When people…myself included…say stuffs like “I can’t stoop so low as to fight” or stuffs like “I am above fighting” or simply say “You know me nah…I don’t like trouble” I wonder if they…we…actually know that they…we…can’t/wouldn’t fight because they…we…are cowards or have not actually had the need to fight.
When I say fight here…I mean throwing punches and kicks, clawing at faces, gripping necks and strangling, poking at eyes, biting wherever…now you get.
I think fighting isn’t so much about ego as it is about proving a point. It is more about surviving.
One sees two women fighting over a man…it is about survival.
On sees two touts fighting over money…it is about survival.
Even two little kids fighting over toys still boils down to survival.
I think people who would say they do not fight or who say they can’t remember the last time they fought are saying such because they haven’t really had a reason to fight and not because they are learned people…just re-echoing my earlier statement.
Now don’t get it twisted. I am not saying that it s good to fight. Heck! The last time I fought was in JSS 3…a long time ago, though I still remember the show somewhat vividly.
It was over a ‘whot’ card game. The dude i.e my contender was having issues with the way the game was ran and he was making trouble. I got angry and hit him…lightly o…to cool him down…I was a foolish move and he sparked up.
After that, it was all about surviving.
My yeye friends quickly cleared the desks for us and I wished they had taken me serious when I told them…”hold this guy o…hold him o”
Five minutes later we were sweating, he had a little scratch on his chin and I was bleeding from my nostrils.
I would later go home and tell my parents a bee stung me hence the swollen-black eye and my mum would fuss about me not being careful and how the school management weren’t doing things well while my dad would look at me with one-kain eye and ask “…Bee shey?”
Well, the good thing is that we finally made up and dude apologized and we are still friends, but I learnt a lesson.
Never get into a fight unless it is necessary…meanwhile don’t think you are too big or too refined to fight. Just pray you don’t find yourself in a situation that calls for you to fight whether you want to or not
NB: Wife/Husband/boyfriend/girlfriend battering isn’t fighting
I just recently moved into my new place…I don dey old o! …and I haven’t made much new friends. Just the other day, my neigbour, a big, pretty single teacher was so surprised that I went out and that I even had a friend who came to visit. She thought I was the type to stay locked in all day and the type who wouldn’t talk unless he is spoken to…I wouldn’t blame her for having such ideas but then she doesn’t know me…at all-at all.
I miss my friends…the few crazy ones I have. They are the coolest thing and nearly the best thing MaU gave to me. Others would be the chance to experience Gibsco bread and the kpalan to show that I am educated.
My friends be cool mehn! Cool as in crazily cool. Off-course we were a bunch of nearly misfits with stupid ideas and nicknames for people but we rocked. If there was anything I know we did and did well was understand each other.
Lemme share a typical example.
I would be in my room. Room wtf were the 2 letters sef? I would be seating on my bed which would actually be a deadbeat matrass made to look presentable thanks to the cartons I arranged under, watching a movie or something on my pc. Lemme assume it was Family Guy because my roommates just couldn’t understand why a dude would want to ‘waste’ time watching cartoons and so my roommates would already be beefing me and wondering what is wrong with this agbaya. Then I would start giggling and laughing and coughing and they would all be looking at me and start saying…chai, this boy is loosing it, but off-course I wouldn’t hear them because I would be using an earphone.
Then, halfway into my movie, someone would knock on the door. The person would be trying to form being polite and someone…a roommate…would say ‘come in’ and he would still knock and then someone else would say ‘come in’ and he would knock the more and by this time I would pause my movie and start to wonder ‘who is this jonsing fella knocking anyhow?’
After much, someone would cuss and no one would go to the door and then Lekan would open the door, wearing a boxers and his famous yellow t-shirt with a cooking spoon in his hands and a small earphone in his ears and say “Hello!” then wave at everyone before asking “Why una no dey fit dey welcoming? Pesin dey knock and una no go answer”.
Then a roommate, obviously annoyed would say…shout…“something do your ear? We dey shout come in-come in since and you just dey knock”
…and Lekan would retort “Nawa for una o. Una know whether the pesin wey dey knock na cripple? E fit no get hand or leg sef and una dey shout come in”
I would try not to die of laughter as would my roommates.
I would rush to Lekan and ask him what he is listening to and he would say “make sense”. I would collect one of the earpieces and put it in my ear and then give him this strange look and he would smile and offer me the other one while twitching his eyebrows continuously…you known, by way of grinning…and I would start smiling and shouting ‘Mehn, see jam abeg’ I would give him one earpiece back then start to wriggle around, jump foolishly and make Belly™ steps and Lekan would continue twitching his eyebrows and nodding his head to the ‘beat’.
From nowhere…actually, two doors down; Nuru would come in and start complaining about the Calabar boys in his room and how his roommates fart without regard and how a big phone or pc was stolen and that the CSO wants to see them and then he would pause and look at me, sweating from my two minutes dance and ask what we are listening to and we would tell him ‘make sense’.
He would collect Lekan’s earpiece and try it then he would look at me and then collect mine and try it too and I would smile and twitch my eyebrows repeatedly and Nuru would be overcome by the ‘music’ and he would shout something crazy then start dancing and throwing his lanky arms in the air putting on some old school dance steps.
All these while, my roommates would be watching and observing.
It wouldn’t be up to two minutes when Odafe and Spikey would walk in discussing rap and some gurl using words like ‘DFF, Weasel and Alhakubar’…codes I refuse to understand or remember…Once Odafe enters, he would start smiling his big foolish but healthy smile and Spikey would rush for the earphones. As fast as his short legs (⅓ hanger size) would take him and he would snatch the earphone from Lekan and as he fixes it up his ears he would ask ‘na which song be dis?’ and without pausing we would tell him ‘make sense’. He would look at Nuru still dancing and then at Lekan who would just shake his head and smile. Spikey would fall on my bed and laugh without end.
Finally, Odafe would be through with exchanging pleasantries with my roommates…I can only wonder what they would be saying…then he would rush for the earphones and once he tries Lekan’s piece, he would start smiling and shouting ‘make sense’ and he would start ‘monkeying’ and Spikey, still rolling on my sweat-filled bed and enjoying it would be nodding without the earpiece.
My roommates would be wondering now…just wondering.
A few minutes later, I would hear Vena laughing hysterically as if someone is chooking him, then he would enter with Gregy.
Vena would ask for garri and Gregy would yab him and I would too, then so would everyone else…except my roommates, because they have no reason to yab him…and then Odafe who would have bullied Nuru into taking both earphones would tell him to come and hear ‘make sense’ and he would hop along. He would try one and then the other and then both and he would ask some funny questions and Odafe would yab him and he would smile and start dancing, but laughing more.
