MONDAY MORNIN' RAW

One Fine Monday

Years Ago

There was once a youngin’ back in the eighties who never bullied a soul and he was never bullied. This lil boy was a midway introvert who never looked for trouble (well, not really), loved playin’ soccer (wit no boots on, of course) and, he loved sittin’ in the back of the class wit them bad boys (a hodgepodge of retards and midway geniuses) where he could meld in the crowd and subsequently hide away from the pryin’ eyes of those mutherfuckin’ teachers who were bent on humiliatin’ a good student like him by makin’ his ass answer questions that were too difficult for him. Lol!

I can identify wit this boy and am sure a lot of you can too, right?

No?

Oh! So y’all wanna pretend like y’all were lil Einstein growin’ up, huh?

If y’all don’t quit pretendin’ am gon’ be forced to call your mamas up and expose your asses for the lil retards y’all were growin’ up!

Ah ha, don’t feel so bad, am jus messin’ wit y’all. Lmao!

Back to the tale at hand, remember I said the lil boy never bullied no one, well I musta forgotten about one lil incident…a lil bullyin’ episode that back fired on his lil ass, big time!

16:00

That Monday afternoon so many years ago, our lil boy (the wanna-be bully) held his luck by the hand and led it jus a lil bit too far, he bullied a friend (well, not really a friend but some kid from around the way who was, up til that day, always a little afraid of him) jus a bit too much and guess who jus happened to turn up like a bad coin that day? Karma! Karma fuckin’ showed up to turn the table on our boy.

The bullee (the person gettin’ bullied…bullee? Please, there’s isn’t even any word like that) decided on that fateful day he couldn’t take the humiliation of bein’ stepped on no more, especially  ‘cause a lotta other kids were present that day, so he to called our lil boy out. The bullee came out fightin’ like a cornered rat. To cut a long story short, our boy (wanna-be bully) got his ass handed to him; he got whooped by his own belt (the lovely blue belt his pops had brought him from the good U. S of A).

Tuesday

5 June

02:12

If Mondays could talk, humans woulda been swimmin’ in all kinds of lawsuits by now. They woulda made all you Monday haters (I know there are gazillions of you out there walkin’ around wit chips on your mutherfuckin’ shoulders actin’ like you’re some kinda sweet fancy piece of shit) catch cases for stuffs like defamation of character, character assassination, discrimination and shit for givin’ ‘em such a bad rap/ rep.

Somethin’ tells me this Monday-phobia that homo sapiens wallow in so disgustingly might have some’ to do wit folks havin’ to head on back to their daily hustle (the jobs they pro’ly hate wit the same passion a shit cleaner has for his job) and the people they can’t stand but they gotta put up wit all week long…five fuckin’ days!

Soon as the chill pill of Sunday mornin’ starts wearin’ off and Sunday afternoon/evenin’ begins to get its foot in the door, a lot of folks start seein’ their bosses faces on their dinner plate, they start dreadin’ goin’ in for another five days (and sometime six) of dealin’ wit pressure of deadlines and hangin’ wit the same set of assholes called work mates and jus like that, all the sweet the cries of thank God it’s Friday two days earlier becomes a distant memory.

Jus take a few sec to imagine…if Monday was a man, who would he look like?

Am thinkin’, Danny Trejo of the Con Air/ Machete fame. A man wit a face so mean even his smile looks like a mutherfuckin’ frown. Lmao! Next time you wanna hate on Mondays, think twice.

Tuesday

5 June

10:35

Accordin’ to some researchers who got time on their hands, they said Monday mornings are so depressing that on average humans don’t crack a smile until 11:09! I wonder how they arrived at that conclusion though.

Anyways, what them researchers forgot to mention was that shit could get uglier than not jus crackin’ a smile much much earlier than 11:09.

Bus Station

10:33

I suddenly noticed men runnin’ toward a commotion a few meters away from where I was tryna get some’ done, I craned my neck and there they were, the source of the mornin’ excitement…two well built young bucks goin’ at each, no gloves, no head guard, no WWE fanciness, jus pure old fashioned bare knuckle fist fight!

