Posts Tagged ‘Supra’

Joining Campus is a dream for most teens who can’t wait to experience ‘life’

By Preston Adie

You probably have seen them around. Purple shirts, shorts or trousers. Male, female, they’re all alike. They speak fast and in a language i somewhat find juvenile and creepy, with a vocabulary mostly limited to words like “forever”,  “OMG” and “I’m in campus”. Fact is unlike the times when shoes used to be black or brown, they brought the age of rainbows on feet and whatnot, a vast array of colours ranging from yellow to orange. Yes, they own wardrobes that would make  Justin Bieber jealous.

Ok ok I know am a being harsh but freshmen are a menace we cannot do without. We all love fresh meat, or so they are referred in a number of campuses.

Every campus right now is crying foul for having its share of idle teenagers just over their eighteenth birthday. Some haven’t learnt how to use their freedom and others are still lunging on the reality that their parents won’t have a close eye on them. Well, I can’t be hard on them because it was that year that I did a lot of experimentation (Read I figured out drugs are way easier to get than sex.) Like the first time i unhooked a bra. For me  it was the first time it felt like I unwrapped a gift while actually staring at it! My mind probably second guessed the color of nipples from purple to pink or even the dark kind I haven’t seen thus far.

There was also the time when I group caressed a girl. I know some of you are asking themselves how the hell I am narrating my escapades like am the only guy who has a story to tell. Well, now am gonna STFU. Truth be told, when I came to campus I feared I would fall in love with a pretty girl with a perfect body who would soon grow stout and I’d be stuck in the relationship like my neighbour Joe  and I prayed I wouldn’t end up like him. But you know what they say, Äsiyeogopa ngómbe yeye ni ngómbe”, ooh that didn’t come out right, did it? But I guess you get what I mean.

Am digressing again, forgive my enthusiasm. Writing about freshers aint an easy task. First after being in campus for 4 years a lot of things become less interesting. Like listening to a girl go on and on about how some Jamaican broke out of Jail and how the guy is the best at singing shit. Or about her friend who got a non-existent iPhone 6 from her boyfriend and she wishes you’d do the same for her.

Ok

She doesn’t put it that way but listening to such people kinda reminds me suicide is always an option. I could have more fun gorging my eyes than listen to some fine looking just-matured woman go on and on about things I pretend to like just so I could get laid. If you think it can’t get worse, believe me, you haven’t been with a girl with a British accent. She’s from Chuka, mind you. You try nodding your head in awe (it has more to do with whatever multi-coloured abomination on her head than whatever she’s actually saying.)

I know what you’re thinking, I have poor taste in women. True, I confess; But what does it matter. When a girl tells you she has a tattoo on her boob and there are more in places you can only imagine, you will sit back patiently, nodding your head to everything she says, waiting for the opportunity to explore America. And hopefully raise your flag. Wink wink. Bow-chica-wow-wow!

But, that is of little consequence to this piece.

Anyway, I decided to go to school to pay my school fees sometime in last week all the while hoping and praying  there won’t be a line stinking of cheap perfumes characterized by numerous pk moments. I picked a Friday for the simple reason that I figured most of these newbies would be in pubs experimenting with ARVs (read popov and KK) while others I supposed would still be going whoa when they see ladies with nothing on but fishnets. Those from Ruiru would probably be selling condoms at a C.U. meeting somewhere on Campus, telling people how pre-marital sex is a sin punishable by the eternal fire of Hell.

Well, good for them; they probably haven’t met Mwangi yet. I give them three weeks to get his number at their fingertips  when they figure out that they can buy everything imaginable from him and that everything he sells is “original”. If they need cheap liquor, rare music, that big china phone, weed, a room or even the number of that hot chick you’ve been checking out, trust Mwangi to get it for you. At first, he won’t say he knows what you’re talking about; only when you’ve pinned him down does he go, “Ai tulia pwana if siinjui si ndaingoongoo.”

So while am standing on the line to pay my school fees and all the while listening to The Scripts New album #3 someone taps me on the shoulder. At first I act like nothing has happened because I understand the joy of coming to campus and doing everything you have ever wanted. For the boys it will be have a threesome, group sex and get in bed with all the cute chicks in campus. Don’t forget going to class drunk on a daily basis (read every Tuesday and Thursday). The ladies on the other hand are probably talking about wearing as much make up as possible, look better than Janet Mbugua and fall in love.

Fail!

Fall in love with who? Who will love you when all the men have their intentions clearly cut out. If you want love here’s my advice, join CU and you’ll be lucky if you don’t end up singing the same songs every Sunday only in different tunes. Some will be lucky to escape with a baby(ies). The ladies will cry themselves to the student counsellor’s office or those defunct peer counsellors who don’t know shit. Then there will come that inevitable rumour that HIV/AIDS prevalence rates have been on a steady increase since all the girls you know joined campus and the condom business will skyrocket. A few tears will be shed and certain realities accepted. But that is campus.

I guess what am saying is, as much as my first instinct is to hate on every fresher out there, I’ve been there and done that. So to all the freshers who read this, forgive me if I step on your fake Supra shoes. Don’t pick a fight with me, I’ve been lifting weights the last four years. And don’t talk loud, if you have to talk in a loud voice go clubbing. Unless you are sure, don’t say am the nicest guy you
have ever met because all I want is some action. Ooh and one more thing, I hate you all unless you can offer valuable information like which campus Miss Karun has or is joining so I transfer there.

Also, I have come to the sudden realization that mentioning that I went to cum-pus last week Friday is irrelevant to this piece. And the person that tapped my shoulder did it by mistake. Miss Karun is now naked in my mind too. Gotta buy another kilo of Vaseline, bye.

Preston is a blogger on http://stalkerdiaries.wordpress.com/ and can be found on Twitter as @Jahnekoh.

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.