Musings of a Bored Somebody

Let me start by saying, THIS IS NOT A STORY.
Ok it is a story but not fiction.
Argh! Whatever!

Anyway, I just felt like writing something very akin to blogposts about lifestyle and all.
I was washing plates and pots on Friday (as usual, slave things :'() and I remembered a story my friend told me. Hilarious something. Decided I’d share as God loves a cheerful giver (I have a Charity btw…only £s thanks).

So, here it goes.
My friend, I’d call K. had this friend; a guy. They were pretty close and there was the ‘chemistry’ a.k.a sexual tension between them.
One day he texts her, saying his grandma died and he needed comforting. K is a really really kind girl (which is why she’s my friend) and she sensed his loneliness and sadness. She went to his house to lend him a shoulder to cry on.
She went into his room because he was on the bed weeping and they cuddled..and you know how cuddles progress (sometimes). From hugs to rubbing noses to ‘mwah’ then ‘mweeh’ then ‘mmmmweeeh’.
Whatever, you get my drift.
So yeah, they were wrapped up in their passion. Bra aka brezzie (Igbo kwenu!) came off and before the adoration of my friend’s awesome E-cup boobs could begin, her phone rang.
(Somebody shout HALLELUYAH!)
Yeah, it was her father and he needed her at home so she apologised to him for the whole ‘shenanigan’ and left.
Some days later, the dude called her, sounding like the world has ended. Dude really loved his granny sha!
K as usual went to his rescue.
On her way to his house, she meets his sister and K being K, hugged her, giving her condolences.
That was when the sister said, and I quote:
“Umm…my grandma died 10years ago”

K was baffled and told her about her brother.
The sister confirmed his stupidity by saying, and I quote:
“Don’t mind him. The boy’s stupid”

Then K pieced the jigsaw puzzle in her head.
The boy only wanted the sympathy so that the empathy derived from the sympathy would bring about a synchronisation of the flesh.
A.k.a, he just wanted to set P and his dead grandmother was just the perfect excuse.

Of course, K felt like her kindness was used against her and got angry. She didn’t go back home.
Nooo…that would make the story boring.
She went to his house and his room.
She kept quiet as he was going on and on.
Then he started kissing her.

That was when K gave him a slap to rival that of the HolySpirit.
The shock of the slap of course destroyed every kind of konji in his system.
He was vexed and was raking.
“Why did you slap me!”
Then K revealed the truth to the nigga. Seeing as his lie was exposed, he apologised shamefaced.
Said he liked her but didn’t know how to tell her.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
K, being K, forgave him but they sure didn’t synchronise any flesh.

And that was where the story was cut short because I was dying of laughter and we got sent out of the library for noise-making (by a librarian whom we believed was racist because she always sent out the black people for noise making…even though we made the most noise -_-)
Ladies and gentlemen, Konji na confam baskard.
So, yeah…guys…just how far will you go to set that P?
Why evuls??
Why? Why? Why?

As the critically-acclaimed ‘Valentine’s day’ approaches, many okunrins and obinrins (boys and girls) are booking for their dose of sexual healing and sanctification.
To those who can’t afford the new Blackberry Porsche, 50k dinner and other expensive ‘leg-opening’ gifts, what would be your excuse to set that P?
If you have used an excuse to set any game, what was it?
Please share in the comment section.
I’m bored and I need a laugh.

Tee Hee!

The Old lady on Chrisp street

Another unearthed story from my archive. Three years ago…or was it four?


Weird things are happening on Chrisp street.

Things I do not understand.
I came back three years ago, leaving the horrid bustle of the city. The quiet village was the cradle of my humble beginning; my birthplace.

Maybe in a way, I’ve come back home to die.
The village held all I desired: Peace; Away from violent youths and stressed workers.
It came to be all I expected. For two years that is, until she came.

The village is quite a close knit community. Everyone knows everyone’s business. That was how we knew when Miss Jay arrived. An old bent lady with a shock of white over her thick black bushy brows. I guessed her age between 75 and 90. She became a topic of speculation immediately she arrived.

Why had she come? Where had she come from? Why was she alone? Mind you, we are not mean people. We welcome strangers, though with curiosity. Our village is like a huge ‘Old People’s Home’ with the middle-aged helpers of course. Why anyone would come into our ‘settlement’ should be a thing of curiosity. Mary, the seamstress at the market told me she tried paying her a visit but the woman shunned her.


It was after she came that it began to happen. First, the cats. Then, the birds. Even my parrot Brown was affected.
They all died.
The weather changed. Perpetual gloom permeated the village. People were scared to go out at night.
The unthinkable was heard for the first time last week. I remember waking up in discomfort. Something wasn’t right. I’m no seer mind you, but I do get these ‘feelings’ when horrid things are happening. I think it was that ‘feelings’ that woke me up. My arthritic bones complained as I climbed down the stairs to get myself a warm glass of milk. I was startled by the crystal clear howling of what sounded like a wolf.

Almost as if it was at my front porch. Petrified, I was! I tell you!
Milk ended up on the floor dripping from shards of a broken glass.
I remember hobbling back up to bed, hugging my duvet to my chest and praying for the morning to come.

The women’s meeting the next day was in chaos of course. Everyone trying to make an opinion on the strange sound they heard. Everyone trying to figure out the cause of the mists that had refused to give way, even in the morning. All came to naught for we didn’t know what was happening.