From where I was standin’, I swear I could hear the sound of fists slammin’ against temples and guess what? Nobody stepped in to separate these fools; niggas jus made a circle around ‘em and enjoyed the fight.

I moved close and saw that these two bus station hustlers had blood drippin’ from their faces and tears streamin’ down from their eyes…I looked in their faces  and saw a silent plea in their eyes and eventhough they weren’t sayin’ it, mutherfuckers were beggin’ to be separated!

Huh, what did I do?

Well, I did what Clark Kent or Peter Parker woulda done if they were there; I got my super hero on (no spidey suit or red cape flowin’ between my knees though) and separate them boys. And no, I didn’t take no stray blows to the head. They were too exhausted to produce one!

Outro

Jus like those two Monday mornin’ fighters, the lil wanna-be bully looked for a way out of the fight but the other lil punk asses jus stood around and enjoyed my humiliation. Did I say my humiliation? Yeah, I did…that lil wanna-be bully was me!

Ever since that black Monday years ago, I never pulled a punch except I really need to and I never stand around to watch mutherfuckers fight themselves to exhaustion again…umm, well not really.

MONDAY MORNIN' RAW

One Fine Monday

Years Ago

There was once a youngin’ back in the eighties who never bullied a soul and he was never bullied. This lil boy was a midway introvert who never looked for trouble (well, not really), loved playin’ soccer (wit no boots on, of course) and, he loved sittin’ in the back of the class wit them bad boys (a hodgepodge of retards and midway geniuses) where he could meld in the crowd and subsequently hide away from the pryin’ eyes of those mutherfuckin’ teachers who were bent on humiliatin’ a good student like him by makin’ his ass answer questions that were too difficult for him. Lol!

I can identify wit this boy and am sure a lot of you can too, right?

No?

Oh! So y’all wanna pretend like y’all were lil Einstein growin’ up, huh?

If y’all don’t quit pretendin’ am gon’ be forced to call your mamas up and expose your asses for the lil retards y’all were growin’ up!

Ah ha, don’t feel so bad, am jus messin’ wit y’all. Lmao!

Back to the tale at hand, remember I said the lil boy never bullied no one, well I musta forgotten about one lil incident…a lil bullyin’ episode that back fired on his lil ass, big time!

16:00

That Monday afternoon so many years ago, our lil boy (the wanna-be bully) held his luck by the hand and led it jus a lil bit too far, he bullied a friend (well, not really a friend but some kid from around the way who was, up til that day, always a little afraid of him) jus a bit too much and guess who jus happened to turn up like a bad coin that day? Karma! Karma fuckin’ showed up to turn the table on our boy.

The bullee (the person gettin’ bullied…bullee? Please, there’s isn’t even any word like that) decided on that fateful day he couldn’t take the humiliation of bein’ stepped on no more, especially  ‘cause a lotta other kids were present that day, so he to called our lil boy out. The bullee came out fightin’ like a cornered rat. To cut a long story short, our boy (wanna-be bully) got his ass handed to him; he got whooped by his own belt (the lovely blue belt his pops had brought him from the good U. S of A).

Tuesday

5 June

02:12

If Mondays could talk, humans woulda been swimmin’ in all kinds of lawsuits by now. They woulda made all you Monday haters (I know there are gazillions of you out there walkin’ around wit chips on your mutherfuckin’ shoulders actin’ like you’re some kinda sweet fancy piece of shit) catch cases for stuffs like defamation of character, character assassination, discrimination and shit for givin’ ‘em such a bad rap/ rep.

Somethin’ tells me this Monday-phobia that homo sapiens wallow in so disgustingly might have some’ to do wit folks havin’ to head on back to their daily hustle (the jobs they pro’ly hate wit the same passion a shit cleaner has for his job) and the people they can’t stand but they gotta put up wit all week long…five fuckin’ days!

