Christmas, glad it’s finally over. The whole Christian world was so orgasmic about the second coming of Jesus Christ. Even those of us who aren’t actually Christians as such were forced to sit and read all their rants on how they planned to spend the twenty fifth day of December. Now I don’t have a problem with that, I got no problem with anyone who wanted to celebrate their heads off. Those who believed in going to church woke up on that morning and went to fast and pray the whole day in church. Those of us who take alcohol got drunk and danced their heads off in the strip clubs downtown as some danced to remember, some danced to forget, and nobody cared. And to those who just live their days as zombies, doing nothing from dawn till dusk…I don’t know whatever you did for fun but who cares either, you had fun in whatever way you do, either by just staying indoors wanking yourselves off, or you just stayed holed up in your bed like the queen of Sheba and reminisced on your sad lonely life. A sad lonely life that can be avoided by just following one simple advice my grandpa gave me; sometimes the secret to finding happiness is finding a member of the opposite sex and shagging yourselves to sleep. But who am I to tell you that, am just another ordinary human being who knows nothing about love. Let me just stick to today’s topic; Christmas and all the overhyped celebrations. And just as I read somewhere, Christmas is just a baby shower that goes completely overboard.
I don’t know why but growing up I never saw the relevance of celebrating Christmas day. Or let me just say my dad made us believe that the day was irrelevant. To him it was all a waste of time, money, and unnecessary excitement for nothing.
“Christmas is just like any other day son, like any other day”
That’s what he’d say whenever I asked him what he would buy me as my Christmas present, and that’s if you got him in a good mood. Try asking the same question when he’s in a foul mood and the ass whipping you’ll get would be heard all over the neighborhood. Any question about Christmas celebrations would be the trigger to a whipping. It didn’t matter whether it’s me who asked, or my two other brothers. He’d still whip us, all of us, and I still don’t know where he got all the energy for a triple ass whooping coz to the naked eye, dad seemed so gentle…till he took out his leather belt.
To dad whipping didn’t care who you were, big or small, first or last born…or whether your buttocks had pimples or dimples…it was the same all across the board.
So I guess you can now understand where all my rage about Christmas is coming from huh? And please please don’t get me wrong here and start feeling sorry for me that I had a sad childhood, or a cruel dad blahblah. No, my dad was always the best dad anyone would wish for…the best dad in the history of dads. Instead of the Christmas jittery, he’d prefer to let me sit with him on the bench outside on the lawn in the evenings and watch our neighbors pass by our compound as they rushed home to finish eating whatever special meal they’d prepared for the Christmas meal. Once or twice if a nice girl of my age passed by he’d turn his head a little to see whether I was looking at the girl or not, then he’d smile and give me a pat on the shoulder.
“Girls are just girls son, just girls”
That’s what he’d say, then we’d again drift into another period of silence till another girl passed by.
And speaking of girls, I remember one time I got caught at school writing a love letter to this beautiful classmate of mine and dad was called in. and just as was the norm, he walked into the office calmly with a very concerned face, took my love letter from the teacher, read it out loud and sat there the whole time listening to my crucifixion. Later on when we got home, instead of giving me the sex talk and a long lecture on unauthorized teenage pregnancies, he dropped two packets of condoms on my lap, smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder. Then he asked me if I had anything to say, an apology I guessed. So I took a deep breath, thought for some time then I began pouring out my heart on how sorry I was to disappoint him. I went on and on with my apology as he just sat there and stared at this Batman poster I had pinned up on my bedroom wall. Minutes later after I thought my apology was good enough to now stop apologizing further, dad just looked at me, smiled like he hadn’t even heard any word that I had been saying and in his deep Morgan Freeman voice he gave me another pat on the shoulder and repeated his words,
“Girls are just girls son, just girls…” as he calmly walked out of my bedroom.
