Me I LOve NAirobi REgardless - MILONARE

Many were called, her view was CHOSEN

2011-05-03T16:48:00.001+02:00

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...

Summonses jump! Simon says POSE!

2011-04-12T07:53:00.002+02:00

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.

EARLY bamba and the 40 weaves

2011-03-22T09:45:00.002+02:00

EAgeR LovelY bamba and the 40 weaves

Valentines 2007

The year was 2007, the month February, the date 14^th, 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.

Redemption

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…”

ANKLE moody

2011-03-16T13:01:00.003+02:00

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.
PMLive
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...

A comfy sofa for SOFIA

2011-02-22T13:22:00.001+02:00

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...

SideTrackOff

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.

A comfy SOFA, pickings from the Net

2011-02-15T09:43:00.005+02:00

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…

CSI Tamasha

2011-01-11T14:16:00.005+02:00

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)
*pause*
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)
*pause*
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).
*pause*.
See you soon bamba...

A Friend in NEEDY

2010-12-16T14:44:00.001+02:00

Check out the guest post at Nkiro's here.

a weekly LEAK – nyuma ya gari

2010-12-09T12:18:00.001+02:00

a weekly LEsson from A Kenyan gal – nyuma ya gari

There’s this hot chick I know…

I first saw her at the republic a couple of years back. Heh, all heads would to turn when she’d walk in. Dress so tight on her it looked like well applied Robbialac paint (Rooobbbiiialllac, the better painttttt, rooobiiiaalac the better paintttt) *cough cough – youll forgive me, I got a bit carried away there…*

Anyway, so I’d look at her each time with an increase in desire, a decrease in the patience to wait another day to *jump on her/conshume her/lay a solid poundation* Then as suddenly as she had appeared on the rave scene she disappeared. I never paid it much notice until she reappeared a year later and her prior absence became apparent, you get? So she rocks up at Safari7s and I look and immediately feel a stirring in my yahoo dot com. She actually smiles and I smile back. She comes and hugs me tighter than an Inspekta Mwala vest on Papa Shirandula’s torso and plants a wet one smack bang on my lips oooh lala… Sadly, I’m meant to be meeting one of my bambas, so when she asks me who I’m there with I tell her I’m meeting someone. She sneers and prances off those ones of ‘u can’t be seriously turning down all of this’

Days come and days go, no sign of her until one night I’m at Club Click for reggae. I’m doing my thing on the pool table sorting out all and sundry when who saunters up to the table? None other than InyoraFM… Heh, what’s it about this chick and my yahoo? I feel glad that my heavy pair of jeans provides protective camouflage to the cable my lower torso is threatening to leak…

She sees me and scurries towards me with the quickness of a twaddict opening a twitter application. She is on me like brown on brown rice and I decide that the d-day is nigh… unfortunately its her birthday so shots are coming her way with the speed and frequency of big words in PLO’s speeches. I decide its better to fight the good fight on another day and settle for the digits… Next day I call her up and give her the usual ambapoooo. I’m at the republic later that day so since she’s free and easy, I tell her to pass by. Hmmm, duRama with a capital R… She rocks up and is all over the place. I assess situation and see things will not end well unless we are gone in sixty seconds… I make an excuse for us to bounce and amidst a few protests we exit the venue… then… shock on me… she declares the need to visit the ladies… behind my car… auuuuwuuuu…

Chicka operates like a sprinter about to take to the starting blocks: walks up and down getting focus and into the zone. Sets sights on the target and wiggles chin and neck like an Asian in a dance video. Squats, places fingers on tarmac and *whoop* one leg up in the air before being planted on ground, *whoop* second leg up in the air before being planted down, On your marks, get set… Wuuuwi….

There’s this really hot chick I know…

GRACA MCHELE

2010-11-26T07:54:00.003+02:00

GRACefully Attractive MsiCHana ELEgant

Mchele (v) – the act of spiking a drink with stuff that takes the recipient out giving the opportunity to wanugu their valuables. Synonyms included Basmati, Mwea Am I?, FizzleDawgMaNizzle

Mchele (n) – the stuff used to mchele

About four months ago I decided to go for dungudungu night at Club Click. We had been sipping at TamTam with Man-One and though nicely marinated, I still felt I had extra energy and therefore didn’t want to head home.

Mistake One: I headed there alone because Man-One was too tired and had to bounce.

The music was flowing and so were the chikombes. As usual, within minutes of fikaing the club I meet one of my various drink-buddies. As in, regardless of which joint I ingia, I always see a familiar face (signs of alcoholism?). So I join the table and the night proceeds polite…

Come home-time, kedo 330am, I head down the steps inebriated and happy. There’s a chicken and chips thingy they have on ground floor. As I walk past it, I spot this ka-bamba there. Hmmm, not bad, not bad at all. She notices me ogling and smiles. She beckons me over and like a lamb to the slaughter I oblige. Pretty smile, hippy kiasi with a scoopable diab. Nice gurudumus and chakula cha mtoto well pronounced (Man-One 2010).

I give her the ambapoooo and she’s still smiling. Heh, no time to waste so I’m like “Si we go”. She giggles, and asks me if I’m serious. “But of course” I say and start walking off. She hesitates kidogo then follows me giggling nervously. “Aki I’m not sure if I should take you seriously or not" she says as she enters the car.

Mistake two: I drive off with her (Milo bila morals).

Some light banter and she gives me vybe of “ooooh I’ve never done this before, I’m sure you think I’m a slut, nini-nini”… I tell her if she is uncomfortable I can drop her off in tao. She goes silent for a while then says it’s cool, we can just go so long as I’ll ensure she’s back in town by 10am. She tells me her name is Grace and she’s working as a nurse at Nairobi Womens.

I fika diggoz and start ruffling her feathers. She obliges kidogo then asks if there is any alcohol. There was a loose Viceroy that she starts taking shots from. She offers me some but I politely decline. I’m in a hurry for #Miereka (Shee 2010) so I ask her wassup. She insists on me taking shots with her but I’m not feeling like. She keeps insisting and I start getting suspicious… I firmly decline. She then sees some chewing gum on the table and takes some. She proceeds to offer me some and I get a nagging feeling iko shida. I insist that if I’m to chew any she can offer me the one she is chewing. She turns her back, fanya-fanyas some mambos, then turns back offering a ~~kiss of death~~ mmumunya though she’s now stopped chewing. Hmmmmph, I refuse and tell her we need to bounce.

