Wake up the next morning
And it’s another waste…
First you work 9 to 5
Cook and clean 5 to 9
Then you sleep 9 to 5
Might it be better?
If you could do as you please
Fail the bath tub for an entire week
Bury the toothbrush in the garbage
Eat raw sweet potato and unboiled milk
Pick your nose and stare into space
Better yet; curse like a sailor at Bossman
Make him work nineteen times as hard
As you swivel on his Kshs. 165,000 worth chair
Disarrange his files; boil his fancy pens
Pour pineapple yoghurt and egg white into his Italian shoes
And squeeze his fat buttock with tweezers
Feed the family ice-cream, éclairs and red, red wine
Deny the man of the house his conjugals
And watch him crawl and beg for your carnal knowledge
Make him scrub and mop the floors
As his seed scour the pots and pans and toilet seats
Completely neglecting their homework; just for you!
Invite the in-laws over
All of them; father, mother, sister, brother
Call one a fat WARTHOG, the other a royal noisy bitch,
The next a meddling whore and the last one a sissy without testicles
And then bang the dirty mahogany door in their faces
Parade the streets with nothing on but unholy boots
Cross your legs and smoke your ganja
Chuck the wedding ring and pawn it for a bus ticket
………to Mathare Mental
Get some Psych help
Then go back to the 9 to 5 monotony,
© Linda C. Musita 2011
NOTE: Make the time to read the Copyright Act, Laws of Kenya.
Monday, 19 September 2011
Bats in the Bedlamite's Belfry
“From the moment of birth the Stone Age Baby confronts the twentieth century mother, the baby is subjected to these forces of violence called love, as its mother and father and their parents before them have been. These forces are mainly concerned with destroying most of its potentialities and on the whole, this enterprise is successful.”
-R.D LAING (THE POLITICS OF EXPERIENCE)-
“If they are going to stare, they might as well satisfy their visual organs.”
***
***
Buto reached into the plastic bag half full with tamarind fruit, cracked a pod and thrust a sticky line of sourness into his mouth and onto an already sore tongue. He had seen Enoch leave the house in more revealing, revolting attire or sometimes in the nude. The young boss despised clothes and anyway, who was he to judge him. In his time he did more unconventional things especially to his wife Euphrasia. Things that included her pudenda, chilli powder and his eternally sore tongue. He had learnt a lot from Enoch’s parents.
‘Rest their liberal souls of kink….and Euphrasia’s submissive soul too.’ He laughed and whistled to sooth his tongue.
***
Enoch walked briskly and they did stare, as expected, prompting him to smile and increase his pace just to give the whole spectacle the required visual effect. At the shopping centre, he made for the SWANKAtel kiosk and bought a scratch card. He keyed in the,*1547895378698872≠. Instead of the usual short message confirming his new account balance he got,***
“Imagine a yellow corporate tower sticking its tongue out and singing’ fey fey fey fey boo boo, you haven’t loaded shit!’ Please try and reload the card. If you have dumped it already, buy another one, make me rich and reload it severally for required results.”
He had dumped the card in the recycling bin next to the kiosk. Frustrated, he asked the vendor to read the message and explain what he thought he had not understood.
“Ndho hivo! Siku hidhi wanankula wananthi hivo. Nunua kadhi ingine ama uthchange mthandao,” he told Enoch while handing him another card with his right hand and holding out his left palm for the money.
Enoch took the card, paid for it and made four attempts at loading the airtime finally getting the polite message confirming the recharge. He called Bugga n’ Fizz immediately perhaps out of fear that the yellow tower might pull a fast one on him again.
As soon as he got home he got rid of the articles of clothing and then frantically typed an email to the corporate punkster,
“Dear SWANKAtel,
You really think a yellow building trying at personification would freak me out? Try harder because when I see yellow, I do not think of playing guns and robbers but taking a bath with my rubber ducky.
Kind Regards,
Enoch!”