“I think that Jay lady has something to do with this” Miss Peppers quipped. I scoffed at her suggestion. She has always been one to come up with strange tales.

‘Witches haunting the Moors riverbank at night’. She never steps out of her house after 9pm so how on earth does she know that!

The wolf incident didn’t repeat itself so we put it out of our minds.

The first human victim was taken.
Mr Wilbert was addled; we all knew. Yet, he never went out of the village. We hadn’t seen him in days. We went visiting; Mrs Croquet, Miss Patty and I. He wasn’t at home.
House was clean.
Clothes neatly piled.
Beddings nicely laid but no Mr Wilbert!
“Maybe he’s gone on a trip.” Miss Patty said.
I knew something sinister was happening. You can call me an old biddy but I know my ‘feelings’ and they’ve never failed me before.

A week after what we tagged as The Disappearance, Miss Jay was seen at the market.
Oh my!
Did the ladies have enough to talk about! The strange mismatched eyes, the strange way her bun was knotted, her indecent display of sagging cleavage. They didn’t notice what I did.
She looked younger. Or was it me seeing things?
I haven’t really “seen” her properly enough to know for sure but I remember her pale face that matched her hair. Now the face was aglow with life and…nourishment?

I kept my ideas to myself. One Miss Peppers is enough for our group!

Two weeks later, another lady disappeared.
And it continued.
Every week one person goes missing. What are we to do? We live in a village filled with the old, wanting a quiet place to live out the rest of their lives.
What can we do but keep our door locked and pokers near our beds?
Still our numbers have decimated.
We are but a few and I fear for my life.

Every night, I imagine I hear a scratch at my door.
Weird things are happening, I tell you, and there is nothing we can do.
I shall consider going back to the city if this continues. I need to see the grandkids anyway.
Let’s hope I’m not up next on the ‘To-die’ list. My body puckers with gooseflesh even as I think it.
Weird place, Chrisp street; weird place it is now.

Miss Patty would go for a visit and would be greeted by the sight of an empty house.
She would see the neatly packed travelling box.
She would see a purchased ticket.
Where is the owner?
Why is her rocking chair moving, like someone just got up from it a moment ago?


One should never rock an empty rocking chair. It is considered bad luck you know…


I am no poet but reading @DrealGenie’s first poem kinda encouraged me to bring out the little ‘rubbishes’ I’ve always written and saved in a dark place. Well…enjoy (I’d use that term loosely)


She was no poet.
She cried in frustration as she tried
to string words together.
Like badly strewn beads,
The clitter clattered to the floor.
Delete. Delete.
She punched the delete key
In frustration.

She is no poet.
She cries in frustration as she tries.
But try,
She never stops trying.



Every incision for every syllable in your name
Every drop of blood, a testament to your shame.
I’m your lover and your executioner.
Quicken the smouldering embers of hate
I’m nothing but the tool of fate.
Karma is a bitch.
You really should have remembered, you snitch.



It exists yet, does not exist.
Why then did we give something non-existent a name?
The god of numbers.
No matter how huge, it would divide it
And produce a replica of itself,
Another Zero.
Yet, nothing can divide Zero.
Impossible! The mathematicians would cry
A perfect circle.
The blackhole.
No positives, No negatives.
Single, lone entity
What is Zero?
Why is Zero, Zero?
Why then the need,
To create a Zero?


That’s it!
What do you think? X_X


She admired her dapper self quickly in the mirror one last time, even as she heard her mother scream for her to ‘Hurry up and move!’. Something about her beating the traffic. She smiled to herself, patting her newly braided hair unnecessarily and smoothening the pleats on the skirt of her new school uniform.
Off to boarding school.
She chuckled and ran out of the room.
For the first time since they- her family- moved houses, she was happy about the change. Leaving Festac behind and relocating to V.I had hit her hard; her school friends, neighbours, swimming club friends. At least they still went to church every Sunday there. Not like they had a choice, seeing as her dad was one of the Pastors there. The good thing about moving was that for the first time, she was going to become a ‘boarder’. And it was not just any school, it was Princess College! One of the most prestigious all-girls school in the state. She had called Timi, her bestfriend to share the good news last week. Remembering their conversation suddenly dampened her mood as she got into the back seat of the Peugot 505 with one of her luggages.
‘Boarder?? At Princess College??’
‘Yeah! It’s so cool abi!’
‘What is hmm now. You’re supposed to be happy for me.’
‘I am, I am, babe. It’s just that i heard something about that college…’
‘What? Their standard of education is really good and…’
‘I know that. I applied there after primary school remember?’
‘So what is it then?’
‘I heard stuff about witches and stuff in their hostel at night. And at certain times of the month stuff like..’
‘Abeg abeg abeg! Don’t tell me you believe that Madam Koi Koi rubbish. Or Bush baby stories. Those are primary school ghost stories jo!’
‘Hmm..Ok o. Sha be careful there Geebee. Pray o.’
‘Yeah yeah..’
‘Gbemi don’t yeah yeah o. I’m serious….’

Of course she was serious.
She scoffed in her head as she waved to her little brother until they disappeared out of sight.
She settled back in her seat. She was going to be alright. After all, she was the daughter of a Pastor.

