Category Archives: Fun

Passion of the fruit: The case of the escaped bandits

I’ve documented a few parties that I’ve been to in the past and most people tend to think they are fictional. I’m as real as a silent fart in the lift. I’m not old but hanging around older people has made me lose touch with things I should otherwise be doing.

For instance, I had nothing to do today and I could have put on my white boxers and watched Nat Geo. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? I had to have an experience that would make me turn to my trusted keyboard. Well, unfortunately, I made the mistake of disrespecting my instinct and now I’m a wanted felon.

So a guy I consider to be my G invited me for a mini party. He’d just moved out and you know how people operate. I needed to know where he lived just in case I was in the vicinity and a random lady saw it fit to share her cookie with me. I work on weekends, and I like going home immediately after work.

I was going to do the same thing on this particular day but you know how the devil works. Well, Devil, or D as we call him in the streets, convinced these two ladies that give my balls a tingling sensation. They plotted and convinced me to make a technical appearance at a party and then head out.

That sounded fine to me. A technical appearance doesn’t last more than one hour, does it? I was the first at the place because I didn’t want to be the new guy at the office that thinks he’s too cool for everyone. In the real sense I am. I chew on mint all day long and have ice tatted right above my heart. It doesn’t get cooler than that.

So yeah, we went to the guy’s place and we chatted for a minute. I was busy sipping on Fanta (Panda things) and he was flirting with vodka. Time was dragging its ass and I was staring at my watch and cussing in my head. Why was I cussing? You see, I am not the largest guy in the room. This particular friend is like twice my size.

I don’t know what alcohol does to him so I wasn’t willing to sit back and find out. Luckily, another guy showed up. A short while later another guy showed up. At this point I was thinking, “Haha! I knew this was going to be one major sausage fest. I’m out!” Then I remembered there were two ladies that were supposed to have been at the party by then.

I was not amused by the whole five guys waiting on two chics thing. I was not about to run a train with ninjas who fart when dancing. The host got a call from another lady and I thought that was my cue to leave. So I followed them out so that I could get a bus home. At this point I called the two missing ladies to inform them of my imminent departure.

I was the one who was supposed to be angry but I was the one who ended up going down (not literally) and offering a solution. So there we were, three ninjas and one very light lady. A few moments later, two more ladies came and we headed back to my boy’s digs.

We get there, there are two more ninjas I didn’t leave there and a lady. The lady I was cool with but the ninjas I was wary of. They served me alcohol without even knowing my name and I think I already mentioned something about looking good before, so I opted out of it. I sipped on my thoughts for a while.

Just when things were starting to get lit and the ladies were getting comfortable with their preferred mates, the main man came. We’ll call him Carlitos for today. Carlitos had with him a fair lady and I can tell you for free, some bile was being swallowed in that room. He peed around her like a real dog would and made sure everyone knew, “This is mine!” I respected that and even threw up a few gang signs to show my approval.

All this time I was picturing myself in boxers watching Spongebob. The ladies I was waiting for finally arrived and yes, they did look edible. I immediately asked for a platter and served myself a bit of each one of them. They were classy enough to bottle their tea. Ok, it was cream liquor but there’s someone who thought it was tea.

At this point, everything was as calm as unaroused nipples. We went to the rooftop and lit one for our ancestors and another one just in case the last one didn’t reach them. I felt so calm after a few hits and the girls and I bonded in the city’s view before we decided to go back although I was shortchanged because boobs were supposed to be flying everywhere.

Now, this is where the party started. Two of the first three girls we picked up were in the zone. The first, Chairlady, was doing things I watch on YouTube under the cover. She was on that grade A Jamaican ratchetry. I’m talking about that one leg in the air, ass on someone’s crotch and still sipping on your drink type of dancing. I had to remove my glasses and clean them just to confirm they weren’t playing tricks on me.

I also forgot to say, I was in shorts, white shoes and black socks; I was a cholo. I sandwiched myself in-between  the two lasses and went on to zone out. It wasn’t fruitful because every time I tried to chill, Chairlady would do something that would make me cringe but still strong enough to give me a minor boner.

Remember the two guys who kept on serving people drinks? Yes, those guys were now scrambling for the few ladies we had at the venue. I’m a chill guy, so I just sat between ladies massaging my ego. Alcohol isn’t breast milk or soup and it certainly doesn’t help when you don’t have limits. So the host was fried at this point and gave lap dances to unwilling patrons (female if I may add).