She insists that she needs some water first. I point at a bottle of mineral water on the table. “Noo” she says, “get me some from the fridge”. I head to the kitchen get the water but when I return I notice my camera is no longer on the table. Assi? Yawa! I ask her in a quiet firm tone to give me back the camera. She claims lack of knowledge of its whereabouts. I walk towards her and ask again for it. She claims she knows nothing about it then I spot it under her thigh on the sofa. “Station police! Ambulance!” in an Ojwang voice. I think of throwing her out but I’m worried she my damage Raveesha or cause a scene for the neighbors. I offer to drop her in Westlands. Having been caught with her pants down, ~~and they were wet~~, she has no option but to agree. As we get to Westlands she wants to be dropped at Gypsies. We fika there, it’s closed. Then she insists on Sohos. I tell her I’ll drop her at the Mall. She continues to insist and I spot a police patrol car. I drive towards it and tell her I will have a word with the cops. The chicka turns white and asks that I stop the car immediately. She chomokas and vanishes into the night… I head home and find crushed bits of chewing gum and some funny powder on my table. Sululu that was close…..

upuzi n BOOTS

2010-11-24T19:43:00.009+02:00

upuzi n Behaving atrOciOusly TSk tsk

I met her like 2 years ago. Back in the day, when we would have daily meetings at the Boardroom aka the Peoples Republic of Mwendas. It was a random Wednesday and we were chilling downstairs with Barrack OBamba (Bob). Siptivities (Archer 2009) were at an all time high when the tamuest of yelo-yelos walks into the joint. Resplendent, hawtness, very gewd, welocamu siti-downi (Dimo 2010), whos-ua-mutha supuful. Heh, the bamba was ma-hotnesses. She walks straight to the counter and is busy on phone, gesticulating furiously. “Ching-ching” both Bob and I recognize the tell-tale signs of a lovers tiff. I look at the BambaTwentyYoung and I’m impressed. Skinny jeans, funky top, sexy boots and an apple bum to boot. As usual Bob is charged with the task of scorching the earth to pave way for Milologue. He is promptly dispatched and as soon as she hangs up the phone he is by her side. Ten minutes later I join them at the counter. She is called Puzi and works as an air hostess for L Shabooboo Airlines. We were later to find out that her truancy earned her the boot. We laugh and chat all night and digits are exchanged.

Two days later I send her an ambapo text (kinda like gauging the temperature of the pool with your toe). No reply. A while later I try calling. No answer. I give the usual 2 day grace period and round it off with a kthxbai text (a coward lives to fight another day) and call it quits.

Siku nenda siku rudi and about a year later we bump into Puzi at Betty’s. She completely ignores Bob but runs up to me and *girl she give me the tightest hold me ever receive in my lyyyyfe* it’s a ka-hug for world cup. She pandilias me like well-manured bougainvillea on a wall. Assi wallap? Taking things in stride I ask how she’s been and what’s been happening. “Oh, I left jobo, oh, my phone was stolen, oh, buy me drinks” LOL. But she says she’s with her boys and she’ll shake them off soon enough. By the time we are leaving she’s not yet ready so we agree to catch up later at K1 for Jazz. Soothing sounds of jazz were ours (ndio zetu) moments later at Pitcher and Butch. I then get a text from Puzi. “Woiye my dear, these guys have insisted I stay with them, si we catch up kesho”. I tell her its no beef and we agree to do Taidy’s the next day. She sends me an invoice (Zee 2009) for some airtime SMH

Boot-licker where??

The next day we are sipping polite, shooting pool at Taidys when she tells me oooh her boy is pitiaing to drop off something. Minutes later, she gets a call from the dude. She then tells me ati I shouldn’t be too touchy feely cause she “is feeling” the dude coming *Hwat? Really? Really?* So the guy fikaz and she’s all over him like smelly odors on trash. Heh, okay…. When the guy heads to the loo ati she tells me relax because he’ll be leaving soon… I decide it’s safer to relocate to encourage and hasten his departure. As we are leaving, she asks if we can drop him off at the stage. I reluctantly agree only for the damn dude to kwamilia in the mots “can’t leave wont leave” Tsululu!

Time for Bootcamp

Game chafu I see. I deliver them to Kichinjio where the bodyguard will be disarmed. I call my boy and tell him package imefika. I tell Puzi plus one that I need to dash off and check on something down the road so I’ll join them later they can hang with the boys. Once they are out of the car I speed off to reload my Bambanet. My boy sends a text asking me “Who’s the dude with the package??” I reply saying “Bodyguard perhaps”. He is sharp and gets the message. I then text Puzi and tell her I’ve bumped into a girl “I’m feeling” at another joint so I won’t be coming back. She sends me an invoice for cab fare SMDH. I was later to find out her so called boy was her fiancé nkt! Anyways, said dude was demobilized that night.

*Scottish accent* What ya on aboot?

She texts me a week later saying she’s broke at the digs and must go out. Ati I send her cab fare we meet somewhere for drinks. I tell her I’m diggoz and I’m not chucking. She says I send cab fare plus spending money then. Again, really???? I lenga the text. 3 days later she sends me an application for an unsecured loan of 5k.
I search through my SMS archives for the kthxbai text and retweet it…

safariCUM sevens

2010-06-09T12:48:00.003+02:00

safariCUM(Complete Utter Muenjoyos) sevens
Day one – Friday
Usi-Tense
I decided to watch the school qualifiers so I took Friday off. Only company I could get was, of course, minimum entry criteria (i.e. has completed two national exams). Sample the text exchange which I’ve interpreted for older readers ;):

Chica: Lupa ma dia (What’s up my dear)
Milo: Ambapo ambapite? (Wassup)
Chica: Stil goin 4 e gem (Still going for the game)
Milo: Fcos. G8tn l8. Wea u? (Of course. It’s getting late. Where are you?)
Chica: Usi-tense on ma way. Sem plc r8? (Relax (Don’t be tense) I’m on my way. Same place right?)

We hook up in Westlands and head off towards KRFUEA with a maximum of speed, minimum of delay.

Mteja7s
We get to the place and find season tickets are sold out. How now? What the Cuff? A ploy to get us to spend more money I’m sure. Damn. Individual tickets are bought and we are inside. I’m loving the new stands as there is more than adequate sitting space.
Shock on us!!! There is no booze!!! Chikombeless 7s. Surely!!!!
Safaricom message: “twasikitika, pombe uliyoitisha haipatikani kwa sasa. Tafadari-pris jaribu never” Arrrgh!!!! WankTards!
We watch the Nairobi-Western match (Jeff Kweynengay mangled facial expressions: What a game! What a match!). We decide to leave thereafter given that Coca Cola is rumored to be bad for the teeth.

Bamba Twenty Young
End up at Tams that night. Man-One in the spirit of ordering a sixteenth of Nyama and inviting 10 guys, brings one Bamba Twenty Young (BTY) and invites the whole crew nkt!! Luckily Bila Nyas shows up and soon the ratio evens out. Heh, but si BTY is hottest, mambo baddest! I embark on my panel-beating/wheel-alignment endeavours but the situation is ambiguous as to the colonial powers and the colonies. Efforts to find BTY a new home for the night are fruitless and Rezorus receives a new dancer for the night. Cinderella leaves her glass slipper in my car. A coward lives to fight another day so I head off home nursing a bone… er… hangi.

Editor's addition: And with that died my hopes of her blowing my vuvuzela vuvuzealously at least temporarily :(

Day Two – Saturday
Case of the XFactor
Starts off chilled given I am meeting up with the Ex so it’s intelligent conversation and watching of games. Don’t you hate it when the Ex looks better than when you were with them grrrrr!!!

Wako juu ka Kipara ya M-Joseph (XFactor 2010)
Finally SafCom are allowing booze at the stands so the spree begins. Duty calls and XFactor is off so its no holds barred.