“…there are two bunks free in Newton house. I’d advice you to take the one beside me. The other is near the toilet!”
Gbemi smiled and nodded.
“Thank you Senior.”
The Senior laughed.
“No need for formalities in here. Only on school premises. You can call me Amanda.”
‘No need for Senior! This school too cool gaan!’ she thought.
“Ok Se…Amanda”
Amanda smiled at her sweetly.
“Welcome to Princess College.”

Gbemi allowed the mass of students streaming from the Grand Hall to carry her along while she thought about the announcement the Principal just made. A student apparently ran away from the hostel. The Principal sounded furious; she had the right to. She wondered why anyone in their right mind would leave the school. It wasn’t like the living conditions were bad. The punishments could be a bit severe she agreed especially coming from the Matron but still!
“All these ajebo kids sha. Small thing they run away. Abeg!” she muttered under her breath.
Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned.
“Ama..I mean Senior” she smiled sheepishly.
“You were frowning before. Are you Ok?” Amanda asked.
“Yes. Yes I’m fine. Just what Princi said…”
“Oh about the girl than ran away? They do that a lot.”
Gbemi’s eyes widened.
“Yeah. Some just miss their families i guess.” she said and shrugged.
“Anyway, don’t let me delay you. What do you have now?”
“Oh with that perv Mr Abidemi!” Amanda chuckled. “Goodluck with him. I’m glad i dropped that subject! If you need any help though you can always meet me during Prep time.”
“Really! Thanks!”
Amanda smiled indulgently “Anyway. See you later!”
She wriggled her fingers and left.
Gbemi tried to imitate her finger-wriggling. If this were her former school, she would have taken Amanda to be her school mother. They didn’t do that kind of stuff here. She had asked Nengi, her new friend. She said it was old-fashioned. The Seniors didn’t bully so there was no use for that, apparently.
Gbemi shrugged and continued walking to her class.
“All these cool kids sha.” she murmured. She couldn’t wait to gist Timi when she went back home on Mid-term break.

Everybody was tensed.
Gbemi could feel it. She could see it infact. Even Amanda the most docile person she knew snapped at one of the Junior starter girls (calling them J1 girls was ‘old-fashioned’ too) in their room, driving her to tears.
“Na wa o” she whispered conspiratorially to her reading partner in the Prep hall. “Is anything happening? This one everyone is just boning anyhow anyhow”
Judith sighed and dropped her pretense of reading.
“Don’t you know the date? It’s Friday 13th.”
Gbemi stared. “…Erm so?”
Judith looked at her, amazed.
“What! Talk jo! What’s wrong with Friday 13th?”
“Well…the crux of the matter is that bad things happen apparently.”
Gbemi looked at her incredulously.
“You people believe all that superstition nonsense?”
She hissed and went back to her reading.
“It’s not superstition…Ok maybe it is but it’s serious Gbemi!”
Gbemi laughed.
“Don’t make me laugh abeg. Let’s read. Today might be Friday 13th, but next Monday is 16th and we have an ‘End of the year’ test then!”
Judith stared at her.
“Fine.” she whispered.

Well bad things did happen, though she wasn’t sure it was on the scale of what Judith…and the rest expected.
First, the dinner was burnt. Then, some girl sprained her ankle and had to be rushed to the clinic. Worst of all, the generator became faulty; light flickering, unstable. There was an unnatural sense of quiet in the rooms. She had approached Amanda for help with her revision and luckily, she was in the mood to oblige her. Was it her imagination or had Amanda been looking sad? On top this Friday matter? O ga o! Their unease had leached into her.
She admitted this as she tossed and turned on the bed, unable to sleep.
Because of the power outage, the whole boarding house was plunged into darkness.
Her ears were picking up every sound. It was a little windy outside and an unlatched window kept banging at the side of the wall infrequently. The roof creaked a little as a particularly huge gust of wind blew.
She heard other sounds too; even one that sounded like a muffled sob. Probably a J1 girl missing home.
The hair at the nape of her neck suddenly rose and she shivered.
Was her mind playing tricks on her or did she suddenly feel eyes, staring…boring into her through the darkness?
She shuddered and chastised herself. It was high time she made another attempt at sleeping.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Her ears twitched at a sound and her eyes snapped open.
Her heart began to race.
She heard the door of the bathroom open and close and she sighed, releasing the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
The toilet flushed a few seconds later. Someone was just using the loo. She hissed under her breath.
‘Friday the 13th ko. Sunday the 14th ni.’ she thought.
She closed her eyes and once again, they snapped open. She could clearly hear it.
From behind.
Her body tensed and her hands gripped her sheets in fear. She felt sweat beading on her forehead and armpits.
‘Turn!’ Her mind screamed at her but she was afraid to make any moves.
She felt cold hands touch her exposed arm and she yelped, jumping and hitting her head on the bunk.