Soon as the chill pill of Sunday mornin’ starts wearin’ off and Sunday afternoon/evenin’ begins to get its foot in the door, a lot of folks start seein’ their bosses faces on their dinner plate, they start dreadin’ goin’ in for another five days (and sometime six) of dealin’ wit pressure of deadlines and hangin’ wit the same set of assholes called work mates and jus like that, all the sweet the cries of thank God it’s Friday two days earlier becomes a distant memory.

Jus take a few sec to imagine…if Monday was a man, who would he look like?

Am thinkin’, Danny Trejo of the Con Air/ Machete fame. A man wit a face so mean even his smile looks like a mutherfuckin’ frown. Lmao! Next time you wanna hate on Mondays, think twice.

Tuesday

5 June

10:35

Accordin’ to some researchers who got time on their hands, they said Monday mornings are so depressing that on average humans don’t crack a smile until 11:09! I wonder how they arrived at that conclusion though.

Anyways, what them researchers forgot to mention was that shit could get uglier than not jus crackin’ a smile much much earlier than 11:09.

Bus Station

10:33

I suddenly noticed men runnin’ toward a commotion a few meters away from where I was tryna get some’ done, I craned my neck and there they were, the source of the mornin’ excitement…two well built young bucks goin’ at each, no gloves, no head guard, no WWE fanciness, jus pure old fashioned bare knuckle fist fight!

From where I was standin’, I swear I could hear the sound of fists slammin’ against temples and guess what? Nobody stepped in to separate these fools; niggas jus made a circle around ‘em and enjoyed the fight.

I moved close and saw that these two bus station hustlers had blood drippin’ from their faces and tears streamin’ down from their eyes…I looked in their faces  and saw a silent plea in their eyes and eventhough they weren’t sayin’ it, mutherfuckers were beggin’ to be separated!

Huh, what did I do?

Well, I did what Clark Kent or Peter Parker woulda done if they were there; I got my super hero on (no spidey suit or red cape flowin’ between my knees though) and separate them boys. And no, I didn’t take no stray blows to the head. They were too exhausted to produce one!

Outro

Jus like those two Monday mornin’ fighters, the lil wanna-be bully looked for a way out of the fight but the other lil punk asses jus stood around and enjoyed my humiliation. Did I say my humiliation? Yeah, I did…that lil wanna-be bully was me!

Ever since that black Monday years ago, I never pulled a punch except I really need to and I never stand around to watch mutherfuckers fight themselves to exhaustion again…umm, well not really.

BLUE TO THE HEAD

Today

Monday

28 May

00:05

I’ve heard and read so many stories about Afghanistan and Afghans and I can say without paintin’ over the ugly truth wit’ some pretty colors that none of those stories are good...they are fuckin’ grim!

Every time I turn around, there’s always a young man tryin’ to blow up and I don’t mean the empty hip hop type braggacio rappers throw around on their records, I mean, a suicide vested dude actually goin’ ka-boom on that ass! Yep, no props, no stuntmen or CGIs (computer generated images) jus’ a real life young man blowin’ himself up and snuffing the breath out of tens of innocent and not so innocent folks in the process ( which is essentially the point, kill people and blame the damn thing on jihad).

Every other top of the hour news story usually has some afghan flavor sprinkled all over it. Somethin’ tells me before I finish puttin’ this lil’ blog together, some bearded motherfucker wit grenade hidden in his turban will run toward a major gatherin’ of tribal leaders or some NATO forces and go, yeah, you already guessed it, ka-boom on that ass!

A Warrin’ People

I can bet my fortune, the whole twenty billion dollars of it that very few of y’all have ever took the time to read up on Afghanistan, right?

What, is somebody raisin’ their eyebrows at the mention of my billion dollar loot? Doubt no more, you Thomas, the fortune’s still in the future and I promise you, I’ll make it!

Wit’ a population of around 30 million, Afghanistan is the 42^ndmost populous nation in the world. The population figure is most definitely js a rough estimate ‘cause no census has been conducted up in there since 1979…that’s thirty three years if y’all do that math.

These guys have been warrin’ in the last three decades, matter of fact, as at 8^th of May 2012, the death per 1000 stands at 14.59 deaths! Mind blowin’ shit, huh? Here’s some’ else I found, 75% of the total populations of Afghanistan are not Afghans! Do I know that for a fact? Nah, I stole that from the CIA website! Ah!

