Posts Tagged ‘Julie Gichuru’

The ultimate symbol of undying love in modern marriage is a ring

Dear wife,

I don’t know who you are and you don’t know me either. If it were up to me, this is how it would remain. In the event that we do meet (sadly, as we will eventually do), I want you to know that I will do my best to love you and be there for you. However, in order for that to happen, you will have to observe a few guidelines that I have take the liberty of coming up with.

First and foremost, if, God forbid, we do at some point in time discover that I am impotent, please do not panic. I have been saving up my sperm in an undisclosed sperm bank for an undisclosed fee. I am fully aware that many marriages break because of the absence of children to hold them together; however, you have Beyonce and Rihanna to thank as that is not going to be the case, thanks to the saved sperm. I refuse to elaborate further on this issue for moral reasons. Unilever Company, the company that makes Vaseline, wouldn’t be too amused either if I revealed the exact nature of our transactions.

And speaking of children, if our first child is a girl, I will name her Beyonce or Rihanna in gratitude to them. Not buts- refer to the previous paragraph above why this must be so, unless you will be okay with Julie Gichuru for our second daughter. If on the other hand it will be son, then, WE will sit down TOGETHER and come up with a good name. Nothing fancy like Ashton or out-dated like Leon or common like Kevin and definitely not, a religious name like Eustace or anything that declares him gay at birth like Bieber.

Another thing, I will expect you to dress up and behave like a lady. To that effect, I ban long dresses, skirts, baggy trousers, mothers’ union panties, condom shoes, weaves, wigs, Equity Bank T shirts or any other beauty product designed to fool my eyes. In fact, the shorter and the scantier the dress, the better. Also, NEVER roll yourself in a bale of flour like Sheila Mwanyigah or even possess her genes if she’s your mother. I expect you to wear see-through night dresses or night gowns or nothing at all and not pajamas. For recommended dressing in my house, please feel free to download Beyonce’s or Rihanna’s photos. They are free on the internet.

In addition, I expect you to fully support Arsenal FC. I therefore declare it the family team. You will attend games with me in proper attire (read an Arsenal jersey) and you will not under whatever circumstances make fun of the family team. It will also be your duty to teach our children to adore support the family team like their parents. If your friends support Manchester United, Barcelona, Chelsea, Manchester City or Tottenham, please ditch them in advance. You can however be friends with people that support Liverpool on grounds of extreme pity, while those that support Real Madrid and Juventus you will honour for their immense talents and or wealth. Please note that I am exempt to the above guideline.

Next, it will be an unforgivable mistake to let me cook my own food or to let me eat food cooked by anyone else but you, and that includes the house-help. I expect you to perform your wifely duties diligently. You will cook and take care of me and in return, I will reward you with the D whenever you ask for it. In addition, you will be expected to know how to prepare Mukimo, which will be our family food, as dictated by Kikuyu custom and tradition. (I doubt my mother will give me her blessing if I marry a woman who can’t prepare Mukimo). In the event I do marry you and you don’t know how to cook Mukimo, I will expect you to learn how to do it within the first six months of our marriage. During this period, I will eat food that is not prepared by you and that will include Chips Funga(s) and or Chips Mwitu(s).

It is also, in my opinion, very important that we should have adequate time for each other if we are to form a strong family bond. As such, we will spend as much time as possible having sex. At least two times a day should suffice. Nevertheless, no one is perfect and neither will we. We will therefore allow a sex expert of the female gender to join us and evaluate our sex-life. This should be at least once every three months. You can call it whatever the hell you want, but I personally prefer the term ‘three-some’. Remember, AT LEAST once every three months.

Moreover, you will be a church-going woman. You will thus have to attend church every Sunday in order to pray for our family, as well as to pray for me so that I succeed- I am the breadwinner of this family after all, right? My success, as you already know, will determine how well I am able to take care of you and our kids. I therefore urge you fast at least once a month (just before pay day) so that I will have enough money for you and the kids after I drink, party and go wild. You are welcome to tag along whenever I go out drinking, but make prior arrangements for someone to take care of the kids. Also, if we go out, I cannot promise that I will not pick up any Chips Funga(s) or Chips Mwitu(s). I will however allow you to attend one or two parties every four months because I do not plan to be a selfish husband.

Finally, you will respect my friends and more importantly, my mother as well as the above guidelines. In return, I will love you till the day I take my last breath and I will support you, respect you and make you the queen of my heart.

Yours faithfully,

K.H.

P.S.- For a successful marriage, Chips Funga and Chips Mwitu are exclusively to be eaten by one of us; in this case, me. Chips Mwitu refers to any woman I will pick up on the street, not a prostitute. I will not give you AIDS.

P.S.S.- Failure to observe any of the above will be grounds for an immediate divorce.