“Oh my God I’m sorry!” A voice whispered.
It was Amanda.
Gbemi’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. She swallowed hard to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.
“No problem.” She said hoarsely.
“Sorry for disturbing your sleep…but please..can…you..?”
Amanda stopped and swallowed a sob.
She was the one crying? Gbemi became worried.
“You’re crying! What happened? Are you ok?”
She didn’t answer but Gbemi heard her sniff and wipe her nose.
“Yes. Just.please follow the bathroom.”
Gbemi’s eyebrows raised in the darkness.
“Yes..I’m..I’m afraid of the dark” Amanda answered in a small voice.
She almost laughed out harshly at the ridiculous request.
Afraid of the dark? That’s why she’s crying? O ga o!
“Sure. No problem” she said getting up and donning her slippers.
She felt Amanda groping for her hand and she let her hold it. She could feel her sweaty palm holding on tight.
Counting the steps in her mind, Gbemi led her to the bathroom, opening the door ans instinctively reaching for the light switch. She remembered the outage and her hand fell. She hoped Amanda would not make her wait outside the stall as she did her business.

Suddenly, Amanda wrenched her hand away and forcefully pushed her into the dark bathroom.
She shrieked and tried to open the door, hands shaking with fury.
It was locked.
What kind of rubbish was this now!
She hit the door, screaming to be let out but no one was answering. She became angry and kicked the door repeatedly. Surely, the other girls would wake up with the racket.
No one did.
She sank down on her haunches, shivering. It had become chilly in there. And there was something about the darkness that unnerved her. That feeling of staring eyes came back and she shuddered, rubbing her arms brusquely.
From one of the toilet stalls.
She got up.
“Wh..who’s there?” She whispered.
More giggles answered her.
Her eyes struggled in vain to pierce the darkness.
It was complete.
Surrounding her.
Stiffling her.
She heard the squeak of the metal hinges and she knew whoever was inside was coming out.
“I’m covered by the Blood!” She whispered fiercely, her shaking voice belying her conviction.
“Are you?”
A voice whispered.
“Are you really covered?”
She shook.
“Yes! I rebuke you!”
A laughter.
Then silence.
“Rebuke me! As if!”

She felt clammy hands; numerous clammy hands hold her arms and legs.
“Leave me alone!” She screamed.
That laugh again, this time, very close to her ear.
“No.” The voice whispered.
She felt bile burning in her throat as the clammy hands clamp on her head, holding her head in place as one hand prised her mouth open. Tears of terror streaked down her face. Her bowels betrayed her.
A tiny hand shoved itseld down her throat and she wheezed in an attempt to breathe. White light danced across her eyes and her body jerked sporadically, a rictus of shock.
Darkness claimed her.

“….I’m most concerned madam. It would seem she ran away from the boarding house.”
Mrs Ganiyat’s eyes widened in fear.
“Why! Where would she go to now ehn! What is this!”
The Principal held her hands in commiseration.
“We are doing everything we can as a school, Madam. The police have been informed..”.
Mrs Ganiyat swallowed a sob, nodding.
Gbemisola? Run away? Eledumare!

Mrs Okonkwo turned in her chair as her office door opened. Three Senior students walked in and sat down. She smiled at them.
“Well…” She started rubbing her hands.
“When would be the next time?” One of the students asked.
“Whenever she gets hungry again. Who knows. In six months? A year? Tomorrow? Who knows?” she shrugged.
They nodded in silence.
The sacrifices they had to make to keep the school standing.
Amanda grimaced inwardly, remembering to leave a mask of unconcern on her face.
She had liked Gbemi. It was too bad her name came up. Even worse that she had to lead her to her death.
Mrs Okonkwo retrieved a basket from beneath her table, filled with white paper.
“So…the next name. Who would want to do us the honour?”
One of the three girls got up and plunged her hand into the sea of folded white papers, picking their next sacrificial lamb.

Not The End
Seems my block has been lifted. Praises. 🙂

This was a story i tweeted ‘on-the-go’ last year, for the only Pie Poet i know, @pieinstomach. It probably makes no sense and it is long and a little sexual so if you are having second thoughts now, this post isn’t for you.
For the curious who wish to continue reading, welcome. Hope you enjoy!


He was the best of them all, the créme of the society. His services as a Poet were being sought after. Nobles enlisted his help as entertainment on their feast days. Oh how he mocked them with words and how the laughed at themselves.  As every mortal is wont to be, the Pie poet got bored of his station. He got fed up of pandering to his patrons’ whims.

Twas brillig but no slithy toves gyred and gimbled. No. Just one poet, leaving town in the wee hours of the morn without warning. You see, he had come to possess a papyrus which had been left purposely for his perusal. It promised great things! Frabjous!
‘Seek for Her and Her riches where the Gazelle meets the Tiger. The Hunter would show you the way’ read the papyrus.  He had no idea who ‘Her’ referred to. He wasn’t overly awed by riches. He didn’t lack money. What he lacked was adventure. He went. Where the Gazelle met the Tiger could only be the drylands outside the city that was called the Gazelle. Tiger, a small river. He had no idea who or what the Hunter was but he was prepared to find out. With ample supplies of food and water, he set off on foot, turban hiding his face.

The food was almost running out. The water, lukewarm and tepid. He was at the meeting point. Where was the hunter? It had been three days already! On the fourth evening, hunger pangs crippling him, he wondered if he should give up on his so-called adventure and go home.
What was waiting for him at home anyway? Nothing. He decided it was better to die than go back to the Great City. He laid down, exhausted. He watched the skies turn from the dark orange of dusk, to a deep indigo of twilight.
That was when he saw it.
With his back on the ground, stones poking through layers of clothing, he saw the Hunter.
In the sky.
The stars.
Of course! With renewed energy he arose, and walked doggedly in the direction the Hunter’s arrow pointed. Surely he had passed the drylands. Shrubs began to crop up. Where there were shrubs, there would be animals. He became afraid but trodden on under the stars’ gaze. Shrubs became trees. And soon, his view of the skies was obstructed by them. He had never known any land like this existed! He walked on blindly, tensing at every sound he heard. He stumbled out quite abruptly into a clearing.