Saturday

20 December 2008

Kabul

22:15

A young man in his late twenties, clearly western despite wrappin’ his face up in a black and white checked turban made his way through a large opium field wit his afghan companion (that’s a cash crop right there, Afghanistan is the largest producer of opium in the world), they came to a stop at a black back gate (if you could call it that) of a relatively big compound, tapped on it three times, the gate opened, revealin’ a wiry middle aged man who beckoned them toward a room near the right side of a one bungalow. Ten afghans tribal leaders were waitin’ when the two visitors were ushered in.

The western man spoke while his afghan companion translated, fifteen minutes later, the meeting was over and they headed out and slipped into the young night from whence they came.

Now, what I left out in this lil get-together was a lil package that got exchanged and nope, it’s not what you’re thinkin’. I guarantee you that.

Wednesday

16 May

Kabul Open Market

13:43

Here, jus like any other open markets anywhere in this big assed world, prices are relatively low and you can get almost anythin’ you want. And oh, don’t be fooled by the word “open” in the name ‘course a lot of secret/illegal shit that could possibly go down in a black market does go down here…in the “open”!

Take for example the bearded young man standin’ close to a table sellin’ painkillers and shit, on the face of it, nothin’ seemed out of place until you take a closer look and noticed that it was men that sidles up to him. But then again, that’s not strange in a muslim country where dicks and pussies don’t parley in public. What raises eyebrow is the swiftness wit which “pharmacist” and customers lock palms with each other and business is done before you could blink! And nope, it’s not what you’re thinkin’. I guarantee you that.

Outro

01:10

The afghan government (whatever that means, course Mr. Karzai seems to always be in constant battle for the soul of the country wit the Talibans) allows the importation of up to two million Viagra pills every year but they believe that what enters the country illegally is probably more than double the amount-which means afghan man are consuming around four million or more Viagra pills per year.

Juxtapose the estimated adult male population of Afghanistan of around 9 million wit over 4 million blue pills and tell me what you think.

Ah ha, three decades of constantly watchin’ your back and dodgin’ bullets can make a man lose the will or forget how to work up an erection, or can’t it? And yeah, there must be enough erection to go round four wives or more cause you can hardly find a one wife kinda man in this neck of the wood.

Here’s another one y’all didn’t know, CIA’s (as far back as ‘08) has been slippin’ them Afghan tribal leaders those blue pills as bribe!

I think I might have finally found my callin’ and a way to make that twenty billion dollars I talked about earlier, and jus incase I don’t blog again in the next three months, do not panic, am pro’ly somewhere in Kabul doin’ good bi’ness wit the Pashtus, the Daris or the Talibans.

BLUE TO THE HEAD

Today

Monday

28 May

00:05

I’ve heard and read so many stories about Afghanistan and Afghans and I can say without paintin’ over the ugly truth wit’ some pretty colors that none of those stories are good...they are fuckin’ grim!

Every time I turn around, there’s always a young man tryin’ to blow up and I don’t mean the empty hip hop type braggacio rappers throw around on their records, I mean, a suicide vested dude actually goin’ ka-boom on that ass! Yep, no props, no stuntmen or CGIs (computer generated images) jus’ a real life young man blowin’ himself up and snuffing the breath out of tens of innocent and not so innocent folks in the process ( which is essentially the point, kill people and blame the damn thing on jihad).

Every other top of the hour news story usually has some afghan flavor sprinkled all over it. Somethin’ tells me before I finish puttin’ this lil’ blog together, some bearded motherfucker wit grenade hidden in his turban will run toward a major gatherin’ of tribal leaders or some NATO forces and go, yeah, you already guessed it, ka-boom on that ass!

A Warrin’ People

I can bet my fortune, the whole twenty billion dollars of it that very few of y’all have ever took the time to read up on Afghanistan, right?

What, is somebody raisin’ their eyebrows at the mention of my billion dollar loot? Doubt no more, you Thomas, the fortune’s still in the future and I promise you, I’ll make it!