Gregy would wonder and would try the earphones too and he would only shake his head and say something about. It would include ‘pity’ and ‘una’ and he would laugh and laugh.
My roommates after watching and observing and wondering, would finally send a volunteer who would ask ‘wetin una dey hear sef? no be the plug of the earphone be that?’ he would ask, pointing at an unplugged jack, dangling in the air as Odafe dances away and we would look at him and tell him… “make sense!”
Happy New year Blogaria…Blogsville…Blogdom…anywhichone…All join.
So this is officially my first post this year and thankfully, the year started on a good note with so much work sha while last year ended with an uh…how do they callit?…never mind, I would just give you the gist.
I was robbed.
If a robber robs you, that leaves you robbed, therefore if an armed robber robs you, that leaves you armed robbed shey?
Well, it was three days to the last week of 2012 and that evening I happened to be in possession of a small amount of cash…lets skip that since I exhausted it all that evening on positive things [lol]…that night i slept with one of my guys…and by sleep I mean crash o.
I was reading for an exam which was two days from that day. The dude was also preparing for his medical exams and so we were trying to mind our books. Later on, he went to bed and left me reading and fooling with my phone. I got tired finally and slept off with my phone charging by my side.
*NB I was sleeping on the ground because my body sometimes doesn’t agree with soft mattress.
The lights were on and it was one thirty AM…i am sure of the time because when I heard the first bang on the door, the first thing I did was look at the clock and wonder ‘who be dis wan wey no dey sleep?’
So, there was the first bang and the door shook and it woke me up, then another bang and I was sitting up and looking at the door and then another bang and I was standing.
*NB My friend was very tired and still sleeping all through the banging…and by banging, I mean marching the door down in a bid to break it.
In my defense, I ought to have woken my friend but heck, I was confused…so confused that it didn’t occur to me that it could be robbers. My befuddled mind thought it could be a drunken friend of my friend who was looking for a place to crash.
…and then there was another bang and I had retreated to a far corner of the room, wondering about what to do. I even forgot to wish for teleporting superpowers which I fool myself into thinking would be the best superpower to have in such cases.
When the door had taken close to seven hits, a part below the key holder area gave way and for the first time in my life and INSHA ALLAH, the last time, I had a gun pointing at me.
Now that I think of it, I guess our armed robber totally knew how scary guns look and their near paralyzing effect because he had guts to pull back his gun and look through the whole his foot had made through the wooden door.
And then he spoke in a very thick Igbo accent “Stay there, don’t move”
To my credit, my sick sense of humour didn’t die as I thought to myself “Move ke? I can be a stature for you”
*NB My friend woke up around this time, he looked at me, then at the door with the gun nuzzle smiling and then back at me and I was too scared to tell him: ‘bout time mehn!’
Our armed robber put his hand through the door, pulled out the key from the keyhole and unlocked the door from outside, but as it was still bolted, he kicked it again and Gbam! He was in.
*NB For all the action movies I have seen, it didn’t occur to me that I could have hit his hand or done something crazy when he was putting his hand through the door or when he was peeping at us.
“Lie down there” he told my friend “Stand there” he told me and then he realized I was supposed to lie down and not stand “Lie down flat” he screamed at me.
*NB Mehn! I have never fallen so fast in my life, not even when I mistakenly slip.
“Where is the Morneh?” he asked.
I am pretty sure he didn’t say money; I guess he was high on something and his accent didn’t make it any better.
“Are you mad? …where is the morneh?” he repeated walking up and down the small one room we were in with his hefty boots. He nearly stepped on my face. If he had, I am pretty sure it would have disfigured me.
He kept on shouting ‘where is the morneh and started scattering things.
I don’t know where my friend managed to get the voice to reply them but he started begging…maturely [lol]
‘Na students we be o…we dey read for exams…we no get money…na students we be abeg…abeg, we be students o’
Who was he kidding?
Our room was on the first floor of a two-storey building which had over 40 rooms with around 38 or them housing students, so they knew we were students and we were their target.
Our armed robber kept asking about money and saying all kind of crazy things and my friend was pleading and I was praying and becoming a born again and wondering if my blood would splash as Quentin Tarantino has made it to look in his movies and if the police would do their chalk drawing to mark my body.
Things were starting to cool off as our armed robber concentrated on picking what he could pick when all of a sudden, another armed robber bursted into the room.
This second robber was armed with a whip. It looks funny to me now that I think of it but then, the whip looked deadly. You know like those one in Van Helsing and the likes, which are used in taming werewolves.
“Where is the Morneh?” he asked and I was too scared to remember to laugh. “I would shoot you” he said, but even though he was holding a whip and not a gun, it sounded sensible that his whip could shoot. Heck! I was scared.
He kicked me, maybe I was in his way and then he asked me…particularly… “Where is the morneh? Where is your gold?”
NB: I didn’t see my friend cut the necklace he was wearing and tuck it under the mattress but he did
“I say where did you keep the morneh?”
…and I had the nerves to manage to raise my head and reply him
“There is no money o…” which was the truth because I wasn’t with my wallet, it was in another room with my bag and others and eve if I were to be with my wallet, I wasn’t having any money in it…save a fifty naira note which I was going to use to get to the bank and then old (fifty and five naira notes…and a one naira coin)
*NB I hope to keep the old currencies for a long time for no particular reason
“Where is the morneh?” he repeated
“We no get money o” I repeated
“Shoot this one” he told his mate
…and died again
After this, I can’t really recall what else they said or did or took…but I watched as their huge boots walked out of the room and even as they shouted at us to lock the door or they would shoot us, my hands failed me as I tried to push myself up.
Later, I would notice that they took my BB and my kpalanga small phone and then my friend’s mini laptop and his kpalasa phone. I would also learn that they were four in number and that two or was it three sef…were armed. That they shot in two rooms but not at anybody; I guess to scare the occupants and that they only entered rooms which didn’t have any anti-burglary fitting and that two boys jumped from the top floor of the two-storey building with one scaling the deadly fence at the back of our building and not managing to injure himself in the dumpster and old rail tracks which our building fence shared boundary with while his partner wasn’t so lucky.
I heard he hit his head on the fence and was screaming or groaning in pains
“My head o…help o…I am dying o”
Our armed robbers were nice enough to carry him up to his room…to rob him.
Well, it was a scary experience but an experience all the same…and one thing people have been saying is that “They stole all your wahala”
In that case, let’s hope for a blessed, trouble-free 2013 then.
