It’s my phone ringing that wakes me up. I’m a little buzzed but clearly not drunk enough because I still have the capacity to know it’s 2 am. I’m also fully aware I have the right to reject that call but out of curiosity, I check who’s calling. No Name. I remember her vividly, No Name. We met at a club earlier on before I decided I’d had enough and called it a day. She’d given me her number, but as usual, I managed to forget her name, hence No Name in my phone book. Begrudgingly, I pick it up; again, out of curiosity.
“Joe, I need your help. Please. I’m in jail and I need cash to bribe the police. I’m desperate and I don’t know who else to call…”
Well, at least she remembers my name; the made up name I told her that is. At this point, I realize I have a stupid decision to make. It’s fine by me if she wants the D; but why on Earth would I in my right mind go to a police station drunk in the first place? It’s way past Mututho time. Not that it matters, Mututho stated I shouldn’t have any more drinks after 11, which technically means I can drink up to 10 drinks, right? Anyway, at this point, I’m pissed off. More at CCK than at myself for giving a drunk gold digger my number. If CCK had kept their end of the deal, hell, none of this would be happening. I probably gave her my number with full confidence that at 12.00 am 1st October her phone would be switched off. Bastards.
To be honest, I’m not quite sure I know anyone who’s phone has been switched off. In my honest opinion, I think it was a scam to get people to finally buy new phones. I assume No Name has probably not paid her Okoa Jahazi debt and Safaricom have instructed CCK to wait till their debt is settled. Or maybe she downloaded the app from China that supposedly prevents your phone from being switched off. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that phones whose vibrations are louder than their actual ringtones that are made in Thika Road are still on.
I decide to play FIFA 13 so that I can sober up enough to make the stupid decision I know I still have to make. Ok, technically, I’m using No Name as an excuse to play FIFA at 2 am. Yeah, I guess I’ll forever be alone. But hey, on grounds of common sense I refuse to commit my life to a person who spends more time thinking about what men think than the actual amount of time I actually spend thinking. So, don’t judge me if I prefer to play FIFA and drink instead. In fact, FIFA 13 is so realistic, if you start your career mode with Joey Burton you start from jail.
2.47 am and I still haven’t decided yet whether to be the knight in shining amour for No Name. Somehow I decide to call her and ask what police station she’s been taken to. Thika. Great; just great. I hate Thika police station. It’s the same place my pals and I were locked up in for allegedly trying to rob an ATM machine. We were drunk, mind you. Policemen sure do know how to over-estimate people’s abilities.
To be fair, they have made a few right calls over the past few weeks; more specifically, Waititu’s case. It was a good decision you will all agree with me, to arrest a politician who seems to forget that hate speech is exactly what caused the Post Election Violence back in 2008. In fact, the 2 million cash bail he paid is not enough to repair the potential damage he may have caused. I presume his role model is probably a moron like him, like say, Yahya Jammeh, the Gambian president. The idiot claims he can cure AIDS if he kisses you and as a result, he should be made King. Which King executes people by firing squad?
Anyway, I decide this saga has gone on for far too long and that it’s about time I ended it. I have made up my mind to tell her that I am sorry I lied to her. I am not a teacher and I do not have a Ksh 13.5 billion salary increament backdated to July. Also, my uncle is not Kenyatta and that the money I used to buy drinks with was my HELB that has since been spent on drugs and other related activities. However, just then she calls back and tells me she’s been bailed out by a friend of hers who knows people and she appreciates all the help I was planning to offer. Also, I shouldn’t call her in future. She hangs up.
I’m seething with rage. I’m not sure why. But I assume it is the kind of rage Baraton University students had to dare to go on strike because they were being graded based on Church attendance. Brats. If someone gave me the opportunity to quit reading and get marks instead of going to church I’d gladly do it. I’d even get saved. Ok, maybe that I wouldn’t do, but seriously! At least UoN students had the decency to give absence of lecturers as a reason for setting up a strike within a strike. Inside information however indicates they went on strike to demand that the lecturers’ strike be prolonged- someone on Twitter called it Inception.
Again, I check the time. 3.40 am. Perfect. Now I have one less booty call whose name I still have no idea and my sleep is gone. The only good thing is that in Gay.K.U.A.T people never sleep and I’m sure I’ll find some party with more Dicksons than Punani to crash and I’m sure there’ll be free alcohol. Good thing I was in bed fully dressed, or Commando, as some of you would call it. And if I don’t I’ll just bask in the glory of knowing that Justin Beiber vomited on stage during a performance which proves she’s pregnant.