Mlolongo System
BTY flashes. I call back but can’t hear a thing above the Kenya-eeeeeehs, Kenya-aaaaahs. I text in coded language:
Milo: ?
BTY: Village
Milo: We dwn?
BTY: Cum wi tok
I arrive at the village to find a mlolongo system of the single-party era. BTY is being trailed by two dudes offering Biden-like security. I decide to be loose like a goose and vamoose. Chick insists on flashing.

The Proposed Draft
I call back and agree to vote “Yes” if the contentious clause of “si lazima tu-do” is removed. Chick agrees on phone but the clause is secretly re-inserted at the printers. Aarrrrgh, I disappear again and end up having a blast elsewhere with pals 

Day Three – Sunday
XFactor II
Catch up again with XFactor kidogo and mainly watch rugby. Getting marinated nicelllllllly….

Storm is over now
My boys show up just when a chick who’d sold me rugby t-shirts is giving me vibe. The boys are on my case!!! Wacha tu she leaves. Sawa amechapa akachapika but then two similar chicks show up to greet them mfululizo. LMAO si I died. Hahahahaha guys!!!

Gap Analysis
End up at Tams again just to find Arabo-Kyuk sista in the house. And si she is looking fwynest!!! We catching up with her when BTY aka Cinderella calls looking for her glass slipper. And doesn’t she show up with Ms Rwanda twololo. And she has a gap!! Uwi I’m a sucker for gaps. Ala, si now Gap Analysis is busy leaning on my shoulder. Laughing and placing her soft, oh so soft, hands all over. My trouser begins to bulge. She gives me a ka-naughty smile and proceeds to unleash more of the same bila fear or favour. Kusemeko kweli, ma-youth watatumaliza….

The rest of the story is censored in the interest of national security hahahahaha!

Uuuuuh my knorr SUPU

2010-03-08T09:39:00.009+02:00

Uuuuuh my knorr SUPU (Swts Uttered Preposterous Utterings)
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: *Ma-Youth watatumaliza*

Now, dear reader, this post needs to be read in context. And the context includes background music. The background of that Knorr soup ad, remember it? Ten-terere-ten ten-terere-ten ten-terere-ten ten-terere-ten….

Anyway, I met Delilah through a pal. We immediately hit it off and much to my pal’s chagrin she seemed to be more comfy in my company than his. We first met on some loose Saturday at some joint on Ngong Road called The Agenda (and this one isn’t hidden, yaani ni agenda ile ya wazi-wazi). So we bond for most of the night on matters ranging from music to the color of her dog :-) In the wee hours, numbers are exchanged and we agree to do a mid-week plot given she’s in between jobs and I’m, er…., yeah. So Wednesday evening we meet at Zebra lounge, South B.

Now Delilah is one fwyyyyneeee specimen of a woman.
Bottom-up approach: Cute toesies, check! (She had open sandals). Michelin poa, check! (Legs from here to Thailand). Madumdumz, er… slightly smaller than ISO recommended, but workable none-the-less. Waist, check! (Wasp or Waps as the case may be). Tumbo, check! (flat as a Chinese bottom). KCCs, check! (unaffected by the pull of gravity, luscious to the touch). Uso-Nyuso, check!!! (msuper, supful, stunning, Swahili style – doh, yapendeza). And the hair is hers, sticks to the same position and doesn’t house oduoriz of the foul kind.

As we check into Zebra I bump into my pal Kiwaru-Gee. The plan is to watch Cesc-ual, Cesc-y football of the gunner-style at Carni. We agree to meet up later. Atmosphere is good at Zebra save for some nyang’au dude at the corner passing wind uncontrollably. We nyonya our pints and continue to bond.

By the time we fika Carni we are both marinated nicccccely. Champions league atmosphere so things are poa-shwari. Then Delilah whispers in my ear *Dude, Im not feeling this joint. Whats the plan after?* I say we can hit electric avenue. She goes like *Kwani we can’t grab some pints and go kick it at yours?* Asalale. Ma-youth watatumaliza. I’m like *Cool*. Carni is forgotten haraka-upes, kwikfast and it’s off digoloz.

Matters proceed down the usual route until game-time:
Cue the background music I told you about up there *Milo pointing at those mistaris at the beginning of this post*

Turn on her stove (I did, I did)
tereren
Cut the satchet (Condiero is a must)
tereren
Purrrriiiirriiiiin (Put it in – twas my intention)
tereren
Gonna make her day (Or night as the case may-be/was)

Now, this chica is in a rush and I’m telling her no hurry in Africa. Its not like we are in some public parking-lot sijui we’ll be caught. We have time mami, chillax. Hata Little-Johnny-Wants-To-Play needs to transform to Johnny Mizigo. Superman required phone-booth, Popeye-Spinach. Sio instant coffee.

So chick is like she’ll operate KBJ xxxO (tumeko salaamz). I’m like sawaz. I’m just beginning to enjoy myself, toes beginning to cross, pinkies doing one-finger salute, chica stops. Assi! Kwani u work for KPLC ma-outages ovyo-ovyo? And then…. Wait for it…. She tells me to *Wank the rest* WhoTF says that? Surely?

As in, if I was Jeff Kweynengay on the K24 bench I’d be like (cue all manner of facial expressions and movement) “Good grief! You can’t make this stuff up! You reeeeally can’t! Is this girl crazzzzy, is she a loooonatic?”

Ati Wank the rest…

Sambaza to MPesa

2009-09-17T14:07:00.002+02:00

I am of the opinion that MJ and SafCom should allow us to convert Airtime into MPesa even if they discount the value i.e. 100bob airtime gets me 85bob MPesa.

What say you?

Online Surveys & Market Research

double-0 SHAKEN - licensed to spill.

2009-07-17T06:07:00.005+02:00

double-o SHAmeless KENyan - licensed to spill
This post was inspired by this one.

ImPEEnding doom
The urinal (hereinafter referred to as utube) and the ATM are distinctly alike in certain aspects. Both are self-service and the client is usually quite relieved and happy at the end of the encounter. They also share the commonality that depending on the size of the tank/bank balance, the distance between client and self-service varies. Those with small balances tend to hug the booth shutting out PEEping toms. In the case of the utube, if the cow has refused (aka hakuna ngata, water rationing or mteja squad) the client tries to hide this fact from the queue, coaxing and cajoling his member to coo-pee-rate. Those with big balances on the other hand can start transacting from afar, legs apart, chin up, the world at their feet.

Bone of Contention
So there’s a bunch of Kenyans (double-0 shaken) who rush to utube only to return with fresh batik at the front of their light coloured trousers AKA alias sign the dotted line/to be continued/…(dot dot dot). Now, this is a preventable disease. Take a PEEk at what you need to do:

Agile Approach
Walk up to utube and measure with the skill of a film director. Use index finger and thumb (both hands) in inverted L shapes to create an imaginary camera and capture utube in perspective. Align this with your general groin area with the same *camera* aping the guys who check the size of mitumba underwear by placing it on the trousers they are wearing and stretching it outwards. Then do the rugby thing. Three steps back: right foot back-joined by left foot, right foot back again-joined by left foot. Right foot back-joined by left foot. Then two steps sideways: left foot sideways-joined by right foot, left foot sideways again-joined by right foot. Pause. Then do the John Wilkinson crouch (body bent, arms together joined at elbows and wrists pointing upwards, feet together, butt out, head tilted slightly) as you concentrate intensely, furrowed brow, muscles taut. Imagine yourself one with utube and utube one with you. Murmur *you and the urinal, you and the urinal* until you reach the state of yourinal. Then its touch-pause-engage as you quickly saunter to utube and begin your doodling.

