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.