Posts Tagged ‘Instagram’

So let’s assume Jesus came back today. Or tomorrow. Or you know, whenever. Christians have been waiting for Him to come back for over 2,000 years now, while Atheists claim 2,000 years is too long to wait for someone to come again (yes, full pun intended). Personally I do not mind the wait.

As an Engineer I have learnt one thing, never rush things. All you can do is wait; hopefully the wait won’t be as long as waiting for Kanye West to apologize to Wiz Khalifa for insulting him using a 2 year old. In hindsight (LQTM) Amber Rose did do Wiz some justice… And as someone pointed out, that is why you have to pay for child support.

Anyway, back to the point; If Jesus were to come back today. A few friends and I, brilliant bloggers as well, had this argument yesterday. As expected, most were for the idea that Jesus should come back already, while the faint hearted chose not to participate at all, labelling us Atheists. But come on, we have all read the Bible. His coming has been anticipated more than His actual birth.

Regardless, the discussion continued, for those that stayed anyway. The initial view was that if Jesus were to come back today, He would be imprisoned. He would be labelled a political blogger out for blood with unsubstantiated claims of miracles out to oust the current regime (that we are tired of anyway) and He would be labelled an unpatriotic Son Of Kenya. Because God is Kenyan. Smh. In fact, He would be stoned, not like the  Stephen-Stoned-To-Death-From-Weed type, actual stoning. And pastors would be behind it because all the money they collect to ‘give to Jesus’ would be claimed by Jesus, legally. Well, that’s what the church is about nowadays anyway, right?

But then someone else argued that Jesus would be respected because He would perform miracles. The general consensus however, was that only one miracle would stand out. And your guess is as good as mine was. It wouldn’t be the ability to cure AIDS or to raise the dead back to life. It would be more along the lines of dethroning EABL, KWAL and Keroche Industries.

Yup, Jesus would be the perfect fit for Kenya if He could re-do the miracle at Cana. And I am sorry Meru people, I really do mean MIRACLE not MIRAA-CO. Afterall, Kenya is a drinking nation, second only to South Africa. Nigerians tell us they swim in pools full of liquor as Kendrick directed them to so they really aren’t in contention… Plus we don’t believe them. If they said they swam in oil, perhaps we would believe them.

I digress. If somehow Jesus would turn water into wine yet again… It was agreed everyone would follow Him. Not on Twitter, nor on Facebook and neither on Instagram… None. It would be a physical following. The kind that would have me be a water boy for Him, a job I would serve very diligently, as i pointed out. We keep saying hoes are thirsty, but we both know you would be thirsty as well. After all, it would be Holy Alcohol; which would be safe to drink because He would never allow your liver to get damaged. Talk of the Holy Spirit…. Wait, what?

Which brings me to the other point. As a Kenyan, we will always be business minded; someone somewhere would try to get Jesus to turn their local dam into a brewery. Well, personally I know I would. It would be a goldmine! Because the infrastructure already exists. He would deliver the beer through pipes right into people’s homes from their taps. Doesn’t matter what type of pipe you would have, PPR, GI… it wouldn’t matter.  Imagine it! Beer in taps.

So on that note, I am kindly asking all potential investors to consider my offer. I am registering my Beer In Taps Company Limited next week in anticipation for Jesus’ coming. You shouldn’t be scared of the legal constraints because we have no law against it, yet.

In short, what I am asking for is your money and your continued support. The government told us to be entrepreneurs and create jobs after all, right?

I DREAM

Posted: December 24, 2015 by ketihapa in Kenya
Tags: , , , , , , ,
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I will dream we will be better than this

Someone said my dreams are valid. That same person went ahead to feature in a Star Wars movie, but not before she got Mexicans trying to fight for her after she won an Oscar. She dared to dream, and her dreams came true. I am not sure having people that have chilli with everything save for sex counts, but yeah, her dreams came true. They came hard and fast (no pun intended), all because Lupita dared to dream.

So i will dream too…

I dream that one day we will have a country that is defined by love; not greed. Not hate. A country i will be happy to let my kids grow up in. Where they wont have to buy milk for ksh 100 because someone slept with someone to steal money intended for the Youth Service and the government’s only option is to raise taxes to recover the money- not counting some Euro bond rubbish. A country where my kids will be known as Kenyans, not Kikuyu or luo or Luhya or Kalenjin or Maasai or Kamba.

