April 2007


Jeff Murdock

Photo courtesy of www.richardcoyle.com

An “Unflushable”, in the words of the one and only Jeff Murdoch in episode 1 (season 1) of Coupling, is a woman (or man, depending on your situation) who refuses to go away despite all your attempts to break things off with them. It’s like when you flush the loo, but the little lump keeps bobbing around in the water, regardless of how hard you swing on the toilet lever. Yup, the unflushables.

I’m usually a one woman man while in a relationship, which I last was until I broke up with my gachungwa last year. Since then I’ve not been particular eager to get into another relationship coz I’m giving myself time to get over her. I don’t want to be accused of carrying forth excess baggage.

But a dude has to get his on the regular! So what’s the solution to this? Outsourcing! Otherwise known as Sex Bila Jokes (SBJ) arrangements. Call them clandes if you will. It’s really just sex with a fringe of conversation.  

But I have a small problem. I don’t know if I can call it that though. It is a problem depending on how you look at it, considering the fact that many men would give an arm and a leg to be in my shoes. All my one night stand conquests keep coming back!! They just do, even when I’m over and done with them.

During my younger years I learnt that if you’re ever to have a one night stand, give it your very best, tinga hizo bao ki-Drogba as if it’s the World Cup final! Because women are known to discuss sex with their pals, down to the very finest of  details. And who wouldn’t want to have a good reputation like that? Coz it makes it much easier to hit on mamas especially if they hang out within the same circles, coz your reputation precedes you, so they’re assured of being on the receiving end of a Grade A performance when they land themselves in your bed. So I never ever let it be known anywhere that Archer gives a lousy lay.

The problem comes in trying to get rid of them once they get attached. Believe me, it’s hard. For a SBJ arrangement to succeed, you’ve both gotta be on the same page, not with one party thinking “it’s just sex” while the other one is thinking very hard about domesticating your diabz. Lemme give you another story about this. 

A couple of months ago I met this fine young damsel from the Coast. Thing is, I hadn’t yet heard about the sexual stereotypes of mamas from the coast so I thought why not? So I took her home to find out about it, foolishly thinking now that her story would be over after the deed is done. The bright chic got my number from a friend of mine (Lesson # 1, NEVER EVER give out your number to a one night stand. Eat the meat, but throw the bone faaaar far away, especially applies if you’re dogging on your mama) she called me a few days later, trying to organize for a date, but I kept dodging her. She called severally, even on private number, but I never ever answer calls from private number.

One particularly dry weekend I called her up and asked if we could meet for a drink, which we did. Convinced that I’d stressed the fact that I wasn’t interested in a relationship with her or with anyone else, and that it had penetrated through her head (Coasterians are not known for being particularly bright – she’s dimmer than a 10 Watt bulb) so I took her home ka chips funga from Kenchic. After that night, the phone calls kept increasing and the mama still thought she could convince me to give a relationship a try. Wapi? 

I know I created this mess myself though. I should never have called her up for round two. But my phone book has a separate section reserved for clandes, and after doing a piki piki ponki…father had a donkey…. with my eyes closed, it landed on her so I called her up. Oh drat!

The chic found a way to crawl back into my sheets mid last week. By then I was already bored of the shag, since this chic is way too organized when it comes to sex. She has zero creativity and spontaneity. Once masaa zimefika, the mama heads into the shower and arrives in bed, so fresh and so clean clean. So where’s the excitement and anticipation of undressing the mama? Throwing a bra here, a skirt there, and a thong over there? Shagging someplace other than the bed? Instead, her clothes are folded neatly and placed on my desk. Boring!! Kwani sex is so routine? When did we get married? 

Anyway, where’s the lesson supposed to be? Ah…yes. Wanaume! If you ever land yourself into this kind of predicament, I’ve found the solution. Be yourself. By that, I mean, play the quintessential personification of the typical Kenyan male stereotype. Lie bila plan. Make up excuses that any idiot can see through. Show up drunk and give her a lousy lay. Call her someone else’s name in bed. Send her an suggestive sms that was meant for someone else. Meet her while smelling of another woman’s scent, and claim that you had lunch with your mother, and she gave you a hug and a peck on the cheek. Leave a random thong lying around somewhere she’s likely to stumble across it. In short, give her reason to hate you and leave you. And when she’s finally gone, delete that number. If you make no attempt to contact her, she’ll get the message.