*NB Any idea on how I could get teleporting superpowers? Not juju o!
Clerk: May the court rise to hear the Judge’s verdict
Judge: With all the evidence brought before this court regarding the defendant’s mental state of mind also bearing in mind, the jury’s conviction of not finding the accused guilty, I hereby find the defendant not guilty but he is to be remanded to a mental hospital for physco-evaluation and to report to the court in six months time for a briefing.
Judge: Does the counsel for the defendant have anything to say?
Counsel: No, my lord
Judge: Does the defendant have anything to say?
Defendant: I have been asleep most of the trial and I am tired of my lawyers saying that I have no reason to explain what actually happened, at least the way I saw it happen. So I would briefly tell you now.
Off course, I know that you know that things have been bad for me. Yes, I am not so sound. I know I’m bipolar and a bit schizophrenic. I know all this. I am also aware that you all know that I haven’t been taking my drugs because my doctor went away on a vacation and it is hard reaching him and it has been impossible for me to get prescription. Yes! Yes! I know that you know that, but what you don’t know is how annoying the shop clerk was.
I went into the store to buy a box of chocolate, they had discount on them which was very nice, and so I got two. I went up to the counter to pay and the clerk explained to me that the prize was even less than I thought which was also nice. She was to give me some change and when she didn’t have, she rounded the money down and let me keep the change, which was very nice of her. You can’t imagine how nice.
So I smiled and told her thank you and she smiled and told me thank you too, and I felt awkward that she was telling me thank you since she was the one that was nice, so I told her thank you again but she told me thank you too…again. I still smiled and told her that I meant it and told her thank you and she said she meant it to and told me thank you and I told her no, thank you and she said no, thank you, and I said okay, thank you for everything and she said thank you for everything and she was smiling while I wasn’t because she didn’t want to accept my thank you, so I told her not to tell me thank you but when I told her thank you, she still told me thank you and I told her thank you and wouldn’t stop telling her and she also wouldn’t stop and so we thanked each other back and forth and I got so pissed, I smacked her in the face, jumped over the counter and used the portable counting machine to bash her head in repeatedly.
So…uhm…you said I can go right?
Hello there, my dear readers. Today I would try to be a story teller. I know it is quite different from being a superhero and all that but the story has to be told. I have appointed myself as the Jonsing Brother’s historian. Since we had to reveal our identities to you humans as you wouldn’t have superheroes doing their superhero stuff under any sort of cover, so, I would be telling you all about the Jonsing Brothers and well, generally our life.
Hopefully, you humans can start to appreciate us more when next we swing into your neighborhood or better still your rooms just before you go for your Tuesday morning jogging or at night when you are secretly watching your fellow humans copulate or pretending to be sleeping.
To show how bad I am at this job, I have been writing and I haven’t even started talking about the Jonsing brothers yet, but don’t worry, I learn fast. The truth be told; I don’t really know where to begin from and I suppose you humans would lamely suggest the beginning, so not wanting to show off, I would start at the beginning.
We are the Jonsing brothers; I and my brothers. We are all related but very much different, as different as our names are. I am Belly and my brothers are Phatwabbit, Descartes, King Kong and Lucky Spiky.
We all do different kind of stuffs. Politely, I would call what we do crazy stunts, but you humans regard what we do as freak-shows even though we use them to help you out sometimes.
Some other thing I would want to clear up now so that you don’t have to ask again when next you humans set up one of those media-thingy-conferences is that none of us can remember how it all happened.
We are not science freaks, you know, like some experiments gone awry or better-still the result of an ingenious scientist. We are not mutants and kryptonite doesn’t kill us. I always used to love the kryptonite joke. Well, one thing we surely aren’t, are humans either. Who wants to be a human? Descartes always asks.
I can’t really say where we are from but we are not sure from here. I can’t even remember when we got here or how we did. All we can remember is that before here, there was a there; that we know.
Alright, I am having a writer’s block already; I guess my writing career wouldn’t amount to anything. Well, so long till I am in the mood to write again. I have to swing now; there are lives to be saved.
Old memories>>>One time there was talk about making money from pendulum clocks and old school TV’s …the ones with shutters…and mehn! did boys hustle??
The money I never made
Was enough to get ninety paid
Definitely, not ninety mighty bosses
But ninety big clerks with small voices
The money was big, some real dough
Thinking of it makes my brain work slow.
Money easy come, money easy go
That’s how it was meant to be, that’s so
My wallet would be stuffed, maybe I would need two
Stacked with clean bills and debit cards too
Always ready to party and be the bomb
Have chicks sucking my thumb and still act sassy
Be the king of the dancehall or yet the club halls
Get VIP spots in strip-houses like Eight-Ballz
A group of ladies I would get, mostly for amusement
Pretty fair ones with strong feminine scent
Long legged, black haired and high chests
Pretty Meg, lovely Sade and high classed Kess
Breakfast, lunch and dinner; all would be great
Fill up my plate, eat all and wish I was thinner
Take rides in cars or automobiles at my call
Or long walks then grab a taxi when my feet get sore
Hang out with my friends, drink little or lots of beer
Stagger home in drunken stupor, certainly not in fear
Sleep the whole night, maybe half the day
What’s to say, clock money would have taken me to a glorified height
My Dear Doctor Belly,
As I write to you, I’m on a hospital bed suffering from a slight concussion and a dislocation on my left arm. Thankfully, I would be leaving soon.
I have never thought that I would find myself writing to you or anyone like you about any problem I might be in, but right now, you are my only choice and hope.
It all started when my wife went for her bi-annual checkup but couldn’t wait for the result as she had to travel, so I had to go get it for her. When I got the result, I was shocked at what I found and that is my problem.
You see, the doctor either wrote that she was developing a rare type of Alzheimer’s disease or that she was HIV positive. I knew which it was at the time, but it left me depressed and I drove home in a daze and ended up having a car accident.
My car was burnt beyond recognition and it was just by God’s grace that I was rescued before the inferno.
Now, I’m in a dilemma. Doctors have diagnosed that I am having a little memory loss and I don’t know what my wife is suffering from. I don’t think I can face the doctor to ask him again and thankfully, she hasn’t asked me about the result as she has been busy taking care of me.
Please tell me what to do.
My Dear Recuperating Husband,
First, what do you mean by “Me or anyone like me?” are you trying to hurt my feelings? Well, that is by-the-way. So, what type of car did you drive or you know how the youths of nowadays put it: ‘what sort of wheels do you pull?’…doesn’t make sense, right? Well, that is also not important.