Now this is the important part:
(To be stored in your Pee Door File for reference and easy access at the door)
On com-pee-tion erm... completion, you need to disengage properly. Get on your tippy toes. Do a pelvic thrust forward like MJ/MC Hammer but hold forward. Shake twice left, once right, pause, twice right, once left, pause. Then up and down, diagonal, like it’s the Formula One (F1) chequered flag. Depending on whether fully done, some squeegee-like action may be necessary to extract modicums/modica. One last shake for posterity and you’re good to go (others have been known to use the coca-cola brrrrrrrrrr to valuable effect).

Ha-PEE???

safari SHAVENS - Day One

2009-06-22T11:31:00.002+02:00

safari SHAVENS (Shorties looked so HeAVENly eiSh) – Day One
Got to love them, love them, love them! Haven’t missed them in 10 years. Even flew back to Nai from Jozi for 7s 2005. Took a week off for R&R, catching up with the fiancée and 7s hehehehe.
Man-One and Talin are in SA for the Confed Cup. Seems like they’ve done really well for themselves designing those pit latrines given they holidayed in Dubai less than a month back and both have bought new cars recently. Hmmmmm…. Guess ill be needing other company for 7s.
My Sistoh Ohhhh!
Anyway, Pounding Father (PF) calls me up asking whats the deal. We meet at Junction where we leave our rides and head off to Quins by taxi. Jayzas the queue is long! Anaconda-like long with more twists and turns than an Agatha Christie whodunit. Luckily my sis is there already and has a pal in the queue. I have a complimentary courtesy of my EABL classmate (who I have the hots for lakini she’s engaged) but PF needs to buy a ticket. My sis’ pal Voluptua Vizuri (VV) is there too with her other friend Pweety Pigmy (PP). VV is looking rather fetching in her combat outfit accentuating those curves. PP is also hot lkaini vile height is a challenge her msuri round ass is so low she looks like a Bunsen burner. Anyway, lack of height aint a problem if you indulge horizontally. Amewekewa “Wanted”. Sis gets PF tickets and in we go. Suspect one of the Askaris is a SideB vile he seems to be enjoying frisking jamaas a little too much!!!
Galitos Lays Down the Law
Inside we are greeted by some super-moto chiles in Cop outfits twololo I almost run towards them hands outstretched handcuff-style *Arrest me. Arrest me!* 7 years hard labour bila parole. Do me I do you er.. I mean, throw the book at me (preferably the Karma Sutra). The air is charged with passion and excitement. There are seriously hot mamisos in the joint (and bad ones too…) We catch Kenya sorting some miserable offenders on the pitch and then proceed to the Village. Walahi there is talent in Nairobi. Wameumbwa wakaumbika I unleash an Mbwa Mwitu howl…
Reminisce
I see former-fiancee Tawida and some other gal walking in. Gai she’s ivad vibaya. Yaani she was drop-dead gorgeous when I was with her lakini miracle of all miracles she looks so much hotter now. She flashes me that killer smile that used to take my breath away. Theres a distant, fleeting feeling of womuti (warmth) lakini it passes. Yenyewe Im over her. She comes and hugs me and is off after some polite banter.
Supulicious
Who’s that, Henny’s neice. Yeloyelo (YY) hot like fire, ur my desire, atiyatiya!! Tanktop, low rider jeans salale! Ame-wax so pay tax! She comes and gives my one of those tight hugs pressing her youthful pointed gazongas against my chest. I mutter under my breath, "Down simba, down." Naetin! Glad I have my tight ngothas and jeans on, so bulge is camouflaged… PF is turning green with envy. YY shrugs and gives him a limp handshake and before u know it her phone is ringing and she’s off bila goodbye. Aish, ma-youth watatumaliza! Lakini I notice she’s sagged low rider jeans na thong pia from behind. CRACKs me up I tell you!
PF is on Vodo and Wodo on the rocks. Soon he is stopping each and every mro that passes by. I pull my hyena move: wait for him to be successful with prey and then dash in for a huge bite off the buttock which I rush off to munch on, at a distant hidden corner :-)
The AfterParty
By now the Tusker Cans are having their way with me so we decide to vacate the premises having watched Kenya pulverise some other miserable offenders in the last match of the day. Next stop, Wendys/Maggys/Marys??? Some joint opposite Tacos in tao near Corner House. It has a chick’s name sijui Betty’s. Wathii wa Esssaaayyyide Eastlandoh inna de yard. Amazes me how many hot mamisos Eastlands produces. Gai they are looking nyummy! Half a beer as we indulge in eyecandy halafu its off to the Republic.
Im waiting for PF who dashed out to call his CFA (music is deafening). Two mzhum-zhums ask if they can join me at my table. Wuwi lambs to the slaughter. I indulge them. Pull the usual: indulge the less fly one in mob convo and sparingly talk to the fly one with loads of compliments with disclaimers (e.g.  my, you look hot though you also kinda look underage). Two drinks later wako readdyyy!!! Lakini ati one wants me to confirm I have stamina vile they don’t deal unless guaranteed they’ll get theirs. Wuwi ma-youth watatumaliza!!
So I ask for the kind of edivence (LOL) they want. One goes like si its dark in here so I can kagua mambos under the table we see if youre operating toothpick and/or ull mwaga ovyo (in not so many words). Shameless! But I like. And my fone is ringing off the hook. “Nani mwenzangu?” Its DeeDee. Now, DeeDee is girlfriend/wifey material. She’s a ka-long term investment and she’s looking for a polite drink with me as she’s just malizad watching an album launch at Tapas, Village Market. Sophisticated with intelligent conversation the works. Im weighing a ka3some hapa kiplanni vs deep vibe then home alone. I decide to go with… yeah… to be continued.

strawBELLY

2009-06-09T08:05:00.004+02:00

strawBELLY (BEauty ako reaLLY down)

The other day we decided to have a few cold ones at Twamasha (hehehe – it seems this twitter talk is messing me up). Oh, you need to follow me here ----> http://twitter.com/milonare sawa? Anyway, so we decide to have a few cold ones on a Sunday evening at Tamasha as the jazz there is really tight! It’s me, Henny and ChairmanM. Having been recently through the dryer with Ching Ching Part 1, I am totally engrossed in my Tusker and the music. On that day, ChairmanM is surprisingly nil by mouth, very unlike him. I suspect his estranged wife is still giving him problems. Henny however is on the prowl! Now, it’s a known fact that whenever a hunter wanders off into the forest in search of prey, it pays to carry along with him a dead dik-dik. That way, if his efforts are fruitless, all he needs to do is to unleash his knife and start sawing away at the dik-dik, his meal guaranteed. Henny always refuses to heed this advice, 99.9999% of the time to his peril.

