Tuesday, May 03, 2011

Many were called, her view was CHOSEN

Many were called, her view was CHOSEN (CHOp n ScrEw me uNceremoniously)
I chased that girl my friends, dayum, I chased her... And for all that effort what? Rejection, injury, in-your-face spite. Do I regret it? No. Would I go through the same again? Never. Was I mad? Irate. Looking back? I laugh... September-ish 1998.
Once upon a time...
There's this girl, we'll call her Pummela, I had a severe crush on. She lived in the leafy suburbs and had many suitors, Milo included. I, however, felt I had the upper hand given that she had persuaded me to leave my former for her. Big big big mistake. I left my well paying job for a job-advert in the Nairobi star (so to speak). I should have sealed the deal first, signed the contract, undergone induction training. But who am I? I left my former based only on her declaration that the only thing that stood between us was my existing relationship. Hmmmmph...
Porter's Five Forces, Number 3: Industry Rivalry
The competition was stiff. Working against me was the fact that my former was friends with her (through me) and tearfully pleaded with her not to break up a happy home. By the time I realised I had left my Mbachao for Mswagger upitao twas too gaddem late... We (the main competition and I) were assigned time-slots to see her. I, Yu network, had her every other Friday and every other Saturday alternatively. He, Safcom, rotated these prime days with me but almost seemed to enjoy free reign over the other weekdays and had cleverly denied weekday-portability requests. I even lodged a formal complaint with CCK (Cede the Chick to me Kindly) but to no avail. Yaani the guy played the handicap card manze, the cheeky b*stard!! Like that parking near the supermarket entrance that you rush towards just to find the sign that its for the physically challenged. The nyang'au had volunteered to be ferrying a special child home each weekday evening. I listened to her description of his empathetic, oh-so-sweet nature and tried to smile through my gritted teeth. "How sweet" I said, jaw clenched, lips barely moving, veins lining my temple. She felt the need to accompany him each evening. I knew I was done given that the only trump card for the situation would have been a diseased, semi-blind, half-legged guka that I had to visit each evening so as to clean his sores and read stories too. Fat chance. I retreated knowing that the competition was building an unassailable lead over me.
Sundays, lip service
The one day we shared in common was Sunday. Given I used to play football each Sunday evening, Safcom would visit her in the afternoon and I would pass by later in the evening. On one of those Sundays, I happened to have gotten delayed in getting the car and was thus in a real rush to shower and get to Pummela. I decided to go the combat route with nothing underneath my jacket given any second spent dressing was lost time with Pummela. There I was: Jacket, Slacks and Sandals, nothing else. We'd sit in her garden, staring at the stars and talking endlessly. But this night was to be different. Halfway through our conversation, the sound of a car at the gate proved an irritating interruption. I knew that sound, I knew it was Safcom. "Chief, have you no morals??? Your time was up!!!!" were my angry thoughts... Pummela excused herself and went to open the gate. I turned to face the other way, disgusted! Next thing I knew there was an ear-piercing, heart wrenching scream from Pummela and the night of the long swords began...

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Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Summonses jump! Simon says POSE!

Summonses jump! Simon says you were Part of the Obambo6 SuspEcts
I've been absent from blog for a while, attending summonses.
The Charges:
Crimes against bambanity, 2005. Specifically:
Making fun of an Isiolo-like situation
Going to the rescue of Scoopy-Doo Pt1 and Pt2

The Prosecution Team:
Loose Maringo Alejandro Obambo (LMAO)
Chief Inspector Wariahi Bin Huu

On the Bench:
InKaterina TrendyFiLover (IKTFL)
Chef Kweynengei
That Ka-Fatty of MuliroGardens