Speaking seriously now…or writing as this case maybe…One important thing I want you to know is that the truth you seek lies within you. I don’t know how to relate this statement with you or your predicament, I just felt like telling you.
The Alzheimer disease you talked about. I bet you are referring to the ‘forgetfulness’ disease. The one that gets people to forget who their spouses are or sometimes drive to work dressed only in their shoes. I think that is the one you are referring to…and the HIV would be the dreaded HIV?…Right?
I think I understand what you are going through, but then how sure are you that she isn’t hooked with both? For all we know she might be HIV positive but because of her ‘Alzheimeric’ condition, she hasn’t remembered to tell you. Well, never mind.
My advice to you is simple. When you are strong and I hope it would be soon, take her out. Drive somewhere…anywhere…far from home, make up an excuse to get her out of the car, once she is out, drive home and don’t turn back. If she finds her way home, then don’t go to bed with her.
That should do it.
Best of luck
REMEMBER: IN EVERY PROBLEM LIES THE SOLUTION. LET DR BELLY HELP YOU FIND IT. WRITE TO HIM AT firstname.lastname@example.org
I think memories are one of the coolest things God has blessed us with, because it’s super-cool that after a long time or not so long…whatever/whichever…we can vividly recall something that happened and it would make us smile or laugh or cry or frown or scream or whatever your memories does to you.
Now, the only problem is that sometimes these memories are not always complete or clear…I know I said vividly earlier, just wipe it off your memory…and in some cases, one can remember some parts of what happened or why something happened or who did what or said what…that kinda thing.
Having said that, the memories I want to share is somewhat incomplete because I mostly remember ‘where’ and ‘when’ but not really ‘who said what’ and ‘what who said’…It ain’t my fault, let MaU be our Akon…As in you can put the blame on her. If it’s any relief, it starred my jonsing friends.
Memory # 1
The time was around 7pm to 8pm to 9pm. I can’t remember but I knew it was dark and not all the security lights were on. We where at MAU’s hospital area. We generally called that area OPD, although I think it was GOPD, can’t remember what it meant. We were waiting for somebody or something, so meanwhile we just sat down in front of one of the offices or was it a ward sef?…I remember it was five of us… and we were just gisting when we saw someone walking…and talking on the phone.
Person 1: Wait! Wait! Who be dat?
Person 2: Wetin? I no see anything o
Person 1: See nah (he said pointing)…nah boy abi nah girl be dat?
Me: Dat pesin? (Pointing too)
Person 3: Nah girl nah
Person 4: Kai! E no dey waka like girl
Person 1: …but you hear the voice?
Person 5: Look nah, you no get eye? …The body resemble girl body for your eye?
Me: Wait o! E be like say na Boy o
Person 3: Nah girl na…You no hear the voice? … Nah girl be dat (at some point she had stopped walking and was now talking on the phone)
Person 2: Nah girl be that. See the Nyash. You bin no see as she bin dey waka? Na girl jare!
Me: How you take dey see nyash for night? …but finally sha, the voice nah girl voice
Person 1: Wait! Wait! Keep quiet. E don dey talk again (we were hearing it faintly because of the distance and so we had to keep quiet to listen closely)…Nah girl jare
Person 4: You sure? …See, E dey waka dey come back.
Person 2: Na wa o! E be like say nah boy o
The person in question: (stopping then turning towards us) “Hello! I am a girl o” (and she walked away)
**we weren’t drunk or high. In our defense, we just forgot she could hear us
It was one of those evenings when we didn’t have anything to do, so we went for a walk…I and some other jonsing fella…Going for a walk in MAU would mean going round in a circle which wasn’t all that big especially when one wanted to go for a walk, but sort of became big when we had classes to attend up-school…We had gone half way when we stopped and decided to seat down and pass time. We had hardly sat down when 50 cents came around. 50 cents was some happy, always smiling guy…and by “happy” I mean gaga, loony, nuts, crazy, insane…name it. We had lots of “Happy” people from MaU psycho ward that roamed about freely in MaU then and mixed with us. I remember whenever one of my lecturers was doing his class devotion and wanted to sing “If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands…” we kind of mouthed other words or fumbled when we got to the “happy” part…Back to the memory>>>
Me: Fifty cents!
50 cents: Sir! ….haha hahaha!
50 cents: Sir! … Haha hahaha!
Person: How far? Where you dey go?
50 cents: I dey go…dey say make I dey go, I just dey go…blah-blah-blah
NOTE: He didn’t actually say blah-blah-blah. He said some stuff that didn’t make any sense and even the ones that made sense; I kinda shut my mind on them as it would have been mentally uncool to remember such things. This went on for a while with him squatting in front of us and smiling as he talked.
Person: How your wife?
50 cents: I no get wife…haha hahaha!
Me: You no get wife?
50 cents: Yes…haha hahaha!
Person: How come? What of all those other happy girls? What of that one wey like to dey do nyanga?
50 cent: haha hahaha! I no get wife o!
Me: So you mean say you no dey meet any of them.
50cent: haha hahaha! No if I meet them, dem go beat me. Na before wey I get wife.
Me: You get wife before?
50 cent: Haha hahaha! Yes, haha hahaha!
Person: Where she dey?
50 cent: Haha hahaha! Nah the time wey I never come here nah im she be my wife.
Person: So you mean say you no dey climb woman?
50 cent: Haha hahaha! No o! Dem go beat me.
Me: How you take dey do? How you dey hold body?
50 cent: Haha hahaha! Nah the time wey my body dey do me one kind, I go buy pure water, then I go pray say as I dey drink the water make my body relax. Nah so I dey do… haha hahaha!
Me: Hmm Fifty Cent.
50 cent: Haha hahaha! Sah!
Person: So you go just drink water like that?
50 cent: Haha hahaha! Yes sah
The talk after that was worthless, can’t remember how it ended. We weren’t stupid or looking to have a conversation with a happy man we were just bored and for that we got a happy man’s perspective on how to deal with sex pressure aka konji.
It was late that night, sometime between 10pm and 2am, it couldn’t have been earlier because at 9pm we are mostly looking for food and at 3am we are asleep. We had gone to class to read so I have to assume we were having exams or exams were very much around the corner or why else would we have packed ourselves off to class to read. We were walking in groups to the hostel which was a distance. A group was ahead of us as and then there were one or two behind us. To our sides we had tall bushes and total darkness everywhere.
Now I remember whatever semester it was that we were in, it was in December because we were talking about the Chancellors cows that would be killed for Christmas suya.
