If you’re reading this then I’m probably dead…
Okay, what am I even saying? I ain’t dead. Unless if I’m truly dead by the time you read this then I’ll really be dead, which will be an awesome coincidence, right? Otherwise I’m still alive here, I just thought I’d use that death thing as my intro since it always works for every boring movie I’ve ever watched, except when it’s being narrated by that deep Morgan Freeman voice and probably has some adult rated scenes featuring Priyanka Chopra and some other hot actress wearing a skirt so short you can see her stretch marks from an angle. I’ve never actually thought of dying, or just death in general. I still hope I have some more years to go, long enough to grow old and adopt a 20-year-old kid that has a stable job so I can make money off of him, get rich and send Mum those “Mama I made it!” messages I see some people sending their parents. Mum still thinks I’m a failure, and too lazy to even get myself a girlfriend like the rest of my age mates in the village who already have wives and five kids. But she’s kinda right, I’m lazy that way. That’s why I never even get the energy to worry about dying, except maybe for once or twice when I pass by my scary neighbor’s house and find him seated on his balcony. The nigga never greets people, never. I mean who doesn’t respond to a greeting? It’s just a simple phrase of hi then you say hi back to me and we’re good. That’s the yen in the yeng of good neighborliness. At least then I’ll get into my house and play my ohangla music at full volume in peace, knowing that I’m in good terms with my neighbor.
And don’t get me wrong here on the greeting stuff, I’m not saying you have to greet people back all the time but to me it’s just the tradition. As a kid Mum would have whooped my ass just for not greeting her in the morning. To Mum, that morning greeting was the first thing one should say after waking up, right after saying your morning prayers in the bed and asking God to forgive you for hugging your cousin the previous day. Yeah, among Mum’s five deadly sins, hugging anyone was a sin punishable by fire and brimstone. To her, a hug was just as dangerous as having sex with four females at the same time, and she would beat me like a parasite whenever one of my ugly brothers snitched on me that I’d hugged a cousin.
Wait; did I just say sex with four people? It’s called a foursome, yes? I’ve never had one, though it’s in my list of things I have to do before I die so probably someday I might. I think it’s at number three on my list, right after number two which is putting a question mark at the end of every sentence in the Bible to see if it will still make sense. The foursome thing is something I just stumble upon during my occasional visits to Redtube or PornHub once in a while when I take advantage of the office Wi-Fi before I get locked out by my bosses for downloading too much porn. But come to think of it, how do you do it, four people at a go? For me even just handling one person is too much work. I mean keeping up with those crazy sex styles is so tedious; like changing positions, licking whatever is supposed to be licked, rubbing what’s to be rubbed, changing positions again and carrying each other upside down like construction workers while putting the girl’s life at risk. Imagine slipping and she falls head-first into the concrete floor and she dies. Now you’re left there stark naked with an erect penis and a dead body on your carpet. Then you get arrested for murder and spend life in prison getting screwed in the ass by inmates at whichever prison you’ll be sentenced to, something you’d have avoided if you’d have just done it my way, the missionary way, on the bed with one two three thrusts and baam! We’re both done. We get out of bed, take a shower and you leave my house, I need some space for fucks sake. But the foursome thing, I hope to catch up with you people someday, I’m still learning slowly, or at least from the videos I been watching. My laptop’s porn stash is almost hitting an all-time high of 32 GB hidden somewhere in the Program Files folder on my laptop and the poor machine has even began to crash whenever I play some of them. Asa Akira, Lisa Johnson and Sasha Grey top my list just to mention but a few.
Back to some sane stuff. Actually today’s one of those days too, those days when I got nothing to do, just holed up in my house wondering what to do. (Damn, it feels so nice to say my house. I’ve always wanted to say that to someone some day. My house) I’m just indoors relaxing, lying on my 4 by 6 bed staring at the ceiling rubbing my balls and contemplating whether to go for my Vaseline or not. Suddenly the phone rings. I look at it to see who’s calling, hoping it’s one of those clean lesbians I met the other day on the staircase the other day, or maybe it’s one of the two pretty ladies that were at my door the other day that had come to collect payment for the garbage collection. Mehn, those were two very fine ladies, I almost ended up paying double the amount I’m supposed to be paying. So I get up to the phone hoping to talk to a lady only to see it’s Deno calling. I pick it up, about to receive, but then I realize there’s nothing important to say to Denis so I just get pissed off and put the phone back on the table. Why do Denises have to be so annoying even without opening their mouths? Oh, Deno is this office buddy of mine that used to be with us at this place where I work (okay, basically I just spend my day behind my laptop mining data and listening to Vicmas Luodollar – Bank Otuch all day and pretending to work) Deno used to be here with us here some time back but got his dumb ass fired some time back. I still don’t know what he did wrong, probably he got drunk at some office party and started thinking the boss is his age mate, calling him bro, telling how he’ll be the best man at his wedding and trying to teach the boss how to apply hair gel on his hair and shit. Yeah, he applies some funny hair jelly on his hair during such events. At times I even think he probably owns more makeup than his girlfriend. So the nigga probably ended up pissing off the boss with his drunk chat and that was the last we saw of him till some days back when he resurfaced from I-don’t-know-where, telling us how he’s a changed man and how all men have sinned and no one cometh to the Father except through him. But all that church bullshit ended after he realized telling me such stuff was as useless as placing condoms in a convent, preaching to the wrong choir. The phone’s still ringing; I look back at his call and decide not to pick it up. He’s probably just calling to ask “Leo form iko wapi?” and since I don’t feel like going out today, he’ll just end up pissing me off insisting that I have to be at his place coz apparently ‘ako na madem nikuje na tei’. Nigga, who told you I’m even interested in those girls? Anyway Deno is a good guy, ask Mercy.