A month later, on the 4th day of July 2011, he drove to the post office. His mail box usually contained flyers inviting him to Asian Expos and an electricity bill. This time however, there was an extra black envelope, unsealed and unaddressed. He thrust four fingers into the envelope and retrieved a sheet of paper that among nothing else read,
Dear Enoch
*≠*≠* ≠*≠*≠*≠* ≠*≠*≠*≠* ≠*≠*
*≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠*
*≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠*≠*≠* ≠*≠*
*≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠*≠*≠* ≠*≠*
SWANKAtel
“Oh really?’ he mocked the incorrigibles and threw the envelope into the ‘Return to Sender Box’.
That Wednesday he called the fast food people just as he left the supermarket. That way he and the delivery boy would get to his gate at the same time, by his calculations. As estimated, the delivery boy met him at the gate at 7.30 pm, handed him the medium size pizza box in exchange for the consideration.
Safely within his house, Enoch placed the box on the dining table, took off his clothes and walked into the kitchen, shopping bag in hand. The bag was placed on the counter and the young albeit naked boss proceeded to the sink and drank directly from the tap.
Buto dished out a tomato from a basin of hot water, forgetting to peel off the skin, he cut it into quarters. All the while his eyes followed the young boss’ nude frame from the counter, to the sink and out of the kitchen to the dinning table.
Comfortable on a chair, Enoch lifted the top of the box only to be met with a scrabble board instead of the extra topping pizza he had ordered. This was also not the usual 15 by 15 grid scrabble board but a 10 by 10 grid board with all one hundred tiles stuck to it. All of them except the two blanks were marked with an organized sequence of * and ≠.
“Food for thought, huh? Not even a pretty alphabetical letter? Come on?” he asked and then called for the cook.
“Mmmmhhhhhh,” answered a tomato stuffed mouth.
“Come and clear this mess, burn it if you please!”
Buto took the box without looking at the young boss and proceeded, together with his perplexed look and his opinion, to the backyard where he dumped the ‘mess’ into a compost pit.
***
2.00 am on the 9th of July 2011 and the phone rings. He could swear that he had switched it off before he pulled the covers over his shoulders but still it buzzed and shrieked. He reached under the pillow, dragged it out and pressed the green button.***
“Hallo?”
Nothing but a hum, He thumbed the red button but the phone was off anyway rendering that a useless action altogether. So, believing he was mid-dream, he slipped the phone back under the pillow and dreamt some more. Twenty minutes later, a beep notifying him of a message prompted him to drag the phone out again. And the message read,
“*≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠*
*≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠*≠*≠* *≠*≠*
*≠*≠* ≠*≠**≠*≠* ≠*≠*≠*≠* *≠*≠*”
This was the thorn that pricked the orangutan’s hand!
“Nobody knows exactly when the last time of something begins. But this is something else. Because today, at sometime, it is going to be the last time of something between us,” as he got out of bed he recited a paragraph from, The Visits, a book that his mother made him read repeatedly when he was a boy.
He went to the living room, sat on the sofa and waited.
Soon enough there was a deafening bang on the gate.Enoch went outside. From where he stood, he saw the yellow tower with frightened night shift employees peering through the numerous windows.
“So you think you are brave?” the parking bay on the twentieth floor moved. Enoch took that to be the concrete monstrosity’s mouth.
“Ay, get lost. You will wake the neighbors and their Residents’ Associations,” Enoch answered and started towards the door.
“Wait!”
“What, freak?”
“”Really, I do not scare you at all? I am real you know, nothing from a nightmare. You can come closer and pinch me if you like.”
“Of course you are real. Now, can I go back to sleep?”
“Jesus Louisa’s! Do you know how hard it is to get a 10 by 10 scrabble board manufactured to specification and imported to an insignificant telecoms company in Africa?”
“Ehe?” Enoch lifted a brow at the same time noticing the goose bumps on his skin.