I dream that one day my country will be the best place to live in, and we wont have private developers grabbing lands meant for schools that my kids will attend. Or money meant for laptops to help them become better scholars. And that their teachers will be paid enough to nurture my kids to be amazing people. I dream that nobody will stop them in Nairobi to demand for ksh 200 because they were carrying an over-size paper bag and they didn’t have a receipt with a KRA stamp on it.

I also dream that everybody will have food and water. Perhaps China will get us food and water because my government seems more interested in buying wheelbarrows worth Ksh 109,000 and shutting down websites that report they are outside the country buying Jameson instead of procuring quality vaccines for our kids, more of whom are dying due to poor health care and absence of health workers because the government refused to pay them and instead opted to bankroll expensive flights to heaven (in doubt) and hell and allegedly Mars.

I dream of the day we wont have to buy guns to protect ourselves; that day when my country wont have to spend billions to buy gun when in truth the biggest and fiercest guns have been in our possession all along- the guns called love, understanding and compassion. I dream of the day the media wont have to report that a woman was shot in church and the bullet went straight through her and dislodged in her two year old child, who barely knows how to protect himself and his mother. I dream that one day, i will walk in town and no child will stop me to beg for money because my government ensured all kids go to school. Because they had the hindsight to know that education, hence knowledge, is all the power needed to make my country a better place.

I also dream that one day, my kids will be wise enough to know that Instagram is for girls whose fathers are disappointed of; that Twitter is a powerful tool to connect with fellow human beings, but one that ignorant people can use to force other people to hate other people. That it is a tool that can be used by people borrowing money from their parents to buy bundles to sack Cabinet Secretaries.

Most importantly, i dream of you. I dream of the day i will put a ring on your finger; i dream of the day i will marry you- you can have your grand wedding then. I dream of being a wonderful husband and an even better father to our kids.

In short, i will dream that my dreams will come true, because i realize that a man without a dream is just a bad dream.

Sorry Alexas, but this was funny as hell... The Brother hood

Sorry Alexas, but this was funny as hell… The Brother hood

For the better part of the day, since morning actually, the Lounge has been in turmoil; ever since we all submitted our letters to our future spouses. (I will not bother posting mine here because I was labelled a chauvinist, ignorant and a host of other words I can’t remember by Essie.) The argument has been a nonstop affair. You see, the whole reason why the Lounge is so amazing is because we have all these great writers that all share diverse views on a number of topics. The problem is, as expected, we tend to over-think stuff. And today was no different. Today’s argument was sparked by Ian. Yes, Ian Duncan. Then somehow it spiraled into a debate about feminism which very quickly went to The Independent Nairobi Woman, hence, Naiman.

You see, Naiman is supposed to be this independent woman that doesn’t believe in men; she isn’t gay, for the record. She just doesn’t need a man. The Naiman is the woman who walks up to you and you start shivering, apparently. She can fix her own computer (sorry nerds), her own lights, she knows what bolt fits where on her bed, how the thermostat on her iron box works and how it behaves when the iron box (and or instant shower head) is utilizing too much power, how to create a wi-fi hotspot- not from her phone- from her router, how to fix the leaking sink and of course, how to jump start her car. She doesn’t need a man. The Naiman is superwoman. She wields the power; she can go drinking out all night with her friends and expect to come home to find cooked food, the kids in bed and the house smelling like Jesus’ feet walked there- no stink whatsoever- especially in the toilet. And in the morning, you apparently have to be loving enough to change the kids’ diapers, clean make the breakfast, nurse her back to health (never mind her problem is a hangover) and make sure you collaborate her story with the boss when she tells him, sobbing, that she feels sick.

Bear with me, the Naiman sounds like an absolutely lovable woman so far; we should correct that. Let’s retrace her roots.

You see, the Naiman was once a girl. This girl is intelligent. She has the brains. She got all the right scores in high school. She may not have been as bright as you were; perhaps she got a C+. She managed to get into college- at this point it doesn’t really matter if she got an A. She made it into college. And that is when you met her. You wowed her; she was your life- and you were hers. You can’t really remember using any pickup lines. Who cares anyway? Her heart melted for you. You were inseparable; in fact, most of your friends looked up to both of you. You were the model couple. Your HELB, for which you now have to part with some money regardless whether you received or not, was spent with her. She made you happy. You didn’t care.