A magnificent castle. He paused,eyes wide in wonder at the building illuminated by the starry night. He walked to the giant double doors. He held the knocker. “Come in” a sultry voice said from inside the Castle before he knocked. The doors swung open. He stepped in warily. Had he found her?  Unlit lamps suddenly sprung to life, lighting his way. One door lay ahead, with soft light streaming from its hinges. He approached it. Again, before he pushed open the voice again commanded “Come in”. The door opened of its own accord. He gawked in disbelief. He could not believe his eyes. Everything was golden. From the chairs, to the tables…to the woman who sat, staring at him, smiling.

“The Pie Poet” she whispered, her voice like liquid gold to his ears. He shivered in awe. “Be welcome” She motioned him in.  He walked in, unable to speak, suddenly feeling like a speck of dirt in the presence of this opulent being. She rose and walked to him. He tensed as she stood in front of him. He wanted to shield his eyes. She was beautiful. Long golden hair, intense yellow pupils, Full yellow hued lips. He took in her attire, sheer transparent silk, barely covering up her body. He could see…everything. She was naked. He averted his eyes, staring at his reflection on the golden floor. He felt his intense arousal, his loose trousers suddenly tight. His eyes snapped up as he felt her touch on his chin. Her hand was surprisingly warm…for a golden woman.
“Be at ease” she whispered. He suddenly became drowsy, eyes dimming, drinking in the look of amusement in her yellow eyes before they closed. He felt weightless.

He awoke. His eyes widened in surprise. He was laying on a golden bed. His clothes were already taken off.
“Awake?” He turned around. There she was, sitting on the bed, staring intently at him. He quickly pulled the shimmering sheets over himself.
“Can’t you speak?”
He cleared his throat. “Of course I can”. His throat felt sore. She rose and walked to him, a cup suddenly in her hand. “Drink”.  He stared at the golden viscous liquid in the cup. He sniffed. Faint smell of citrus and honey. He drank and his eyes widened in wonder.
“Like?” She asked smiling. He nodded. She shook her head. “Speak”.
“Yes. Lovely.” She grinned widely and suddenly laughed. He watched her, confused. The heaving of her chest as she laughed shifted her silk gown slightly. A golden nipple peeked shyly at him. He could not stop his eyes from roving, imagining just what she looked like without the gown. His member rose in awe and he shifted uncomfortably to shield his embarrassing body.
She stopped laughing “You’re interesting”.
He picked up courage.
“And you’re golden. And this room. Gold. How?”
She wagged her index finger at him. “Food. Eat first.” He nodded.
She left him and came back with a golden platter filled with different fruits..golden fruits. He bit into one and exclaimed in delight.
“Frabjous! Heavens! Glory! This is pie!” He devoured everything as she watched him, giggling. After eating, she took his platter away. She came back with more of the golden liquid which he drank greedily.
“So, who are you?”
She slithered into bed with him. She took his head and cradled on her bosom.
“Well. I’m Her. The Eternal Riches. The queen of Glory. I chose you Pie poet. I chose you because in you, I saw a man thirsty for adventure. A man fit for godhood. A virile man”
“The queen? Glory? Me?” He muttered. “Yes, my poet. The queen. And yes, you. I’ve heard of your oratory prowess. Would you weave me a poem? I’d like that.”
“Anything for you!” he said, rising. He got out of bed, temporarily forgetting his nakedness and threw a mock bow to her. “My lady of flames. No words should describe your fame..”.  She stopped him. “No. No poems. Come back to bed. Tell me about yourself.”
He slid back into her embrace willingly. “Yes, My goddess”.
As he opened his mouth to speak,
“No. Don’t tell me. let me show you something! Here! Lick my finger!” She prodded him with her pinkie. He did and his eyes widened.
“The golden liquid!” He exclaimed, getting up to stare at her. “How?”
“Every part of me secretes it”.
“Every part?” She nodded, grinning. He bent close to her neck and licked. Faint taste. He sucked on her skin and drew the liquid out.
“Wow”. Her eyes were glazed over.
“Do that again!” She commanded, holding his head to her neck. He obeyed, her cooing of pleasure, susurration.
Oh the heady feeling! Better than fine wine! Inhibitions forgotten, he traced whorly patterns on her neck with his tongue. She sighed in delight as she parted her silk garment.
He stopped and gazed in wonder. With shaking hands, he took the garment off. With reverence, he took one perfectly shaped golden nipple between his thumb and pulled, watching her yellow eyes dim as she sucked in a breath. He took the nob into his mouth and sighed as his eyes watered at her wondrous taste. He tugged with his teeth, glorying in her sighs of pleasure and the feel of her hands caressing his scalp. He stopped and before her groan of protest was formulated, he transferred his oral ministration to her other mammary peak. He squeezed gently, lapping up her liquid. Greedy for more, he was. He drew lazy lines with his tongue across her chest as his fingers tweaked and thumbed her nipple.

