INTERLUDE

Am of the view that exes can’t be, shouldn’t and don’t have to be friends.
Its loads of elephant dung if u asked me (I know u didn’t ask me, but who frags?)

The dic defines ex as;
Adjective
1. out of fashion
Noun
2. term to define someone’s former, partner, lover...blablabla!

But in IT lingual it’s closest to the “.exe” filename extension which means EXECUTABLE.

The fore runners of IT dem days related this to ex’s, coz all ex’s can be and should be EXECUTED.Implying that, for all I care u can execute the good for nothing whoring bitch. You could take her to the guillotine and behead the sucker and I would not even flinch an inch (I just rhymed).

Actually I would gladly hold the basket into which the head is to roll. I would savour every drop of blood that would splash onto my face as a result, and I wouldnt wash it off for days. I would tell everyone who cared to listen (even if u didn’t care to listen I would force it down your thick ear drums) the reason for my blood stained face.

“This is the blood of the executable. She thought she had the last laugh, but now her blood sinks ever so quickly into the soil, right into the chambers of Jezebel’s Hades from whence gazillions of other blood sucking nymphs are bred”.

And for emphasis don’t forget to swirl up some nasty mucus-ish saliva and spitting on the ground right next to the listener’s foot. Trust me, he will get the point.

And catch this, when I do decide to wash off the filth, I will drink the water I have used. I’ll then get onto a bus to her ancestral home with my heavy laden bladder and then piss all over the ex’s white washed grave stone while shouting
“R.I.P….Rest In my Piss”

BWAHAHA! BWAHAHA! BWAHAHA! (Evil laugh)

I know, its such a sweet send off, you don’t have to tell me…


By-the-way, don’t get me twisted, I loved all my 6½ exes, thanks to them I lost my mother given innocence in dark alleys, amidst bushes and hedges, behind big scary trees, dingy store rooms and smelly toilets(am getting nostalgic), not to mention in their father’s houses-those witches. And all of them have contributed to creating this awesome, kickass son of a gun, whose blog u so love…

Anyway, am of the view that exes can only be friends if

1. The loser who was dumped gets someone way better than the ex. This makes the dumpee get over her quickly. He would be friends with the dumper just to spite her, and without words taunt her,“I was doing you a bloody favour, but all along I could do better”

2. If both get someone not as good as the ex. That way both end up losers, a stalemate of sorts, a 0-0 score line…pathetic

3. Last but not least, if the ex gets knocked by a boda boda and gets a limp amputated. There human empathy would kick in. Note; If knocked by 2009 Merc or BMW it doesn’t count, coz in most cases the driver will most probably be able to afford the bill in a fancy hospital with doctors and nurses way cooler than the dumpee, which is just down right unfair.

Apart from these reasons, ex’s should never, EVER be friends, If you as much as smile at your ex, I will come at you like the evil monkey in Chris Griffin’s closet (Family Guy) and shove something nasty up that thing your sitting on….

part 3

This is highly inaccurate info coz I was under semi-influence of the drink that Russian’s are weaned on, Vodka..

As Pierre rumbled on and on about how the gal who had promised her “some” had a fine body to die for; an ample bossom,hour glass figure, hips like the moon’s curvature that would even make the Pope look twice….Blab la bla!, a lass gracefully entered the room. Actually graceful was an understatement, she literally glided into the room as if being carried by the wind. I immediately sobered up to behold this nice piece of……(fill in anything u have stood in awe of).As she neared my optical “snipping” range my mouth (which had been so widely open it could have taken in a bus) closed as I recognised who it was. To Pierre’s amusement I immediately ducked behind him so that the lady didn’t see me
.

“Dude what is the matter with you?” Pierre bewilderedly asked

“For the sake of all that’s under the sun, don’t dare move an inch” I replied..
(I will skip this part coz it was rather embarrassing as the damsel had already seen me and heading straight to where we were)

Anyway the zib was that I had had a brief thing with this chick. I had told her that am not a party/night person and a tee taller; yet here I was, semi-drank in the middle of the night. I had dumped her with the excuse with the lame excuse that her everyday nocturnal activities made me insecure, and that we were totally different people.

However, the truth was that despite her good looks she had nothing else going for her. I would have endured if she was a blonde, but she is just plain downright daft; having a conversation with her tantamount to UTTER boredom, it was a torturous affair to say the least.
But let me not take the shine away from her coz she is a sight to be behold, she is a head-turner, a show stopper, traffic jam causer and she basks in the glory.. Man she was, she is, and shall always be FINE (till she pops some equally daft kids of course).