Okay now I need to stop. Where am I even headed to with this whole girls discussion, this was meant to be about Christmas dickhead! And not about how my love letter to this cute classmate was finally given back to me by dad who made me promise him that this time I’d do it right. And I knew better than not to try and get caught this time coz any failure this time round would surmount to serious ass-whooping I think dad believed in giving second chances right huh? Me too. To him we could just hold hands, sing kumbaya and act like nothing had happened at school, as long as I didn’t repeat the same mistake. And just like that, days later I managed to slip the letter into Atieno’s mathematics text book. Remember Atieno? The one who loved me all through my childhood but dumped me the day she started growing breasts. Yeah my crush’s name was Atieno, way back when these funny names I hear girls call themselves hadn’t surfaced yet. I grew up knowing the names Atieno, Elizabeth, Emmaculate, Apondi, Nyambura and not like these days when you cant tell the difference between a girls name and the Biblical gifts of the Holy spirit. Nowadays all we hear of female names are Precious, Patience, Kindness, Weakness and any other name within that domain. The few indigenous names that we grew up with have been diluted to some funny short names of Atis, Eliza, Emma, Apos, Nyambz et all.
Now I think I should go back to my rant on Christmas, this thought of Atieno won’t lead me anywhere. It will only lead me to the path of memories, sad memories of how the same Atieno who I almost got an ass-whooping for, decided to dump me for some random military guy.
And so Christmas it was, and this time I decided to try something new, experiment and find out how it felt like to actually celebrate Christmas day.
After a few call to my friends seeking to find any one of them that was also formless and desolate as me, I finally got a positive response from one of them. He goes by the name William, Willy, Billy, Silly, or any other funny name you can think of so long as it has the letters ‘illy’ at the end. William told me to meet him in the infamous estate of Kayole and so armed with my Sportpesa earnings for the previous weekend, I stepped out of the house at around 2130hrs.
Forty minutes later and am walking down the streets of Soweto trying to trace William. He told me he was in the company of some of his friends but I guessed by the time I got there he’d probably be passed out in some trench, or beaten up by some other guy when he tried to ‘steal’ his girlfriend. Yeah he does that, William’s always out hunting for a girl to hit on, any girl so long as she’s nasty, cock-thirsty and probably got herpes too. I decide to call him again and instead of finding me on the agreed location, the bastard directs me to another location and says he’ll meet me there, maybe coz he doesn’t want me to see his new girlfriend, maybe she’s too ugly to be put under my spotlight…so after exchanging some few insults of umbwa wewe, fala hii, steve harvey, I agree to go wait for him.
Enter one Julius of Nyama Villa, the king of the North.
Okay he ain’t a king of the North, maybe South, maybe West I don’t know. He’s just Julius, or chairman, depending on how high you are when you meet him. He’s the guy that was supposed to come pick me on our agreed location with William and as serious as he at times pretends to be when he’s sober, the guys a complete idiot when drunk. Just hang in there I’ll get to this point hopefully.
Minutes later after I reach Nyama Villla and find Julius, we get a call from William the dickhead, saying he’s arrived. Remember I told you he likes girls right? He alights at the bus station in the company of three ladies who by now are also as drunk as the dickhead. Nice move buddy I tell him as I quickly dandia one of the girls, its going to be a long night of partying ahead and I wouldn’t like to be the one lonely fella that sits by the laptop acting as the DJ of the night just coz I have no girl to get down with. Am saying this coz actually instead of being three boys and three girls, the dickhead had decided to tag along his other male friend, mister X. He never talked much so I definitely don’t even recall his name. All I remember is he looked like one hell of a serious guy, too serious to be out at this time of the night. But who cares, I got my girl, the others can sort themselves out right huh?
Long story short, hours later and we’re all drunk at Julius’ house, singing to the topmost of our voices to some random songs I don’t even know. One of the girls gets moody, she catches mafeelings coz apparently Julius isn’t giving him the attention she needs yet she’s fallen for him. Actually all the girls fell for Julius, all of them. And don’t ask me how i knew, i just know. Maybe am just too good at overhearing girls moshene, or maybe am a psychic…but they all fell for him. And now don’t start thinking the rest of us were just a bunch of some ugly bastards, hell no..am sexy and I know it! In my defense I’ll say that since its a universal agreement that alcohol directs people towards the ugliest face in the room, the alcohol just directed them to Julius right huh. And so this girl that has fallen for Julius insists she wants to go home coz Julius isn’t giving her much attention. After trying to plead with her to stay a little bit longer, I give up on her. Jaluo oksechi, and I wont plead with her any longer. Coz after all I got a smoking hot girlfriend who also smokes cigarettes. Okay that first bit of smoking hot is subject to discussion, depending on how drunk you are. The second bit of smoking cigarettes, that’s true, shes a smoker.