So I’ve been trying to find a way to disentangle myself from this mess that I created. But this mama made the job so easy for me! Mid last week, she asked if she could come sleep over, and me, not being one to turn away free pussy, agreed. But she said that she was coming over with a friend of hers who she couldn’t leave at home alone. And I said I was cool with it as long as the mama was fine in the looks department and very open minded. I don’t want any conservative “ukimaliza nifunike” types in my digz. I was actually toying around with the idea of a threesome (been a while since I had one) but when they came over… auuuuuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!! The pal was a gibeno! Dikwonkwo on the ng’wound! Injured! Facially challenged. And very, very conservative. Totally not my type.Now what to do? I holad at one of my boys who’s bila shame in his game and truly believes that shimo mbaya ni ya nyoka. In short, he’d cross with anything!! As long as it wears a skirt, he’s good to go.

The same two mamas were to come over on Friday night, of course I had to give a through  pass ka Fabregas to my boy to score. And of course he came through. So there we were at the local (it’s fresh mutura day at the local so of course I was there representing in full swing) the two heffas kept us waiting for hours till we got bored and went home. They showed up at 11pm, both very very wasted. Since guys were hungry, I went to fry some sausages, but when I got back to the TV room, they’d both disappeared. A quick search found them in bed, blacked the fcuk out!

So there I was armed with 8 sausages, (well, and one mutura) and a 750ml Smirnoff Red. Well, my boy and I embarked on the vodka. Mos mos tu, mpaka asubuhi. During the night, I was struck by a brainwave! I took the heffer’s phone and deleted every evidence of my existence. Phone book, inbox, outbox, call records…everything. Then I let her sleep! I even covered her up nice nice asipate baridi.

In the morning, first thing after sunrise, my boy and I raushad them from bed in a manner reminiscent of those impromptu midnight searches for contraband in high school! Beating plastic 5 litre mtungis of Elianto with a mwiko! “Amka! Tokeni na muende!!! Vaa nguo…kubaff! Ati mlidhani hapa ni hoteli ya bure? Bureeeee! Bure kabisa!” (Think Uncle Emilio’s monologue rants when he’s run out of things to say) “Na uichukue hiyo ngotha uliacha kwa bafu juzi! Ata toothbrush!”

The consfued women found themselves scampering to the gate…but I had one little surprise in store for them. Let’s just say that after Sunkuli (my german shepherd) was done with them, they’ll definitely not be coming back in a hurry.  So she’s out, she’s got reason to hate me, and she doesn’t have my number any more? Haha!! Your chapter is officially closed!

A.O.B

As you all know by now, auditions for Big Brother Africa 2 are currently going on. A few bloggers, as well as a few friends of mine have suggested that I should apply! What do y’all think? I’m not ati up for it, but seeing that I’m completely idle for the next few months, it’s worth a try, no?

I think I’d make a good ambassador for my country, but the only problem is that I’m a pathetic dancer (I got two left feet and one right one but it only dances to horizontal rhumba! – sorry Kips, I just love that phrase!!) And one place I know I’d definitely nash is if I was asked to perform a traditional Kenyan dance. There I’d be out so damn hard! Another thing is that I don’t want to see videos of my diabz in the shower circulating on YouTube, tena when I’m dancing along to Patra’s Scent of Attraction (“Yiiess come touch me now…touch me now!) With my bathroom radio firmly ensconced on the wall.

My bathroom radio

You like? What’s on my playlist?

Nookie – Jamesy P

I know that some people must be wondering what I was rambling on about in my previous post.  

On Tuesday evening, someone hacked into my blog and edited one of my previous posts and re-published it, while including a paragraph of not-so-pleasant things about a certain KBW member. The grammar was rather shoddy and one wouldn’t have found it hard to realize that it wasn’t me who wrote that paragraph. 

The issue about the post was brought to my attention when a certain blogger pal called me at midnight shortly after the post went up, and he asked me what I’d been smoking, so as to write such a thing on my blog. I was in shock, because the last time I was anywhere near a PC was some time last week when I last posted an article on this blog. I was even more surprised when went online on my cellphone, clicked onto my blog and read the post, because I for sure didn’t write it! Unless someone can convince me that I was sleep-posting between 11:45pm and 12:00 am, which in my case is highly unlikely. 