The Defense Team:
Ondiek Nyuka Quarter (ONQ)
OJ "Boom Box" Ma-Tonsils

IKTFL does the necessary introductions, asking all to speak clearly and slowly, for the sake of the interpreters. OJ is asked to whisper...
IKTFL then turns to yours truly, smiles...
IKTFL: Ambapoooooo, Miloooooo... *Smile*
Milo: *Drool* What is? Ambapoooo ambapite?
IKTFL: *Giggles* Ambapooo swtat (sweetheart)
Milo: So now? Otherwise? You're looking good msuper, but you kaa like you have matusi...
IKFTL: *Cheeks reddening* CNa ma2xi... (Sina matusi)
#ThatAwkwardMoment. IKTFL composes herself on realising the shocked silence in the chamber.
IKTFL: Please state your name, date and place of birth, and occupation *She silently mouths "Call me" and the numbers +31-722-69....*
Milo: Me I LOve NAirobi REgardless, the innocent sole male baby son of *Censored* born on the 12th day of July 19**, Matopeni East, a duly followed Tweep
A shout from the Judges bench "Wewe Milo, unajuanga ma-stairo??" Eyes turn to behold Muliro's rotund-est. Chef is leaning in on her, elbow on edge of bench, face a contortion of expressions that end up in an ear to ear grin. #MuliroGardens
ONQ: Objeksssion your Honor, Objekssssion!!!
IKTFL: Silence in the Chamber!
Sound of a phone ringing. OJ answers it sonorously "Sema MBUYU!!! NIKO KOTINI MANZEE!" #ThatAwkwardMoment
IKTFL is now getting worked up. (Ed. Note: Still looking lush though, LOL). Fortunately matters are restored to normalcy. I am allowed to leave having received strict warnings not to write inciteful tweets or blogposts. I head straight for the Railway line, a copy of the first three stanzas of "Haki Yetu" in hand, ready to uproot said railway line and sing my heart out.

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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

EARLY bamba and the 40 weaves

EAgeR LovelY bamba and the 40 weaves

Valentines 2007

The year was 2007, the month February, the date 14th, the day Wednesday. I remember it like it was just yesterday.

We had congregated at the Peoples Republic of Mwendas. In attendance were Talin, Pounding Father (PF), DreadyRasta aka DR alias Daktari, T-Total and Yours Truly. We were loosely catching pints and trading war stories. There was a DJ in the building and an extremely hilarious MC so the night was proceeding as smoothly as the motion of lotion on Professor Calculus’ kihara. To our joy and pleasure, a bevy of beauties walk into the place. 41 they were, early bamba at the helm. (Actually they were like five, but the effects of the dim lights and alcohol have been known to exaggerate matters). They sat across us on a hastily-constructed table; done by the waiters at my bidding of course.

Two immediately caught my eye:

Early Bamba (EB) – EB was just out of this world. She was yellow, lush, bambable, conshumable products, ready-made. And she had silky skin, outstanding uso-nyuso, flat belly, petito-rotund diab and when she smiled and I noticed the gap. “Abeg oh, wetin wahala she wants to cause now oh?” Then she had some huge belt that accentuated the pelvo-thutha curves. Gai Fafa.

Morgiana Mrembo (MM) – She was the darker version of EB. Its always interesting how one can be attracted to two chicks that are almost opposite in terms of looks and demeanour. EB was the Beyonce, MM the Kelly Rowland. Like the guys in the Farmers’ Choice advert, the statements were varied: Talin “I like mine spicy”, T-Total “I like mine meaty”, Milo “I like them all

There Come a Time - Ndividually

The 40s, i.e. the chicks, two really hot others unbe-weavably down, were soon marinating themselves with the famous Mwendas cocktails and after a while I noticed them looking our way and giggling. Teren, teren. EB then gets off her seat and walks up to Daktari. She whispers something in his ear and then to our horror and dismay, grabs him by the hand and leads him out of the club. Dayum, we are down to MM and “the Others” (said in Sawyer’s voice, he of the Lost fame). Everyone is calling Dibs on MM. We draw straws and I get the short end of the stick. I am nominated to go to the other side of the Island and infiltrate the Others. Let’s just say I had to perform actions no man should in the quest for bambas, upto and including professing intentions on loudspeaker, just to get digits. Kweli if that was a ChessSunday (UjenziBora 2010), I had exposed my Queen to be chomped by a Pawn. Angalau a Bishop or a loose Rook. Naetsin, a Pawn!!!! But at least PF got to bond with MM so all wasn’t lost.