Person1: I hope say nah better cow dem go kill
Person2: Which of those cows be better cow? All of them dey happy (happy means insane/mad)
Person2: E get one wey sabi run up and down, e go just dey run anyhow
Me: Black one shey?
Person3: Ehen! Dat black one shey. E get big horn sef
Person2: That cow dey happy joor.
Person1: One of them even die for road … that was last week
Person3: Dey don carry am. Wetin you think say dem dey sell for primo( primo was at then, a “classic” restaurant )
Me: No wonder dia meat dey big anyhow nowadays *we generally lol’ly*
Person2: Na mad cow diseases we dey chop
Me: E don tei wey I see that black cow sef
Person3: Ehn! Maybe na im die, maybe na im you even chop dis morning come dey use toothpick dey form big boy
Me: …but that cow sef dey craze o! Na so I…
I can’t remember if I finished what I was saying when some guy behind us shouted…YAY! and we all ran we ran as fast as we could jumping and shouting and praying and calling God’s name…I was shouting ”wait for me” as I ran…Someone shouted something about mad cows…Someone else said “Na dey cow dem o!”…Someone fell…People in front ran when we overtook them…People behind us nearly overtook us…Nobody looked back and five minutes later we were in front of the hostel where there was light; catching our breathes.
Me: Na dat black cow shey? I asked breathing heavily
Person1: Ehn! E be like so. Shey nah dey black cow?
Person2: I no see am o. E be like say nah the cow wey get big horn
Me: No be the black cow? I even think say nah all of them
Person3: I no see am o, but e be like say nah the black cow
Everybody was asking the same question and then was saw a guy running towards us, trying to zip up his fly as he ran.
Me: Nah wetin? Nah the cow shey?
Pissing guy: I no see am o! E be like say nah those cows
Person3: No be the cows dem?
Pissing guy: I no see any thing o. Nah as una run, me sef I run. Una no even wait person sef.
Me: Wait o…No be you shout? Why you come shout?
Pissing gut: I been say make una wait nah.
Person2: No…no…wetin been make you shout the first time?
Pissing guy: Oh! Na piss I been dey piss nah. I been dey hold am, nah as I release am, na im I shout.
In our defense, I would say we had dodged Tuesday’s jogging by sitting with the ‘sick’ guys and so we had to do some exercise but in truth I think some people had caught the mad cow disease.
As much as I try not to regret it, I sometimes…sometimes…regret missing the innocence I had as a nine year old. Innocence which can’t be bought or ever gotten back…ever!
When i was nine, I never bothered about why we had to castrate our dogs or our goats…my house used to be a mini -animal farm back then, still is…it just felt as if it was the right thing to do. I remember even asking pops one day why we didn’t castrate our cocks too…as in cockerels o!!…can’t remember the reply he gave to me, but I remember that he laughed.
At nine, sex was something very taboo-ish to talk about…heck what am I even saying? At nine, I never spoke about sex; I didn’t even know what sex was. When we saw dogs in the street going at it, we would rush and drive nails into the ground owing to some sort of believe that as long as the nails remained in the ground, the dogs would remain stuck…and somehow it worked, no matter how hard they tried to break apart…and never in my nine year old mind did I know that it was the way they rolled.
There are so many questions I never knew to ask my parents or at least my mum when I was nine. I didn’t ask her where babies came from or why our neigbour’s tummy was big or why my ‘shame’…that was what I was brought up to call my privies…was different from Kemi’s own or why Obinna had beards on his…I called hair growing on the body except the head; beards…actually I called them bia-bia. Those questions just didn’t form in my mind. I didn’t even hear friends or classmates talk about it thus arousing some sort of curiosity, so this in itself came as a surprise when one day…recently…when my kid sister asked my mum in a very innocent way, what abortion was.
I stopped dead in my tracks wondering what could have brought the topic and when my mum answered her explaining as nicely as she could, giving as little details as possible but making sure that the evil was spelt out, she asked where she heard the word from and my kid sister narrated the story of how a friend/classmate related a story she had heard and wondered what abortion meant.
Sometimes, I ask myself, why was I so innocent…believe me I was…then again I wonder, how is it that kids…even nine year olds of today know a lot about sex and I have come to the conclusion that its somehow…not even somehow…generally and easily be linked ‘screens” …talking about TV screens, Mobile phone screens, computer screens…name it.
I wouldn’t lie by saying that I was the type of kid that would love watching “speak-out”…the old and nearly forgotten debate program or any of such dorky ish, but at least unlike kids nowadays…even nine year olds, I wouldn’t find myself fully engrossed in a movie, be it a foreign flick or a Nigerian one except there were lots of shooting or it was a cartoon, but then again…recently again… I was flipping through the channels on TV when my neigbour’s daughter told me to hold on then go back, and when I did, she was like: “Ah! I have watched that film, it’s interesting” and was going to give me the full gist if I hadn’t told her not to worry, that I rather watch it myself.
It was some Nigerian flick and I wouldn’t have minded watching it, but seeing lots of skimpily dressed girls and then getting to the part where a couple wanted to indulge in some heavy petting…as I believe Nollywood has thankfully not yet advanced to full frontal sex…or am I wrong?…I made to change the channel, but what did I hear next?…”Wait! The man that the yeye woman is kissing is her boyfriend o!; Her husband would soon come and catch them”
When I was nine, I didn’t even know how to put on the TV not to talk of flipping through channels and then knowing who was kissing who. I was so innocent; I didn’t even know what they call “blue-film” otherwise called porn. So it amazed me when one day, in primary school, when the headmaster and other teachers brought before the whole school, two boys who they claimed were caught watching “blue film” in one of the boy’s house as it was close to the school and beat them silly…all for watching a boring movie that I felt only showed a blue screen the whole time.
Now, when I look back to when I was nine, I realize I was very naïve. I begin to wonder when I lost my innocence. I know it’s somewhat different now with nine year olds as it was with my pops when he was nine and the way it would be with my kid when he/she would be nine, and all in all, all I can say is that I miss when my mind was a virgin.