“None of that shit scared you?!….Ahhh, wait, I see goose pimples! You are a wimp after all!”
“Ay, those are because I am naked and it is cold out here. And the bumps on your walls are they goose bumps too?” Enoch employed sarcasm.
“No, these are designer! By a very good architect too!”
Enoch turned to enter the house again.
“Hey, wait! I have to have scared the hair up and out of your skin?”
“Nah, you did not.”
“Didn’t your parents ever shower you with sickening quantities of love and by extension instill fear in you. It happens to humans, by default, the last I checked. You do know that love is the mother of all fear, don’t you?”
“No they did not”
“Oi?” the twentieth floor slanted.
“They beat the jeepers out of me daily, never cuddled me, took me to their hunting sprees and made me catch dik diks only to force me to break their necks later, let me watch them have sex sometimes with Buto other times with VCR tutorials and when they went on vacation they checked me into a mental institution or a private clinic’s psych ward. They even let the Old Nick move in, in 1999, just before they passed on. I let him live here till 2007 when I kicked him out. Sulfur has a foul stench and I had put up with it long enough.”
“No kidding?’’
“Nope. I am grateful though; imagine the spook you would have created if they had treated me like a
weakling. Now get lost!”
“Alrrrrrrrright,” the tower turned and walked towards the shopping centre
***
Buto peeked through the bedroom window of the servant’s quarter. The young master was talking to himself again. This time the imaginary person he was talking to was not in between his toes but somewhere up in the sky or thereabouts.“No kidding?’’
“Nope. I am grateful though; imagine the spook you would have created if they had treated me like a
weakling. Now get lost!”
“Alrrrrrrrright,” the tower turned and walked towards the shopping centre
***
He watched Enoch ramble and then walk into the house, slamming the door behind him.
© Linda Musita 2011
Note: If you lift this and hawk it as your own, I will check you into a psych ward..with Enoch as a roomie
Little Green Man
S’like the first time i tasted Indian tea in a tassie,
my tongue would not stop slurping in bliss,
sweet satisfaction with a tea-ngy tang
S’like the second time i read Mark Twain,
twasn’t two-a-penny; twas a rich moment
Huclkeberry Finn became the brother i thirst for.
S’like the third time i saw Elementaita,
tightest moment of my life; when i discovered the threesome’
gold,pink and silver.
S’like the fourth time i sat in a Deutsch class and decided to stay four years,
and watch Herr Mutua turn red everytime i snapped,
“Ich spreche einbisschen Deutsh!Gib mir noch etwas zeit! yikes!”
S’like the fifth time i drunk obambla soup,
bumble bee’s honey could never, at all, ever beat,
the super taste of this here soup!
S’like the sixth time i caught dede,
and took time to giggle at the tickle in my folded fist,
i’ve never been so touched again…..ever.
S’like the seventh time you wrote me an ode,
stranger to my eyes, foreigner to my phone book, bosom buddy to my P.O Box,
strumming my heart with strangely familiar verse.
S’like first million, second chance granting,third rate mexican soaps,
fourth helpings, Fifth Avenue Bistro, sixth lip lock and seven heaven.
All alien but mine too.
© Linda Musita 2010
NOTE: Linda Musita wrote this poem. If you see it anywhere else or hear it some place near you, report the culprit to the poet.
my tongue would not stop slurping in bliss,
sweet satisfaction with a tea-ngy tang
S’like the second time i read Mark Twain,
twasn’t two-a-penny; twas a rich moment
Huclkeberry Finn became the brother i thirst for.
S’like the third time i saw Elementaita,
tightest moment of my life; when i discovered the threesome’
gold,pink and silver.
S’like the fourth time i sat in a Deutsch class and decided to stay four years,
and watch Herr Mutua turn red everytime i snapped,
“Ich spreche einbisschen Deutsh!Gib mir noch etwas zeit! yikes!”
S’like the fifth time i drunk obambla soup,
bumble bee’s honey could never, at all, ever beat,
the super taste of this here soup!
