility you can see yourself handling properly is making sure your bottle and or glass of beer does not pour out any of its contents when you accidentally slip; that is your version of drinking responsibly.

That done, only one thing will be left to do now; to buy sufficient airtime to call her and tell her you are ready to pick her up now. You will purchase Ksh. 200 worth of airtime, although Ksh. 100 will be deducted to pay off your Okoa Jahazi, which you had to borrow in order to organize for everything else. You will proceed to call her and you will be very sweet, courteous and polite on the phone, addressing her not as ‘Bae’, the wannabe version of sweets, but as Sweetheart.

She will need to know how much you care for her, after all you told her how important she is to you earlier on. That will be until she tells you “Aki sweetheart, wacha nitakuja next weekend… I am so sorry I should have told you earlier, my cramps just got worse. I can’t travel. I really need to rest sweetheart. I love you. Gosh! I will miss you!”

And there and then you will feel all your energy draining out, what was left of it anyway. The remorse in your heart will be immense; not because you she has bad cramps and cant come to see you, but because you have already used up your money trying to organize for her trip and with your resources including time (considering it is now 7:30 pm) gone, you will not be able to find another suitable one to fill in for the emergency.

You will proceed to your local and convince Mama Shiko to give you a bottle of vodka to drown your sorrows in, that you will pay for tomorrow. She will see the hurt in your eyes and give it to you; except now in addition to owing a through pass to your friend that lent you his car, you also owe Mama Shiko and before long, you will be drunk AF again meaning your Monday morning in the office will be miserable as hell (hopefully your boss will not smell your breath) and even worse, your blue balls will develop as foreseen early in the morning.

Sundays. Sundays are just sad for Mafisi Sacco Members.

KCSE: PHYSICS PAPER 1

Posted: March 6, 2016 by ketihapa in Exams, Life
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You have 3 minutes left! Confirm your name, index number... Sorry you had 1 minute left, time's up!!!

The KCSE results were released a few days ago. Partly, I am proud of everyone that performed well and I wish I had the means to congratulate each of you personally, but I still haven’t been able to figure out which of you cheated, hence which of you will make it to campus to become doctors, engineers, lawyers, etc, only to drop out when you suddenly realize your brain does not have the intelligence, wisdom and knowledge required to become that.

Then you will further stress out your parents because they will not understand why their child cannot become the wonderful doctor they have been preaching to their friends, why the said child is increasingly looking more and more depressed, why he/she is always drunk daily, alcoholic rather, and where they will find the money to pay for a parallel course that the child will feel is easy enough to complete and find a job, when the parallel course at university level is 5 times more expensive than the regular course you were admitted in campus for by the Joint Admissions Board (JAB) after spending sleepless nights cramming leaked exams into your cranium.

Soon, if you do get admitted again into another campus for the other easier course you chose, you will vow never to cheat again, you will dare yourself to complete campus as a respectable man or woman and get a wonderful job. But at the end of the day, you will hate yourself because you will realize you did snatch someone else the chance to be the doctor you did not become who truly deserved the opportunity.

And you will also realize that soon enough, you will get a kid and take the child to a doctor that doesn’t even know the difference between a heartburn and an ulcer, because they cheated, got into campus, realized they did not know whether men have X or Y chromosomes or both, decided to cheat further in exams, and graduated as a cheating doctor. A miserable doctor who will spend half their free time in bars, drinking hard liquor, trying to forgive themselves and forget all the innocent people they misdiagnosed, hence failed to save their lives, or quite simply, unknowingly killed.

There you will feel sorry for everybody else. If you really are human at all anyway. But here is the thing, I want to tell you in advance before any of this happens that I do not really blame you. Mostly I blame KNEC, for failing to do what they were supposed to do in the first place; to ensure that candidates and teachers will not gain access to leaked exams because they did everything in their power to protect the exams with their life. I also blame the government, whose existence has so far seen corruption be the new Kenyan trend, where the people KNEC hired to safe guard the exams saw it as an opportunity to make serious money!

Well, don’t be so hard on yourself. Perhaps one day things will change. Perhaps one day exams in Kenya will be good enough. Perhaps they will give students the chance to fully utilize their brains to get the best of the knowledge, wisdom and understanding needed in order to push this country forward. Knowledge is always power after all. Perhaps the said exams will be as great as this one i did sometime back on Facebook, LOL!

PHYSICS

QUESTION: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle’s Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant. One exceptional student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let’s look at the different religions that exist in the world today.

Most of these religions state: that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially.

Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle’s Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added. This gives two possibilities:

1.If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

2.If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop  until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, “it will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you”, and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number 2 must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over.

The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct … leaving only Heaven thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting “Oh my God.”

THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY “A”, which was thoroughly deserved, a I truly hope everyone that was awarded their results thoroughly deserved it!

DEAR SON

Posted: September 7, 2013 by ketihapa in Relationships
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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.

