Valium is my friend...Valium is my friend...

When I came to this so-called land of opportunity, I didn't realize that the opportunities being talked about were not limited to just those ones that I could pursue, but that I was also to be subjected to those of others as well. Not too long ago, I was subjected to one of these "opportunities", and not surprisingly, it was one that was rejected by every single part of my anatomical and metaphysical being. I'll put this disclaimer out there though, for everyone to understand where I'm coming from though. I have tried (and I believe, successfully so)to be accepting to this cultural phenomenon(and in every sense of the word, a way of life)-homosexuality, basically, to me, they have found love that's all there is to it. Sina shida na mtu. But the other day, me and a few friends decided to go to this nice spot (I'm not going to sema the name, hiyo ni advertising, and they haven't given me a red cent...so screw them) which I know is frequented by a growing number of same sex couples due to an increasing level of tolerance among its clientelle, and it was during this fatefull night that resulted in me having to shower about 7 times and want to yell out "SODOM!!!" at every gay couple I met in tao. The answer is "Yes", if you're still asking yourself whether a gay jamaa made a pass at me, not to mention that you're slower than a snail on a hot summer day.

Tom, a 6' 4" jamaa, built like an industrial freezer kept on coming to talk to us jamaas, and me, oblivious to everything that was going on, I thought that this jamaa was just standing there looking at some lesbians attempting to lick each others tonsils, coz that's what the rest of us were doing. It was a good show, but he was one of those people that keep on touching you when they talk. I didn't think much about it, coz Johnstone Kipng'etich from high school had this annoying thing of shikaing your elbow whenever he talked to you, and not like in a manly way, it was like a really weak midget was trying to practice daraing a chick using your elbow, that almost made you think that he was trying to get away with wiping something on your shirt or something. I had sorta gotten used to such people, and needless to say, I was thinking that this jamaa was just being the same way. So my boys go hanyaing on the dancefloor, and me, since I had been playing soccer like a couple of hours before clubbing, I was having pains in places that I didn't know were part and parcel of my so called anatomy, or that of any other poor creature. Incidentally, all through evolution, if we adapt to our environment and stuff like that, why have we not evolved in a way that our bodies would just let you know that there's something wrong, as in instead of pain, the spot vibrates or something like that. I dunno, something...but, as I was saying...I was in some major pain. I'm huku trying to dance with a girl, who for some reason was spending so much time kwendaing chini, she must have thought she was a carpet...and the only part of me that could follow her was my eyes.

In all this time, Tom hasn't even tried to kuja dance with us or anything. A few minutes later, he unnecessarily announces that he's going to chukua a drink(he never offered to get some of anyone, so why announce it?). After getting it, it becomes apparent to me and the rest of my boys that Tom seems to be enjoying the straw more than his drink. Twirling it around his mouth with his tongue, obviously getting kidogo tipsy and throwing glances at a number of jamaas as they passed our tables as we sat down...glances a little bit out of the ordinary...looking at them like the way I look at the last slice of pizza as I'm trying to wolf the slice in my hand like a panadol so that I can jump on the last one. Naturally, I start to get a little bit paranoid about this, but then two minutes later, some random Wangare passed by with an ass that would make your elbows get goose bumps. Tom was immediately discarded from my thought process (I suffer from Severe Lack of Multi-Tasking Abilities) as The Sargent took control and set Bw. John on Auto Pilot. As I was operating Under Testicular Influence, I found myself following the ass to some dark corner of the room (where it mysteriously disappeared...made me kumbuka those majini storos that mboches used to tell us when we were kiddos) just a little bit off the bar counter, smiling extremely sheepishly hoping to be noticed (which was a dummy move, coz the spot I was standing in was so dark, I could have sworn that I saw my shadow looking for me).

As I stood there, tipsy as all hell, eyes half closed and wondering who the fuck had the audacity to turn the lights off at this juncture (someone could get hurt, I seemed to think) of this soiree, I felt a hand squeeze my left ass cheek. On any other occasion, I really wouldn't have minded, but this was too hard, too aggressive, (as my eyes widened) too....and I wheeled around to see who was practicing preparing dough with my booty. What I saw instantly sent The Sargent on a kamikaze mission and Bw. John passed out. Standing there was a behemoth of a man, eyes wide open, sweaty as a mutha, smiling at me the way I was smiling at that random Wangare from a while ago (I sure hope she don't see this shit). Faster than you could say Michuki, my asshole contracts to the size of a fullstop, my butt cheeks squeeze themselves so tight, I could literally crack walnuts with it and my mouth closes itself up so tight that for a minute there, I thought that it had gone into exile (I wouldn't have blamed it either. It's 2007, I'm sure someone will eventually find a way to make a BLT sandwich in I.V. form).