Then you graduated. You were happy for a few months. Then she suddenly told you, I can’t see you. Actually, she says, you are the love of her life but she can’t see you anymore. You remember you once told her love can’t buy her food; it stuns you how you were just predicting your demise. (If you are lucky enough to work things out at this point and convince her you will be by her side in a year, you are lucky. Especially if she loves you- you have just given her hope and she will wait for you.)

But now, you have no job, you have no prospect of doing anything. And she has the world at her feet; after all, she is young. Okay, correction, she is young, hot and wild, as her friends tell her. You see, she has finally landed a job, at least which is what her friends tell her. And to compound things, she has a job. It doesn’t pay very well, but she soon notices that every man in the office is giving her more attention than you have in the past four months. After a while, you receive an SMS, “I am sorry, I just can’t deal with this.” You call back. She picks, then she tells you to stop bothering her because she is out with friends and you are making her embarrassed. You quit calling after it happens a couple of times. You try your best to forget her, and finally, you decide, “This is not worth it.”

But she goes on.

She declares herself independent when she gets her pay rise. At this point, she decides to get her own house. She has no responsibility to anyone after all. She goes out on a daily basis- her newly acquired circle of female friends validate it. They go out week in, week out. Nobody really knows how they manage to get to work the next day. At this point, she is 24. More importantly, she is on the lookout for Mollis. Her vagina has had more poundings than an Akorino drum. But who cares? She is still young, hot and wild. She insists on protection. She is safe. At this point, she resents any man that cannot get her wailing to Jesus.

Then she gets to 28. Her circle of female friends slowly declines; until she is left with Angie- they all have an Angie, or Debbie or some other fancy name- who doesn’t seem like she will stop soon. Angie tells her she doesn’t have to be lonely and broke; she can be lonely, but at least she can’t be broke. Her dead weight job doesn’t matter. Angie introduces her to Magunga. Magunga is loaded. He takes her out and makes her forget stuff. He checked her out at a massage parlor once and when he left she could still feel his eyes on her. It doesn’t take very long; Magunga parts her legs faster than a Kalenjin cow on heat.

In 9 months, she has something that resembles someone she has come to hate and loathe over the past 9 months. In fact, they are calling her Mama Kim now.

Mama Kim is smart; she went to campus after all. She doesn’t need any man, remember? (Despite the numerous chances Magunga has offered to marry her- he is simply beneath her. When she does a little digging she finds out that Magunga isn’t her type.) Anyway, she cares for Kim. She is there for him. She feeds him on her tits, she waits the full six months the doctor said before she forcefully makes Kim quit after applying hot pepper on her breasts, which hurts more than Odom’s death hurt the Kardashians. She goes back to work.

But the bosses at work do not understand she has a small baby at home; actually, she doesn’t trust her house help, whom she pays peanuts (Yes, Jesus gave up so much for us because He was worth nothing). She is determined. In fact, her boss gives her another pay rise. One look at her breasts tells her no wonder no man wants her. She wants a father figure for Kim. He has been too inquisitive of late. So Mama Kim goes to a doctor, if she can afford it, and declares she doesn’t want her tits on her navel’s level. She revamps herself.

With her new form, she remembers all those sweethearts she turned away back then; she starts with you, but you are happily helping your wife make supper for the kids and you can’t wait for them to get into bed so you can do it in the kitchen. In fact, you helped them do their homework quickly so you would have her all to yourself. Then she tries Alexas; that guy she always hanged out with, who was always so jealous of you.  He took her out shopping and never asked for anything, other than a kiss ob Instagram, after which he was always sent back to the Brother Hood. But no, he has a wife now too.

She grows desperate; never mind that the Akorino drum gave in a long time ago and burst, while her vagina still wants a pounding. She joins all these online pages; perhaps someone hot blooded will pick her up, but all she does is to encourage herself and perverts who think a sugar mummy is their solution. She tries the church, but all the pastor is interested in doing is planting a seed in her that will cost her 310 Ksh. She gives up the church as well. By now, her tits are almost somewhere between her knees.