So how did someone hack into my blog? Well, I’d given out my password to two different parties to make some necessary modifications after I set up this blog, since I wasn’t very conversant with WordPress. I just forgot to change the password when they were done, which clearly was my mistake. One of these parties is supposed to be trusted and above suspicion, while the other is a blogger pal who I trust and regularly ask for assistance with WordPress related problems whenever they arise. Somehow this person got hold of my password (how that leaked, I’d very much like to know) and used that opportunity to cause mayhem. 

Whoever is responsible for this malicious act is trying to stoke the embers of past beefs in KBW by launching an attack on a certain KBW member, while trying to make me look responsible for that, as well as trying to get me removed from KBW. The same person has been playing both sides against the middle and creating issues that don’t exist. 

This person also attempted a hostile takeover of my blog by changing my password and my email address. It’s good to want to be me. Imitation is the best form of flattery. But there’s only enough room for one Archer, and for the moment, I’m he. 

My advice to this individual is this, find something better to do with your time. Read a book, sleep, take a walk, or get off the B train and find someone to dance the horizontal rhumba (Kipepeo 2007) with. Coz surely, impersonating Archer at that hour of the night? I wouldn’t be surprised if the suspect has a big sticker at the back of his/her car written “When I grow up I wanna be just like Archer!” 

(yes I’m full of myself…so what else is new?)

What’s on my playlist?   

Impartial – Mattafix        

If you think this post is about you, then it probably is. Unajijua.

So you thought you’re so bright, eh? Thought you could hack into Archer’s blog, write some nonsense up in here while impersonating Archer himself, trying to change my password and my email address thus denying Archer access to his own blog? Very intelligent!! In fact, this is just for you.

Clap clap clap!

You stupid fucking by product of a failed abortion! Guess what, your plan failed!

A good attempt though, I must admit that you had me there for a minute.

First things first, I’m surprised that I can still type out a post with a fractured left wrist. It’s nothing serious though, just a hairline fracture, should be ok in about a week or so.  

I was in hospital on Sunday afternoon to have the x-rays done and the doctor, a very comely young lady by the way, asked what happened. (Um¼obviously I fell!) I couldn’t tell her that that was an injury sustained during a heated session of sexual acrobatics with a jaluo woman (our sisters from the lakeside tend to be very….eh…. enthusiastic) so I made up a story and told her that I slipped on a patch of cooking oil that had spilled on the kitchen floor. Her reply: “See? This is what happens when men convince themselves that they can cook! Why don’t you just leave that to the professionals?”  

Hmm¼I suspect that that’s an indirect challenge to me to demonstrate my culinary skills for her, ama what do you guys think? They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Does the same apply to women in any way? (don’t tell me about flowers and chocolate and poetry and diamonds etc) What happens when a man cooks a fantastic meal for a woman? Then after that, probably we could get round to fracturing the other wrist!! 

 

There are some things that happen in life that make you wonder what the fcuk one is meant to think or do.  

(Disclaimer: the following situation does not necessarily relate to me, so quit looking at me like that!) 

Let’s assume that you’re involved in a CSA (Convenient Strokes Arrangement) with this chic who wants more than what you’re prepared to offer her (in terms of a relationship) So one fine morning after a night of good strokes, chic has left the digz and you’re now cleaning up. Ok we all know that condoms don’t flush down the toilet so the best way to dispose of them is to wrap them in toilet paper and throw that in the trash. So while taking out the trash, you find the TP you’d wrapped the juala in lying on the floor right next to the bin, and upon closer inspection you find that the juala has been turned inside out¼and it’s empty! Yaani it’s had the fuck shaken out of it! And you know for sure that you didn’t shoot blanks the previous night (or that morning for that matter!) WTF is a dude supposed to think? What could the heffa possibly have done with the juala¼and a few millions of your finest soldiers? There are a few Mathare escapees on the loose….. 

A.O.B                                                                      

With all these Kenyan companies coming up with very expensive promotions to market their products using sheng’ so as to appeal to the masses, most with very “enthusiastic” terminology, let’s assume that Trust Condoms came up with some new brands (studded, ribbed, bareback, extra lubricated, fruit flavoured etc) just what would they name their “Win a million shillings” promotion? I hope not:  

Mnyanduano mwenye fanaka!! Shinda shilingi milioni moja na Trust Condoms! 

PS: does the bolding look familiar? Seen this somewhere? 

 


 

  

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