S’like the sixth time i caught dede,
and took time to giggle at the tickle in my folded fist,
i’ve never been so touched again…..ever.
S’like the seventh time you wrote me an ode,
stranger to my eyes, foreigner to my phone book, bosom buddy to my P.O Box,
strumming my heart with strangely familiar verse.
S’like first million, second chance granting,third rate mexican soaps,
fourth helpings, Fifth Avenue Bistro, sixth lip lock and seven heaven.
All alien but mine too.
© Linda Musita 2010
NOTE: Linda Musita wrote this poem. If you see it anywhere else or hear it some place near you, report the culprit to the poet.
Radio Cassette
Phillip stared at the therapist’s thin caramel legs. They reminded him of dry twigs. She wore orange stiletto heels that took his mind to the stove in his mother’s kitchen.
He heard Nelly, Akoth and Marie singing in the kitchen. How he longed to get into that kitchen: so warm and nice, full of love and oestrogenic cooperation. But he wouldn’t dare. Instead he peeped through the keyhole of the Bermuda blue door. He saw the girls chopping, grating, kneading then fry or maybe boil the condiments on a six burner stove. The orange flames teasing his peeping eye as much as his sisters’ gyrating lady lumps teased. They happily swayed and swirled to the tunes coming out of the dubbed tape in the radio. The girls always did a rewind of My Boy Lollipop. He loved that song.
They always seemed happy in the kitchen. He, on the other hand, wasn’t to be caught dead there. Not even for a glass of water for a fiery throat.
“Kitchen! No place for a man with functional balls! A sissy maybe. But this Jaduong’ has not raised a sissy. Has he?” Papa growled like a man possessed by the Msambwa Demons.
“No, Jaduong.” Phillip winced. Papa let the girls call him ‘papa’ and even sit, bounce and giggle on his lap. But his only son had to call him Jaduong’ and stand at cadet attention when being addressed.
“Son, you know we have all our dreams and hopes safely banked in an account known as Phillip?”
“I do, Jaduong.”
“That is why you get V.I.P treatment and privileges. As you see and know, this our house is a two bedroom. You are the only one with an entire room to yourself. The rest of us have to share. Your sisters have to arrange ‘godhoro’ in the sitting room every night! Every night! Now, tell Jaduong’ why you have your own room? Go on!”
“I am the account of dreams and hopes. I go to school to read and learn and defeat everyone. So that one day I will become a big man…,” he pauses and stares at the wall.
“Eh! Are you forgetting your creed? Do you shame me in the presence of your mama by turning into a failed memory retard?”
“No Jaduong’….So that one day I will become a big man with money and buddies. For no man without a university campus degree and American dollars can afford buddies and a bubble gum pink Bayerische Motoren Werke car for Jaduong’. That equation cannot balance.”
“Good. Now go back to your room. Marie will bring that glass of water.”
“Jaaa…dddd..uu..ong.” Phillip stammers.
“WHAT?” the Msambwa Demon barks.
“There is a library at….”
“Go to your room before I make you pee in your pants!”
***
“Phil,” a gentler voice called.
The therapist had her left hand on his arm. He looked into her eyes the same way he had stared at the wall in Jaduong’s sitting room. She looked away and walked back to her seat with the help of her twigs.
Klik, klck, klik, klok and thwump. Four steps and her tiny bum hit the chair.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I can’t call that thinking, Dr. Sunjit. That was not thinking.”
“What was it then?”
“It was my mother’s kitchen. It was fire, motion and sound.”
“Go on?”
“Go on….I want to go on to the library.”
“The library, Phil?”
“You know your questions, Dr. Sunjit; they never have more than five words in their structure.”
Dr. Sunjit remains silent.
“I want to go to the library man!”
“Alright Phil, you can go to the library. There is one close by. Just go up Ralph Bunche Road and you shall find one.”
“Thank you Dr. Sunjit. I guess we shall see you tomorrow.”