***i have been thinking a lot lately***
As I close from work, I dream of my bed
The anger I feel inside, not yet sated
The missus, wanting to muse over me, soon asks an annoying question
Very soon the house is filled with tension
I decide to drink, and with alcohol, relax my head
The line between sanity and insanity isn’t much thicker than a thread
At times like this, anger within me, just boils
And nothing much gives me joy, least the kids complaining about spoilt toys
When the missus looks at me, in her eyes I see dread
I bet she wonders if my love for her might be dead
My state of mind: RED
I drive at night and the evening air is cool
I head for home thinking of the missus; she calls me her bull
My day wasn’t bad, better than I had hoped
I can’t stop smiling; I know I must look pretty doped
When I get home, maybe I would soak for a while in the pool
Or who knows what plans the missus has for my tool
I pull into the curb and switch off the cars’ engine
And there stands the missus, beautiful and never aging
I hurry to her; eyes wide and nostrils flared, for love has turned me to a fool
There is no way I can fight her magnetic pull
My state of mind: BLUE
I work so hard and yet my business seems near to topple
My secretary is reenacting ‘Eden’, she being the serpent, at the same time, the apple
My In-laws seem to want a new house
And my elder brother just confessed about his weakness for whores
I am very much amused, coming home to see my sons engaged in a grapple
While the missus watches them while stretching her feet on a stool made from maple
I get a call telling me that my step-dad is sick and dying
And then another telling me I lost a contract I had been eyeing
I sink into the nearest sofa, my line of thoughts, far from being supple
My mind; a complete ruffle
My state of mind: PURPLE
Once you go dark, you can never come back
This is the thought cycling my mind like an unending track
The missus called it a bribe, I called it a push
I got her a diamond necklace and told her shush
My PA is scared shitless because I threatened her with a sack
And I just I overheard my driver swear to someone that I was on high on crack
A rival company came a-visiting, bearing an olive branch
But they were like werewolves let loose in a ranch
I knew better but I cussed at them knowing it would leave a mark
And somewhere in-between, in a British accent, I said “fark”
My state of mind: BLACK
I gambled with my business and my chances were thin
It would have paid off if I had rather gone for a casino spin
How would the missus react if she hears this?
If my board knows, I would surely see no peace
With my lace untied, the shoe having lost its sheen
I rush to the bank not knowing whether I would lose or win
Again, I think of the missus and I feel distraught
In times like this I fear her wrath
My fears die down on seeing some digits on my banker’s PC screen
I breathe in fresh air as my success leaves me smiling like Mr. Bean
My state of mind: Green
I jog round my neighborhood, pausing now and then to say hello
I go past my jogging mate; some old fellow
After that I have to attend to the kids and the missus
I have to play the chauffeur and for entertainment sake; their money source
From KFC to a public pool, but first an old friend; Mr. Bello
I wonder why my son says a girl is acting like Lilo
A big splash from a fat kid who can’t swim
A classic breast-slip from a lady causing her to scream
Then I see my boy meeting friends and saying “what’s the dealo?”
I ignore them all, wear my sunshade and adjust my shirt; a polo
My state of mind: YELLOW
The choir mistress’s daughter wears a skirt, a tad too tight
I stand in a queue behind her and with a straight face, I drop my tithe
The sermon is on morality and corruption
Makes me think of all the wrong I have done and for that I pray for absolution
I remember there is a big line between wrong and right
But I know it’s hard to take the right part without a fight
I drive the missus and the kids’ home, riding slowly;
From the radio, gospel music stream in serenely
As night comes, I pray to God that he keeps me in the light
I sleep peacefully, and then Monday is in sight
My state of mind: WHITE
Dear Dr. Belly,
I’m a young man of twenty-six. I pretty much have everything going well for me. I have a good job which pays well and a good house and a nice car. I am very thankful to God and my pastor because he was the one that helped me with the connection to get my job.
Presently, I am the choir master in my church. My choir always sings beautifully and I can boast that we are the best in my area. My only problem would be the women in my church, or my choir to be precise.
I have been having a secret affair with my assistant; the choir mistress. We hadn’t gone far when one of my choristers who had a crush on me lured me and now we are together too, though in secret. Neither of them knows about each other and i am very happy that they both want to keep it a secret as such relationships are strongly discouraged in my church.
Some months back, my pastor’s daughter came around. She had been schooling abroad. She has an amazing voice become our lead vocalist. She has a very hot body to go along with her voice. She is very much talented in singing and in seduction. Fighting her was very hard and so, she finally won.
Everything has been going well, until recently when my pastor’s wife caught us in the act when I went to their house in the pretense of wanting to see the pastor. Now, she has been disturbing me to give her what I have been giving to her daughter or else she would blow everything open.
Even if I decide to call her bluff off, I know I wouldn’t stand a chance explaining to my pastor that she just wants to get with me incase she really means it; moreover, I am sure that my choir mistress and the other chorister would sell me out if they hear about everything.
I really need your advice on what to do before they ruin me.
Your brother in distress
Dear Sexy Choirmaster,
I got your mail at a time when I was doing some research on morality and as far as I am concerned, I can see that you are really in distress.
I have travelled far, afar and close-by and from experience, I can soundly say that the circumstance in which you find yourself is one which any choirmaster (even though some might deny it) with some luck would be envious about.
I urge you to keep up the good work and share the love, because if you don’t you would only be bringing trouble upon yourself and your church. What I mean is that your pastor’ s daughter and wife need as much love as they can get and only when they do, can they help the pastor in running the church, after all, we all know that running a church has now become some sort of family business.
On the other hand, I would advise you to beware of your pastor or better still make sure he doesn’t catch you lest he casts some demons into you and turn you into the ‘scape pig’. Also stay away from crusades and revivals where they see visions lest your pastor sees a vision of what you have been up to. Lastly, you should also stay clear of your assistant pastors; because they would want to get the anointing you are getting and would be envious of your luck.
I wish you luck in your endeavours as you share the love. As a wise man once said, or maybe said more than once: we don’t die, we multiply.
Best of Luck
REMEMBER: IN EVERY PROBLEM LIES THE SOLUTION. LET DR BELLY HELP YOU FIND IT. WRITE TO HIM AT email@example.com
I found this piece in one of my numerous abandoned folders…it kinda reminds me of the first time I tried to toast a girl…and boy! Did I blunder?
My palms are wet, I guess its sweat
My eyes were twitching, now they are itching
My throat is parched, like an old hag in her house of thatch
My heart is beating fast; I wonder how long it will last
My legs want to walk away and lead me far away
Suddenly my clothes feel too tight and the colours too bright
I can feel a little itch; in the wrong place, I feel the itch
It seems my legs are shaking or maybe it’s my spirit quaking
Am starting to feel faint, so miserable is my state
Momentarily I have gone dumb, and my vocals numb
Because I see you and I want to say hi.