I knew things would go south when one guy was dry humping one of the ladies. And no, it was not in a secluded area, right in front of our eyes. Another guy was grinding on a girl and I think he must have bust a nut because he did a one leg shake when the track stopped playing. His eyes also turned egg white so there must have been more white elsewhere.

All this while, one of the ladies that convinced me to attend the party was insistent on us leaving Sodom. We dipped and the walk down the staircase was long and hard. The two other ladies came and off from the party we went.

I know you’re wondering why the title has anything to do with bandits and here’s the reason. I went to work on Sunday and the first call I got was from one of the ladies, telling me were being sought after two phones got lost. I agree, I’m thug life till I die but there was no way I needed any of those phones. I can’t even use mine the whole day. The sad bit was that I was not even consulted as to which phone my accomplices and I allegedly took.

Carlitos came through with video evidence from after we had left and it showed who the real bandits were. The host however, was insistent that we went to dry clean his house despite the fact that my pillow if fluffier than his mattress. I have a lot of tissue in my house; bum tissue, facial tissue, hand tissue, body tissue: he only had one. I was absolutely unamused that such allegations were being thrown at three ladies and I. How dare he call me a thief! I have stolen hearts and moments but not a yellow phone. Not me!

I however, did feel for one ninja who brought wine so that he could bed one of the ladies but ended up losing a phone and having blue balls. The lady that lost her phone on the other hand was not going to let that moment dampen her mood. She climbed onto that carpet of a mattress, took off her fishnet stockings and sweat-filled panties.

She spent the night there and woke up to the shocking news that not only was her phone lost but her dignity as well. I did my best to return a bit of her dignity but I think she’ll have to live without the rest and get herself a new one.

The host was a skunk in the afternoon and reeked of dirty jocks dipped in ammonia. I made a vow never to attend any party this guy throws. I also hold a personal grudge against the two lasses that made me miss a few hours of sleep just to be called a thief. Next time you get invited to a house warming and you can still kill one of your dead relatives, do it. Unless that party is organized by someone with a decent portfolio, avoid it.

You can still call me for your parties though.

Real Heroes Don’t Wear Capes

Remember as a kid how anxious and restless you were when your parents told you they were going to take you somewhere? The previous night would be a battle between you sleep and you’d always come up on top. Up earlier than usual. Brushing your teeth wasn’t a cold war with your mum and your favourite bag was waiting for you by the door. There was usually nothing out of the ordinary but the excitement was always present despite the number of times you had visited the said location.

It’s been a while since I last had such an experience. I went to boarding school very early and the only days I looked forward to were closing days and mid-terms. As an adult, I look forward to the end of every month for obvious reasons. Last week, I had the chance to go to a restaurant I’ve been to before but hadn’t really indulged in appropriately. On Friday afternoon, my colleague and I had lunch at Snack Attack, Adams Arcade.

For the past month, the restaurant has been communicating its signature wrap, the Wrappa and I had to go and see what the fuss was all about. I know they have what are probably the best loaded fries in Kenya. Not just because of the variety in sauces but the quality of chips as well. They aren’t those lumpy potato chunks most restaurants serve. On the way to the restaurant, my colleague was talking to me about something but all I could see and hear was “Wrap this and wrap that.”

We made our way to the restaurant and this lovely lady, by the name Faith was at hand to serve us. I was very anxious about the wrap but from the moment she handed us the menus and took our orders my expectations were higher. She was very polite and knew the products. At this point even if they told me they’d run out of filling for my wrap I’d come back just for the service. Delivery time was set at 10 minutes and those were probably the longest 10 minutes of my life after watching Arsenal win it late against Leceister City.

I’d picked the Wrappa and a strawberry burst. Let me tell you about the burst. One, because it was the first to arrive and two, it is made using strawberries. Real strawberries, not strawberry concentrate, the fruits. I took my first sip and my brain froze. This was too much for my mind, tongue and throat to take in all at once. My tongue was shouting more, my throat chilling in the cooling effect and my mind trying to convince the rest of my body that good things do exist.