Pretty little liars

A man died and went to Heaven, where he met St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. However, as he looked around amazed by the beauty of Heaven, he soon spotted a large wall with millions of clocks on it and curious, he asked, “Excuse me sir, but what are all those clocks?”

St. Peter looked at him and replied, “Those are the Lie Clocks. Everyone on earth has a Lie Clock and every time you lie, the hands on your clock will move.”

“Oh,” he continued, “And whose clock is that?” St. Peter replied, “That belongs to Jesus. The hands have never moved, indicating he never told a lie.”

“And whose is that?” he asked, amazed. “That one belongs to Abraham Lincoln. The hands have only moved twice, indicating he only told two lies his entire life.”

“And where is my clock?” he asked, clearly excited. St. Peter grinned and said, “Oh, yours is in my office. I am currently using it as a fan.”

Sadly, whether that man went to heaven or not, I have no idea. He was Kikuyu unfortunately and from what I hear, they have been banned from hell after they once put out the fire and tried to sell Lucifer a matchbox. Heaven too; there they falsified documents for their loved ones back on earth. More seriously though, I used that man symbolically to represent the women living in our midst. Shocked? Probably not. If you’re a woman and you’re still reading this post, please stop; i am out to expose you.

Oh, well, I guess you can’t follow instructions either. And you ask why I do not trust any woman other than my mother. Moving on. I compiled a list of the worst lies women hide beneath at the expense of unsuspecting men. To my fellow men, I kindly ask you to take a seat, this might get ugly:

Dating

You have been duped, and you’ve fallen flat on your face. Remember that one time she told you, “Hey honey, I am sorry I couldn’t come to see you. I was hanging out with my friends and I thought it would have been awkward for you.” or that time she said she couldn’t tell you she loved you back because she was at a meeting or with her parents? Or worse, how she told you she already had a boyfriend or that time she said she’d just come out of a difficult relationship but she insisted you can be friends? Of course you do. She broke your heart. Not to add to your misery, but she probably thought you are one ugly nigger.

May be she tricked you into carrying her handbag only for you to find out you’d been friend zoned? I am sorry to break your heart further; she probably didn’t want you from the start. She loves you, granted, but just as much as she loves the tents and sufurias in her massive handbag. You’re her accessory. Not to worry, I have the perfect solution for you; walk away. If you’re the one that fell for the ‘I couldn’t tell you I love you’ excuse, I have an even better solution, find a shot gun and find the man that’s been banging her behind your back. Also, if she said you’re her third lover, double that and add 3.

Her Language

All women lie. Period. That includes her body language for your information. Give it up, you can’t read the signs. You told her, “Is it okay if the boys and I go to a strip club? It’s Ken’s birthday,” And she replied, “It’s okay dear. Go have fun.” Never mind the fact that you found her waiting for you at the said strip club- you hadn’t even told her which- with a strange illness that somehow disappeared when you agreed to take her to the hospital. Lying is an art women have perfected. She’ll tell you one thing when she means the exact opposite.

“The sex was great.”

Yeah, she was embarrassed to ask whether it was in. In fact, she wished she’d told you that you are better at turning on phones and other electronics. My advice, do not try to understand her; Always have more songs for their ads- enough to release an album- than the knowledge men have about women.

Her Appearance

This is how far this conspiracy goes. It’s in her makeup, her boobs and her ass and of course, in her hair. It’s in everything she wears. A friend of mine confessed how he dumped his girlfriend without a shred of emotion when the doctor ordered her head shaved so he’d treat her. As you may already have guessed, it was nothing like he’d ever seen or imagined. Numerous corners only matched by one Vincent Kompany, the Martian. If you never see her without tons of makeup, be afraid. How many more horses have to lose their hair to make weaves, I don’t know.

Then there is the fake ass and boobs. Ladies, please, if you do not have as much money as Nicki Minaj, we will always remember how flat your chest was. The only problem with this lie is that most men never see past it. God gave men two heads and unfortunately just enough blood to run one of them at any given time, not both. You decide which head wins each time. My advice, this one you can go along with; enjoy it while it lasts but don’t yank your hand off.

Children

Every man’s dream is to one day have a little kid calling him daddy, hugging him; a child that recognizes he is Superman, even when the world thinks he is two-timing brainless idiot (Read Eden Hazard). It is this card that women build marriages on and effectively, tie down unsuspecting men. There is this couple that had been making love when by accident the woman switched on the lights, only to discover that the man was calmly reading a novel while using a dildo on her. The woman demanded for an explanation to which the man replied,

“Sure, but only if you will explain our three kids.”

If you’re a man and you suspect your kid looks more like your neighbor than you, you’re probably not his father. They say Chuck Norris doesn’t flush the toilet, he scares the shit out of it; that’s how scared shitless you’ll be when she plays the “I’m pregnant” card on you. Sadly, there are no mandatory paternity tests. My advice, women bank on the fact that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, so unless the real father was Jack Bauer and the kid suddenly starts beating you up, if the cat isn’t out of the bag yet, don’t let it out. If it is, walk out on her, not the kids. It wasn’t their fault their mother slept with China.