He wanted more.
By the gods!
She sensed his thoughts and stopped him.
“You. You have to promise one thing. Before you can drink of my well.” She said huskily, panting.
“Anything!” He cried.
He didn’t think.
He couldn’t think.
He was going mad.
He had to taste more. She released his head and his mouth mapped a hasty path down her navel. Pooled between the cleft of two golden thighs, was the golden liquid, dripping. Holding firmly to her thighs, he sank his mouth into the well and drank. Manners forgotten, he lapped up, slurped and sucked, determined to get every drop of her liquid fire into his system. She held on to his head, mashing his face into her sanctuary. He pried his tongue into her, determined to lick her dry. His fingers soon replaces his tongue as he moved for further exploration, to the round nub of flesh at the entrance to her mound. He heard her gasp as he teased the swollen, throbbing flesh. He felt her spasms as her well contracted against his mouth. With a feral scream, she dragged him up, grasped his aching shaft and pushed it into herself. He rode her cosmic wave, senseless to everything else but the endless sea of sensations he was being sucked into. He wanted to drown in her. With a cry, he released, shuddering as he flopped on her chest. The sound of their panting was all the music they needed. He felt her fingers on his hair. “Welcome” she said softly.

“Welcome?” . She smiled at him, golden eyes glimmering.
“Yes welcome.” His eyes clouded in confusion so she deftly drew a strand of hair from his head and showed him. Golden.
He jumped off her and gazed at himself in horror. He was shining like burnished gold. He looked at her in surprise. “Wha…?”.
She smiled serenely at him.
“You did promise before you drank of the well.” He stuttered
“B..but this?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I…I must leave.”
Golden eyebrows furrowed.
“Leave? You cannot leave. You belong to this house now.”
He didn’t listen. He picked up a golden shirt he saw on one of the chairs, donning it as he walked out of the room. He pushed the double doors open.
His eyes widened in horror.
Why was he staring at the crater of bubbling volcanic mountain?
Where was he?
Where was land?
He ran back.
“Where is this! Where am I!” He screamed in horror at her reclining form. She opened her eyes.

“Ah. You’ve noticed.”
She got up. She walked up to him, and dragged him by the phallus, back to bed. “Lie down Pie Poet. There’s no leaving here. You promised.”
She stared into his eyes.
“I’m here. Am I not a better option? Would you rather die than lay with me? Let me drink from you” .
Without waiting for his reply, she pushed him on the bed and settling snugly between his legs, she took him in her mouth.
He sighed in confusion mixed with desire as his hands instinctively tightened her golden hair, thrusting his hips into her gloriously warm mouth.
Well, he wanted adventure didn’t he. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

How was that for a Saturday night fever?

Day 25

Waiting for a ‘Merry Xmas’ post right?
I don’t celebrate Christmas. I’m Jewish-Christian so forgive me if I don’t understand your cheer.
When I tell people I don’t celebrate the ‘feast’ they all go “Aww. You’re missing o!”
Missing what? Chicken? Beef? Beer?
But i have  those every other day.
What is Christmas? And no one please give me that tadodoole about it being a season of ‘Giving’ yada yada.
And no, it’s not the ‘birthday’ of Jesus either. Camon what are you? 12?
So let us be real. What exactly is Christmas and why do you celebrate it?
It’s not in the bible so no one give me a dose of Christian codswallop. What value does Christmas have? Why do most people die during this period if it’s really a religious do?
What does Christmas really mean to you beside the merriment? Is the merriment the only reason people celebrate it?
That ladies and gentlemen, is a question I’d love an answer to.
I’m not blasting anyone’s belief. I just seek insight because I read the same bible you read. Get me?

My phone is going haywire with Season’s greetings. Well I’d just have to ignore all that.

Although I cannot wish you a ‘Merry Christmas’, I do wish you all enjoy your holidays and stay alive! Anyway, I wasn’t going to do any special story but it seems co-writer Dionysus did so I’d be posting that later today.
Drink responsibly.

Day 23: The Birdies

“Hey-ho” greeted Santa to his little female elves.
Joke of the day! 🙂
So today’s topic isn’t much of a topic.
I love the ‘Nigerian Twitter’ scene as it’s called by some. Everyone is a critic, everyone is a saint on Sunday. Everyone’s a photographer, everyone is a blogger.
Why am I blogging about Twitter? It is not my usual is it?
No it isn’t. But I read something so interesting, I felt the need to blog about it!
And this is ‘The Birdies’. If you don’t know about it, nna mehn your last get K leg o! Hia!
So yeah, The Birdies.
Seriously LMAO.
First I saw a tweet about it, I wondered who was dumb enough to give birds awards. Apparently, it’s a ‘Twitter Award’.
In a way,we are all birds, twittering on the Internet tree. (And we are all spiders on the WorldWide Web. :D)

So here was what came to mind. In the Avian world, we have different classes ofcourse. Same with twitter!