Abortion is an expression of free will, but it is murder.

Today I feel special; special enough actually to not whine about how women make life difficult for men. I actually feel like I am one in a million. Of course I know how invalid this argument would be if I were in China, where one in a million translates into roughly three thousand other ‘one in a million people’ exactly like you, but what the hell. This is Africa; Kenya to be specific, where everything is either made in China or made in Kenya- by the Chinese. I feel special not because i finally got laid by Julie Gichuru, but because for the first time in my life, I feel I made a difference in someone’s life. In fact, if anyone cares, I feel I deserve a Nobel Prize.

As you all very well know, I now realize my days to fill the Earth are numbered courtesy of the woman that scared me half to death at Kenya Cinema the yesterday. Quite frankly, I understand what the Calendar in my living room feels to have her days numbered- yes it is a she. Don’t ask why, just know it has something to do with the photo on her that I realized is the ultimate icebreaker when I bring a chic home and has consequently gotten me laid a number of times. So anyway, since my near death experience, I decided to make my remaining days on Earth count. I just didn’t know how yet. However, the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that I first had to accept the fact that everyone is entitled to their opinion and that I had to figure out how to accept people’s opinions without compromising my own. You see, opinion, like an asshole, is one of those things that everyone has. No matter how big or small or how stinky or fresh they are, at the end of the day, everyone has an opinion. It means that you are accommodative enough, but it is up to you to convince people why they should go with your opinion. It was this decision that got me to the events of today and consequently, this post.

It all started yesterday in the morning when Ken, a pal of mine and a colleague at work, told me he needed to find an excuse to skip work; somehow for the next hour, it led to a serious brain-storming session as we tried to figure out the perfect excuse that was guaranteed to work. To cut the story short, we decided to tell ‘his highness’ that my colleague’s girlfriend was pregnant and that she had just called from the hospital saying that her water broke. You see, the beauty of it was that we had been making jokes in the office about who was going to be a father before the other and my boss is one of those people who just cannot avoid listening into conversations- his secretary too, although I tend to overlook this fact because she is totally bangable. And we knew he is the sort of person that takes things a little too seriously, hence it was undoubtedly going to work. True, it worked like a charm. He fell flat for the lie and at that point, we were convinced the pair of us would have made the best defense lawyers in the land. I really have nothing against lawyers, except I always warn people, be wary when dealing with one. Many lawyers are genuinely good people… it is the other 99% of them that give the rest a bad name.

By this point, I know you must wonder how Ken skipping work turned from being a solo project to project “WE skip work” I am sure. The simple reason is that I take my friendships quite seriously. I am the sort of friend that will be beside you in jail when you get caught committing murder because I was caught as I tried to help you conceal the evidence. So in this particular instance, I wasn’t going to let Ken enjoy his freedom alone. The sad thing about karma is that it always has a way of getting back at you… it is like misfortune, which never misses either. And it did strike us when we least needed it. Murphy’s Law dictates that bad things always happen when they are least needed or expected.

The instant we got out of that office, we knew we had a whole day to ourselves to party and simply spoil ourselves. We had made a list of people to call in advance- people that were jobless enough to turn up no matter what. We were happy; happier than my friend Elvis when he discovered he could actually delete Windows to create more space for porn in his computer hard drive, and then use a Linux Ubuntu Live CD to boot the computer and access the stash. No more creating folders and subfolders like ‘Office/Documents/Important/Backup/New folder/etc…/’. (It works by the way, this is not made up.) He is way past that age now, or so he tells us. Anyway, we had just left town and we were on our way to Ken’s place when his girlfriend, Anita, called.

That single phone call changed our day. Karma. Turns out she had missed her period and she actually thought she was pregnant. It gets worse. She was just from the clinic and they confirmed it. And she wanted to keep the baby. Her father is a senior man in one of the current government’s offices. And she’s still in school. Ken wanted an abortion done as soon as possible and he had somehow convinced her it was the best way forward. I would have been okay, except, I did not agree with them. In my honest opinion as I told him, Anita’s initial decision was the right one. It was finally time for him to take responsibility for his actions and I demanded they keep the baby. This baby was the product of a sperm that had fought so hard to beat the rest of the pack to the jackpot and only God knows whether it might have been the one with the DNA of the next president of this country… Okay, on second thought, maybe even the Antichrist, but hey, just like you and me, it deserved its right to life and to see the light of day. Human life is precious, it doesn’t matter how tiny. Besides, if WE did go through with the abortion, how the hell were we supposed to drink away OUR sorrows with no money?