The flip side of having her by my side was that I became more popular with the boys, who wanted to know how I hooked her. And it also led to more gals wanting me; they must have thought that I must have something special going since I had beautiful damsel by my side...DUH! (have never understood gals psyche setup).
It was a match made in heaven, if it hadn’t been for her rather “minute” flaw; I had the brains, she the looks; I had the charm, she the elegance….SIGH!! it saddens me to this day, such looks all washed down the filthy drain of mental underdevelopment.


“Hey Njagala Philip” she called out, “Why are u hiding from me?”

“Hey Chantal how are you doing?”, I replied as I waved my wallet “Was just picking up my wallet that had fallen from my pocket”

“Thought you didn’t drink or stay out late”

“You are alluding to an illusion my dear”,I responded

“Huh! what you mean? You still use your fancy words I notice”

And then she took a pause, crossed her arms,and shifted her weight to one leg to try and figure out what I had meant.(since when did people strike a pause to think?)
She gave up after 2seconds and introduced some pot bellied fellow who had followed her and was now hovering over her like a vulture.

“This is Mike,a very good friend of mine;Mike meet Piere”

She didn’t bother introducing Mike to me coz I already knew who he was
Pierre shook Mike’s hand, but I had quickly occupied my one hand with a bottle and the other with my wallet so as not to shake Mike’s hand and just nodded lazily in his direction, leaving his hand in mid air….
See I and Mike had a history which started off when….

(TO BE CONTINUED SOON)

Anonymous Observer (Sequel)

I nearly got chocked by my drink when I heard his response

“No! I didn’t ask what u do, I asked how…” I stopped half way coz I figured my efforts would equal attempting to get water from a rock..
“What of you, what do u do?” JoBo asked.
“I am a social-psychologist”, I said.
“What is that”, he said.
“Its someone involved in the study and analysis of human behaviour and interaction both at the individual level and group level in different environs ….”

I paused for a moment for effect, to allow the poor fellow’s brain to take in the info, mathematically compute it and come up with an appropriate response…
But it seemed his brain jammed with the overload and he knowingly just nodded his head
“Oh! Now I get”
“No you don’t, Gorilla Unit wannabe” I thought to myself.

Sarrrrah who had been restless all this time, tagged JoBo’s jeans and told him that she hadn’t come here to stand around, but wanted to go and dance.

“Sorry man, chat with u later”. He mumbled as he was dragged like an ox to the fields.

“Break a leg”, I shouted back, raising my now third bottle up in salute.
Sad, didn’t get to thoroughly psycho-analyze the pair.

I decided to look for a high stool at the end of the bar, to give myself a better chance of escaping the lunacy around me, coz the crowd was swelling up. I made a bee line for one that had just been vacated right before a near by lady could sit on it. I beat her to the seat with only a tenth of a second to spare. It was so close that the lady didn’t notice I had already sat. So her soft cushy bottom ended up on my upper lap(it was a half second of total bliss).

She jerked up suddenly
“Ooops sorry, thought it had been vacated”, she said.
“Your powers of grammatical analysis impress me, miss.” I replied. “Hearing that u have used the past tense, as opposed to the present continuous. Which in this case would be, “I am sitting on this stool”?

“Waaaat--evaaaa!!!!!” She spat back-quite literally- with American ghetto-fabulous attitude. She emphasized it with well coordinated hand, finger, neck, head and eye movement.

“However I am gentleman enough to share my seat with you. Come and sit on my lap,I guarantee 100% comfiness. You would be the only person at the bar on a stool that has back support, leg support, arm support and any other “support you would fancy””
“You’re an effing cuss, you know that?”
“Born and bred, my dear. Born and bred” I snorted back
“Screw you”. She hissed back..
“Not here in the open public, perhaps maybe at your crib after the party”.
Miss ghetto fabulous had had enough of this self worshiping narcissist oaf, and ended our dialogue with a polite flip of the middle finger and waltz away.

It was just as well, coz the DJ had started to play my favourite contemporary music, which never fails to deliver me a height (won’t mention the genre of the music lest some of you start to think it cool to listen the same music that I do). I started to bob my head side to side feeling the bass and the beat.
As a matter of principle I don’t dance. Not even if it was meant to save my miserable soul. A great man once said,

“We gangsters we don’t dance, we boogie”
(The Dogfather, Snoop)

Well he never included us great men of the intelligentsia.

