Posts Tagged ‘Jesus’

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?

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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Seriously, if you havent listened to Echosmith's Cool Kids, you need to ASAP

I wish that I could be one of the cool kids, coz all the cool kids, they seem to fit in… Echosmith said this. I am inclined to agree… cool kids do seem to fit in. I have only one problem, who exactly are cool kids. I would stop writing this post if at least one of you had a solid answer but none of you do, IMO. You all seem to have exemplary different definitions of whom a cool kid is. And yes, nobody seems to have a concrete answer. Not even the coolest kids (that I know) can answer this question. So, yes, you can understand why I decided to do this post. I am tired of being labeled uncool along lines that nobody really understands. There are more double standards than that ex of yours that still swears Water is Life yet KNEC swears they taught her that water is H20. Whom do you believe?
It is in this light that I decided to do a little research on whom exactly should be considered a cool kid.
Echosmith swear that a cool kid (despite already being cool themselves) that a cool kid is that person whose heartbeat seems to be faster than yours yet you all have the same heart rate. That person who- whether you’re walking together with or not- never seem to walk in a straight line. Pardon me guys, but I honestly think- if my biology teacher wasn’t as bogus as the principles of life she taught me- that the first person is suffering from Blood Pressure while the second is suffering… sorry scratch that… (If you literally did, congratulations. You are a DJ and effectively a cool kid.)…  enjoying something my Chemistry teacher introduced me, then tried to tell me wasn’t awesome despite giving me numerous tests and exams on it… Alcohol.
Then there’s Facebook. According to Facebook… sorry guys, can’t find anything that’s cool about Facebook or anyone on it. The only way you guys on Facebook are going to be cool is if Facebook freezes your accounts.
Twitter. Sodom and Gomorrah if you will. According to Twitter, you are a cool kid if you meet the following criteria: First you have at least 2000 followers and receive about 400 nudes per day. Then, you have linked your IG to your Twitter account. You also need to tweet things that don’t necessarily make sense, but which people (read other cool kids) can relate to. You also need to have lunch at KFC on a daily basis and post photos of your lunch on the aforementioned IG account. Failure to post the said pic means you had lunch so awesome it couldn’t even be captured on a camera. This includes special treats like Air Burgers and Imagine Pizzas. You also have to be light skinned. If people cannot see it, you are allowed to take a torch and brighten the area of skin you need them to see before posting it on, you guessed it, the aforementioned IG account.
You also need to be very outgoing and attend all sporting events, including imaginary ones like Unicorn Hunting and Bungee Climbing (I personally thought it was Bungee Jumping, but hey, I am not a cool kid.) You have to have a girlfriend that is very okay with you receiving the above mentioned nudes and who would be willing to give you a BJ on top of the Bungee rope that the two of you just climbed. She, bae, in other words, needs to have personal beef with that Safaricom chic that tells her you are not available because she gets overly jealous and feels the entire world is at her feet… including the condom shoes she wears because she doesn’t want to expose her feet to premature pregnancy.
To be deemed a cool kid on Twitter, you need to be not more than 19 years of age. By this time, which by default you’ll have more than more than 2000 followers, you also need to own a house and a car and not complain when it rains because your said car can also transform into a chopper and fly to Mombasa because cool kids expect the weather in Nairobi to beg them to come back. By extension, they also don’t spend time in traffic. Traffic stops for them, just like Cocaine is the one that suffers an overdose of them. To them, everyone is a feminist. In fact, they refer to our Eminem as Feminem.
Then there’s the parents’ description of a cool kid. I will not dwell on this, but the rest of us know that an African mom’s definition of a cool kid is one that gets straight A’s in school and doesn’t get a girlfriend till form 24, and knows how to avoid other cool kids like the plague. In fact, church wine isn’t really made of grapes and doesn’t contain any alcohol. If you drink too much of it and you get drunk, you will be beaten up for trying to consume too much of the blood of Jesus.
Then there’s what you think. Honestly, I can’t really tell you if I am a cool kid, but I do know this one thing; a cool kid does not make stupid typos. Also, a cool kid does not tell people that he got her pregnant by accident because he knows she did not happen to have been walking on the street then she slipped and accidentally fell on his dick. He is responsible enough to acknowledge he got her pregnant and will not look for a scumbag doctor to perform an abortion. He works hard to achieve his goals in life and he will be there for, not only his friends, but also his family. That IMO, is what makes a cool kid.

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.