Wit’ a population of around 30 million, Afghanistan is the 42^nd most populous nation in the world. The population figure is most definitely js a rough estimate ‘cause no census has been conducted up in there since 1979…that’s thirty three years if y’all do that math.

These guys have been warrin’ in the last three decades, matter of fact, as at 8^th of May 2012, the death per 1000 stands at 14.59 deaths! Mind blowin’ shit, huh? Here’s some’ else I found, 75% of the total populations of Afghanistan are not Afghans! Do I know that for a fact? Nah, I stole that from the CIA website! Ah!

Saturday

20 December 2008

Kabul

22:15

A young man in his late twenties, clearly western despite wrappin’ his face up in a black and white checked turban made his way through a large opium field wit his afghan companion (that’s a cash crop right there, Afghanistan is the largest producer of opium in the world), they came to a stop at a black back gate (if you could call it that) of a relatively big compound, tapped on it three times, the gate opened, revealin’ a wiry middle aged man who beckoned them toward a room near the right side of a one bungalow. Ten afghans tribal leaders were waitin’ when the two visitors were ushered in.

The western man spoke while his afghan companion translated, fifteen minutes later, the meeting was over and they headed out and slipped into the young night from whence they came.

Now, what I left out in this lil get-together was a lil package that got exchanged and nope, it’s not what you’re thinkin’. I guarantee you that.

Wednesday

16 May

Kabul Open Market

13:43

Here, jus like any other open markets anywhere in this big assed world, prices are relatively low and you can get almost anythin’ you want. And oh, don’t be fooled by the word “open” in the name ‘course a lot of secret/illegal shit that could possibly go down in a black market does go down here…in the “open”!

Take for example the bearded young man standin’ close to a table sellin’ painkillers and shit, on the face of it, nothin’ seemed out of place until you take a closer look and noticed that it was men that sidles up to him. But then again, that’s not strange in a muslim country where dicks and pussies don’t parley in public. What raises eyebrow is the swiftness wit which “pharmacist” and customers lock palms with each other and business is done before you could blink! And nope, it’s not what you’re thinkin’. I guarantee you that.

Outro

01:10

The afghan government (whatever that means, course Mr. Karzai seems to always be in constant battle for the soul of the country wit the Talibans) allows the importation of up to two million Viagra pills every year but they believe that what enters the country illegally is probably more than double the amount-which means afghan man are consuming around four million or more Viagra pills per year.

Juxtapose the estimated adult male population of Afghanistan of around 9 million wit over 4 million blue pills and tell me what you think.

Ah ha, three decades of constantly watchin’ your back and dodgin’ bullets can make a man lose the will or forget how to work up an erection, or can’t it? And yeah, there must be enough erection to go round four wives or more cause you can hardly find a one wife kinda man in this neck of the wood.

Here’s another one y’all didn’t know, CIA’s (as far back as ‘08) has been slippin’ them Afghan tribal leaders those blue pills as bribe!

I think I might have finally found my callin’ and a way to make that twenty billion dollars I talked about earlier, and jus incase I don’t blog again in the next three months, do not panic, am pro’ly somewhere in Kabul doin’ good bi’ness wit the Pashtus, the Daris or the Talibans.

A SERIES OF UNRELATED INCIDENTS

Sunday Morning

May 20

11:05

Somewhere…

Am not sure I can remember the words of the song playin’ in the background correctly, but they were some’ like

“I give you myself

You can use me”

The piano was mournful but the song was happy and soft. I was hearin’ it for the first time but I was already hummin’ the tune by the second “heard” (if there’s word like that) and that right there is one of the hallmarks of a memorable song.

“Ba ba bay bay, oh god oh god” she said again and again, moaning and shakin’ in a slow dervish motion

I tried to look into her eyes but they were closed as her body vibrated.

“Oh god oh god” she continued as if I wasn’t there, rubbing her body against mine. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up! Damn, didn’t she know a nigga was trying to concentrate too? But bein’ the considerate man that I am, I held back cause I didn’t want to ruin her high.