“We of the intelligentsia don’t dance, neither do we boogie, but we nod our big brains gently left to right, front to back”
(Njagala The great)
(For full effect, tilt the head slightly and have a smirk face to match the bashfulness)
Reason for this; is that we can’t afford to disturb the well organized sequence of nation building thoughts in our heads with excessive, uncoordinated and useless body movement, people call dance.
Should is say, its a form of self preservation, we endangered creatures have taken up.

As I neared brainwave ecstasy, some scruffy hands grabbed me.
“Guess what man”. Pierre shouted
“What’s with you, man? Don’t encroach on my space like that unannounced”. I grumbled back. “And no, I can’t guess whatever u want me to guess”
“She has promised me some, some”
“Who has promised whatever to whomever?”
“The girl whom I had gone to talk to”
“You mean the half drunk damsel of the UFASD that you abandoned me for, and left me with your weird pal JoBo and Sarrrrah?”
“She said I and her are on this weekend for a nookie.”
“Dude! She just said that to get you off her back. She won’t give you any some-some, not even in your wildest wet dreams”

………At this point the conversation took an adult drift which my mamma wont be proud to hear that I discussed on this forum, so…Peep! Peep! Peeeeeeeep!

In the meantime, the 7% alcoholic drink had started to kick in, and its supposed to make the story juicier. However, the flip side is that it made my memory quite hazy about what followed after.
Notwithstanding, I promise to fill you in as soon as I manage to siphon that night’s details from my brainiac black hole…for now…I go blank, and step back into the darkness from whence I came, and behold all of you simpletons as….
“THE ANONYMOUS OBSERVER”

Shalom, my dear Lovers&Haters.

Anonymous Observer (Part1)

Went for a friends b.d party the other day out of the sheer lack of better things to do and the tedious need to catch up with my old friends, foes and nemesis,and also to do what i do best,observe human behavior. I tried to camouflage into the surroundings by avoiding anything that would label me a tee totaler and so picked the next best thing,Smirnof Ice.

Partial reason for this,was that among the bums present were members of the soon to-be-famous United Front Against Soft Drinks(UFASD).A group of soon to be drankards, who push a swallow as if they were weaned on the most potent alcohol. UFASD, coming to a bar near you,remember to mention that u heard about them from me 1st...

Now where was i again,the party..yes..one of the reasons i hate parties is the small talk that at times comes with it. Am no fan of small talk,actually i hate the whole affair.Its as interesting as watching two flies mate;although i know some of my friends like Jason,Denis,Kahuma and the two Paulo's find it an interesting pass time,well i dont..

At this particular party my friend Pierre introduced me to some guy,whose name aint worth remembering;but since he is pivotal in the story,let me give him a name befitting his persona,let me call him John Bosco aka JoBo,and his galfriend Sarrrrrrah - thats how JoBo pronounced it in his thick Kinyakorrrrrre accent.
After the introduction, by my "introducter" friend he excused himself to go across the room to chat up some semi-drank damsel whom he hadnt seen in a long time and said owed him "some,some"(yet to figure out what that means).

This left the "introductees" in an akwardly loud akwardness,which was only broken by JoBo's unrhythmic heavy breathing, characteristic to someone who has got mucus stuffed inside their nostrils...Eeeeuuu! and the absurd noise from Sarrrrrah's futile attempts to sing along to Kanye's Heartless..(without being too harsh and with minimal detail);she dragged the song through Hell's musical gutters,and by the time it re-emerged from her mouth,it smelt like hippo excrement

.. ANYWAY...i decided to check out JoBo's outfit consisted of a variety of material's,namely; jean pants,jean jacket all iced up with a jean baseball cap-i never knew they even existed.And by the way he walked,i bet he had jean briefs underneath. Sarrrrrah on the other hand was a delightful spectacle of pink shoes,pink top and a pink skirt that wouldnt fit my 4 year old sister.you and i dont have to guess the colour of her undergarment.
I took one quick look at the pair and knew they would make a good case study for my study on human behavior. In an effort to break the silence i initiated conversation with JoBo,"How do u do?" JoBo replied,"I do BBA at MUBS....".....

..(At this juncture i got my confirmation that I had got another specimen for my study human behaviour) ..

TO BE CONTINUED...