So she turns to Maina Kageni who tells her everything will be okay, when he himself hasn’t even figured out his/her sexuality, on Morning Radio, to which Wakanae responds, “Kama unataka bwana, nyenyekea.”

People laugh, and so does your college boyfriend when he listens to the audio on Whatsapp but doesn’t recognize your battered voice, as well as Kim who has grown so distant of his mom he thinks this is just one of those women, but Wakanae doesn’t. You suddenly realize he has a point. And he isn’t talking about church, where for so long you have tried to seduce the pastor and choir boys and God knows who else. She is just a Naiman after all.

 

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But Why? Lord!? Why won't they tell me I am awesome!?

It is officially three weeks since my accident, and approximately four weeks since I joined Instagram. Yes, I know, I know. I vehemently swore a couple of months ago that I would never join Instagram, or IG, as I hear cool kids call it nowadays. It wasn’t anything I had against IG, but I have always felt Instagram is for girls whose fathers are really disappointed of them. As for my accident, ladies, hold your horses, no accidental babies were made in any back seats- it was a genuine accident. I will probably have a scar on the right side of my face just above my right eye for the time being, but I can assure you I am still as handsome (no pun intended) as ever… *wink*
Anyway, yesterday evening, after reading the much talked about fuckboy (If you’re the author, I admire your writing prowess, I just don’t respect you because you and Njoki Chege are unmistakably similar), I decided to reply to it. People have consequently argued about it all day. I was probably a little harsh, but yeah, I felt pissed off. But the thing is, early morning today, which was completely unexpected since I am rarely on Facebook, I find a message, again completely coincidental, from Joe, telling me that he belongs to a group of bloggers that have actually been readers of my blog, and who think I would be an excellent addition to their Whatsapp group. Ladies, I think I now understand why sweet words send streams down your panties.
The problem is, as awesome as it was to be considered awesome, it left half a dozen of unanswered questions. The biggest one of them being, why wont women find me awesome as well???? Whyyyy??? Followed closely by, should I actually start taking a career in writing more seriously than I have been doing over the past couple of months? Magunga and Ifehenia think I would go farther than I already have should I ever decide to be a full time writer. My folks, not so much; not after they spent half their income every month to get me to complete my undergraduate studies. That, I was able to logically deduce.
What I couldn’t quite explain was the former. I would love to understand women. Remember the story of the guy that found a magic lamp and on rubbing it a genie appeared that asked him for the proverbial wish and the dude said all he wished for was a road that joined the Earth to the Moon, and the genie laughed and said that was impossible, and that he had to make another wish? When the guy said he wished he could understand women the genie promptly shut up and built the road? Well, yeah, that is exactly what I feel right now as well. I will never understand women.
What do I have to do exactly to be considered awesome by you ladies out there? I am genuinely confused. Some female friends (yeah, sorry guys, I too, are inevitably on friend zones on some girls’ lists) suggested I learn cooking. I did that. Now, practically none of them can cook anything better than I can. Did any woman call me awesome? I would honestly be more shocked if they did, than if I ever found myself having lunch at KFC. ‘Next, they suggested I start writing, one of them actually did the post ‘Date a Guy That Writes.’ Look where that’s got me. Replying to annoying posts like Bye Fuckboy. SMH. Most recently, I was informed I should buy myself a car. We both know that isn’t happening this year… soo…. LOL. I hate my life.
Now, I am at the point where I feel I have to give an ultimatum to these women. If none of you tells me I am an awesome human being in the next week, I am declaring celibacy. Because FFS I really do not see the point of trying so hard and none of them will ever consider me awesome enough to offer nudes. Or perhaps I should just stop listening to my female friends, whose friend zones I really have no hope of leaving any time soon. Oh, crap, wait. I think that was an own goal.
I give up.  😦

Crowns for Clowns

Hello my peoples. I know what most of you are wondering; WTF has yours truly been? Why TF did he/she forsake us? I haven’t. I have longed to resume blogging and making you laugh for some time now and I am sorry I couldn’t do it sooner. I am not about to make excuses, but I really tried- I couldn’t. In between my final year project (which was awesome) and final exams and the pressure to convince my wonderful parents that I was not going to graduate University as an Engineer (yes, you can call me that now) without a wife, or as they’re called nowadays, bae… you get my point. I will bore you with that story much later…

Anyway, during my long exile I came across one of the funniest things I have ever read, though unfortunately the author signed off as anonymous, and I will share it with you:

 

Once upon a time in the kingdom of Heaven, God was missing for six days. Eventually, Michael the archangel found him, resting on the seventh day. He inquired of God.