“We?”
“There she goes again with the short questions.”
***
He stood at the entrance to the library. There were too many people in the compound, sitting on the benches idly.
‘Why aren’t they in the library with the books?’
People always made it difficult for him to get into the library. Jaduong’ never let him go into one. He said that he would do just fine with the textbooks. The library was full of radical opinions on paper.
Jaduong’ was a person, singular for people. That did not even make sense. The examples in the textbooks read:
The last time he saw Jaduong it was not so pretty a sight.
Mama, Nelly, Akoth and Marie looked like baked beef too. Mama covered with the charred pink blanket on her marital bed, the girls hurdled together on the sitting room godhoro.
He was unharmed. So was the radio. The people in the fire wagon took him to a hospital. They said he was in shock and sent him to a hostel on Ralph Bunche Road. Dr. Sunjit said it was close to her clinic and it would be easier to treat his shock if he was a stone’s throw away. She promised to help him get over his remorse.
He was not remorseful. He walked away from the inaccessible library. It was almost dinner time at the hostel. They called it dinner there, but Marie, Nelly and Akoth used to call it supper. They told him that their food was soul food. Phillip liked that, S for Supper or Soul food while D was for Dinner or Dump food.
Phillip went to his room to get his spoon and his heart ran over a beat. His radio was not on the stand.
“Matron!”
“Yes, Phillip!” she yelled back.
“Come here, matron, come here” he sobbed. “Where is my radio?”
“Oh that old thing, I threw it in the garbage.”
“Why?” He winced
“The garbage collectors came and I didn’t want to leave any trash behind. You know they only come once in two weeks. So, I get it all out while I can, every single bit of trash on my path goes with the stinky truck.”
“Trash?” asked gently, with flames on his mind.
”Yes, the radio and everything about it was trash. If the inspectors found it here, all rusty and rotten wood, they would quarantine the place for tetanus or even burn it down,” she laughed.
© Linda Musita 2010
WARNING: Copy and you will burn!Roast and grill, I tell you!He!he!he!
‘My boy Lollipop, you made my heart go giddy up.
You are as sweet as candy,
You are my sugar dandy.
Ha, ho my boy Lollipop,
Never ever leave me,
Because it would grieve me…’
He heard Nelly, Akoth and Marie singing in the kitchen. How he longed to get into that kitchen: so warm and nice, full of love and oestrogenic cooperation. But he wouldn’t dare. Instead he peeped through the keyhole of the Bermuda blue door. He saw the girls chopping, grating, kneading then fry or maybe boil the condiments on a six burner stove. The orange flames teasing his peeping eye as much as his sisters’ gyrating lady lumps teased. They happily swayed and swirled to the tunes coming out of the dubbed tape in the radio. The girls always did a rewind of My Boy Lollipop. He loved that song.
They always seemed happy in the kitchen. He, on the other hand, wasn’t to be caught dead there. Not even for a glass of water for a fiery throat.
“Kitchen! No place for a man with functional balls! A sissy maybe. But this Jaduong’ has not raised a sissy. Has he?” Papa growled like a man possessed by the Msambwa Demons.
“No, Jaduong.” Phillip winced. Papa let the girls call him ‘papa’ and even sit, bounce and giggle on his lap. But his only son had to call him Jaduong’ and stand at cadet attention when being addressed.
“Son, you know we have all our dreams and hopes safely banked in an account known as Phillip?”
“I do, Jaduong.”
“That is why you get V.I.P treatment and privileges. As you see and know, this our house is a two bedroom. You are the only one with an entire room to yourself. The rest of us have to share. Your sisters have to arrange ‘godhoro’ in the sitting room every night! Every night! Now, tell Jaduong’ why you have your own room? Go on!”
“I am the account of dreams and hopes. I go to school to read and learn and defeat everyone. So that one day I will become a big man…,” he pauses and stares at the wall.