The Shawshank Redemption is undoubtedly the best movie ever produced that details what redemption and self forgiveness is all about

With a heavy sigh, he forces himself to stagger away from the window, where he’s been standing in his boxers for the past thirty minutes, no longer able to bear the sight of the man staring back at him. His eyes are partly bloodshot, his head heavy and his hands are trembling. Taking one last sip from the bottle of vodka firmly in his grip, he places it on the small table beside his bed, gently, before reaching for the pack of cigarettes next to the now empty bottle. With a slight hesitation, he lights up a match, but his trembling hands cause him to burn two of his fingers in the process. He winces. More scars. It doesn’t matter to him; what are two more little scars compared to the millions of scars that blight his life anyway.

He lights up another match and this time, he successfully manages to light up the cigarette already on his lips. He inhales and feels the head rush hit him almost instantaneously, even before he blows out the poisonous smoke. The woman on his bed coughs and stirs up, her gaze now fixed on to the back of his head. Annoyed, he takes two more puffs in rapid succession, almost choking him. He didn’t pay for her services to care a morsel about her; besides, it’s his room. Like most smokers, he resents how the cigarette makes him feel like shitting a ton. He wishes the cigarette, now almost halfway, could make him release all the shit in his life.

The events that led to this night are still fresh on his mind, burning him, scorching his soul and will to go on in the process. His gaze is fixed on his right hand; he wishes he could cut it off. After all, Jesus did say any part of the body that causes you to sin should be cut off. He wishes it were that easy- to cut off the hand that drove a dagger deep into woman’s chest only hours before and forget the whole thing happened. He knows he’d give anything, including his own life to go back in time and warn his past, angry self before the bugger did the heinous act, because like most murderous, he didn’t intend for it to happen that way. He also knows his anger for her cheating didn’t warrant her death… for starters it has only added more misery into his life… but what is done is done. They are probably looking for him now, but he’s made up his mind not to run.

God knows he already misses her; if she were here he’d probably tell her something cheesy to make her laugh, just to see her warm smile one more time… to hear her beautiful voice call out to him telling him to stop making her ribs ache. He knows he’d probably respond with something even dumber. He’d tell her to forgive him for making her tired, because she’s always running through her mind. He still remembers the very first time he saw her. He was having lunch with a friend when she walked into the hotel. Disappointed they didn’t have pork ready at the time, she left. He’d run up to her and told her he wanted a picture of her to show Santa exactly what he wanted for Christmas that year. He bursts into a drunken, hysterical laughter when he remembers the priceless look on her face. For them it had been the proverbial love at first sight; there had been no need for him to walk by again. People had once described them as the perfect couple.

But like everything else on earth with the exception of Herpes, love too fades away. He makes a resolve.

He staggers one more time to his bed, where by now the hooker, whom he can’t remember her name, has already helped herself to a cigarette, but was too occupied with his thoughts to notice it. He takes out another cigarette and hands the remaining pack to her; where he’s going he won’t need them. Then, he pulls out a bunch of notes without bothering to count them and hands them to her. She knows she was lucky this time. To show her gratitude, she tries to pull him back into bed to give him one last fuck. He declines and she starts putting back her clothes- her work here is clearly done.

She follows him out of the door and watches him as he slowly locks up and without as much as a goodbye; both of them take to their different directions- two strangers that will probably never meet again, at least not in this crowded neighbourhood of Ngara. He pictures his destination in his mind. Outside, it’s began raining but he keeps walking straight ahead, willing every muscle of his legs not to let him stagger, knowing he’ll soon reach his destination. The darkness coupled with the rain trickling down into his eyes make it hard for him to see where he’s going, but he soldiers on, unafraid someone might jump him at any instant in these unsafe streets of Nairobi.

At last, he arrives. He looks up at the signpost that reads ‘Nairobi Central Police Station.’ He smiles as he lights the last cigarette he’s ever going to smoke again. He finally knows he can have a chance of redemption by taking the first step of taking responsibility for his actions. He reduces his pace now, taking one step at a time. He knows he may be drunk, but his mind is clear. This is what he wants to do. What he has to do if he’s to live with himself. Finally, he’s at the doorstep and he throws away the remaining cigarette.

He takes his first step inside the building, his gaze firmly at the book on the desk ahead, unconcerned about the curious glances directed at him. Then his phone starts ringing… A new number. He might as well find out whom his last call will be with.

“Hello, is this Alfred?”

“Hello, yes it is… Who’s this?”

“I’m Dr. Kimana calling from the Nairobi Hospital… We want to let you know your wife was brought here today with a stab wound and we performed an emergency procedure. We managed to save her life.. She’s awake now and she’s asking for you….”

He doesn’t bother letting the doctor finish… Alfred drops the phone and crumbles to the floor, tears in his eyes…

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.

Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Eric Stonestreet who act as a gay couple in the popular T.v. comedy 'Modern Family' as Mitchell and Cameron respectively.