Fast Forward to April-ish 2008, I’m doing my Masters in some Campo and who do I spot in the Cafeteria one Saturday afternoon, EB!!!! Hah! *Ambapoooooo* (y’all know the rest) and we agree to meet up later after class. I meet up with her at 4ish and I’m eager to buy her yoghurt, Fruits of the Forest to be exact. I look at her benchfully and just want to spirit her off to Milo-ro Gardens. We end up somewhere in UpperHill. The war is chemical, the damage massive. We end up at Oilibya Westlands. I visit the convenience store and stock up on liquor and the Ndom. The Compulsory Operational Ndom. Before we know it, we are both on the back seat drinking from the cup of life. I indulge in Ndom-donning and just as my sword is being safely stashed away in her scabbard, the paramilitary wing of the Watchman squad, Ungem division storm the moti. Aaaaaaargh, geddemit!!! I act as a temporary ATM for said squad and I’m allowed to leave with a wallet bila content. As I start the journey to chez Milo, EB is up in arms saying I drop her home. Huwatttttt!!!! Ati “not on the first night”. Say Huwattttttt!!!!

Irate, eyes almost popping from the sockets, I struggle to calm myself and drive her allllllllll the way to her place… We reach her gate and she’s like “It's OK, we can just go to your place…”

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

ANKLE moody

ANother Kenyan Lady bEing moody
Gai, si the other Sunday night was drama! Anyway, why did I expect it to be any different?? Not with iPack. I know how iPack is...
Calm before the Storm
We met at Offroad. My good friend MotoRazr really wants my boy, so in a show of good faith, she donated iPack to me in the hopes that I would dial-a-deliver my boy to her. I remember waiting outside OffRoad in the car. The first chicka that walked out looked like Jar-Jar Binks:

Woi gai noooo! "Ex-squeeze me! This bamba doin-a murda to mesa eyes. Shesa badda one this bamba. Mesa gettin' berry, berry scared" Then she chucks her mobile to make a call and mine rings. AkiYaNani noooo. Cant pick, wont pick! Shewks, she's chatting away and my phone's still ringing. I jikombose, wiping sweat from my brow. As I look up and answer the phone iPack chomokas in all her bamba-glory... Rihanna is playing "o-Bamba whats her name? o-Bamba whats her name?". This is one hot bamba. So she jumps into the motz and we're off to Westlands. Polite drinks at Skylux and she vamooses in the morning with MotoRazr. So far, so good. I have the digits.
Next week I hook up with Man-One and Dr Nurse at some place on Ngong Road and he decides I should invite some chickas. I call up iPack and she agrees to pitia. "Stir the hornets nest!" Man-One eggs me on, "Call another one!". I decide to call Puff-Mami. Now Puff-Mami (PM) is like my boy. We almost performed Masasi once, but since then we just drink and hang out. I like her coz she helps me assess chicks and advises on which ones are ok and which ones are not. PM arrives first and we get down to the drinkings. All is well until iPack shows up and juxtapositions her bootiness against my frame, no room for manoeuvre. PM is not amused. Time for leaving she's like "So iPack will be leaving with Man-One right?" *silence* #ThatAwkwardMoment *silence* I drop PM first then drop off iPack.
Let the Games Begin
We agree to meet at Legend, and she's excitedly texting and calling. I fika and call, she's mteja. Texts, unanswered. I nyonya one Tusker and as Im leaving I spot her applying her body on some dude like swathings on a mummy. Assi? Her pal spots me but I keep walking. As Im driving off I get a call and she's asking why I'm leaving. "Si u were busy" is my curt reply. "Just come back, that's a pal" she pleads. I inform her there's no beef we can meet another day. She sends me a rude text sijui "You read into stuff too much". I, in turn, use my phone to surf.
Second Half
Weeks later, my pals invite me for the ManU-Liverpool game at Blancos, Galleria. On my way there she sends me a text asking what Im up to. I tell her I'll be watching soccer with the boys. She claims to be bila plot and wonders if she can join. I decide WTH and say its fine. Despite several texts and calls saying she is on her way, she delays so much the game ishas so we agree to meet at Psys. First, she kujas with a pal. Si Ive arranged two bar stools for iPack and Yours Truly. As they approach I dig in my heels and kaa ngumu kama Gumo on my stool (Heavily hinting 3 is a crowd). These chickas dont take hints. Salale they've sent a waiter to bring another stool. Haija, game plan is to maliza my Tusker and make like a tree and leaf... But the drama is yet to unfold. What looks like a plain-clothes waiter has invaded our sitting space. Wharrrizthiz (Tininai, 2010)?? And iPack introduces the guy as her Uncle, huh????? Hiyo hug sio ya Uncle!! Hiyo eye-contact sio ya Uncle!! And then the dude buys me a beer. Hark! Lo and behold!! Sacrilege!! Im soo worked up I have to calm my nerves with a beer. Seeing as the one he bought is right infront of me.... LOL. Two rounds later, he looks at me those ones of "your round now" I raise my chin and look the other way.
Injury Time
Some chick walks up to me and tells me I've been given summonses by two chicks by the entrance. Who's your daddy, who's your father? I walk, chest puffed out, towards them. And they are model-type hot woop woop! As their silky smooth hands flatteringly touch my back, shoulders and waist, their sweet whispers convince me to relocate to Tamasha. Adios iPack, Milo has left the building...