“Oooh, oh God,” she continued, whippin’ her “hair” in my face.

Saturday Night

May 19

22:23

At a Pub Somewhere Else…

83^rdminute and Bayern Munich’s Thomas Muller had jus headed home a potential winner against Chelsea wit 7 minutes left on the clock, Barney shouted with great delight from across the table, trying to get heard over the deafenin’ DJ Khalid’s All I Do Win joint booming out the speakers, “your pastor lied!”

“My pastor?” I was amused

He took a swig of his beer, ‘’Ah ha, I knew your pastor was liar,’’ he gloated. His big eyes seemed to grow even bigger wit mirth as he looked at me wit that I-told-you-so look.

I mean, me and this dude are friends (well, kinda) but we’ve never sat down to talk theology or religion front men. We’ve talked pussy and money but never a religion personality.

And of course, I knew who he was talking about but what the fuck, how’s that nigga my pastor? Okay, we are from the same neck of the wood (Nigeria), so what? I mean, I have never met the man or been to his church.

Oh wait, I’ve been to his church once before but it was for somethin’ totally unrelated to gettin’ my worship on or askin’ for a prophecy or some’. I was there wit’ a friend of mine to see a five-oh.

I told Barney the game’s not ended yet so the prophecy might still come true

Friday

May 18

10:39

From the vantage point on the counter where I was perched, I noticed the man but I didn’t really pay his no mind cause I was too busy wit my phone and I noticed he was busy wit his too…two of them, a Nokia and a Samsung and both were touch screen, top of the range shit. This cat was dark and built like a pro rugby player. He had on a navy blue hoodie over faded blue jeans.

Five minutes after I first noticed him, I heard him cussed, loudly. I looked his way; his eyes were glued to the Samsung and saw that both his hands were shakin’ like a drug addict needin’ a fix. My sensors immediately went on alert, call me nosey but I sensed a story in there somewhere, I asked if everthin’ was honky dory and would you believe it, it was as if a floodgate was flung wide open, nigga opened up to me like a confessor would to a father! It’s strange how people tend to open up to me, I mean, I don’t have that trustin’ angel face or anythin’ like that…must be that I have that je ne se quoi!

“Men, I can’t believe my wife has been cheating on me,” he said through clenched teeth

“Whoa!” I exclaimed

“Yes!” His voice sounded like a croak, like some’ was lodge in his throat.

I guess that’s what it sound like when a grown ass man is broken, huh?

“Am sorry, man,” I consoled.

He shook his head and looked at the Samsung phone in his right hand again.

“How’d you find out?” I prodded, givin’ the man an understandin’ look, well at least, what I thought to be an understandin’ look.

In my head, I was like fuck it, I don’t even have a wife, how could I possibly understand what this nigga was goin’ through but hey, I gotta do what I gotta to do to get this tale outta him.

“My wife’s phone, he raised the Samsung, had battery problem. I bought her a new battery but it wasn’t the right one. She suggested I take the phone wit me to town so that there won’t be any more mistake wit the size,” he paused and shook his head again

I wore my saddest look, nodded urgin’ him on

“After I got the right battery I charged it and tried to test it. Then I got curious and put my sim (the wife had removed her) and that was I discovered all the lurid text between my wife and her boyfriends,” I looked into his eyes and they were red. “I called one of the boyfriend and asked him if he knew the woman he was messing around with was married”

“And what’d he say?” I asked

“He said yes and that I should go and talk to my wife instead of bothering him”

I shook my head slowly from side to side as if am in pain

Even though I genuinely was concerned about this man’s agony, I was thinkin’ about y’all, I was fuckin’ hitchin’ to beat you guys over the head wit this true life betrayal!

Back to Saturday Night

22:28

Birney was stunned; his big eyes blew up five times bigger wit incredulity, Didier Drogba had jus rose in the air and powered in an equilizer!

Nigga couldn’t believe his eyes; I was bangin on the table and crackin’. Birney was eatin’his words, alphabet for alphabet.