To cut the story short, after I had successfully sold my opinion to Ken, we spent most of the day trying to convince Anita to keep the baby and then, she spent the remaining hours trying to convince us that the best step to take was to inform Ken’s parents as well as hers. In the end, neither party’s parents have been informed yet… We are in fact nursing hangovers and I don’t see either of us making it to work or school tomorrow in Anita’s case. What does matter though is that I feel proud of myself because today I saved a life. The moral of my story or rather, what I learnt from my experience is that not all babies are made as a result of alcohol and two, that alcohol does save lives at times. I believe God finally found a use for my alcoholic tendencies. I may have been selfishly trying to save money for alcohol by preventing Ken from going through with the abortion but it has to count for something that because of me, Kenya’s population expects to increase by one, or God forbid more, in the next nine months. Now, sadly, I have to say bye. My boss is calling I know to ask why I am not in for work and I am off to apply for my Nobel Prize.

 

WALKING HALF DEAD

Posted: March 20, 2012 by ketihapa in Death, Ugly, Women
Tags: , , , , , ,

Shock-vendorYesterday, I posted a piece on the blog about how I believe the end of the world will be caused by a woman. As expected, I ended up trying to convince people how I am not gay and how I have no personal grudges towards women. What I really should have said is that I have no grudges and neither do I have any resentment either, just a conviction that is firmly rooted in my subconscious that women are not to be trusted. But that is a story for another day when the dust has settled. The real significance of the events of Yesterday is that everything and everyone is trying to prove me wrong- that women can be trusted. And I was on my way to healing and rehabilitation that I could indeed trust a woman for most part of today, except I nearly died in the process.

So I am waiting for a niece of mine in town, specifically at Kenya Cinema because I cannot condone people who tell me to wait for them at Ambassadeur or worse, “Niko kwa hii building ndefu ya white karibu na Tea room…”, phone in my hand and wary of everyone passing by just in case Linda Ogutu happens to pass by. Lord knows I have made enough fun of her side effects in the recent weeks. I log on to twitter to post a funny thought that just came to my mind but I stop midway in disbelief. Shock registers next and before I know it, I am gasping for air. I know I am now on my bus ride to hell. Let’s face it, no way in hell I of all people I’m going to Heaven. Isn’t my fault really, but what am I supposed to do? I am claustrophobic and since my Pastor did mention that road to Heaven is quite narrow so being realistic, I know I just… I can’t. The only good thing is I know I am going to collapse and die peacefully in my sleep like my grandpa, unlike the passengers in his car who died kicking and screaming.

In front of me, two women pass by. The first one is pretty and I’m tempted to think it is the love of my life, Julie Gichuru, except I know she doesn’t wear condom shoes. I make a mental note- or rather, I do quick calculations with one of my heads- I leave you to decide which- and decide she isn’t worth the sweat. It is the second one that almost does irreparable damage to my eyes and consequently my nervous system. The woman is dressed in things I cannot begin to describe as clothes. Shoot me dead before I concede they even resemble clothes. But that’s not all; she looks like a scene from the last episode of Spartacus. Not bloody, just unbelievable. Okay, and maybe a little bloody too. She literally has every color on the visible spectrum of light, which my learned friend Fabian believes is what Torres uses to confuse his enemies- apparently he kicks the ball so fast that the ball goes beyond the speed of light, meaning it is not visible as it goes into the net and we only think he missed the goal because we see the ball outside the net after it has slowed down.

Anyway, back to this woman. She has on her every imaginable color if you consider that her face is black as well- note, I said black not dark. Dark is beautiful. She is hideous. In fact, the only thing that looks okay is her mascara, whose color matches with her top. I know it is okay to be ugly, but she seems to be overdoing it. My heart initially goes out to her, filled with deep felt sympathy and pity. At this point I blame God for how she looks because he is the creator after all… But that is short lived because she stops when she sees me. I panic, but not enough to make me run away. She starts smiling and from this point I know I am not safe. She starts walking towards me, but my back is already pressed to the wall at this point. I can’t run away. “Victor…,” she starts and I freeze. She knows my name. I feel a sweat make its way down my spine and I imagine what the lad I trained a few weeks back how to get the hot women would say. I could pray for a bus to hit her at this point, but there are no buses in sight. So I start wishing that I could die. Then IT happens.

I don’t really remember what happened next but I can conclusively tell you that I almost died. Or so my niece tells me. Apparently I got so scared to death I fainted. Okay, in this case half to death because I didn’t really die. I call it my near death experience but now I am worried that the next time I get scared half to death again I will surely die if the algebra I learnt in school wasn’t a fallacy. My point being, because of a woman, I am now literally walking half dead. I am just glad the woman in question wasn’t around when I came to because you wouldn’t be reading this post. Also, don’t look around for any CCTV cameras in that area to see her. I took the liberty of pulling them off to spare your lives- and my dignity. I know realize that life is too short to not think carefully about what you wish for.