As Fate Would Have It.....

So...here we go again with this bullshit. Ok...I so I pretty much knew from a very early age that my luck with women was going to be fucked up for the rest of my life. This started when I think I was in Buruburu Nursery School, where the object of my infantile lust/subject of my only stalking experience, Kathini, went to. Whenever it was time to lala, I'd drag my mattress with my 2ft 3 frame and chase her around wanting to sleep right next to her...an exercise I'd follow through with till she gave up...then I'd plop my plastic covered mattress right next to her and catch some Z's. At least that was until I finally understood why all those stupid mattresses had a plastic cover...coz on one of these inauspicious days, I must have dreamed that I had drank a gallon of Quencher and that it was time to get it out of my system. Of course I woke up in denial and proceeded to ask a bunch of my school mates why they'd go around peeing on my mattress trying to bring me shame....with a big old wet spot on my corduroy pants. I was framed I tell you!! So what if their pants were dry?

Of course my luck with women took a nose dive from there...in high school...my boy was going out with this nice girl. Nice girls, as it were, tend to have nice girl friends, and they both saw it fit that they should hook me up with one of her friends, Miss Babu. Miss babu looked pretty dara-able, coz I guess I wasn't fucking at that point (thus not fuckable), but she had boobs (I don't think size mattered as such, or if I can remember what size they were...I just wanted to cup a feel, and she had a pair). So I get thrown in the water to do something I've never done before, at least knowingly...katia a chick. LoL!!! What? Me? do what? so of course, I had zero conversation points...but chose to put my conversation points from "Hallo Children", the std. 3 version, to the test. Is that the one where they had grass soup?

So I proceed to blurt out one idiotic remark after the other, like what are your hobbies (what???), what do you do (she's in form 1...what could she be doing, designing a rocket?) among others which I think my brain is working hard to block at the moment. It was so bad, I almost asked her what type of padlock she had on her desk. I even started talking about how I like to read the dictionary, and told her which word I read that day: Myriad -- tens of thousands, a large number...I heard my mdomo say, and immediately I wanted to slap myself. At that time I was thinking, you're stupid ten thousand times you idiot...you are an idiot a myriad times. How's that for using your word in a sentence you buffoon! And from the goodness of her heart, she decides to throw me a bone, and she suggests we walk, maybe that would get some blood flowing to my brain and chalk up some ideas. So I'm thinking, ok, wacha I tell her about how I grew up, but decide to ask her about her childhood then blab about mine later. So for some reason, she stops and we end up standing under some mugumo tree. So she's huko talking about who knows what (her sweater was...well, let's just say at the time, I was thinking that when I grow up I wanna be her bra). All of a sudden, I see something dropping from my peripheral vision, and I sorta ignore it. Then all of a sudden she gets a funny look on her face, like she's getting grossed out...and I'm like if my pants are wet again, I'll be sooo mad coz those kids from nursery school are taking it too far now...hehehe...I hope it's not them again.

To my relief, my pants are as dry as a bone, which brings a smile to my face, then I see her scowling even more, and her hand starts to move, and I realize there's something wrong...coz when these gestures start coming in doubles....basically....FUUUUCCCKKK!!! She proceeds to point to my shirt (you know...that ka nice shirt that you used to save for functions/music fests/drama...that kind of thing) and I immediately catch a bout of Tourette's Syndrome as soon as I saw what she was pointing out. Some FUCKING dumbass of a bird had decided that

1. It was Picasso
2. I was the perfect canvass to lay its next art masterpiece on

.....poop art.

The idiotic pigeon had dropped a deuce on my shirt. The good shirt. What??? As if my day wasn't going badly enough, this had to happen? THIS!!! This can't be a coincidence...this is a message from the cosmos itself. There's no way I can't fight this... Upon this realization, I knew at once what this was...unchangeable. I chose not to stand around and wallow in self pity...I just walked away, didn't say nothing to Miss Babu or anything. Just walked straight to the school bus and waited to go back to school...coz from that point on, I knew my fate with women was pretty much sealed.

PS: I did however wage a war on pigeons, and ate tons of them in high school....they make a pretty good stew. They little buggers had to pay for the sins of their kin.