1. The Parrot: Those twitter users that tweet a lot. Highly humorous. Sarcastic. Sometimes repetitive but we like them anyway..that is until they begin to annoy the hell out of you! E.g. @ *insert handles*

2. The Ostrich/Emu: These are the bigwigs of twitter. The largest birds. Every tweet of theirs is like laying an egg. Have you seen an Ostrich’s egg?? Friggin’ huge yo! So the eggs..sorry tweets get retweeted and you know the drill. Big shots. You don’t mess with the Ostriches/Emus. It’s impossible to pick fights with them. Try picking a fight with a REAL Ostrich first!
Anyway, you get the picture. E.g @*insert suitable handles*

3. The Penguin: These ones are the last carriers. How won’t they carry last when they live in the Southern hemisphere! Two weeks later after the number game on twitter ended, one penguin whose Last was a Sumo wrestler, came back with it! Negro please! E.g @*insert the last carriers on your TL*

4. The Woodpecker: These are the noise makers. The otimkpus. The hypers and over-hypers. You know yourselves!

5. The Hummingbird: These are the small, flighty and flirty users on your TL. Those ones that fly up and down making trouble, flirting with other users. They have the most fun in my opinion!

6. The Vulture: You only see these group of people when something bad’s happening or has happened. They don’t necessarily need to know the details of what has happened. They just see fresh meat and fly in. They’d join in dissing a person or persons. They’d join in abusing Vic O even though they’ve never heard any of his creative songs. *insert epileptic fit here*. You get the idea right?

7. The Owl: Team Twitter after dark kwenu! In the night when people in their time zones are asleep, they crawl out like maggots in a rotten fruit. Nocturnal animals, looking for small preys to set P with. P for Prey. Lol. What? It’s funny. -_-.

8. The Pigeon: Full of shit. That is the easiest way to describe these geezers. They so full of crap (like the avian citizens of Trafalgar Square), you just want to go all Robin Hood on them. Bow and arrow, shoot the fuckers down. But you can’t. It is their account and they can tweet whatever shit they want! *Echoes of ‘TuraCool’ across the gallery* Huh? I don’t know what y’all are on about. -_-

9. The Hen: A.k.a The Voltron. Defender of the …..whatever. I shall draw your attention to a igbo native fowl called Okuko abuke. You ever seen those hungry looking hens? Those roadkills that no beggar ever picks up? Yeah! Those are the Voltrons. Have you seen two cocks fight??(No homo!..or Omo as our Ibadan citizens would call it.) You should! Those birds would fight for the most stupid of things. They are champions in drinking Panadol for another bird’s headache!
Notice how they’re the prime choice of food of all the birds mentioned! First to die no dey go heaven! (This makes no sense whatsoever!)

10. The Dodo: These ones are advised to close their accounts and go back to Hi5..or NIPOST. That is all.

11. The Swan: These are the cool, calm and collected birdies on your TL. Easy to flow with them. Graceful tweeps. Their tweets are always retweeted with “#Deep” or “#Gbam”. If you don’t have these kind on your TL….I don’t know what to say about you!

12. The Raven: The goths of Birdieville! All black everything. *shows off blackened nails*. These are the hard rockers. The heavy metal lovers. It’s all about the Dark Art! It’s all about their dark humour! The weirdos. (The REAL ones o not the cheap imitations that are flocking like geese -_-). E.g @weird_oo 😀

13. The Cuckoo: These are the famzers. When I say famzers, I don’t mean those that give genuine compliments to Celebrities and ‘celebrities’ (There’s a difference! Khaki no be leather but we go wear am!) (Off point). Yeah. When I say famzers, I mean those who greet Donjazzy “Good moreen” before they pray to God. Those hardcore ones! Chai!
The cuckoo bird is known to lay its eggs in the nest of other birds.
Now you see why I call them famzers? 😀

There is a group that doesn’t exist on the Nigerian twitter scene.
The Falcon/Hawk. These ones have people that tweet for them. A manager in charge!
E.g @Obama ¯\..(•͡.̮ •͡ )../¯ 😀
You can’t compete, sorry!

So yeah, when I heard The Birdies, that was all that came to mind. I wonder who came up with it and just what categories there are!
‘Voltron of the year’
‘P setter of the year’
‘Oracle of the year’
‘I-try-so-hard-to-be-funny of the year’
‘I-google-inspirational-quotes of the year’
‘Twitterho of the year’
‘I-come-up-with-TTs of the year’
‘I-have-trended-before of the year’

Cool stories bro!

Anyway, back to reality.
It’s the weekend!
Chairs to the friggin’ weekend, I’d seat to that yeah yeah yeah \__

I should have a psychedelic story coming up much later by my co-writer Dionysus!
That being said,


Day 15

“Hell-oh.” greeted the Grim Reaper to his sinful victim.
My joke of the day.
Well, sometimes these things never work. Anyway in no particular order.

1. Food.
I do indulge in comfort eating when I’m sad or depressed. Not so much food but eating does make me smile. Especially if it’s an Asian cuisine. 😀

2. Books+Music
These work when I’m sad not angry. Fantasy fiction perk me up! I just lose myself. Music as well. Whenever I’m upset, I listen to Disturbed. Awesome band. Mad love for the lead singer David Draiman. Even did a vector art of him! 😀

So yeah, listening to them brings a smile. Heavy metal in totality cheers me up!

3. Working out.
This is for anger. Sometimes I get so pissed off, I get my hula hoop or I do jumping jacks till my muscles start complaining. Works every time but It’s not every time I go into angry workout mode. Sometimes, (like yesterday) I just curl myself into a fetal position on the bed or floor and just think evil things.