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Tuesday, February 22, 2011

A comfy sofa for SOFIA

A comfy sofa for SOFIA (Send One Friend In Advance)

Continued from here

A week later, she letas the pal who sent her (Sofia) wuwi. So now they’re two in the diggz…

Teren teren

I had met Ricsia and Sofia in town about 30 minutes earlier. Ricsia said she wasn't feeling the pubs so she'd rather we headed straight to my diggz

Teren teren

We get to the house, I let them in and the music starts playing. Uuuuwi I feel like Judge Wyre on Sakata Dance Battle. Sofia is at the middle of the sitting room, legs apart in a squatting position. She is executing MC Hammer gyrating, pelvic thrusts with synchronized, two-handed, karate chops as a dance. Ricsia slides in from behind, through her legs and halts a few metres from me just to unleash a back-spin, her weave sweeping the floor clean right in front of me in a dizzying circular motion. I hold my peace (plus my piece) and focus on the end game.

Can You Manage a Trois?

They enskwonce me in a sandwich, Ricsia infront, Sofia behind. Now we're talking. We flip the sandwich over, Ricsia behind, Sofia infront. We head mpaka chini, mpaka chini, mpaka chini chini chini. I can only stoop so low :-), so at some point their tu-heads are at waist level. Ricsia's weave now makes me look like I have a bushy tail, swirling in the wind.

SideTrack On

Let's talk a bit about threesomes. By all standards I'd say I'm a bit liberal. I have and like to experiment (within limits). My biggest issue with a threesome is:

· You always pay more attention to one (either the newer one or the more attractive one or the more 'innocent' acting one)

· Its hard work. Sex is meant to be fun, not hard labor, not a chore, not punishment

Anyway, the ones I've had were out of curiousity and to have a story for the boys in the pub...


Can You Manage A Trois

Ricsia was a 300ML, Sofia a 500ML. I'm checking things out and thinking "yeah, Ricsia is tamu but...". There's just something about the new ones, gai. That ka-new fruit. Even Adam got tired of the loquats and maperas in the garden and so when Eve offered him some new tunda, gone, kaput, pinisssed!!! Ricsia heads to the loo and I'm all over Sofia like a cheap, small-size Kaunda Suit on a plus size chick. I find girls interesting. They tell you "no, we can't, she's my pal, woiye its wrong" even as they grab you tighter and synchronize their movement to your dry-hump. But I'm not one to complain. Ricsia walks in on us and its quite clear she's not in the least bit pleased. Geddemit, si they came together so I thought every thing goes... Sofia is exiled to one of the guest rooms and I'm left behind with Ricsia. Push comes to shove, and we eventually catch forty winks. The next day I awake to find the girls Tuthoing heavily. I join in, not a care in the world. Then things start going downhill.

