Good morning people! I don’t think there’s any human being on the planet happier than I am at the moment… I’m half-way through… I didn’t really have anything to post, so I was gonna use the excuse of half-way point not to post anything. But the people who indicated that they wanted to guest-write are almost ready, and one of them has sent a piece. The sad part of this though, is that the piece is on me.
Although I should be happy that someone thinks so highly about me to write a piece about me, something about me just doesn’t like it. But hell, I said I was looking for guest-writers, and the topic was theirs to choose, so whatever you bring to the table is what I’ll feed to the children. But it’s just wicked that after I have personally exposed some of the holes in my yansh, someone still feels the need to stick his hand along my indecisive ass crack and expose more of the holes… Pure wickedness… Even the title is harsh… Enough… Oya read the post… *hands mic over to @Qghaz*
Ode To A Retard
The cold air spoke to me in a slow seductive manner that only a good seductress can imitate, it was a Friday night and the mood was definitely right. In a twinkle of an eye, my entire being was arrested. I tried endlessly to bribe my way out of the feeling, but unlike the Nigerian men in black, its stood its ground. I was done for. I knew it, sleep had come, and no matter how many sachets of Nescafe I forcefully swallowed, Kopiko (so-called coffee sweet) I licked, or super gum that I chewed, she just won’t let me be.
I’m guessing you’re trying to figure out the reason behind my corny introductory paragraph. Well, 4 years ago, on a date with destiny, I left the Mini Campus of the University of Ilorin, where my faculty was located, at around 8pm in the night. My destination: The permanent site of the University, which is about an hour away in the humble purpose (and self-deceit) of going to read. My reason: Simple, I had too much friends on Mini (as we called it) so they were constituting a nuisance to my mental faculty, placing a stop sign between my reading and my understanding (In lay-man terms, blah blah blah… I couldn’t read on Mini sha).
It took me another hour to settle on a class as I wandered from SLT (brothel of Unilorin, where konjified students meet) to LT1 (just a lil’ less worse) to LT3 (there is more decency here, but still…) and finally I settled at ELT. The environment was saner, the lightening in the class was bad, but still reading, not necessarily assimilation was possible. An hour later, details of the first paragraph set in. It was 11 o’clock and I was fucked. There was no chance of sleeping in class because all the pretty girls with make-up on (in night-class fa!) were very much around. I wallowed in my doom, looking for excitement to keep me awake, hence the real reason I was here set in (Can somebody please play YQ – I Like Girls for me?). Sadly, I wasn’t going to get anything. You ask why? Because I was the shyest bastard you never met back then (Back then ni o!). Then, I would blush awkwardly whenever a girl said “hi” (shaking my head for myself at this point).
At that point, a very skinny, lanky, under-fed boy walked in with a few other 100 level Medicine hopefuls (most of ‘em were later dropped) into ELT in company of some pretty young thangs (these boys were guarding the girls so much, you’d think their mummy axed them to). My focus was on the half sick-looking boy, and I was thinking “What the heck is a ‘sickler’ doing in night class? Sleep quickly went on break time from me. I watched this boy greet as many people as he could in a process more modernly called famzin and as expected, famzers are susceptible to shunning by most of their celebs. In short, pity switched to mock indignation ’cause this fool wouldn’t just get it that not everyone liked him.
Fast-forward a few years, 2 strands of hair on his chin (or maybe 3 now sha), a terrible addiction to partying, avid Manchester United disease, Football Manager virus, sweet mouthedness, unrepentant class stabber, a few fly kicks, an election to the SUG, over popularity due to a foundation of famzing that later paid off well, a fine elder sister and the contact of some hawt babes that he won’t shag (I and my friends had a special nickname for people like him- PPU- Pussy Protector Unit, boys like this are forever stuck in ‘friends’ zone), this same boy had become a PR impresario, a ladies’ man(finally, though he’s still much of a virgin), avid blogger and in a lot of circles, an important personality (YES I SAID IT). He had rose to the top of the food chain as an undergraduate, he hadn’t done a lot, but he had seen a whole lot.
In this write-up, I celebrate my Chairman #TeamBread, Mayowa ‘Wana’ George (@OluwaWanababa). His commitment to his endless famzing brought him fame, but not yet fortune and I say to whom it may concern THAT BOY ROCKS – evidence of his likable personality is the hundreds of comments on his blog (ok I exaggerate am small or plenty) that keeps a lot of people on his d**k, also the endless amount of older girls that won’t mind being his lady.
Bro, every cell (except those in my genitals) in my body troway salute to a truly amazing young man with a bright as hell future. As I am typing this sef, I’m using dark shades so I don’t go blind, plus I have rubbed epo pupa (red oil) on my skin so I don’t get superstar sun-burnt.
I have always respected you, except for the time you got my camera lost. See you on top.
Ehem… Before I comment on this post, I would allow time for everybody who has been yimu-ing to adjust their nasal sinuses… Through? Good, let me now talk.
First of all, Taqwa Ghazal… You are a bastard. Of all the numerous topics to write on, such as the successful coup d’etat of Odina by FuckYourOpinion, or the benefits of having sex with gbegiri-flavoured condoms, you chose to write on me.
Secondly, thunder faya your left testicle for calling me a Famzer… I can’t help it that people like me…
Pussy Protector Unit? Seriously? You and Mubarak don craze… And if you seriously think I belong to this branch of the Special Armed Forces, my brother you are sadly mistaken. Just bring that your sister, Jumai right? to my room for one night… If she no born quintuplets that night, my name no be Mayowa George.
I actually like the post and it would have become a personal favourite, if not for the fact that it’s about me…
My dear other guest writers, please I dey wait for una o!… @kemmiiii and @terdoh, please grace my blog with you legendary abilities na!
Till I send you another useless link again… Peace!
But wait o… This boy is a cow o… Does election as Chairman of the National Association of Bread-Eaters call for celebration? *drops mic*