Hello Blogsville…okay, I don’t really like using the word Blogsville, this would be my first time…well, twice already…Somehow, saying Blogsville kinda makes me to imagine some sort of housing estate where the blogs would be the houses within, but that would only make my blog a vacation home or something. I guess saying Blogaria instead of Blogsville…3rd time…would be cool, you know, it would be like some kinda blog country or blog world…I am already talking ish in my first paragraph. Well, sometimes I don’t think I think straight. So lemme start again…Hello Blogaria!…I give up, I don’t think it sounds right.
Seriously speaking…or writing…once upon a time, I woke up one day and decided to start a blog…okay, that’s not entirely true, I actually dreamt about starting a blog and then I talked to a friend about it…CoolPrince…and then I woke up one day and started it halfway…fast-forward to seven months later when I had put up close to eighty posts…religiously…then rewind back just a bit, to the time I made a small fuse about reaching my fiftieth post…then fast-forward to now…today…where I am putting up this rant: an excuse of a post, after not posting for like close to five months and it would be easy to wonder, whadahell happened to me??
Well, that’s not so hard to answer. The truth is that I have been very busy…very…very…busy. For a while, lots of ish has been happening; good stuffs, bad stuffs, crazy stuffs, but I would rather share the dirty stuffs.
So, recently I was at a friends and the friend had to step out for an appointment or something of that nature. A while later, after fiddling with the remote control and flipping through channels, I found out that I had to use the bathroom, so I proceeded…no, not proceeded, that sounds machine-like…so I went on ahead…after all, nah my paddy house and while I was lathering my body, my friends girlfriend came around. Now, I had only seen a picture of her and darn! Was she hot or was she hawt?? So I am all up in my biznes when she barges into the bathroom thinking it’s her boyfriend and in my naked glory, I see her and screamed:
Okay, this is just wishful thinking…but truly I was at a friend’s place and I was using the toilet when the girlfriend lets herself into the house and then opened the toilet door and poked her head in, to see me as I was squinting my eyes and making terrible faces…and cussing too…as I was pushing and trying to get my biznes done. Luckily, she didn’t scream but she rather closed the door quickly then told me to take it easy coz the smell was suffocating her and all my shit-confused mind could form as a reply was… “If it’s suffocating you there, don’t you think I am already dead in here?”
Enough already of the shitscapedes jare… Now, back to the blog issue…I’m coming back with a big bang…you don’t have to believe me, I hardly believe myself, but in the off-chance that you do believe me and that I can truly surprise myself by actually coming back…with or without a bang…there would be a little changes to the blog.
First of all, I would/might change this theme I am using; I just might go back to my old theme…not so sure yet…then ehm! …I am introducing some new categories to the blog… “When I was 9” & “Dear Dr. Belly”…the former would be some sort of nostalgic abunna like that and the latter would see me publishing letters written to not-so-popular Dr. Belly Mhpil, Pdh. and his responses.
When I first talked to Dr. Belly about this category, he was ecstatic…his response was… “I am a traveller. I have travelled far, nearby and even farther than I think and I have come to understand that humans are very easily afflicted with problems that can easily be solved by just sharing, so I have decided to help humanity by sharing in their problems, before helping them decide if they need any solutions or if they should simply learn how to manage the problem”
So, that’s the ish about Dr. Belly. So, if you have any problems, you can share it with him by writing to him @ firstname.lastname@example.org.
I almost forgot…”MaU Lyf” category is up and running. MaU Lyf is about “The “Prestigious” Madonna University” and not the controversial “Moshud Abiola University”. If you have followed my updates, which I am sure you haven’t …wouldn’t blame you coz I hardly remember them myself…you would know that the “MaU Lyf” category I have been talking about is up and running…Geez! Whydahell am I repeating myself??
I guess I have to back off now; I think I am beginning to sound sorta unstable, but first, If you have read this rant: excuse of a post, up to this point…you try wellaly…coz I didn’t even bother myself to read it when I was done writing it…thus gbaguns that are supposed to be in place.
Before I leave, lemme humbly say Merry New Year…I know its coming late…Like xxxx months late…Well sorry for that. If you must know I haven’t flipped over my calendars so you shouldn’t entirely make me your Akon…put the blame on me…plus it’s better late than never…abi no be so?
NB: I just googled Blogaria and found out that it is actually a word. It has to do with a person blogging whatever that comes to the person’s mind, however stupid it may be…Hmmm! Blogaria Indeed.
So long Blogaria!
**Disclaimer**>>>All characters in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living , dying or dead is purely coincidental…at least kinda or Not.
Storyteller: Hello boys & girls. I hope you have been good. Today I am going to tell you a story; so sit down or stand up if you can’t, but just keep quiet and listen.
The title of my story is…uhm…ehm…well; we would figure that one out later. So let’s begin.
Boys & Girls: Stooorrrry!!
Storyteller: Once upon a time…
Boys & Girls: Time…Time
So once upon a time…again…there lived three people. Well, not people actually but animals. They were Mr. Billy the Goat, Mr. Shaggy the Dog and Mr. Sheep…I don’t know his first name and if you are thinking of asking me why sheep had to be a mister, well don’t because I don’t know too.
So one day, all three of them left their homes to embark on a journey, unbeknown to any of them because…incase I haven’t mentioned it…well, I don’t think I have…they didn’t live together and didn’t know each other since Noah or something.
They all came from different directions and met up at a popular junction which was also a bus stop. They didn’t bother greeting each other or paying pleasantries…you know; that sort of a thing…because the world is a wicked place and one has to be careful who one talks to especially strangers…so boys & girls always remember what rhymes with stranger is danger.
Back to our story…So, after waiting for a long time because there were few buses on the road as a result of an on-going National Union of Road Transport Workers (NURTW) strike, they finally saw a bus with a dada-carrying conductor hanging from the door of the bus shouting “where to?…where to?” and they flagged it down.
Boys and Girls, do you know what a dada is?
Boys & Girls: Noooo!!
Storyteller: Okay, when you get home ask your daddy. Where am i? …Ehen!…so alas the bus stopped for them and lo and behold, it was the famous Magic School Bus only that it was painted white and green and it still used old plate numbers and before I forget, Charlie the Boy was the conductor.
Boys & Girls: Wooww!!
Storyteller: Yea…whatever!!…So Mr. Shaggy the Dog went in first and he had to go all the way to the back because Charlie the Boy said there was still space for one more person or animal at the back, then Mr. Billy the Goat went in next and sat in the row in front of Mr. Shaggy the Dog while Mr. Sheep sat next to Charlie the Boy who I think got tired of hanging on the door, wrinkling his nose and smiling sheepishly…I am talking about Mr. Sheep here.