“Eh! Are you forgetting your creed? Do you shame me in the presence of your mama by turning into a failed memory retard?”
“No Jaduong’….So that one day I will become a big man with money and buddies. For no man without a university campus degree and American dollars can afford buddies and a bubble gum pink Bayerische Motoren Werke car for Jaduong’. That equation cannot balance.”
“Good. Now go back to your room. Marie will bring that glass of water.”
“Jaaa…dddd..uu..ong.” Phillip stammers.
“WHAT?” the Msambwa Demon barks.
“There is a library at….”
“Go to your room before I make you pee in your pants!”
***
“Phil,” a gentler voice called.
The therapist had her left hand on his arm. He looked into her eyes the same way he had stared at the wall in Jaduong’s sitting room. She looked away and walked back to her seat with the help of her twigs.
Klik, klck, klik, klok and thwump. Four steps and her tiny bum hit the chair.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I can’t call that thinking, Dr. Sunjit. That was not thinking.”
“What was it then?”
“It was my mother’s kitchen. It was fire, motion and sound.”
“Go on?”
“Go on….I want to go on to the library.”
“The library, Phil?”
“You know your questions, Dr. Sunjit; they never have more than five words in their structure.”
Dr. Sunjit remains silent.
“I want to go to the library man!”
“Alright Phil, you can go to the library. There is one close by. Just go up Ralph Bunche Road and you shall find one.”
“Thank you Dr. Sunjit. I guess we shall see you tomorrow.”
“We?”
“There she goes again with the short questions.”
***
He stood at the entrance to the library. There were too many people in the compound, sitting on the benches idly.
‘Why aren’t they in the library with the books?’
People always made it difficult for him to get into the library. Jaduong’ never let him go into one. He said that he would do just fine with the textbooks. The library was full of radical opinions on paper.
Jaduong’ was a person, singular for people. That did not even make sense. The examples in the textbooks read:
e.g Boy- BoysThere was no ‘Person- People’. Not in his textbooks. Sometimes the world confused him. His gut always told him that it was Jaduong’s fault.
Echo- Echos
Cow- Cows
Bell- Bells
Group- Groups
Kiln- Kilns
Paper- Papers
The last time he saw Jaduong it was not so pretty a sight.
‘My boy Lollipop,Jaduong’ was curled up in an ashen corner with zero signs of life. Charred and black, his face contorted and fleshy resembled cold and half baked beef. Someone set the two bed roomed on fire and Phillip was smiling, holding the radio close to his chest as he looked around. Beautiful sound and medium size pungent clouds of smoke.
You make my heart go giddy up,
you set my world on fire,
you are my one desire,
my boy Lollipop, my boy Lollipop. ‘
Mama, Nelly, Akoth and Marie looked like baked beef too. Mama covered with the charred pink blanket on her marital bed, the girls hurdled together on the sitting room godhoro.
He was unharmed. So was the radio. The people in the fire wagon took him to a hospital. They said he was in shock and sent him to a hostel on Ralph Bunche Road. Dr. Sunjit said it was close to her clinic and it would be easier to treat his shock if he was a stone’s throw away. She promised to help him get over his remorse.
He was not remorseful. He walked away from the inaccessible library. It was almost dinner time at the hostel. They called it dinner there, but Marie, Nelly and Akoth used to call it supper. They told him that their food was soul food. Phillip liked that, S for Supper or Soul food while D was for Dinner or Dump food.
Phillip went to his room to get his spoon and his heart ran over a beat. His radio was not on the stand.
“Matron!”
“Yes, Phillip!” she yelled back.
“Come here, matron, come here” he sobbed. “Where is my radio?”
“Oh that old thing, I threw it in the garbage.”
“Why?” He winced
“The garbage collectors came and I didn’t want to leave any trash behind. You know they only come once in two weeks. So, I get it all out while I can, every single bit of trash on my path goes with the stinky truck.”
“Trash?” asked gently, with flames on his mind.