What happened from there is a little bit blurry to me, and I believe this is definitely due to self-preservation practices being carried out by my vacuum of a brain. All I remember is what my boys told me, that they found me curled up in the fetal position and spewing out verses from the good book really loudly. Apparently, they saw Tom bolting out of the club from the spot that I was standing at and they heard the yelling and came to see what was happening. As I came to my senses, I redirected what was left of my traumatized brain to my ass to see if there was any sort of pain that had would have been caused by certain objects gaining visitation rights without a consent that would NEVER be given (thereby giving me the green light to righteously kill a man). To my joy there was none, my pants and everything else was intact. Apparently, all this had occurred in about 2 minutes. I stood up, downed a fifth of jack and told my boys to take me home. As I was leaving, the random Wangare (Betty...and she was so much finer that I had seen) asked me if I was ok. I mustered some few what I believe to be Uzbekistani words (they sure weren't English) and said yes in them.

So, as I sit here, with a couple of valium inside my palm, I am battling with the mild case of Tourette's Syndrome (I only yell out "SODOM" at some people), I wish that Tom gets raped by a really horny donkey.

RAISE THE TERROR ALERT TO "DAMN"!!!!

You know, for years I have been an avid student of the human body, especially when it comes to sexuality. I have let myself delve deep into this widely misunderstood realm (since most people, unfortunately, approach it with a one track mind...to dip Mr. Wang into Ms. Beaver and pump wildly as if in an attempt to both dig for oil as well as create diamonds). In order to fully experience what I studied, I also engaged in practicals (to put it lightly), just to know what I'm talking about. Now, it was during one of these practicals that my self proclamation of indepth knowledge in this field came to bite me in the ass...and hard.

See, like a month ago, I was at my boy's boy's party, don't really remember what it was for, by the time I got there I was already kidogo drunk, and I really didn't care what the hell the party was all about, as long as there was food, women and liquor. My lesson began as I was sipping a concoction of fire and brimstone (coz as soon as I took a sip of it, I got so hot, mpaka I could feel it on my nails). So anyway, as I kept on kunywaing my beverage from the depths of Hades, I see a reflection of a girl standing somewhere in the room, and since everything was spinning, my brain tells me to look stare at one spot and soon, she'll spin into view. Then I force myself to realize that I'm really not that drunk yet, and slowly I turn to inspect the source of the reflection in the corner. And there she was, Lynn, standing in all her ghetto fabulous fabulousness, in a skirt at least two sizes too small and a tank top (or whatever they're called, I know as much about women's fashion as I do about brain surgery). Her wonderbra had pushed her titties so far up, I think I saw frost on top of the things...but again, I was a considerable distance away from her, and my eyesight isn't what it used to be (and I hate carrots). Of course I get all excited, and I walk up to her, mostly in a bid to check her out to further explore the question of whether to katia her or not.

As I get closer to her, I start to notice a few things about her were kidogo off, for one thing, her hair was kidogo nappy, a little bit dishevelled for my taste...and I thought of asking her if one of her hair products was a grenade and if she had used it tonight (I can overlook that...it's kinda been a long night). The other thing I noticed on her was her lips, which were so dry, she looked like she had a porcupine in a deadly death grip in her mdomo...but me being the generous, understanding gentleman that I am (ok...fine...me being the horny jamaa I am) I was like, that's nothing that a little lip balm couldn't fix...well, in her case, a tub of vaseline...coz if she were to give me a BJ with those things I might as well start peeing sitting down, coz I know Bw. John would look like he was attacked by a bunch of knife wielding ninjas. Her toes looked like they had their own story to tell, and I'm sure if they could talk, they'd say that they were living out Cinderella's ugly sisters ordeal with the glass slipper on a daily basis (for those of you who don't know, the feet were being crammed into shoes so small, they practically had to be folded in half in order to fit into the shoes). As in her corns and bunyons were so big, they had their own time zones...just big for no reason...things looked like they were pregnant with some mutant babies. Immediately I blame the booze for my "distorted" perspective of reality.

