Things Never To Say To A Writer, Especially THIS Writer

“Oh, you are a writer?! I hope you won’t write about me.”

If I hear this statement from one more person my ears will literally bleed. No i will not write about you. You know why? Because I know for a fact that you DO want me to write about you if you are making such (dumb) remarks, you just don’t know how to directly ask me to do it. Two, you are probably not interesting enough to be written about, and I will not subject my loyal readers to your boring self. You are the type that cannot color outside the margins. The kind that asks for ketchup dip for your fries instead of splashing the damn thing all over your plate like a fun person. The type that eats pizza with a fork  and knife. The type that is too conventional to do anything random and fun and worth writing about. So no, I will not write about you. Not now, not ever. You can unclench your sphincter muscles now.


Person X: What do you do? Continue reading


Taking Stock: First Third of 2016

I have cockroach memory. Consequently, this post is gonna be very difficult for me to write because I really do not remember with precision much of the events that have happened, and that includes some of the major happenings in my life, regrettably. I thought of keeping a diary; matter of fact, I used to be nun-faithful to one, till my brother got hold of it and read it out to the entire household, using just the right tonal variations, intonations and facial expressions detailing how terrible my first kiss was, first because the (lucky) boy’s mouth had the stench of ten dumpsters combined, it was as if an animal crawled up and died in there. Secondly, by the time we were done kissing he was done licking my face, I felt like an ice cream cone in the hands of a toddler-annoyingly wet(on the face), uncomfortably sticky and feeling just about ready to melt into oblivion. Everybody laughed hard, I smirked the life out of my brother’s head but I swore never to document anything of sentimental value that happened to me since. I digress.

Luckily, unlike me, the internet never forgets, so I might as well document my shit here . That way, when someone asks me something that judging from the look he/she is giving me I ought to obviously remember, I will just refer here. Shall we?

Looking: For Beyoncé’s LEMONADE. I seem to be the only one that is yet to have a listen or a watch. Help me out here guys…I also want to throw shade and act like I know all the inns and outs of Queen Bey’s life when I make comments on every one else’s posts about the entire drama.

Feeling: All over the place. There are times when i have had long streaks of joy and everything was perfect. There are also times when I felt like the Devil had made my life his playground, jumping up and down, kicking me this way and that as he pleased. But most of all i feel grateful to God to be alive. He triumphs over all.

Wondering: Why the butt crack only feels itchy when you are in public. Consequently you start walking like a squirrel just ran up your legs and is tickling your crotch; all because Continue reading

10 Things Never To Do In A Public Service Vehicle

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  1. Do not argue with the conductor. These people should come with a ‘Poke the bear at your own risk’ sign. When taunted, they will claw at the very root of your self-worth, destroy any sense of self-esteem you have, tear at the little pride you might have left after that, then add on an arrogant laugh, just for good measure. Trust me,they will make you feel like the world’s dumbest. My personal favourite;

Passenger: Ngapi tao? (How much to town?)

Conductor: Mbao. (Twenty shillings)

Passenger: Mi niko na kumi.(I have ten shillings)

Conductor: Hio kumi shuka ukanunue avocado uteleze nayo mpaka tao.( Take your ten shillings, get off the bus, buy avocado and slide yourself to town) Continue reading

Temptation, Snooping And Other (Un)Related Things

Sometimes, when I am having a crappy day, like today, I prepare myself a strong cup of lemon coffee(a delight a certain geek friend of mine called Will introduced me to, one time when I had consulted him in a bid to reduce my program coding dumbness and evade an F,the grade.) and I sit and think about some of my life decisions and choices.

*Like why I strangely enjoy staying without undies while indoors, Bae or no Bae. It’s just a thing I enjoy. I don’t even know why. Feel free to judge, you PERFECTLY untainted creation of God.

*Or why I leave my room sometimes without a bra, not on purpose of course. I just forget. See whilst others were endowed with jugs, the Man Above deigned it fit to bestow upon me some teeny-tiny Barbie doll cups, that like Miss Pepper’s, don’t even touch. So I guess it’s okay really,for me to walk around bra-less, because no one would notice anyways.

*Also, I think about how I sit or stand, depending on the meal, (Omena for instance, always has me standing. I don’t care what Nyanchwani says. Omena is the real deal) and lick my cooking pans clean, right before I get down to what I have served myself, which in most cases is enough to feed Shrek, together with all his ancestors and descendants.

I don’t even know where I am going with this, but what I do know, is that Satan is the shitiest person I know. I swear he tempts you in the craziest of ways and makes you question your sanity and everything you stand for. As I type this, he is currently frustrating every webpage reload and button click that I have tried to use to log out of Bae’s Facebook account on the next tab. I have been at it for about ten years and nothing seems to be working. Okay, it’s only been a couple of minutes but it’s taking so long it feels like years. I can picture him with his ugly horns and tail,and his stupid arrow going round my head saying,

“Come on…hit that inbox icon. You know you wanna…You know you wanna…”

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And he’s right. I REALLY wanna. I wanna hit that inbox so bad, I’m beginning to sweat just trying to resist. It literally feels like the icon is calling me to it, seducing me like that Proverbs 7:10 woman. Like it will give me a year’s supply of Oreos just as long as I click on it. I am beginning to feel a tension fart boiling up somewhere in my rec. I’m in a tough situation for sure, because believe me when I say that Olivia Pope has nothing on me when it comes to Information Sourcing. Well, other people call it snooping but I am Luo. Everything about us is exotic, and that includes the words we use. But that’s besides the point.

The point is, Continue reading