Situation Tahrir

My pal Man-One, checks in with my other pal Skwatch. They quickly survey the situation in the diggz and their green, beady eyes betray their envy. By now, Ricsia has joined me on the couch and plants herself on my lap, aping the motion of a scoop of soup in a deep ladle.Skwatch, a fluent breaker of wind, heads to the garden hoping to disguise his condition via diffusion. Man-One zeroes in on Sofia. Unfortunately he receives the rejection of a ten-cent coin in a five-shilling slot machine and decides he is not going down alone. He calls me aside and with a whisper (in the pitch of a loud-mouth on loud-speaker) tells me to "forget about these girls, let’s go get better ones". The girl's hear this and react with the determination and haste of Mubarak on first hearing the Tahrir protestations. "Can't leave, won't leave!!!" is the united moto and anthem they decide to sing on Feb28th at that point in time. I decide to use shuttle diplomacy with the AU (Acrimonious Underages) but to no avail.

The Crisis

Man-One and Skwatch abandon ship and I’m left to calm down the ladies. Ricsia being the more reasonable of the two is summoned into closed room consultations between the two principals on the response to the burning issue “Please leave!!!”. We emerge with an agreed set of 3 nominated letters (‘y’, ‘e’ and ‘s’). However, before they get to the speaker, interference by Sofia gets them changed to two different nominees (‘n’ and ‘o’). How unconstitutional!

Luckily, over time, hunger gets the better of all of us (mine being a bachelor pad, empty fridge, nini-nini). We eventually have to leave and immigration officers are secretly informed to deny the two VISAs to Chez-Milo going forward.

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Tuesday, February 15, 2011

A comfy SOFA, pickings from the Net

A comfy SOFA (Sisterhood Of Fake Avatars), pickings from the Net

I also pick up chicks off the net. Yeah, I’ve said it. I think it lends itself to one of my key strengths: the use of words. I’ve been textually active for ages now and find that it reduces interactions to their basic foundation, *Can we relate?*. The problem with a lot of face-to-face interactions is that they get distracted by other factors e.g. appearance, halitosis, squeaky vocals, bodily odorous etc. Much as these are important to be aware of, I believe the foundation needs to be strong. But I digress…

RICSIA (Right Click Save Image As)

This is one mannerless type of SOFA. As in she goes and picks an image of a hottie off the net and displays/claims it as her own. Youuuuu, be serious! How now brown cow, oh why dry fry? There’s this Ricsia I met back in 07. I used to visit her blog. My policy then with online pick-ups was that you needed to lull your prey into a false sense of safety before you struck. Never mention the cute avi or the fact that you want to meet-up upfront. Start off being aloof and build it up until she is the one suggesting the meet-up. So I did exactly that not knowing it was a Ricsia.

And the avi she had put up was burning-embers hot, sun-of-Nairobi 2011. I still get a stirring thinking about it, wuwuuu. So we agree to meet up in town. She conveniently comes late when darkness has set in. Lakini even giza couldn’t help. Kudi, I see you, duh-uh. I almost wanted to chuck a print-out of the avi and shout *Heyyyyyyy!!! This is not youuu!!! Where are your morals?????* I jikombose and decide WTH. All that phonication, textual discourse and courteous interrupters cannot go to waste. Working in her favour is that she was a 300ML (petitius laptopius). I can even venture and indulge a 500ML (medius voluptuous) maximum. Any more e.g. 1L+ (biggius kubwus), and I politely decline, siwes mek. Anyways, I decide I will literally comment on her blogspot so it’s off to ma-drinkings.