“Who’s the liar now,” I roared

Sunday

11:15

Soon as we got done, I couldn’t wait to get away from this woman and her bleached out skin, I mean, i understand the concept of love your neighbor and shit but right at that moment while we were kneelin’ there at the alter prayin’, I wasn’t buyin’ into that concept.

Oh, what were you guys thinkin’? I knew what y’all be thinkin’? Dirty minds! Lmao!

Outro

I don’t care if we we’re in church or club, rubbin’ skin or touchin’ a fool who’s got her skin bleached is somethin’ I can’t and I wont condone. God will understand, am sure. He created us beautiful, why fuck it up?

My boy Birney (he’s south African, by the way) left the pub the without tellin’ me...nigga snuck out in shame, I assumed he went home to lick his wound and his words.

I understand that there are many Men Of Dog frontin’ out there like Men Of God and there’s every tendency for us to want some of these guys to get there prophecies wrong so that we can laugh in their faces and tell our folks like "I knew it. I knew that was fake" but hey, it's not up to us to do times job for it...time will flush out the real from the fake, trust me.

As for the stranger who confided in me, he seemed to have made up his mind bout cuttin’ his loses and was determined to head for the hill wit' what's left of his manliness. Told me he's given up on the marriage when i tried tellin' him to sit the woman down and kick some harsh word in her ears. Said he will be headin’ back to Mozambique where he’s been slavin’ his ass off to take care of the wife, oh I mean, ex wife!

As he headed toward the greyhound bus where his soon to be ex mother in law was waitin’ (the woman had no idea what storm was about to erupt), he thanked me for listenin’.

A SERIES OF UNRELATED INCIDENTS

Sunday Morning

May 20

11:05

Somewhere…

Am not sure I can remember the words of the song playin’ in the background correctly, but they were some’ like

“I give you myself

You can use me”

The piano was mournful but the song was happy and soft. I was hearin’ it for the first time but I was already hummin’ the tune by the second “heard” (if there’s word like that) and that right there is one of the hallmarks of a memorable song.

“Ba ba bay bay, oh god oh god” she said again and again, moaning and shakin’ in a slow dervish motion

I tried to look into her eyes but they were closed as her body vibrated.

“Oh god oh god” she continued as if I wasn’t there, rubbing her body against mine. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up! Damn, didn’t she know a nigga was trying to concentrate too? But bein’ the considerate man that I am, I held back cause I didn’t want to ruin her high.

“Oooh, oh God,” she continued, whippin’ her “hair” in my face.

Saturday Night

May 19

22:23

At a Pub Somewhere Else…

83^rd minute and Bayern Munich’s Thomas Muller had jus headed home a potential winner against Chelsea wit 7 minutes left on the clock, Barney shouted with great delight from across the table, trying to get heard over the deafenin’ DJ Khalid’s All I Do Win joint booming out the speakers, “your pastor lied!”

“My pastor?” I was amused

He took a swig of his beer, ‘’Ah ha, I knew your pastor was liar,’’ he gloated. His big eyes seemed to grow even bigger wit mirth as he looked at me wit that I-told-you-so look.

I mean, me and this dude are friends (well, kinda) but we’ve never sat down to talk theology or religion front men. We’ve talked pussy and money but never a religion personality.

And of course, I knew who he was talking about but what the fuck, how’s that nigga my pastor? Okay, we are from the same neck of the wood (Nigeria), so what? I mean, I have never met the man or been to his church.

Oh wait, I’ve been to his church once before but it was for somethin’ totally unrelated to gettin’ my worship on or askin’ for a prophecy or some’. I was there wit’ a friend of mine to see a five-oh.

I told Barney the game’s not ended yet so the prophecy might still come true

Friday

May 18

10:39

From the vantage point on the counter where I was perched, I noticed the man but I didn’t really pay his no mind cause I was too busy wit my phone and I noticed he was busy wit his too…two of them, a Nokia and a Samsung and both were touch screen, top of the range shit. This cat was dark and built like a pro rugby player. He had on a navy blue hoodie over faded blue jeans.