They had gone for thirty minutes or so, it could have been longer you know. I wasn’t really there so I can’t really say. Well, that’s not so important now. So as I was saying, after thirty minutes or so Charlie the Boy shouted or screamed or something of that nature in his Charlie Boy’s accent saying:
“Oya! Everybody start to arrange your money, starting from the back seat. Make sure you hold your change o! If you reach your bus-stop shout E dey! Because if I pass your bus-stop, no going back. This bus no get reverse o!”
After a while, a few minutes I think. Mr. Sheep whispered to Charlie the Boy that he would be alighting as he paid his fare, then smiled and told Charlie the Boy to keep the change. Charlie the Boy smiled back and pushed his dada from his face, before shouting E dey! Then putting his hands outside the bus through the window and hitting the top of the bus to signal the driver to stop.
Mr. Sheep gently and slowly slipped out of the bus but not without stretching his hands for Charlie the Boy to help him out as he smiled as sheepishly as he could.
So the bus went off again and Charlie the Boy stayed a while then shouted again that people should arrange their money and hold their change.
At this point, Mr. Billy the Goat started sweating profusely. He was sweating because he realized that he had forgotten that he ought to pay. You see; he hadn’t forgotten to take money or forgotten how much it would cost him most especially as fare prices had gone up with oil subsidy being removed and all that, but what he actually forgot was that he ought to pay. That was the way Mr. Billy the Goat brains worked. He was a goat after all.
Mr. Billy the Goat didn’t know what to do. He was in a dilemma. He cracked his goat brains thinking of what to do. He thought about talking to Charlie the Boy and explaining, hoping that Charlie the Boy might understand, but just as if all odds were against him, he noticed the shirt Charlie Boy was wearing. It had boldly written on it “Boyz Are Not Smiling” and neither was Charlie the Boy.
Mr. Billy the Goat imagined Charlie the Boy getting mad at him and pulling his ears or worse climbing his back and holding his horns while making as if he wanted to zoom off and the imagination wasn’t cool at all.
Now, just as luck would have it, Mr. Billy the Goat felt someone tap him from behind. He wanted to jump off his seat when he realized it was just Mr. Shaggy the Dog giving …or I think it would be better if I say passing to him…his fare so he could pass it to Charlie the Boy for him.
Mr. Billy the Goat knew that this was his chance to help himself. He was even surprised at how his goat brains could think in such way. He simply collected the money and since Charlie the Boy didn’t notice him collecting it as he was busy looking out the window and whistling “Chop my money”, he tapped Charlie the Boy and handed him the money without saying anything regarding the fact that it was Mr. Shaggy the Dog’s fare…now don’t start asking me why Mr. Shaggy the Dog didn’t just give the money straight to Charlie the Boy for it would lead to you asking why Opa Williams allowed the Baha Boys to let the dogs out…because I don’t have any answers.
So as I was saying or was about to say; the bus had gone only a little while when Mr. Billy the Goat scratched his beards and told Charlie the Boy that he wanted to alight. When the bus stopped, he jumped out and ran away as fast as he could and jumped into the bush where he got lost and wasn’t found till Christmas day and not even Charlie Boy screaming about giving him his change could stop him. Charlie the Boy only smiled thinking today might just be his lucky day.
The bus continued its journey and was nearing its final bus stop when Charlie the Boy started counting his money and it came out short. He thought that everybody had paid, but with the way his money was short, he knew it meant that one person had not yet paid and it annoyed Charlie the Boy. It annoyed him that someone on the bus was trying to play a fast one on him…a whole him…a whole arena father.
“Who never pay?” Charlie the Boy shouted in his Charlie the Boy’s voice. Just as he was expecting someone to own up, Mr. Shaggy the dog asked for his change. Charlie the Boy asked him what change was referring to and Mr. Shaggy the Dog said the change from the money that the young goat had paid him. Charlie the Boy asked what young goat was he referring to and Mr. Shaggy the goat said the goat that ran off.
Now, Charlie the Boy understood what had happened or at least he thought he did, but being an arena father…boys & girls; and by arena father…I mean…well, you won’t hear me say tout out loud, he refused to act like he understood. The money Mr. Billy the goat had given Charlie the Boy was enough to pay for two people and still have a little change left but when they got to the final bus stop, Charlie the Boy jacked Mr. Shaggy the Dog’s…boys & girls; and by jack I mean held unto his shirt or collar as you would a criminal but in other words we might say he was yanking his chain…and told him he hadn’t paid, but from the way he said it came out more like a question than a statement.
Mr. Shaggy the Dog was confused. He was generally a cool headed person,not vicious or rabid but he was starting to get angry and he began to foam at his mouth. He was going to react and do something crazy but seeing some calabar okada guys coming around…boys & girls; by okada guys, I mean…
Boys & Girls: We know what you mean; commercial motorcycle riders…
Storyteller: Oh! You do? Good-good…so as I was saying, Mr. Shaggy the Dog saw some calabar okada guys coming around with tires and little bottles and then he knew all hope was lost and that he couldn’t argue so he licked his lips dry and ended up singing “it wasn’t me” and that was all he could say.
…and that is the end of the story. So Boys & girls, what have you learnt from the story, but first, just before you begin, I would like to tell you some important facts about our characters that this story in its entirety explains.
One is that since Mr. Sheep didn’t have any trouble paying his fares, all sheep are never scared of vehicles and would sluggishly clear the way for oncoming vehicles while smiling sheepishly at the driver…for example…checkout movies like “made of honor” or…or…Ehen! did I mention that Mr. Sheep was black??
Number two is that all goats scamper away from vehicles and at the sound of a car’s horn, they quickly run into the nearest bush…or anywhere to hide…because they are still scared or worried about Charlie the Boy…so far, there is no movie to prove it, not even in “The man who stare at goats” and also I should add that the reason goats love grass is because they got lost in the bush for a long time and thus made a delicacy of it and the fact that Mr. Billy the Goat didn’t find his way home until Christmas brought about the christening of his first son as Christmas Goat.
The last but not the least as people say would be about dogs. Have you ever wondered why dogs bark at moving vehicles or why they howl at night when a car speeds off in the neighborhood…well, its because they feel used and cheated…so all it does is sing “It wasn’t me” but not in the modified Shaggy’s popular baritone…all you need to do is listen well and put the beats to it, you will find out that it is the same song with a different lyrics.
So now…it’s your turn, what did you learn from the story and what name should we title it??
Little Belly: I learnt two things. One is that your story really sucks and I think Mr. Sheep is gay. Can we skip the titling till next week?
Storyteller: Ehm!..well…uhm!…let’s call it a day then.