So I take out my laptop watch an episode of Shameless then it hits me, today I need to write, I got to write something. Anything. And it’s not because I want to, but because I made some stupid promise to myself and swore that I wouldn’t get laid until after posting my first post of this year and considering that I haven’t posted anything so far this year, your guess is as good as mine; it’s dryspell galore over here and I even think I’m at that point where anything said softly by a lady sounds like a sexual innuendo to me. The other day I was in this bus headed home when some lady whispered over my ear telling me to open the window and I can swear I almost told her I love her. Yeah, it’s that bad, and the sooner I do something about it the better. I got to write and post something, man.
But first I got to clean this place. Remember I told you I got nothing to write, yes? Yeah, today’s just one of those lazy days where I just stay indoors in my boxers all day doing nothing. The best thing I’ll do today maybe is to clean this place, tidy it up a little, make sure all my clothes are washed now that there’s this new lady that sits next to me at the office and so it’s kind of compulsory to be washing my clothes and ironing them every day and stuff. Heck, before she came I didn’t even care about that, I’d just be recycling my clothes and wearing them from Monday through Friday. Typically I’d just wake up, jack off, wipe that shit off my chest, get up and go to work. But now, now I have to bathe and make sure my shirts are clean, ironed up and shit. This is so unlike me. I’ve always believed that things like cleanliness and bathing are just overrated. Yeah, bathing, shaving, and sex. Well, the sex part is mostly because I rarely get laid but hell yeah it’s still overrated. But now thing’s changed around here, cleanliness and shit. I even don’t know how I survived January without requesting for a change of sitting places. Okay, over here we don’t have such stuff as requesting change in sitting places, you just pick up your seat (which is some fragile plastic chair that is always threatening to break any minute) and move to wherever you wish to sit. But I didn’t change places. I’ve survived so far.
And God knows I’m never comfortable around ladies at close proximity. I usually just end up staring at them straight into the face and mumbling something about their teeth or eyeballs and I begin sweating like a stupid person.
But I’ve survived; maybe 2018 isn’t that bad after all, maybe it’s a year of success. Maybe I’ll even I’ll finally get over Atieno and start a fresh. Okay, what am I even saying? I don’t think I’ll ever get over that. See? Told you I don’t know how to handle myself when seated close proximity to another person of the female species. I usually just start saying stuff that doesn’t make sense. Probably this short period has messed up my mind already, making me start thinking of unreasonable stuff like how I’ll save my money, invest in bonds and shares (I don’t even know the difference between those two) and finally buy that Kawasaki Ninja I’ve always dreamt of since my girlfriend dumped me for a guy that owns one. I hear the nigga stays somewhere in Kasarani, I’m still planning on how I’ll go pay him a visit and beat him up. Hell yeah he deserves the beating, thinking he can just come from wherever he came from and steal my girlfriend like that. But who am I kidding; I got no muscle to beat that guy. I ain’t that pumped up enough to be risking my life trying to start a fight with a Kisii guy. Those people can beat you up goch kisumo. The only pumped up thing I got in my body that is worth noting is my big kitambi. Yeah, I’ve grown this big fat belly since I got this job and judging by the trend, I guess it aint going away anytime soon. Now picture that and try imagining a buffed up nigga and another nigga with some abnormally large belly trying to fight. The guy with the belly is definitely bound to lose. And since I still don’t mess with Mother Nature and motherfucking Kisiis, I’ll probably just organize with my high school buddies and tell them to go beat him up. Damn, I can’t even believe in myself enough to get revenge on the nigga. But hey, that’s just me. I never believe in revenge, especially on a nigga that snatches your girl from you like that. I’ve only ever believed in two things, the constitution, and boobs. Those are the only things that can’t let me down. Any other thing apart from those two is a no no for me.
Now I think I got to stop ranting. I’ve said a lot of unnecessary stuff already. Maybe I should have just stuck to not writing and extended my spell period. But who cares? At least I did something with my weekend now that all my mates are either somewhere in some club watching EPL football matches or discussing politics, and I hate both of those. I hate politics, or at least I used to love politics till I realized there’s no point talking politics with Gilbert. Maybe football, but then he’ll start making fun of Arsenal and that’s another argument I won’t win. So I’m just here cooped up indoors like a brooding hen. I stopped watching EPL matches too, my club Arsenal still sucks big-time, nothing interesting to watch. I’m always sure we’ll lose so why even struggle to go watch something I already know the result. Maybe Arsene Wenger needs to die first (or fast)…both are okay.
Now I got to go. I think I hear those lesbians climbing up the stairs. One is talking about something to do with damaged batteries; maybe they’re coming to ask if I got an extra one, who knows? I got to go. See you.