Haha, relax. I am not trying to kill myself. But this post is and I am sure so will you after you read it. You see, a few months back, in my usual alcoholic escapades, I met a guy who narrated to me his story. He told me how he had been looking for a job and how when he was about to give up all hope, he finally landed one as a Shamba Boy. It wasn’t a prestigious job per se, but the benefits that supposedly came with it were incredible. The job was simple; tend to the little garden at a guy’s house for Ksh 20,000 per month. If he showed his commitment by staying on the job for at least a year and a half, he would get a car and a house. Not bad for a Shamba Boy, right? Sadly, he quit before he even started the job. In my head, he was a dumb ass; in Kenya getting a job with a tax-free salary and guaranteed job security is a hustle. Then the story got nasty…

He promptly moved to his new employer’s house, which as he learnt, was shared by three men and a lady. It was all fun till it was night; he heard strange noises originating from the bedroom. This he didn’t exactly mind, so people have orgies here, big deal. He didn’t really care; he was there for the money. That was until he woke up in the middle of the night in nothing but his boxers and no recollection of how he wound up in the bedroom, next to his employer. I mentioned his employer was a man, right? And he may or may not have participated in gay sex; his memory was hazy. I nearly died with laughter as he recounted his Steven Spielberg type of escape.

Till I found myself in the Jeevanjee Gardens smoking zone on Wednesday, that story was a figment of my memory. My cigarette was nearly burnt halfway when some dude walked up to me. In my head, I knew he wanted to borrow one; smokers are generous people. I gladly offered him one so he’d leave me alone. He didn’t. Now he was staring at me funny. So I asked,

“Man, what the hell do you want?”

“YOU.”

I laughed. Then I realized he was serious when he started walking closer to me with a sheepish grin on his face. In truth, till then I had no idea I could run that fast- I thanked the fast food I had just had for lunch. I need not tell you that I quit smoking for the third time this year that day.

I have since called it a divine intervention to make me quit smoking for good; the only logical way I can really explain it is that God works in strange, mysterious ways. Like how he guided the Jews under Moses in the desert for 40 years only to bring them to the one part of Asia that has no oil. You see, I am homophobic and I bet God knows since He is Omniscient. I am not proud of it because I know it isn’t their fault. 75% of them don’t choose to be gay; only 25% of them are SUCKED into it. Most of them are born that way. And that is the reason I wrote this post. And since I know how controversial this post is going to be, I have decided to walk a mile in your shoes first before I criticize anyone. That way, if any one of you retaliates, I am a mile away and yes, I have your shoes.

I’m sure you remember Prison Break. In my opinion, it was one of the best jail breaks of all time after the one in the Shawshank Redemption. True, it had an unrealistic story, but it was brilliant. My love for it was so great that I loathed the directors of Prison Break for not making the main character, Michael Scofield, gay. I am sure he wouldn’t have been that enthusiastic to run away from Fox River State Penitentiary if the stories they tell of prison are anything to go by. The only way to punish a gay man is by sending him to a female prison. In short, it would have allowed the show to last a couple more seasons longer.

Wednesday’s events got me to reconsider. Prison Break with a gay Michael Scofield wouldn’t have worked. I wouldn’t even have watched it to start with. I am biased towards gay people, as are most of you I am sure. And for no particular reason mind you. According to the Bible, God once burnt down an entire city because most of its occupants were gay, which gave us the word sodomy. My question being, how many of you have been sodomized to start with or do you just make gay jokes for the fun of it? How many people have valid reasons to loathe gay people? As I mentioned before, most of the time, a genetic or a hormonal imbalance produces gay symptoms. You don’t just wake up and decide a man’s butt looks edible.

Gay people are human too. But I suppose it wouldn’t mean much to you if you haven’t seen how much suffering most of them go through; don’t start making jokes like “if sex is a pain in the ass then you’re doing it wrong”. This is a serious matter. A friend of a friend committed suicide after it was discovered he was gay. I don’t know how many more have to die before we accept the fact that like whatever the genre of music Souljah Boy invented, some things are here to stay. Call it what you want, it is the truth. Jimmie Gait, Justin Beiber and the age of Skinny Jeans tucked into Pink Supras are evidence enough. In fact, all sweet, nice and handsome men are already taken. By their boyfriends…

I am not saying that people should be gay; all I am saying is that it makes sense to be accommodative of them because they are here to stay. Hell, they even make good Army Generals; even in war, they just can’t leave their friends behind. My pastor always said, “Jesus loves you no matter who you are” and I agree with him. However, be cautious WHERE you are told that “Jesus loves you”. Apparently in Mexican and Spanish prisons, if a person tells you, “Jesus loves you!” my friend, please be afraid. Be very afraid. Anyway, now I am off to find a noose to hang myself with as I am pretty sure this post has definitely done the same thing to my budding career as a writer.