That Thing Up My Ass

There’s something stuck up my toots; something large; something with hooks; something sadistic; something relentless; something desperately looking for a home. And may just have found one.

I don’t know where it came from; all I remember is waking up one day and feeling a sharp stroke of pain coming from my behind. I remained indoors for the rest of that day; only leaving to go fetch me some supper, and boy did I walk like a raccoon on heat.

When I sit now, people think I’m setting myself up for a fart. I sit in an awkward position, at a 45˚ angle, leaning towards my right. I can’t attend two-hour lectures now; mostly because of the pain that comes with sitting on one butt-cheek, but also because of the giggles and mockery from the boys.

“Boss, what happened to you? Kwani you went to steal someone’s maize and they shot an arrow through your ass?”

“No, not an arrow, that looks like a bullet wound, man.”

“You people leave my boy alone, he’s no thief. Methinks those weird girls he goes out with poked their long fingernails in the wrong hole.”

“Yes. You people remember Nessa, right? That mami with a diva attitude and shitty perfume he brought to Artlantis Coffee House? She had the nails of a Ghanaian witch. This looks like something she could do.”

“Ama he went to the loo and dropped one helluva shit so hot it came out biting and scratching. Lool.”

Mean bastards.
A friend came to visit me the other day; goes by Tess. Nice chic, long legs, dolled up face, thighs of a mermaid, soothing accent. Tess is one of my day-one peoples, we go way back. I have been her wing-man and she has been my wing-lady on more than one occasion; we tight like that. So she asks what‘s going on with me and I say even I don’t know. Then she takes a long pause, like she’s about to make the discovery of a lifetime or some shit and when she finally speaks, her very big solution is“Go see a doctor.”

“That’s what you tell someone having a flu, or retweeting Kanye West’s tweets, not someone with a bloody dagger up his ass,” I retort.

“But you’re also sick, you need to get help.”

“No, I’m not entirely sick, actually. I just need to think of a way to get rid of this thing up there and I’ll be fine. Do you know anyone who can help?”

“Yes, I do, Ian. They are called doctors!!”

“What exactly can a doctor do in this case, Tess? No, just tell me, what exactly can a doctor do to help me?”

“Well, for starters, he’s going to have to check what it is that’s growing up there, then…”

“Hold up. What do you mean ‘check what’s growing up there’? Do you mean, like, I’m going to strip naked in front of some bozo, roll over on my stomach, as he mulikas my ninii with a spotlight?”

“Yes, Ian, that’s exactly what I mean! He’s probably also going to have to use his fingers kidogo.”

“I’m sorry, what-now? I think I have a hearing problem too. Because for a moment there it just sounded like you said you want me to let another man insert things up my ass and ransack the place?

“What things? Just fingers. And we don’t know whether it’s going to be a male or a female doctor.”

“Nobody is inserting anything up my ass, let’s just get that clear. Not Mother Teresa, not the bloody Pope.”

“Okay then, I’ll let you just lie her and die with something rotting in you.”

“Well, that’s a little too dramatic now, don’t you think?”

“Dramatic? Dramatic is you thinking that thing is going to get out of there on its own.”

“But it came on its own, why can’t it leave on its own as well?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that.”

“Do you think someone planted it there? Like, someone who wants to finish me? That’s it, money was poured. I have a lot of enemies in my line of work you know?”

“What enemies, Ian? What line of work? You’re a Jobless Writer nobody even knows, who has time ‘pouring money’ to finish you?”

“Jeez, alright, we’ll go to the hospital, no need to be all mean about it.”

Mimi I’m not going to see any doctor. I can handle syringes piercing through my butt, I can handle my Mum’s slaps, and I can handle heartbreaks, but the one thing I will not stand for is someone digging through my ass with smelly fingers and re-used gloves.
If I should die in my sleep, I want you guys to remember this; Money was poured. Somebody finished me.



  1. Sarah 1 September, 2017 at 10:03 Reply

    😀 😀 ahem.

    Would it be mean of me to ask what eventually happened to your shithole?

    Did it crawl out on it’s own? Or you succumbed to pressure and had your posterior checked?

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