“Where have you been?”

God took a deep sigh of satisfaction and proudly pointed downwards through the clouds, “Look, Michael. Look what I’ve made!”

Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, “What is it?”

“It’s a planet,” replied God, “and I’ve put Life on it. I’m going to call it Earth and it’s going to be a great place of balance.”

“Balance?” inquired Michael, still confused. God explained, pointing to different parts of earth.

“For example, northern Europe will be a place of great opportunity and wealth while southern Europe is going to be poor. Over there I’ve placed a continent of white people and over there is a continent of black people,” God continued pointing to different countries. “This one will be extremely hot while this one will be very cold and covered in ice.”

The Archangel, impressed by God’s work, then pointed to a land in the eastern part of Africa and said, “What’s that one?”

“Ah,” said God. “That’s Kenya the most glorious place on earth. There are beautiful beaches, mountains, streams, hills, and water falls. The people from Kenya are going to be very handsome, modest, intelligent and humorous and they are going to be found traveling the world holding good jobs. They will be extremely sociable, hardworking and high-achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as diplomats and carriers of peace and go to the Olympics.”

Michael gasped in wonder and admiration but then proclaimed, “What about balance, God? You said there would be balance!!!”

God replied wisely, “Wait until you see the clowns that will lead them :D.”

 

You ask where I am going with this, right? I will expound. The author brilliantly explained what is happening in our beloved country. I am not about to mention any names, primarily because I don’t want to suffer the same fate as one Wadi. For those that watched the Keter video, you will agree with my sentiments that most of our leaders are selfish, immature, arrogant, corrupt and I-don’t-know-what-to-call-them-any-more. It is one thing to intimidate people with authority (which Keti Hapa doesn’t condone) if you’re the president, not some lowly official that the majority leader of senate has never heard of nor spoken to. No Mr. Keter, we, the Matapakas, refuse to pick your calls. Hell, even the cool kids here declared they don’t even pick calls of nature anymore.

Then, as if we don’t have enough clowns in the administration, there has to be even more in the Church. First it was Kanyari, who took sowing seeds very literally. His philosophy was simple; confuse them till they’re dumb enough to give you a lot of money (and or sexual favours). Now, we have Kiuna. For somebody that was born in a slum, I would she would have more humility, but no. Kiuna warned us poor people not to go to her church, while urging our women to leave us and go live in SQs in posh neighborhood so they can find wealthy men to marry them, that’s what you did, right? I am assuming her definition of poor people is us, us that have to eat cereal (when we can afford it) with forks so as to save milk.

Us, that don’t care whether it was the chicken or the egg that came first, or whether the chicken was crossing the road in order to reach before the egg, as long as its destination is our stomachs. Yes, we that have to go to Nairobi Aviation College and build castles in the air during class so we can get degrees in Architecture to better our lives, or dump our girlfriends before Valentines so we can be awarded degrees in Financial Management. Kiuna, at least you were straight forward… you despise us. I’ll tell you a secret; we don’t care. You can lead your followers like the sheep they are- they go to baa baa shops too, right?- and you can keep boiling the hell out of water if you think that will get you holy water, we got the message.

I could go on and on about the kind of leaders our beloved Kenya is bestowed with, but I don’t see the point; we live in a land where its crowns for clowns. I will wish everyone else a great week ahead and I love you guys.

 

PS:

If you don’t already know it, Valentines is just around the corner. Feel free to consult my guide on how to avoid Valentines. If you do however still feel the urge to celebrate Valentines, please do so responsibly. Don’t choose the types that spend hours on Instagram showing us how much of disappointments they are to their fathers.

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)

The Doctor told me to take only one glass per day... fair enough....

The Doctor told me to take only one glass per day… fair enough….

Dear Consumer,

My name is Vodka. Yeah, the one and only. This is a one-time thing. It will never be repeated and you will not argue about it. You’ll just have to listen, nod and I’ll be done in few. If at any point in time you do try to argue to argue with me I’ll straightaway assume you’re on your periods and I’ll give you a tampon- for free of course. And you will also, at any one time, not assume that I have feelings for you. Do not catch that shit.

