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One for The (Useless) Team…

There is a joint in town that my bro and his boys introduced me to recently. Beers go for kitu Ksh. 100 and a sip of Whiskey – save for Jameson – goes for a trifling Ksh. 50. For bachelors like us, this is such a big deal; especially to self-proclaimed Whiskey connoisseurs like myself. Let me explain; if you go to any ordinary club in town – or Westlands, for those who are just starting to enjoy their youth – and order a double of Jameson Whiskey, the bill will come to around 500 baab. But here, you will score a double of Jameson Whiskey at just Ks. 140. Which means if you come here with that 500 baab you would have spent in town or Westlands for just one double of Jameson, you will down two-doubles, two beers, and still remain with fare back home. Do you guys get why it’s such a huge deal for us now? I won’t tell you guys where that joint is, we don’t need any more broke asses there.

This is where I spent the better part of my Easter. Drinking Whiskey. With my bro and two of his boys. Okay, plus a few mamis; Three.

Friday night. There are a couple bottles of VAT 69 Whiskey on the table, and a glass of wine for this mami who says she’ll only drink ‘makali’ when pigs start flying. She’s not much of a drinker, because she starts complaining about how light her head feels after just two glasses of wine. Two bloody glasses of wine. What I find strange, though, is the fact that she’s adding spoonfuls of sugar to her wine; to make it sweeter, I suppose. I don’t know if it’s just the shagzmodoz in me – or I just didn’t get the memo – but when did people start adding sugar to wine though?  When did women start thinking it’s alright to sit at a table with men and drink wine laced with sugar? No, really, when?

My bro and his boys are adding soft drinks to their glasses of Whiskey. Which means they’re just like this chic lacing her wine with sugar; they’re all wusses.  I have said this and will say it again, any man who can’t take his Whiskey neat is nothing but a wuss. Never take them seriously. They are those corny men that are concerned with Instagram followers and how many likes their pictures get.

We’re talking about nothing in particular. The discussion ranges from Babu Owino’s antics to sex positions. My bro is saying something about Anvil being the most penetrative sex position, scientifically proven. One of his boys asks which position the Anvil is and we laugh at him. A man should not just have sex aimlessly; a man should be conversant with the various positions, hii maneno ya doggy na missionary kila siku mtawacha wasee. The chic who was drinking wine laced with sugar googles “Anvil sex position” and she smiles at the resultant image. She’s wondering whether those are guys doing yoga or engaging in migwatos. She says “Mimi I’m not flexible enough for that position” and we tell her she’s been having sex with the wrong people. I know some of you guys who also don’t know the Anvil are now rolling your eyes, shindwe!

Judge a regular man by his third double, that’s when he’s most vulnerable. You could ask for his Mpesa PIN and he’ll give it to you without second thought. A man who survives his third double of Whiskey without starting to think about calling his ex-girlfriend or staggering in his walk is a connoisseur. Not a Drunkard; Not an Addict; A Connoisseur. *Ahem. Adjusts Tie*

The men are beginning to talk a lot of baseless politics and the ladies are starting to complain about how some men think they are ‘beasts’ in bed when in truth they are nothing but weaklings who last no longer than three minutes and howl like desert animals when they cum. This is how you know people are drunk. So we walk out of the joint, grab a few kilos of nyama in town and board Uthiru-bound matatus.

Uthiru is a small secluded town huko next to Kinoo. It doesn’t look like a place people drink much, because we only found one liquor store in the whole area during our stay there, and even that one was closed. But, in all honesty, I like Uthiru. Given the chance, I would live in Uthiru. I don’t like congested places. Shit, I don’t even drink in congested bars.

We get to Uthiru circa 1 a.m. and Miss-Sugar-In-My-Wine cooks the nyama for us and she does so surprisingly well. I mean, you would expect food cooked by someone who puts sugar in her wine to taste like ass, No? Seriously, I expected her to mess up the food, but she didn’t. Here’s the thing, most men want a woman who can cook well. Me? I want a woman who can make kick ass chapo. So your nyama and your Ugali and your Pilau can taste like heaven for all I care but if your chapo tastes like shit, I’m not wifing your ass. That’s just a by the way.

Sasa si after eating people are tired and want to sleep? Here’s where the problem comes in; There are three ladies, five men [we were four in town, plus now one of our boy’s bro who stays here in Uthiru, where we are currently] and only three beds, sindio? Sasa si we have to decide how everybody is going to sleep? One of the mamis is my bro’s missus so him he’s pretty much sorted, they grab one of the beds. One lady down, two more to go, and four very horny men on alert. Now, because mimi I don’t like competing for women, I bail out and say I’ll just sleep in the sitting room. Three men, still two ladies. One of my boys also bails, says he’ll grab the couch. Two Men, Two Ladies, si all is good now? Mimi kwanza I grab the remaining Whiskey and put it next to me, because I don’t intend on sleeping at all. Alafu I turn the system volume right up because I don’t want to be bothered by sounds of  “Oh, There, Right There” in the middle of the night. Si me and my boy have taken one for the team? We’re sleeping in the sitting room so they can give those women lungula welle-welle sindio? Ehe.

Come morning, we’re asking these boys how the night went down and none of them has anything significant to say. Yaani none of them raruad anything. They just slept with those ladies like brothers and sisters, even their legs didn’t come into contact. Sasa mimi and my boy are just here wondering, yaani we took one of the team and slept in the sitting room alafu these bozos didn’t even get to second base? Yaani I drunk whiskey all night – only slept for an hour or so – and these miserable jamaas didn’t even get head? Warrathese? An nyathi Omondi Were nyakuar Atogo Jamasiro, magi tang’o yawa uru?

Aki mimi I’m never taking “one for the team” again. Saitan!

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11 comments

  1. mboyablogger 30 March, 2016 at 23:04 Reply

    Still following how none of your stories ever has a happy ending (haha) Either you harbor hopes of joining Migori Town Kwaya or you are truly FANTA, remember FANTA? That was Fuck And Never Tell Anybody…kitambo

  2. Babjy 31 March, 2016 at 15:44 Reply

    Kwani wewe umelala kando ya wanawake wangapi without poking even a finger into their goodies…. You either lied, ama you aren’t surprised your wusses are just like you….

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