Five minutes after I first noticed him, I heard him cussed, loudly. I looked his way; his eyes were glued to the Samsung and saw that both his hands were shakin’ like a drug addict needin’ a fix. My sensors immediately went on alert, call me nosey but I sensed a story in there somewhere, I asked if everthin’ was honky dory and would you believe it, it was as if a floodgate was flung wide open, nigga opened up to me like a confessor would to a father! It’s strange how people tend to open up to me, I mean, I don’t have that trustin’ angel face or anythin’ like that…must be that I have that je ne se quoi!

“Men, I can’t believe my wife has been cheating on me,” he said through clenched teeth

“Whoa!” I exclaimed

“Yes!” His voice sounded like a croak, like some’ was lodge in his throat.

I guess that’s what it sound like when a grown ass man is broken, huh?

“Am sorry, man,” I consoled.

He shook his head and looked at the Samsung phone in his right hand again.

“How’d you find out?” I prodded, givin’ the man an understandin’ look, well at least, what I thought to be an understandin’ look.

In my head, I was like fuck it, I don’t even have a wife, how could I possibly understand what this nigga was goin’ through but hey, I gotta do what I gotta to do to get this tale outta him.

“My wife’s phone, he raised the Samsung, had battery problem. I bought her a new battery but it wasn’t the right one. She suggested I take the phone wit me to town so that there won’t be any more mistake wit the size,” he paused and shook his head again

I wore my saddest look, nodded urgin’ him on

“After I got the right battery I charged it and tried to test it. Then I got curious and put my sim (the wife had removed her) and that was I discovered all the lurid text between my wife and her boyfriends,” I looked into his eyes and they were red. “I called one of the boyfriend and asked him if he knew the woman he was messing around with was married”

“And what’d he say?” I asked

“He said yes and that I should go and talk to my wife instead of bothering him”

I shook my head slowly from side to side as if am in pain

Even though I genuinely was concerned about this man’s agony, I was thinkin’ about y’all, I was fuckin’ hitchin’ to beat you guys over the head wit this true life betrayal!

Back to Saturday Night

22:28

Birney was stunned; his big eyes blew up five times bigger wit incredulity, Didier Drogba had jus rose in the air and powered in an equilizer!

Nigga couldn’t believe his eyes; I was bangin on the table and crackin’. Birney was eatin’his words, alphabet for alphabet.

“Who’s the liar now,” I roared

Sunday

11:15

Soon as we got done, I couldn’t wait to get away from this woman and her bleached out skin, I mean, i understand the concept of love your neighbor and shit but right at that moment while we were kneelin’ there at the alter prayin’, I wasn’t buyin’ into that concept.

Oh, what were you guys thinkin’? I knew what y’all be thinkin’? Dirty minds! Lmao!

Outro

I don’t care if we we’re in church or club, rubbin’ skin or touchin’ a fool who’s got her skin bleached is somethin’ I can’t and I wont condone. God will understand, am sure. He created us beautiful, why fuck it up?

My boy Birney (he’s south African, by the way) left the pub the without tellin’ me...nigga snuck out in shame, I assumed he went home to lick his wound and his words.

I understand that there are many Men Of Dog frontin’ out there like Men Of God and there’s every tendency for us to want some of these guys to get there prophecies wrong so that we can laugh in their faces and tell our folks like "I knew it. I knew that was fake" but hey, it's not up to us to do times job for it...time will flush out the real from the fake, trust me.

As for the stranger who confided in me, he seemed to have made up his mind bout cuttin’ his loses and was determined to head for the hill wit' what's left of his manliness. Told me he's given up on the marriage when i tried tellin' him to sit the woman down and kick some harsh word in her ears. Said he will be headin’ back to Mozambique where he’s been slavin’ his ass off to take care of the wife, oh I mean, ex wife!

As he headed toward the greyhound bus where his soon to be ex mother in law was waitin’ (the woman had no idea what storm was about to erupt), he thanked me for listenin’.

UGLY IS NUTHIN' WHEN

UGLY IS NUTHIN' WHEN YOU GOT MONEY.