My impromptu girlfriend is quite a heavy smoker. And in between her puffing, she’s giving me some random smoking lessons like its Training Day, lessons which just keep passing me by considering that unlike almost all my buddies, I never smoke anything. The only smoke I know is a smoking hot girlfriend, or smokies…no cigarettes for me. And all the time of her lessons am just thinking of the amount of ass whooping i would get if dad found me doing this. Remember i told u his whooping respects no age, size or location of the whooping. He’d just lash out his leather belt and whoop me like its the 3rd of July right here in front of my friends.
The second girl is busy rubbing her little bum, wining n jiggling on somebody else..and the other girl, the I’ve-Fallen-For-Julius girl, well i don’t even know where she is. The last time i saw her was when i met her on the balcony and she fell into my arms in tears. I tried asking her whats wrong but she couldn’t say, maybe Julius had once again ignored her for the wine-and-jiggle-bubble-butt girl..or maybe she just needed someone to calm down her horniness.
Hours later and as usual zangu zimeshika, im passing out. I don’t know why am always the first to pass out. Maybe this alcohol business is just too much for me. Maybe I should quit. Probably all this liquor I’ve been taking has chewed on all my organs and now am just organless, my liver is dead. Maybe I should quit drinking right? Passing out is fun by the way, I love passing out when drunk…at times i even pass out intentionally, a self-induced pass out. And now that am just about to pass out I decide to spend the last bit of my energy dancing with the smoker. She refuses, she just wants to stick to smoking and puffing. Okay, Mohammed has refused to go to the mountain, I’ll just find myself another Mohammed. I’ll take the bubble butt girl, at least she’s easy going. She agrees and baam! Am on the dance floor with a butt neatly tucked in a white pair of trousers twerking in front of me at a very close proximity to my lower abdomen. And she shakes it like she was born to twerk, forget these fake twerking that you see the likes of Nicki Minaj do. This girl does it naturally, like she’s the natural Minaj before the bleaching and butt surgery…forget the dry shakes that Miley Cyrus does, twerking is all about the mass of meat on a girls behind and Miley has no meat at all. Actually she’s so skinny that in case of an real zombie apocalypse nobody’ll even eat her coz upstairs, she has no brain, downstairs, no butt. And in a zombie apocalypse you have to provide something…shell just be that extra character that is so annoying but never dies in the entire movie, those ones who scream at the slightest thing, even the sound of their own fart scares them. The one character that was just added to the script to make it fun.
Minutes later during the wining, jiggling and twerking, I pass out.
The following morning I wake up without any clue of what happened yesternight. The first thing I do is check whether my zipper is open; you never know what might have gone down that road with three girls in a room, all drunk, and don’t forget William’s girls are always cock-thirsty, nasty and probably they’ve got herpes. No offence ladies. And considering that I didn’t have any protection with me before passing out, that’s the first thought that crosses my mind. My zipper is closed, William’s awake beside me, and Julius…Julius is locked himself in the other room with the smoker girl. What transpired in there is a story for another day…all I know is that at some point in the night Julius was heard speaking in tongues and shouting at the smoker girl “we chando chunya!” which roughly translated means stop disturbing my heart. Apparently the girl was proving a hard nut to crack on the bed, or should I say ‘a hard chipo to funga’?
That’s the only memory of the previous day that I had. The rest, as is the usual of me, is useless. All I care about is that I got drank, wined and jiggled, kissed a girl or two (which I didn’t even tell you in the story), passed out, and woke up without any STI on my genitals (am still not sure about this though).
And now I really really need to get a drink, I hear its called kutoa lock or something along that line.