Pewa Mdongera (PM)

So there’s that ka-doorway from the inside of Tamasha to the outside section with the tum-small car park. The car park where the watchie behaves like those air-hostesses of first class. The ones who swing down the aisle amidst longing looks from economy passengers. They fika the boundary of first class and economy, look at economy guys like miserable offenders and then contemptuously draw the curtain shut, nzwwwiiiiiiip, condemning u to the misery of your economy seat. Yup, that ka-watchie does the same with the gate. The guy infront of you is opened for wide so that his AMG can glide into the parking. As u follow behind with your ka-battered Toyota, nzwwwiiiip, gate shut “Boss, kumejaa.” Aaaaargh!!!

But back to the point. The doorway between the inside and the outside area slash carpark is called Pewa Mdongera (PM) cause the chicks looking for loaded guys like to pose around there. Sure enough theres a PM over there looking sizzling wuwi! Sizzle ma-Nizzle!! Five foot 7ish, silky smooth skin, light colour, flat belly readily apparent from tight t-shirt, curvy backside in stark contrast to aforesaid belly. Curves emphasized more by the tight fitting jeans and high heels. Wuwi hata me I saw her, died and went into a state of nirvana!

Jisunde ChapChap (JCC)

So Henny does the usual. Approaches the gal and tells her ChairmanM would like to talk to her but is kinda shy. PM looks at ChairmanM those ones of “Kwani what kind of coward sends his pal?”. She then looks at Henny those ones of “At least this one is man enough to step up to me himself”. Henny is ndani and soon has the digits.

Two weeks later Im asking Henny how things are going and he’s like he calls her sometimes lakini she’s always giving excuses. Another two weeks later, same story. So Im like “Gimme the digits” and he obliges. So I call her up manwar-style and we have an interesting 15min convo. Seems gals like a guy who is interested but not really interested. Down but not really down. Cant understand them but hey, she agrees to a date.

Saidieko Straw (SS)

So the gal shows up at…. Wait for it…. The Republic aka Kichinjio LOL! I see she’s brought back-up but after a few minutes chit-chat backup is dismissed. Hmmm, seems things will be woop woof! But…. She orders for a Tusker, a glass and a straw. Surely, at my ka-local, in full view of kila-mtu-everyone! Halafu, that ka-hairstyle. Tum-lines with a weird side weave thingy/patch/thingabob. Looks like a giant housefly buzzing next to her ear. Infact, I see some cobwebs huko near the ceiling and almost want to grab her by the legs and use the thingy to clean the webs…

We are chit-chatting and having a ball but my eyes keep getting drawn to that hair-thingy, in some hypnotic Indian fakir “you-are-under-my-spell” kind of way. Aaargh!

Needless to say, the night ends abruptly that day.

Nakumatt Approach (NA)

So I get a call from the chick a few days later: “Milo swty. How u? Imagine ur not a gentleman” So Im wondering wassup but not info forthcoming. Eventually she’s like: “By the way, I just finished my shopping at Nakumatt. Si u come pay my bill?” I inform her that Im fine given my Uchumi shopping was done the day before. She hangs up the phone:))

CIAO?

2009-05-28T01:21:00.006+02:00

Can I Actually move On?

*Strict warning that this isnt one of my usual teeheehee posts. If ur expecting that stop reading now!!!*

Yup! Guess so. Simply delete the number and all other evidence a la my good friend Archer (call log, texts etc). Works like a miracle because the drama queen always causes when I dont text or call back but she specializes in the same.

Wont lie that she wasnt special to me. Wont lie that Im kinda hurting. But Ive been there be4 and know that now's the time to run!!

Subject

My nusu Rwandese Gal. Knew it was too early to call it and calling it would jinx it. Yup, it did! Mixed feelings coz she was getting me to do things I hadnt done in years and that scared me. Ive grown to be wary of missing someone Im not sure is missing me back. Thinking about someone Im not sure is thinking about me. Warm Tusker (er... hate that period, not wary of it).

Body

So she was like a few months out of a relationship. Knew there was danger but soldiered on. Had been enjoying my single life till she came and messed it all up. The biggest blessing in all this is that she had a situation where she had to make a choice and at the end of it Id know either way. Went to meet her today. My immediate former failure to reply texts and calls had elicited her rage.Thought it was a good sign. Shock on me!

Cool and calm like a Nameless cucumber (shoshomba) she tells me that she's back with her ex. Ati she gave me many chances that I didnt take. As she started to enumerate them I cut her short and told her that when Nadal loses to Federer, last thing he wants to hear from the umpire is the reasons why he lost (in not so many words).

Thank goodness Barca hammered ManU. The disappointments tonight would have been unbearable...

So can I? Yup. Will take me some time but yup! :)

CHING CHING (Part 1)

2009-05-22T07:51:00.002+02:00

CHIck’s got to be jokiNG, CHIck’s got to be smokiNG

Being single in Nairobi rocks!!! I must say Nairobi has nice ladies: fun, hot, exciting, mysterious etc. But it has its fair share of bad ones too. Take for example:

Mama-Makaa

Some time last year we were hanging out at our usual spot at the Republic. Upstairs with beer flowing. In attendance were Man-One, the The-The, ChifB AKA Pounding Father of the Nation, ChairmanM AKA Sexy Gates, Henny and Milo. Man-One was stressing the need for a chick’s soundtrack to accompany the Lungula activity which he fondly refers to as Nyung’unyaing. Now, its been rumoured that Man-One is fully equipped to the extent that he has been nicknamed Dangling Fury, Mjoloba Business and Mizigo amongst other names by his former clients. So he was describing his escapades with a village gal the last time he was in shags. The part that got us was the soundtrack once the activities had began:

Man-One: *Grunts, Huffs, Puffs*
Villager: *at the top of her shrill voice* “Monster! Farasi! Dume!
Man-One: *mixed sounds of neighing, braying and mooing*
Villager: “Destroy me! Finish me! Murder me!”

This has all us boys laughing our heads off to the extent Henny falls over and spills the cocktail of the gal at the next table. But Henny is a Kamikaze, king of suicides. Within minutes he is indulging the gal in convo and she invites him to join her as she awaits her pal. Given my knowledge that Henny is also a pace-setter (starts way ahead of the pack and never finishes the race), I give him the signal and he gets me to join them at the table. The rest of the crew look at us the very same way guys of Sohos downstairs look at guys of Sohos upstairs (a look of severe longing). The next item in the agenda is the pairing. Henny is having some beef because the current gal (hereafter called Squeezy) is hot but she claims that her pal is hotter. Now, whenever a gal says that, expect her pal to be a Dikwonkwo on the Ngwound (Archer, 2006). Given his dilly dallying I decide to take the bold step and start squeezing in my points. A few minutes later Henny’s face really brightens up. The gal that joins us is smoking hot! My Goinoka, molten lava fresh from the volcano, that gal is hot! I kick myself internally but what the heck. Win some, lose some. New gal is introduced as Mama-Makaa (MM). How appropriate given that she’s smoking hot but also that she smokes like a chimney. So MM starts up complaining about the joint, the service and everything under the sun. I laugh internally. Henny winces and his shoulders start to hunch. He is in for a long night.