Anyway, I am here to give you advice on me and most of my friends. First of all, I am, contrary to popular belief, your friend. Doctors will tell you all sorts of misinformed nonsense about me. For instance that you should drink water instead of me; well, tell me this, who kills germs and who causes pip0es to rust…

For purposes of this monologue, you are from now hence forth to disregard their stupidity, unless you’re dying and do not have a liver donor. They tell you that I am not the answer; hell, i make you forget the question. They also tell you that I give you cirrhosis, that I make you stupid and that you will engage in irresponsible sexual behavior and that you will be carefree and very happy. Other than the cirrhosis, tell me what else among those things that you do not enjoy doing. Name one. And I’ll quit. I’ll even refund you.

Thought so. Since we’ve established that I add value to your life, now please listen..

I’ll not exactly brag that I am responsible for 90% of the fun you have, I am a humble being. However, I will profusely apologize for lying to you that I can make you dance like Keko; or that I can make you lean. You will dance like you suddenly have two left feet and the only lean I will make you do will be on ugly people, tables and chairs. Which reminds me, sorry about the ugly thing. I just think it’s funny watching you make out with a hideous creature that you’ll be totally embarrassed of the next day. Kwanza that time you jumped off a balcony to avoid being seen coming from Ugly Susan’s apartment, hilarious! I instagrammed that. You should thank me for making you a celebrity on social media.

Another thing, whenever I ask whom you think is the best person to call when you’re with me, keep off your ex’s number. Hell, I have no idea what you’re doing with it in the first place. It is however allowed to call your crush, stalkee and or the girl you think is not giving you enough attention. Also, I may have misled you that girls love illegible text messages at 3 am; I swear I didn’t know. I only learnt recently it was the reason our friend Mutinda found himself a bachelor last week. We ought to help him get back with his ex…. loooool. Just kidding. It’s awesome he’s single now. We can drink till morning now.

Oh, and by the way, I forgot to tell you I discovered what your fist is finally perfect to hit with; the guy who just bumped into you. But you could spice it up by trying to call him an asshole first… the slurred speech will make it hilarious. However, don’t you dare tell the first man you see that has a bike and lots of hair ati “Hagrid! OMG you’re real!” You’ll gerrit. A swollen face that is. After you’re done, celebrate your victory. You see the swimming pool down there, jump into it- of course after you have taken off your pants first. Trust me you don’t want these to get wet. Women hate competition. **pun intended** Hold on a minute, i think my cousin Beer is on the line.

*muffled conversation*

Yeah, it was him alright. Haha. Beer is a funny one; he never fails to make me laugh. Anyway, Beer says to tell you that he’s sorry he lied to you that some girl needed new makeup. He’s sorry about the whole vomiting incident. He says he’s offer to buy you lunch but he’s kinda broke right now. Actually he was borrowing me money. That idiot thinks just because I’m from Russia I am loaded. He should meet my brother BlueMoon from Ruiru. Personally I think he should accept that he’s broke and settle for what he has like Keg did. See how happy he is now? He even rolls in a metal drum that weighs at least a ton. He also told me to tell you not to dare mixing him up with me. Ever. You’ll black out, but not before you decide your neighbor’s door is the best place to take a piss.

Alafu, I am told to warn you by the Society of Alcohol and other Drugs (SAD) that they accept responsibility for their actions. Alcohol did make you a tad too truthful and it sucks because you ended up admitting to your boss that you hate him and the bloody job. You’ll probably never get a promotion… but don’t you worry friend, I will always be there for you.

Before I go, I need to tell you something. I think Maggie likes you. For some reason she couldn’t stop laughing last night when you walked up to a lorry and whispered “Optimus Prime, I know your secret. Show your face just this once…” Also when you told her, which was very responsible of you, to drive you home… Only problem is, the party was at your place. Wife her man… OK, sorry. Have sex with her. All you have to do is to let me help you. In fact, my younger brothers Tequila and Black Ice can do the job for you. I will instruct them promptly to get on it. Somebody say Bow-chicka-wow-wow!!! 😀

I hope we’ll be meeting later on today… you know where. I can’t wait to get you fucked up.