”Yes, the radio and everything about it was trash. If the inspectors found it here, all rusty and rotten wood, they would quarantine the place for tetanus or even burn it down,” she laughed.
© Linda Musita 2010
WARNING: Copy and you will burn!Roast and grill, I tell you!He!he!he!
X-Rate Poke
How many times have we been told to be careful when faced with appealing strangers??! But we never listen. Never ever! Vichwa ngumu kama nyundo!
Lad: I am the one you have been looking for and I am sure that you are the one too.
Lass: What makes you think that you are the one for me?
Lad: We have a deep and rare connection.
Lass: How come I can’t feel it?
Lad: You don’t have to feel it. I will show you instead.
Lass: Show me.
Lad: Drop your skirt as I drop my pants.
Lass: And then…….. What?
Lad: We’ll play a game.
Lass: What game?
Lad: PEEKIE, PEEKIE, POOKIE! I will peek, then poke and prod with my instrument
Lass: ` Oooh…but that is such a juvenile game!
Lad: How do you mean?
Lass: Simple. It would mean that you are the school master and I am the sweet, naïve, little kindergarten baby! That is entirely PG 13…considering that I am not that innocent.
Lad: oh?
Lass: How about an explicit scandalous poking game?
Lad: How explicit?
Lass: Can’t tell but I could show.
Lad: No, do tell. Pretty ‘cherry on top of your warm black forest’ please?
Lass: Ok. How much do you want me?
Lad: Oh babe. I want you so, so much. And it’s not just YOU that I want. I want your perky bosom, those hard tits, your double melon bum…so eager to be grabbed…, your thighs and the ‘cherry on top warm black forest with a lot of sweetness within’d’neath’ in between them….everything!! I’ll do anything just to poke your royal she-cat!!
Lass: Wow…you really do want me, don’t you!
Lad: Oh YEAH! Let’s get explicit!
Lass: Mmmmmh….get naked and kneel down. On fours…just like a dog would!
Lad: Done!
Lass: Now close you eyes and repeat after me….
“Peekie,peekie pokie”
“Peekie,peekie pokie”
Lad: Peekie, peekie, pokie
Lass: “Faggie found a donkey,”
Lad: FAGGIE FOUND A DONKEY!
Lass: “Donkey dogged,”
Lad: DONKEY DOGGED!
Lass: “Faggie thrust,”
Lad: FAGGIE THRUST!
Lass: “Peekie, Peekie…..POOKIIIIIIIIIE!”
Lad: Aiiiiiiigh! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouuuch! What’s that up my ass!
Lass: Dude, it’s my prodding instrument. This cross-dressing thingy really comes in handy when I need virgin assies!
Lad: Holy shit! You are a……..yuck!!!
Lass: Yeah…your holy shit hole has just been explicitly poked!!!
© Linda Musita 2009
WARNING: Pass this off as your own writing and a hit will be placed on your hole. Someone will be HIRED to poke you.
Soko
The young women bite on the ripe yellow mangoes.
The lads chew on their ‘veve’,
oblivious of the disgusting green saliva peeking at the side of their lips.
Calculating on how they’ll ‘score a St. Valentine Day date,
from one of those ripe boobs munching the ripe mangoes.
“Slim chance,” i mumble.”Considering the greeen mess foaming on your lips!”
On the other side of the dusty road,
fat , beautiful, chocolate colored women sell their fried fish’
to equally phenomenal mothers who can’t wait to fix a meal for their mischievous sons,
not forgetting their unappreciative drunken husbands.
“Nimechoka na omena,” says the one with a red head scarf.” Leo ni samaki soft imekarangwa na hoho na saumu!”
“Ehhhheeh!”they all sing in unison.With big African beams on their faces.
A few steps ahead a teenage boy stares at a teenage girl busy shopping for a t-shirt at the “twenty bob! tweny bob! twenty bob!” stall.
“Man, when are you going to lose your virginity?” He asks himself.