Anyways, as (mis)fortune would have it, by the end of the night MM and Milo have hit it off, Henny and Squeezy are rapidly proceeding towards destination LJBF (Lets Just Be Friends). Numbers are exchanged and a future date with MM is set.

Hell Date

First, she comes late. This in the midst of several texts sijui “10 mins away”, “almost thea Swty” blah blah. Milo’s getting worked up but in usual guy-fashion I remember how hot she is and cool down. Then, she shows up with a pal!!!!! (Lets call the pal TAC ie Three’s a crowd). Now, I have no beef with a gal bringing a pal along so long as I have advance warning so I can also bring back-up. I control myself. “Imagine Sweetie my pal had to come along because her boyfie is held up somewhere. He’ll soon come over to pick her.” So I think to myself “Ok, Ok. At least she recognises that it's our date and not a gathering.” I hit the “patience pays” button a chillax entertaining the gals. Before long MM is stroking my arm, leaning over and resting her head on my chest, running her fingers through my hair er… on my clean-shaven scalp LOL! But that’s the calm before the storm! Yaani when TAC’s boyfie checks in even the temperature in the club changes. Monsoon winds seem to be blowing. The guy is the size of Papa Bouba Diop (PBD)! Halafu, my date MM is the one jumping all over him. How now? Now why? Then… Instead of picking TAC and bouncing, dude enskwonces (Archer again) himself comfortably with us, no hurry in Africa. Next thing, MM disappears and so does PBD. Im left there vybin TAC. I head to the loo and bump into them on the way. MM is busy doing the Tootsie Roll on PBD. Assi! My big mouth gets me in trouble as I let my erm reservations be known. PBD gets mad and approaches Milo menacingly. Before he can rearrange me my bouncer pals are on him. He is politely evicted from the club. TAC has to follow and of course MM follows them but not before giving me a severe tongue lashing. Whateva!

Lie Low Like an Envelope

So I don’t call for like a month or so. Works like a charm cause when I send a tentative text the reply is “Av not forgiven u but you’re lucky m still talking to you”. Ching ching! This time round the date goes well and chicka ingias bosk! So we have an interesting time together over the next month or so until the texts start.

“Babes we’ve not done something nice in a while. I suggest we do dinner”. She shows up for dinner with two of her pals.
“Boo, please join me for a drink after class? Av misd u.” Find her with a bill for herself and her pal from the past 3 hours of drinking.
“Milo, Swty, Imajin m sooo broke. Si u do something?”. I write back “Ok Babes, I sympathize”. MM sends an angry reply “Not that!! M talking Benjamins here!” Ok. Now who is Benjamin? LOL! I write back explaining that I’m not her father to be sending pocket money. Silence…

She shows up at my local in the arms of another man the next weekend.

Na bado…

SAUTE potatoes

2009-05-17T23:28:00.003+02:00

Sweet And Unusually Tasty English potatoes

Been a year and two months since I last blogged. My blog mojo death began as soon as I landed at JKIA from Jozi and rediscovered why I love Nairobi regardless.

I have peculiar eating habits. I had spaghetti for breakfast, a sumptuous Ugali lunch and I've just finished consuming some delicious chicken kienyeji with Saute(d) potatoes. Where I got the will and energy to cook at this ungodly hour I'd be at pains to explain...

Anyway, I wonder why I decided to blog today? Lets see:

Could be that my company has landed its biggest contract to date and I'm over the moon... OR
Maybe its this half-Rwandese gal that's got me at sixes and sevens about what I feel

Either way, I feel I'm at crossroads and need an avenue to vent/release/talk to myself.

A lot has happened since I got back in 2006:

I finally got over my galfriend of 5 years (fiance of the last of those years). We are now friends. Took me a year of avoiding her to get there but gladly that worked out swell.
Met a one-in-a-lifetime type of gal. Totally messed up on that one and still trying to mend fences enough to be friends. She's one of those keepers even if it's just simply as friends.
Got hired in one of those blue-chip companies as part of senior management. Got fired soon thereafter for being "a genius that refused to be tamed" KM, 2009.
Back in school doing my MBA. Love it, love it, love it!!! A year and a half down the line and the effects are amazing. And the contracts I've been able to land, eish!!!
Then there's my half-Rwandese gal. A bit too early to make a call on that one but boy, oh boy, Im in for an interesting ride. Lets see how that goes.

Anyway, let me organize my thoughts and address the above (and much more) as a series of posts. Lets hope the mojo survives long enough for me to do exactly that.

Archer asked for “STAMINA”

2008-03-05T14:07:00.006+02:00

Archer asked for “Six Things About Milo IN A tag”
I usually hate rules so I won’t post them or tag anyone else.
I’d rather bring up stuff that happened in 2007-2008. So here are my six “Me I Ps”:
Me I:
PIMP (Peed In My Pants)
This was the highlight of the year. It started out early on a Friday at around 3pm at the Boardroom aka Mwendas. By the time I was done there (1am) I’d have been giving a Bia Bora truck compe in terms of product content were it not for several pit stops to the little boys room for big men. Still had time/energy for an extra 2 hours in westi before hitting the sack. So I got up to the ever effective alarm signals from the unmentionables demanding audience with sanitation facilities. Having slumbered in the sitting room, I had to make my way to the bedroom and in the process lost all sense of direction and balance. I was quickly brought back to my senses by the impact of my eye-brow and nose against the edge of the bedroom door. Working in close tandem, the various parts of my body managed to signal massive pain to my brain, organize for a sharp intake of breath and release three drops in quick succession reminiscent of the tommy-guns of WWII. Needless to say the drops weren’t tears, sweat or blood.
PINT (Perennially have an INTerest in mwendas)
See PIMP above. I’ve been labeled furniture at Mwenda’s, I’m asked to book guys seats and tables, I receive texts and calls on a loose Monday afte asking if I’m at the Boardroom. What do I say? That’s the place for me except on Wednesdays from 9pm when I religiously report to Galileo’s for Kidum, the BodaBoda band and their dancing lady of the Madum-dums (Mawetetes – Naks 08). It’s changed my drinking habits from 15 on Fri and 24 on Sat to 2 daily (then 15 and 24 on … LOOOOOOL)
PLAY (PLease myself very eAsilY)
I’ve been described as one to enjoy cheap thrills and juicy stories. I am also known to take matters into my own hands aka a hands-on person. I love my fun and would rather have more, than less, things that make me happy cos the things that please those that are hard to please, please me too. Hope you get me please…
PLAN (Probably Lost A really Nice girl)
Could be cause I’m stubborn, proud or simply just a nyangau. Then again, in looking out for number one people often encounter others that are also doing the same. The best-laid ones of mice and men…
POSE (POssibly Should Engage myself more)
Been bumming for two years. I started school again 3 weeks ago and start work mid this month. Given my experience I guess I can unleash a training seminar called “Bum-boocha”, “Oh bummer” or even “Bum-baNet” and teach the people how to do it in style. Nubian Queen, can I use your avatar as my logo??? LOL!
PROD (PReviously OrganizeD wild parties)
Yep, and didn’t my friends love me for it (hence the PIMP). BYOB and I supply the venue, extras and music. There’s something about a party that mimics the male to female ratio of the country that adds extra taste to liquor and heightens enjoyment. Hmmm, there are times I’ve enjoyed so much that an extra “w” was added to the word to make it enjwoyment or better still mwenjwoyos…Those were the times I’d wish I was me and have the extra pleasure of remembering that I was!!!