4. My little brother
He’s my ultimate cheerer-upper. He’s the only one that actually gives a shit about me at home. When I’m upset he comes up with this stupid indian accent, asking if I need a hug. Cracks me up every time! Or he makes of me till I’m forced to retaliate and we both end up laughing. Sweet boy. 🙂 He isn’t so little..a teen now and taller than I am 😥

5. Art..sometimes!
When I’m angry I draw. The problem with this is that sometimes I’m not satisfied with what I’m drawing and that just makes me madder! >_<!

6. Random conversations.
I've got my Rock Republic family on bbm and they are fun so sometimes, they cheer me up. Then there's Ed my incubus :D, Samuel my best friend and 'lover', Ekwem, Samson my emo, geeky pal and the list rolls. Sometimes, they're not there when I need them the most 😦

So yeah! That's it for today!
See ya!!!!

Day 12

Hello! It’s Monday. TGIM? No? Well yes for me! Weekend was a tad dull.
Anyway, topic for today: ON DISRESPECTING PARENTS

I’m Nigerian and if there’s one thing one should know about Nigerian parents, it’s that you should never disrespect them. That is like booking a one way ticket to Purgatory. It is wrong to disrespect your parents. No reason can justify it! In the Bible, it is the only commandment with a promise! That’s how important it is.
“Honour your father and your mother so that your days would be long in the land which Yahweh has given you“- Exodus 20 vs 9 or 10.
It’s wrong.
I cannot imagine myself being rude to my mother..and I’m good at imagining ways to die.
I see kids in this country swearing at their mothers and telling them to shut up.
No fear!
My mother slapped me once for murmuring angrily. Let me paint a scenario of a ‘Shut Up’ situation.

Mum: Chioma blah blah blah
Me: Mummy just shut up for fuck’s sake!
Mum: What did you say??
Me: *runs to China*
Two years later. Knock on the door.
Me: Nihao
Mum: *with machete* Chioma What did you say to me???
Me: mummy biko…

And I’m hacked to pieces like an Ileya ram -_-
I respect my father too even though at the lowest point of my life, I was ready to cuss him out. I just couldn’t.
It’s all about proper home training! Teach them. Discipline your child if they misbehave!
If we can’t teach our children respect, what would they pass on to their own kids?
From disrespect, it would turn to beating up the parent or threatening them.
The good Lord knows I’d instill knowledge into my kids. The day they dare disrespect me or their dad, I’d package them and send them off to their granny for punishment.
Always ask yourself this when you want to be rude to your parents “How would I feel if my child said this or did this to me?”

Anyway, that’s it for today. Thank God its Monday! Money to be made! 😀

Day 11

Ohayou gozaimasu mina san!!! Hello!


A lot of things 😦

I have a bad habit of mentally torturing myself. Been doing this since i was a child. I used it to bully myself into becoming brave and feeling like a bad guy.

1. I am hydrophobic. My mind has been embedded with how drowning feels. I have a terribly active imagination so it’s almost real. Because of this, I developed a mortal fear for swimming. I become sick when I have to; hyper-ventilating and wheezing. It didn’t help that I almost drowned in the Atlantic once! I’d tell that story. In JSS3, our school participated in the Leadership training shenanigan at Apapa. After the Endurance trek, we got to the ocean and the Devil ministered unto the head instructor guy. We were to go in groups and face waves. I could not dodge this one. Well my group, Oduduwa went in and the waves disappeared. Instead of going back our instructor decided we should wade in deeper and wait. Suddenly it got darker. I turned. A huge wave. My life did not flash before my eyes. The water hit me before it did. I hung on to the swim suit of my friend (which i tore). I repented of my sins that second. I peed on myself -_- (Don’t fuckin’ judge yo!) I didn’t die. So yeah that experience really scarred me.
As recent as  2 years ago, i joined another Leadership training group (Why do I punish myself!). We went to the Lake District at Cumbria. I dodged the first swim test. (Oyinbo people were worried because i said I was hydrophobic :D) Couldn’t dodge kayaking. Never kayaked in life. Let’s just say the current o the Lake drove my kayak to the middle before i even began learning to paddle. Are you still wondering why I’m scared of large expanses of water????

2. I am scared of being bitten in the ass by a snake when I’m using the toilet. After reading about Cleopatra and her death, my mind concocted another scenario. I imagined sitting on the toilet one night and an asp from nowhere slithers from God knows where and sunk it’s fangs into my bottom. Since then, I always have to check the toilet before i sit down. ALWAYS.

3. I’m scared of walking across a bridge. I get this crazy urge to jump. Walked the whole length of Waterloo Bridge once. Took my whole will to stop me from flinging myself. I don’t know why. Really don’t. *sigh*

4. I’m scared of humans. I’m a bit agoraphobic. I really am scared of meeting people or associating with people. Humans are dangerous. One minute, someone is normal, the next he/she’s a fuckin’ psycho killer! Not cool! The truth is I’m a very awkward person so i tend to feel shy and embarrassed. It takes a lot of effort and time for me to be truly comfortable around someone. Blame it on my loving books more than conversations.
I flinch a lot at sudden movements from people. I always fear someone would hit me. And I don’t like being stared at. I stumble.
Terribly awkward child. *sigh*

5. I’m scared of being lost in space. This is my most ridiculous fear. I get cold sweats whenever I think about floating forever in that mass of darkness. Scary.

Long list but I’d stop here.
Enjoy the last of your weekend.

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