Moments later my Wrappa arrived. You’ve probably watched Lion King and remember the defining moment where Rafiki literally unveiled Simba to the cheering fans, prey and competitors alike. When Faith laid the tray with my Wrappa on the table I could hear the Lion King theme song playing in the background and a light from the ceiling shone on the wrap. It was definitely the chosen one.

As I unwrapped the wrap from its packaging I couldn’t hold back my tears. This was beauty and perfection made in the kitchen. I had ordered a spicy wrap and from experience, very few restaurants understand the term spicy. Some translate hot to scorch my taste palate while others translate hot to heat. I was secretly praying the wrap wouldn’t be spicy so that I could find something to hate on about Snack Attack.

My first bite was heavenly. The chicken and jalapenos blended so well, they could do a remake of boys in the hood and win an Oscar. I don’t know what spices or flavours they put in the wrap but they got me at the first bite. This was love at first bite. Sad I didn’t have my ring because I had found the snack of my dreams. I literally wanted to spend the rest of my meals with the Wrappa. Upon confirmation that my taste buds weren’t playing tricks on me, I wanted to take photographic evidence of that meal. I do not violate food with unwarranted photographs but trust me, when a celebrity woos you, you don’t mind posing for a photo with them.

Due to the excitement of feasting on this gem, I couldn’t hold my phone properly. Said gladly offered to take a photo of my colleague and I enjoying our flavour attack. I did mention the fact the service at the restaurant was outstanding, didn’t I? I can’t write exactly what I felt throughout the rest of my meal because I transcended into a food appreciation portal where taste is just one of the parameters used to judge food.

I didn’t enjoy my meal. I greatly enjoyed my meal. If I knew the spices used in preparing the wrap I’d break down how each taste affected my palate, but is that really what’s important? What’s on the inside? After the meal both Faith and Said asked for our opinions of the meal and I had nothing but positive reviews. It was all plus signs for me.

I barely fill those feedback forms restaurants dish out but this time I asked for one. Do you know the kind of courage it takes to ask for a feedback form when you have no complaints? That’s courage that can change generations and that meal gave me that courage. I even gave out my number and email address. Now you know how serious this is.

Would I go back to Snack Attack? Today? Yes! Tomorrow? Yes! Every other day that ends in day, Yes! The food was great but the service and warmth of the staff won me over completely. This is a brand that understands, people come to your restaurant for more than just the food. The service, ambience and all that good stuff plays a very important role in attracting and retaining customers.

I’m not a food blogger if you can tell by my description of the food but I’ll write about any experience I feel someone else should go through and this is one of the few experiences you shouldn’t miss out on. I’m an African writer so I have to shout out Faith and Said for the exemplary service. The two of you were my heroes last week.

 

 

 

What ever happened to Fridays?

When was the last time you attended a house party? Not a family gathering or a one month old kid’s birthday party. A proper house party with ratchets and a little bit of chaos. A house party isn’t a house party if someone doesn’t throw up, a fight breaks out or someone or some couple randomly starts crying. The crying bit I’m yet to understand. How is a party related to sorrow?

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I haven’t been to a house party in years and I’ve started a petition to reintroduce house parties. You shall find the form attached on my next post. The few among us that have no diapers to buy, still want to get wasted and paint the town or rather house with semi-solid edibles. Just like the old days when Jesus turned water into wine because the party don’t stop till the sun come up.

I’ve mentioned a few parties I used to attend in uni and unfortunately this memory stems from the same basic friends that I had. They weren’t bad. They just didn’t know how to throw parties. I can’t recall one good house party they threw. Not a single one. The best one ended up in more than five guys looking at each other in the wee hours of the morning because a scorned girlfriend had taken all the girls with her; even the ones she met there.

So the party started like all other parties would start; with a text. “There’s a party. Bring the booze, we have the bitches.” I was young, hot, pretty skinny and looking to skin another human being. Such kind of texts got me over the roof and I spread the word to my trusted crew. I’ve never been a fashionista so dressing up was never part of the plan as long as I had fresh breath and a pack of condoms. I always though rough rider was legit until I met a girl whose ride didn’t last long enough and I had to be dropped along the way.

We met up and being the cool people we were, decided to buy a slightly respectable beverage. It was quite cheap but very few people knew of its existence and I had no money. After various lobbying conferences and secret caucuses, we bought another fairly priced bottle and set off to conquer the world with less than $10 between us. Nothing was impossible in the face of fairly shaven female crotches and a slight whiff of perspiration stemming from walking to the party.