Couple of hours later and Ricsia is not displaying the tell-tale signs. No exposing her ear by lifting braids, no brushing hand against me loose-loosely, no giggling and tilting head sideways. She is a cold one this Ricsia is. I decide to resort to strategic plan B, beg drop her home and regroup. We fika her diggz and she asks “Kwani you wont even attempt to convince me to go with you home?” “Will it work?” I respond. Silence. I reverse. Silence. I start heading towards my place. We fika my diggz and she stops me at the door.

“Milo, I have something to tell you…”

Hmmmmm, I cautiously ask “What my dear?”

Ricsia: “I was sent”

Milo: “Really? By whom?”

Ricsia: “A pal of mine wanted me to come find out what kind of dude you are, where you stay and how your shag is”

Milo (Muted astonishment)

Ricsia: “But you seem like a nice guy so I thought it only fair to tell you first”

Milo (Ever focussed): “Be easy”

We ingia digz, the music is switched on and the polite drinks start flowing. She starts dancing for me. In my head I’m calculating the way this is a set-up lakini that diab is being tingishwad with talent so I’m losing focus. She invites me to join her and I readily and greedily oblige J

I quench my thirst *cough cough*

A week later, she letas the pal who sent her wuwi. So now they’re two in the diggz…

Teren teren…

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Tuesday, January 11, 2011

CSI Tamasha

Chapa Shtua Ilale Tamasha
*Image from hotornot.com*
After a wonderful lunch date on Friday (extended till midnight) my body was on shutdown mode and I slept till Sunday lunch (save for food and relief breaks). I then get a call from my boy Talin that there's a plan to watch ManU/Liverpool at Psys LA. Given that I'd missed my Tusker, I was ndani immenjiate; maximum psyche, minimum resistance. The game was OK but each of the boys we were with, bailed immediately after. I was just getting into the Tusker flow so I decide to call on the always reliable Obamba (aka Sgt Delko).
I pitiad for him at his place enroute to Tamasha (aka the Scene of the Crime). We fika there and its emputty bolite so we have a pick on where to sit. We do the strategic thing and take a seat by the windows(?) <---the paneless ones. As surely as Rihanna's voice is nasal, the bambas start streaming in as night falls. Two by two, one for each eye. Looking tamu-est, looking lush. I chapa Horatio Caine pose1 (lowering shades)

We are joined by Delko's biashara buddy and the drinks are flowing. Kedo 4 Tuskers in, I see a ka-bamba at the ka-corner of my eye (I did spy). Tsululu from behind perfect. Slender from neck downwards then suddenly pap! Right below the waist an Al Shabaabic explosion of diab!! I signal Delko to run face-recognition software and compare hers against hotness. He comes back with a positive match! We have a susbect! I drop my handkerchief to signal the beginning of the battle and right on cue Delko issues her with summons. She walks up to me and I say "hi". I give her Horatio Caine pose2 (eyes looking over shades)
*10 sec pause*
Then usher in the "ambapooooo!" Im busy interrogating her for clues but the other agents are trying to muddy the waters. Mara one agent is throwing a rao contaminating the crime scene, sijui her accessory to the crime is cock-blocking tampering with evidence. I reassign Delko to apprehend the accomplice and proceed with interrogations. By the time the accomplice is released for being unacceptably down lack of evidence, the case against Al ShaDiab is overwhelming. I sentence her to one night hard labor Chez Milo Maximum Security (CMMS). I gather my evidence and head to the patrol car leading the susbect away. Her accomplice's pleas for cash bail and leniency fall on deaf ears. We fika CMMS and in true cop fashion Al ShaDiab undergoes a strip search. I piremba pat her down and ask her to spread them. I twanga Horatio Caine pose3 (kneeling on one knee)

Vaa-vaa gloves *cough cough* to preserve evidence and....
Next day the susbect is released having served her time. As I watch her walk to the bus stop I unleash Horatio Caine pose4 (hands akimbo sideways).
See you soon bamba...