Ok Archer, I'm done...

One cold night in KENYA!!

2007-08-28T19:01:00.000+02:00

One cold night in KEeping up with NYAng’aus!!
I’ve had three major incidences with my car. Two were accidents, one was a carjacking. The only common factor in all these was that there was a woman involved (apart from my being there too hihihihi)… I’ve already blogged about two of these i.e. Starlet to body, 60MPH and Jacked at SOUTH B.
The third was the most painful. Sniff.., But I’ve attained a state of Mukti/Moksha and can now safely reveal what happened.
Cueing the cues..
One cold night in Kenya, my pal Henny had the ideal gal for the moment: long on looks, short on morals; ample on booty, scarce on attire. And she had friends… So we were chillin at Crooked Q, Milo displaying his cue-talents on table, Henny having his crooked chalked. Then her pals decide we need to head over to K2. Now back in 2003ish, K2 used to bamba vi-proper. I wouldn’t have budged an inch as I was on a roll (ninth game bila loss) but the M. I. C. ie Mamiso In Charge seemed to want a hot cup of steamy Milo, seemed to love ma-hepi regardless, seemed to want me to comment on her blogspot (if you know what I’m sayin…) LOOOOOOL
All roads lead to...
So I begrudgingly gave away my winners and proceeded to head for K2, max’mum speed, min’mum delay. All was going well, mkwajus/mikwaju beginning to stiffen, adrenalin kiasi, hopes up high. The music in the car was loud and clear; the mood Ol Skool. “I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller…” One could almost imagine that Skee-Lo was seated in the back seat performing live much thanks to Sony Xplod speakers, Kenwood tweeters and the 600W Alpine woofer (woof! woof!). The irony of the song was yet to hit us, literally!!
Alas, at the Haile Selassie-Uhuru highway round-a-bout having joined and negotiated a majority of the semi-circle, a Yellow-Red canter decides to jump in bila warning. Brake-pedal to floor, screeching of tyres clutching tarmac for dear life and the smell of burning rubber. Seems at that moment my ABS just stood for my brakes asking “Assi! Be Serious??” There was grinding and gnashing of teeth as the whole of my bonnet was condensed and mangled into a fist of sorts. Canter on receiving the brunt of force from 199x car on 197x body suffered the type of scratch one wouldn’t even humor with elastoplast!!
Surely, surely!!!!!
Now this is where things got interesting. Canter proceeds to head up Upper Hill road undeterred and unconcerned!! There’s madharau and then there’s madharau – I swear! Father-au even!!! Anways, Rav4, now reduced to kedo Rav1.5, was in quick pursuit and I managed to head the nyang’au off somewhere just before Railway club. Jumping out of said Rav, an enraged Milo accosts the canter driver (a Justice wannabe with two twilight nyangaus by his side). No niceties are exchanged but canter keys are confiscated and 999 is dialed. As we patiently await the arrival of Watumishi kwa Wote pigmy decides to show his mamisos his macho side. “If you are bila insurance and cant pay to have your car repaired that’s yours! I can afford to have mine repaired! And no one touches my car keys just like that. Return them before things get bad!!!” he pipes in English laced with a KhoiSan accent.
Revenge of the Drunken Master...
Now I was mad, super-hyper-irate!!!! As the dwarf approached, Milo’s jujitsu, ninjitsu, fujitsu training took over and I was in a zone. Hand-to-body, sneaker-to-butt collisions rendered said vertically challenged individual prostrate on the cold tarmac, whimpering and begging for mercy. Trust Henny, who had been hiding behind me all the while, to suddenly appear at the forefront (when the adversary was on the ground) administering Timberland kicks to torso and unleashing shouts of “Kwenda!! Ghasia!!!”

The rest is a story for another day but the ladies we were transporting ended up in K2 courtesy of the ladies’ everpresent plan B as Henny and I awaited the cops andstatement/insurance/excessmisery!!!Nyangaus! Nyaaaaaaannnnggggggaaaaaaaauuuuuuus!!!!!

FartosynTHESIS

2006-04-11T10:14:00.001+02:00

FartosynTHESIS (THE synopSIS)

If ever there were a beauty ~~pageant~~ pungent for flatulence, one can only imagine who the contestants would be:

Parapanda
In this case tanye decides to piga tarumbeta the fullest. The sonorous reverberations, measuring 6.5 on the Richter scale, cause the butt cheeks to part, wobble and re-merge severally, resulting in an appearance of clapping, as if they are self-complimenting. Accompanying sound from the mouth of producer is sss (breath intake before) mmmmmmmmmmmmmm (during) and aaaaaaaaaaah (relief immediately thereafter).

Falsetto
This high-pitched baby is a major tribute to the greats i.e Aaron Neville and the Bee Gees. Ndwiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii is the ever increasing pitch of falsetto with accompanying heat, likely to burn a hole in even the newest of polyester. As its best, people in the proximity have been known to swat and swipe at the environs of their ears, suspecting the presence of mosquitoes!! One needs to be careful that this one doesn’t end off in sputters lest the flatulence be chaperoned by more er… semi-solid products…

Tommy-gun
This one’s been to the jungles of ‘Nam and lived to tell the tale. The rat-tat-tat action signals its shooting its way out of the captivity of constipation. With the hallmarks of military strategy, T-g accumulates the troops over time and rebelliously breaks for freedom! Accompanying sound from the mouth in this case is WTF!! (immediately before) and uu-uu-uu-uu-uu (during and well after release)

Undacova
If ever there was a perfect illustration of the legal term “Res Ipsa Loquitur” ie the thing speaks for itself, this is the one. The producer will usually be humming under his breath “Mos mos, mos mos, Pole pole! Mos mos” (ESir ft Brenda) during the release. The only other thing one can say about this silent killer (Akiey, 2005) is that it inspired the Chinese saying “Packed elevator smell different to midget”.

Fartogenic
Like wolves, these ones travel in packs. They tend to be hereditary hence thrive at family gatherings. Commonest example is the table scene in the Nutty Professor where various family members exchanged not-so-pleasantries. Usually, the first of these acts like a choirmaster setting the pitch with a slight toot on the harmonica. The various choir members respond willingly and on key. The accompanying instrumentation tends to be the ooooooooohs and aaaaaaahs of relief from the producers and an occasional Kirk Franklin/Kanye West imitation with shouts of “Well-in! Good one there! Suh-weet!”

Mteja
This really doesn’t count, except by association. Common in places under public scrutiny and presence, emissions due for release are stopped dead in their tracks! It involves great control and practice. Butt cheeks are clenched and the pelvis is pushed forward eagerly and hard. It becomes a case of FRTS (Flatulent Return To Sender). Output is sent back to the nether regions it came from. Usually results in a growling stomach that one struggles to control by frantically sucking in and pushing out stomach, all the while practising lamas class breathing techniques (Nick, 2006).