The school was in a remote area but I had spent quite some time in the area and knew my way around. All the way to the venue we were just praying things wouldn’t follow the same path they usually did. Disaster. You remember that time traders were having a party at the temple and out of nowhere Jesus comes in, pissed as a bull in a Spanish street and whips people around? That’s how I usually reacted to these whack parties. Only difference is that I get invited. I had no whip but I’d make sure nobody enjoyed the evening. Even if it meant calling the cops on the parade.

So we got to the party, hungry and all. We were met by loud music, hanging bosoms and slightly ashy butt fissures. At his point, my face lit up. This is why they forgot to put an extra O on Monday. I was lit. I was walking up the stairs faster than you could say, “Donald Trump sounds more like Donald Tramp.” It actually does sound the same, doesn’t it? I was in the zone. My name was being called from every direction. I knew this was the party I would meet my next blog article.

I realized my name was being called from every direction because I was on the wrong floor, knocking on a random family’s door. I went back to the right floor and yes, the party was partying. Not in a good way. We didn’t know the host but knew a co-host who wasn’t really a co-host because he knew another co-host that was a co-host at another party. We got to the door and the bouncer, who I presume was the host, asked for our drink before we made our way into the party. I was at the front and pushed his hand aside and walked in. To my surprise, the ashy butt and hanging bosom, were ploys to attract us. We had been duped.

I backed out so fast I forgot ashy butt’s waist was wrapped out my arm. I’m too sleek for myself. Now there was a problem. We didn’t want to share our drink because there were no females as promised except for the chained dog that didn’t even bark when I said she wasn’t a bad bitch. Dog just lost valuable points there for chickening out. Ashy butt was with us now because she saw we still had fresh bottles and looked equally fresh, draped in cheap clothes.

The host started cussing us out and we just stood there, bottles now open, staring at ashy butt and looking for a way out. Out of nowhere, Max steps in and calls out the host. Max is our co-host. The guy that knew the guy that heard about the party from the invited guy. It was all calm at the beginning and we knew he had it all under control until he let out a yelp. Not those loud ones, the kind a puppy makes when you startle it. Brief yet definitive.

We were ready to square off
We were ready to square off

We knew it was about to go down. Before we could roll our sleeves and dish out capital punishment, Max started crying. He wasn’t folded up or being roughed up. No, Max was crying roughing up the host. In all this confusion, ashy butt had escaped and we couldn’t trace her. Things were getting even weirder by the minute. Lazarus disappearing from his tomb was straight up David Blaine but this was undocumented. The host started weeping and he and Max were comforting each other.

I’m still confused as to why any of them cried but I had seen enough and decided to pull the plug. The hookah pot they were using belonged to a friend and I decided to confiscate it.  Ok, this was after we ran out of charcoal and even tried chopping wood from someone’s fence. I rushed down the stairs and signaled my friends to follow suit. We were bringing an end to this party. We dashed into the darkness with the hookah in tow.

I cry for Argentina. Or my friends. Or anyone
I cry for Argentina. Or my friends. Or anyone

Why we carried the hookah is still beyond either of us. We finally got to the crying bandit’s house and pulled out some charcoal. One of our friend’s girlfriend was there and ashy butt as well. Come to think of it, ashy butt was probably the most loyal stranger I’d met. She ditched her own birthday party for us. I’m sure it wasn’t because we were cool because we weren’t.

We set up the hookah and started smoking one of the most vile carbon products I have ever inhaled in my life. I could feel all the exhaust mufflers cheering me on. But why did ashy butt follow us anyway? I had no money and neither did my friends. I did smell good though. I had one of those free Bvlgari colognes and ladies love a man who knows the value of free things.

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Anyway, we smoked to our feel and ashy butt had no option but to spend the night. The surprising thing is that she looked extra shiny in the morning bar the butt fissure. My condoms were still fresh, ready to protect me through another rough week. I gathered everyone to the living room and made a declaration that I would never attend a party someone I went to school with had organized.

I kept my word. For four days I did not answer to any call for a party. On Friday morning, I got a call from another friend. There was a party. In such situations I always referred to the bible and asked myself, what would Jesus do? I forgave my friends and as soon as my class was over, I bathed in cologne (still Bvlgari) and headed out for a party. This time it was definitely going to be different.