So, against my obviously better judgement, I go for this girl, probably coz I'm thinking that she's going to be an easy target and I don't feel particularly compelled to work for some ass. So, after using the "I was standing there and I noticed you, and I noticed you noticing me" line, which worked by the way, I manage to convince her to go to some room and see if we can make an real party out of this evening. She agrees and we try to get in to a couple of rooms, which were locked until we get to the room with all the coats, and we start making out like crazy...which at first annoyed me coz she was shoving her big ass ulimi into my mouth like she was trying to taste my tonsils...I mean, how french can one person get? Anyway, soon enuff, she start going downtown and obviously I know what's coming next, so I tell her lemme sit on the bed, coz drunkenness and sexual pleasure turn someone's knees to absolute jelly, and I don't want to pass out with my dong sticking out of my pants should I fall and hit my head on whatever...end up having concussions on both heads. So, she goes to work and I can tell that she has done this a good number of times before... she's really good at it, and I don't know whether to think that she's a ho and be scared or be happy coz practice makes perfect.

After like ten minutes of doing a good job of making my shuma stiffen up like I was about to use it to drill for oil, she gets up and tells me to do her, which I never really have a problem with, but since I really don't know this girl, instinctively, my hand goes into her pants, not to give her pleasure as such, no. I did that coz that's my guaging tool, guages sensitivity of the clit, so that I know if she's more of a clit person or a penetration person...I bet not too many jamaas know this trick, do they? Anyway, as my fingers are busy trying to immitate a bad case of sign language, I start to notice a smell...I know this smell, but this is...it's...growing...I don't know...stronger...worse...what the hell is that...and then it hits me...full force, like a crash dummy in one of those crash tests...and I pull my head back so fast, I actually get a mild case of whiplash. I toa my hand from her pants faster than you can blink your eyes and I look to see if I'd lost some fingers to the abomination that was her sehemu ya aibu...in this case, aibu kubwa zaidi. Then me, in my ?confusion?dumbness or whatever it was, as if to confirm the source of the smell, I do the unthinkable and I bring my hand to my nose. My eyes immediately begin to well up with tears as I look at my hand in such a way that you'd think a shark just bit the thing off. Yaani this thing was tupaing so hard, if it was a baseball game, both the home and away team would have been struck out on the very first pitch of the game.

And of course, the girl pretends like she can't smell it, and me, since I'm drunk, my discretion is out the window at this time, and I make her smell my hand...yaani this thing was smelling of pure evil...and she wanted me to go down on her!!! Kwani I want my tombstone to read, "succumbed to a short whiff of an evil vagina", that shit would be totally embarrassing in heaven...everyone would be clowing me and all. At this time I eye a packet of listerine pocket packs and I start to consider the option of holding her down and sticking a few of those babies in there, hell...she's going to be the first woman to have to rinse out her vagina with listerine instead of her mouth...and she'd have to do it for the full thirty seconds. And then, as if this whole scenario hadn't degenerated into a full terrorist attack, she proceeds to defend her coochie...explaining to me that this is a woman's scent, coz of all the secretions that they have and all...and I'm like kwani you secrete cat poop...coz you smell just like it...I mean...that smell is actually so bad that I think I can actually see it.

Of course, she gets pissed off like a mutha, and I can see a vein pop out in the middle of her forehead, as well as the blood flowing through it (or is it the cat poop?), and I know it's about to get ugly. I try to excuse myself, and I see her reaching for her shoe, and as I try to make my hurried exit, her shoe smacks the fingers which were in her (how much punishment can they take in one day???) I go into the kitchen and find some dish washing detergent and I scrub my fingers religiously with some steel wool that was on the sink...and not surprisingly so, the smell doesn't quite fully go away. I start thinking of exactly how much it would cost me to get finger or hand transplants...and from how serious I was while thinking that, I realize that that evil smell had totally sobered me up...as in completely. I think of letting her know that she could bottle the smell up and make some money (just in case you're not a chaser tablet swallowing kind of person), but I decide otherwise...coz I'm like we need the o-zone layer a whole lot more than we need sober people. Fuck it...I'm going home!!!