Ladies and gentlemen, and the winner is…

Les MiseraBALLS

2006-03-19T10:46:00.001+02:00

Les MiseraBALLS (BALLiStically painful)
Yes, I finally get to mention the unmentionables in their full glory. And mention them I shall; generously and severally in abundance. Mention them as others are so liberally doing here, there and everywhere - LOL

Call them what you may: shrivelleds, wrinkleds, kwa watoto, proverbials, grapes, family jewels, crown jewels, Trinidad and Tobago, them Mushrooms, the twin Kahunas, mboroz, gentiles*, groinads*, meatballs no sauce - fine by me.

Whichever the case, they can be a source of major, earth-shattering pain my friend.

Tight situation
Your day begins in haste as you’ve overslept. Rummaging through the drawers reveals that you have no clean er… drawers; save for the one mini-undie you never got round to wearing. Given that you will be donning your light silk trousers, operating like Bill Angothaz is not an option.

You therefore squeeze yourself into the miniscule innerwear. During the course of the day, portions of your unmentionables shrug themselves off the undie in a bid to get free - cue Braveheart's William Wallace “Freeeedooooooom!!!!”
Soon you have the discomfort of mini-wear squeezing sections of your proverbials against your pelvis. The evidence of this reveals itself via:

A significant change in walking style where left and right leg seem to be powerful magnets of the same polarity.
Grimacing evident on the face with hands inadvertently heading towards the general area below the belt just to be hastily withdrawn on sighting nearby human presence.
Yelping sounds whenever sitting is attempted.
A tendency to push the butt backwards, upwards and outwards with a slight shimmy and wiggle hoping to wrestle free of the mini-wear.
Imprints of gulleys, wadis and undulating valleys on meatballs no sauce etched out by pressure of miniwear on available portions of unmentionables.

Relief, sweet relief
Arriving home that evening, you release your shrivelleds from their captors for the day, cupping them in your hands and cooing with pleasure… If ever there was a feeling of paradise, it is the feeling you have then!!! You stand up and allow them to rock gently side to side, forward and back, all the time enjoying the relief of a slight wind blowing against them comfortingly and soothingly. In the event of lack of the breeze, an old copy of the Pulse magazine and some fanning hand action can help. “Coochie coochie coo, coochie coochie coo” you softly, affectionately and caringly sing your apologies to your goodies. You really punished them today!!!

Danger ahead
Other times, it is not your garments that are the cause of the discomfort. Take the instance of walking down the streets. Your supuumeter automatically senses an approaching beauty! Alarms bells sound off in your head(s) and your eyes dart around hungrily, searching for the intuitively sensed target. Aaaaaah… There she is in her full glory… Her summer dress receives a waft of wind and rises to the occasion. In a scene reminiscent of Marilyn Munro, said lovely attempts to curtail the upward flow of her dress with both hands. The glimpse caught of the creamy thighs result in a trouser bulge not too high above your knee.

This moment of pleasure is swiftly and abruptly interrupted by thunder, hailstones and white lightning in the brain as you walk into a waist-high pole by the pavement. The pole dissects your lower half, dead centre between the thighs, bringing forth tears, gnashing and grinding of teeth. Tremors rock the body and you suffer an immediate but temporary case of rickets bringing the knees together and forcing the heels apart. You sink to your knees as wave upon wave of pain signals are persistently and continuously communicated to the brain.

Is there are choir in need of a falsetto singer? Because your voice will revert to being unbroken for the rest of that week…

* Corruption of groin and gonads and yes – I meant gentiles...

OesoFUNGUS

2006-03-07T17:34:00.000+02:00

OesoFUNGUS (FUNky GaseoUS)
A collabo with the one and only loonie mate

Proximus Maximus
Ever sat next to a person emitting rancid fumes from the eseo… oseo… eoso… oose… whateva… phagus? Jeez, this guy can do you some damage!! Can anyone in the house spell h.a.l.i.t.o.s.i.s?? And to make matters worse, the polluted halitus is accompanied by vapid, insipid speech punishing the nose and ears in a two-pronged tag-team-like attack.

Peek-a-boo
OFFENDER: NOW the breath is usually HOT and HUMID, usually from the depths of the pharynx. It's usually Meaty...and if early in the morning u can trace tea and bread smell (usually the unsliced type). It's released in one gusto...or in whispered motions if the person is aware. The lips as aforementioned (actually mentioned lower down) move like a presidential escort to clear way for incoming tornado vapours.

OFFENDED: The wave hits the nostrils with the fury of Katrina. There is blurred vision sometimes loss of balance sometimes incoherent mumblings of agreement... You instantly tear up, blink. Reflex urges are muted and u can’t sneeze...u feel ur toes and nose-hairs curl up. Ur smell centres discern the different smell... and for sure they confirm that's a new kind of nasty. You try not to breathe. You try to breathe via exhaling only but your body reaffirms some inhaling is required...you shy away from the smell and breathe south south west of the direction...but that smell is good in hide and seek-it creeps up on u and screams "GOTCHA!" and for sure you have been had!

Waiting to Exhale
For some reason or other, those blessed with this condition have the tendency to exhale while speaking (pre, during and post each word) generating a machine-gun like assault on the nostrils further aggravated by a rain-shower of saliva, worthy of an umbrella. They use words like ehhhhh, ahhhh and ohhhhh that require exhalation to enunciate properly – sheez these guys!!!! Their faces (cracked lips et al) approach yours in some warped reminder of perspective from Art lessons bringing nasal destruction and gloom nearer, oh so nearer!!!

Ever heard of mints my guy, ever heard of mints? In fact, the guy probably needs the mint SWAT team.

Tidbits

These guys usually have lips that are flared in a 'don’t touch my teeth' direction...yaani them lips are like running away from the pungent odiferous volcanic eruptions happening from within
Now, a closer CSI interior look shall reveal, remnants of undigested...or unchewed chunks lodged within pockets. At some point some ndengu seeds even start germinating but the extra free oxygen doesn’t help matters.
They splatter away in speech, and if by bad luck a drop happens to land on u...do not wipe, do not touch...just let it dry out...
These people are the type that wipe their mouth with their hands and hold doors and shake hands and u end up wondering if they had just visited the loo...trust me you’re luckier with the latter
These people are the same ones that fall asleep behind/beside u in a mat with the mouths open and they ventilate you collar in ways that violate u more than Instigator's last post

Putting the Moves
Their whispering of sweet nothings to the ears of the lovelies emit fumes of neat swathings wrapped around a decaying mummy… If this guy happens to be a kao doctor, when he asks you to “say haaaaa” you do not require anaesthesia as you’ll be out for the count - for quite a while.

Wira ni Wira
Anyway, I can see at least 3 jobs they are guaranteed to get:

Anti-riot police to replace contents of tear-gas canisters with upepos ma-smelly
Pest control – no need to fumigate. Get the guy sleepy and then release him to yawn continually in the target room.
WWE wrestling champion - a finishing move called Breathalyzer - Alcoblow kando...

Na msisahau ku-floss meno leo jioni!!!