“Maybe i should try this one. She’s way too skinny for my liking but Gigolo said that for the first hit, aesthetics don’t reaally matter.”
He feels his back pocket. The Rubber Gummi is still there. Hoping it hasn’t expired yet,he moves in for the kill.
“Hiyo ikona color poa. Wacha nikupromote leo!”
The skinny teenager turns, looks at him and smiles ever so shyly.
“Mwisho?!” A man wonders loudly!
“Eh, mwisho!” yells the other with a ragged hairdo and a pair of jeans that leave out half of his buttocks!
The flat lumps are covered by green boxer shorts.
The rest of the passengers stream out of the matatu.
Some muttering angrily. Others frowning intensely. The rest glaring at The Idiota in green boxer shorts.
They all start walking the rest of the distance.
“Si vizuri venye unafanyia watu,”the angry man goes on, wagging his middle finger at The Idiota.
“Aigh mzae, matatu si yako! Nenda nyumbani umalizie hasira yako kwa mama watoto!” Screams The Idiota as he jumps into the public transport vehicle and tells the ‘dere’ to ‘twende’.
I pick three mangoes. They are packed in a sheer ‘nylon’ karatasi and handed to me.
As i turn to cross the road and find my way home,
a face with green sewage seething out of its mouth blocks my way.
“Niaje ‘msuper’? Eh, na umestunya vipoa!unaenda?”
Aighhhhh!!!
© Linda Musita 2009
WARNING: Infringe at your own peril!
The lads chew on their ‘veve’,
oblivious of the disgusting green saliva peeking at the side of their lips.
Calculating on how they’ll ‘score a St. Valentine Day date,
from one of those ripe boobs munching the ripe mangoes.
“Slim chance,” i mumble.”Considering the greeen mess foaming on your lips!”
On the other side of the dusty road,
fat , beautiful, chocolate colored women sell their fried fish’
to equally phenomenal mothers who can’t wait to fix a meal for their mischievous sons,
not forgetting their unappreciative drunken husbands.
“Nimechoka na omena,” says the one with a red head scarf.” Leo ni samaki soft imekarangwa na hoho na saumu!”
“Ehhhheeh!”they all sing in unison.With big African beams on their faces.
A few steps ahead a teenage boy stares at a teenage girl busy shopping for a t-shirt at the “twenty bob! tweny bob! twenty bob!” stall.
“Man, when are you going to lose your virginity?” He asks himself.
“Maybe i should try this one. She’s way too skinny for my liking but Gigolo said that for the first hit, aesthetics don’t reaally matter.”
He feels his back pocket. The Rubber Gummi is still there. Hoping it hasn’t expired yet,he moves in for the kill.
“Hiyo ikona color poa. Wacha nikupromote leo!”
The skinny teenager turns, looks at him and smiles ever so shyly.
“Mwisho?!” A man wonders loudly!
“Eh, mwisho!” yells the other with a ragged hairdo and a pair of jeans that leave out half of his buttocks!
The flat lumps are covered by green boxer shorts.
The rest of the passengers stream out of the matatu.
Some muttering angrily. Others frowning intensely. The rest glaring at The Idiota in green boxer shorts.
They all start walking the rest of the distance.
“Si vizuri venye unafanyia watu,”the angry man goes on, wagging his middle finger at The Idiota.
“Aigh mzae, matatu si yako! Nenda nyumbani umalizie hasira yako kwa mama watoto!” Screams The Idiota as he jumps into the public transport vehicle and tells the ‘dere’ to ‘twende’.
I pick three mangoes. They are packed in a sheer ‘nylon’ karatasi and handed to me.
As i turn to cross the road and find my way home,
a face with green sewage seething out of its mouth blocks my way.
“Niaje ‘msuper’? Eh, na umestunya vipoa!unaenda?”
Aighhhhh!!!
© Linda Musita 2009
WARNING: Infringe at your own peril!
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