Five beers later, I’m on the rooftop. I die tonight.
I hate you!
I scratch my face.
Take another sip.
This one I spit out.
Then I pour some down, libation to the ancestors.
One for Biggie Smalls,
2Pac isn’t getting any, I hear he’s still alive in Uganda having fun with Rihanna.
Then I take another sip.
This one I let it wash down my throat…
She left, again. And this time I am actually contemplating suicide. Why, why now? Why this time? Just when I was just beginning to think of how we’d get married, fly off to international waters and do to her all the things that are against the laws. Why do bad things happen to good people? With arms the size of my thigh, I’d lay on them all day; eat, have sex, sleep, wake up, have sex again…repeat the cycle.
And so I’m standing here on the rooftop, a bottle of Guinness kubwa on my hand. One last drink before I go. One last beer. If I die tonight, at least I’ll go down with something, with honor, with respect, with dignity, with Joy, with Grace, with Mercy, with Winnie, and all the girls I turned down in my quest for her. They all wanted me, I turned them down (I’m still not sure whether they really wanted me or it’s just an illusion I created in my head) But I turned them down.
I chose to stay single, single till the day I told her I love her. Even when the dry spell was killing me, holding my balls down and preventing me from flying to fulfill my dreams, I told them no. My sperms kept yelling at me, “We’re dying man! We’re dying! Do something, Jerk off, masturbate even!” I still turned them down. So now I die, die with unfulfilled dreams, unfulfilled aspirations, and unfulfilled dreams of old sperms that I refused to let out in my stupid quest for her.
She made me believe in love, and all the bullshit that comes with it. And now its all bullshit. Love is a lie, a lie that our elders told us, like the existence of Illuminati, or 2Pac being alive, or female ejaculation. Females don’t ejaculate, they never do.
There’s two things that always keep me awake at night, why did God put a heart in men, a heart that can be open by any lady and shuttered at any time. And why did God give nipples to men? They’re fucking useless there. Apart from once or twice when you get a crazy lady that wants to lick them, those things serve no fucking purpose.
Away from my nipples, I remember when she first told me she loves me. I was so excited I wanted to shout “halleluya!”…but in words of William Ruto I just shouted “Raila!” and said ‘ngai! But she still left me, and now I pray my wrath is visited upon her children and her children’s children and her children’s children’s children’s till the end of time. How could she?
I take another sip
And another one, this one I let it stay in my mouth
Wash out the thick saliva I’ve accumulated
Then I take another one
And another one
Damn, I gulp the whole bottle.
One bottle down, two more to go.
Two more then I finish my suicide note
She dumped me, said its not me, it’s her. That we just weren’t right for each other. That she still didn’t know whether I’m the right one for her or not. C’mon girl, you don’t get to stay undecided. You have to pick a side. It’s either me or nobody at all. Just like 2pac and Biggie it’s either you’re for Biggie Smalls or Tupac, there’s no in-between…or else you just support Timmy Dat and all his crappy songs. The guy sings like a lesbian, a male lesbian who has successfully undergone his transgender operation and is still undecided which voice to use: the one from his mama’s side or the one from his papa’s side. But why do men ever think of changing their gender to females? Deciding to change from man to woman is stupid, very stupid. Damn why would someone give up on being a man and change to lady. It’s like winning a multibet and giving it back to Sportpesa. Do you know just how many benefits of being a man are, do you? Do you even know the joy of peeing when standing up. And farting as you walk along the streets comfortably as you pretend to whistle along to some Ken wa Maria’s song and acting like nothing just happened between your two flat but cheeks? Heck do you even know how sweet it is to be on top (If you know what I’m saying). I think man-on-top is the best gift the missionaries ever gave us, right before they handed our country to the colonialists. How did they know about it?
Anyway as I always say, who am I to judge? I’m just a regular resident of Umoja Innercore who has had more sexual encounters than Donald Trump and all his sex scandals, thanks to grandpa. (RIP Grandpa, you the best)
Moment of silence…
Okay, the moment of silence is over, lets not be stupid. I’m even sure you didn’t pause for a minute there.
Grandpa taught me two things; how to deep fry fish, and how to kiss a girl. And I used to kiss the shit out of this girl way back when we were still in love. When I still knew which hole is right and which is wrong. Nowadays the only hole I know is my keyhole..and the hole in my palm when I fold it to jerk off. Yes I use my hands most of the time when the dry spell bites too hard. It’s my best friend, my palm, (or Pamela as this crazy workmate of mine will call it). This workmate who just likes roasting and making fun of other people as a hobby. She likes picking on me mostly, I don’t know why. I remember the other day she roasted me to a point that I got mad. Has someone ever made fun of you till it stops being a joke anymore and you just feel like smacking the laughter out of their face? Yes she does that. And for political reasons, am not going to mention her name here. But she’s a cartoon, we all agree on that, everyone in the office does. Everyone including this other colleague that never talks to anyone in this office. I think it’s coz maybe he carries secrets for the FBI, or Interpol, or ISIS. Or he just belongs to the Malaysian monks who swore an oath of silence and decided never to talk. Not even to whistle at a beautiful girl who passes by. Actually the only time I had him talk was one day when we went for lunch and the waiter served him a spoilt avocado. He threw tantrums, threatened to burn down the whole place if need be.
Anyway back to me and my present sufferings. It’s already 2:00 in the morning. Time is running out. I’m even beginning to question whether I even wanted to commit suicide in the first place. Or I just wanted to stand here on the rooftop, drink my Guinness and bore myself to death.
I don’t have the guts to do it. Heck I’m not killing myself. But of course I wasn’t meant to have the guts to kill myself, otherwise I’d have committed suicide, then I’d be dead. Then what would you be reading, stories from a ghost huh?
So I take another sip and another sip,
I lift my ass off the cold floor I was seated on
I take another sip.
Then I smile
another one (insert Dj Khaleed’s voice)
the smile comes back
This time it’s not my usual smile, this one is evil: the evil smile my grandma had right before she chopped off Grandpas manhood. I think I inherited it from her.
I’m chopping someone’s manhood tonight.
Whoever it is you left me for, his manhood will be gone before the end of the night….so help me Lord.