Broke lazy good-for-nothing-smelly-feet bachelors like us are a special kind of douchebags. We’re different from ordinary folk. You know, ordinary folk eat to get their fill. Us? We eat till there’s no more food left on the table, or in the kitchen. Because we know when we get home, ain’t nobody cooking; so when we find free food, we eat for the whole bloody week if we have to. Ordinary people – like you – only go to the bar on Fridays and Saturdays. People like us? We practically live in the bar. We have no money but not a day goes by when we’re fully sober. And it’s not even eti an addiction per se, ah ah, it’s just…uhmm…our way of life. You people drink to “have a good time,” us we drink till we get knocked the fuck out. We have no limits. We set the fucking limits.
We’re foul-mouthed and rock-headed and we don’t care whether Donald Trump beats Hillary Clinton because the outcome of the American elections won’t change the price of salt in the ghetto. We’re not born in hospitals like you people, we’re manufactured at highly classified locations and come wrapped in creepy black steel seals that say, “Toxic Content. Open at your own risk.” So when you invite a bachelor over to your digs for a short stay, be prepared to deal with our shit. (Okay, I feel like I’m cursing a lot, I’m working on it. But, surely, you guys can allow ‘shit’ and ‘ass’, No?)
Bachelors like us will come to your home and act like it’s our own. The destination will be somewhere along Ngong Road. The invite will say “arrive at kitu 4 p.m.” but we will knock on your door circa 9 p.m. because we have this voice in our heads that always says, “C’mon, man, only sissies arrive at the exact time they’re told to. Go a little late. You know what, stop by Saape Lounge in town, grab a double for the kicks.” We will walk in and say hi to everyone and exchange a few pleasantries then walk straight to the bedroom, take off our socks and shoes (notice we walked into your house with our shoes on? Smh) and lay them where you lay yours, and drop our ugly ass bags on your bed. Then we will walk to the dining table, pull out a seat – even before the man of the house – and push 1999 Chapos down our throats.
“What does your brother eat anyway? I met him juzi and, boy, was he fat,” a female voice will declare from the other side of the dining table.
“Who, that one? He’s not fat, he just has a really big tummy which, I suspect, is because of too much beer. I suggested he hits the gym once but he shut me down,” we will say.
“Apana, that boy is just fat. Ni wewe hukuli vizuri,” she will insist. And you will remain silent, because you just gobbled down 1999 Chapos and still have 169 more left on your plate and you feel like that should be enough evidence of ‘kukula vizuri’ but if they won’t see it for themselves then what’s the point? The man of the house will emerge from his bedroom and lay his eyes on us and, almost immediately, remark, “Weh. How long has it been?” and we will say, “Too long. About three years now, give or take,” and he will respond, “That long, huh? I thought I was meeting the sweet young boy from back in the day, kumbe mzee tu kama mimi,” and we will touch our beard – as if unsure of how old we really are – and everyone will burst into loud laughter.
The next morning, the man of the house will wake up at 5 a.m. to catch a flight to Kisumu and the good ol’ lady – the one who keeps everyone in the house sane and thinks you don’t ‘kula vizuri’ and makes such magnificent Chapos as those from last night – will leave the digs at 8 a.m. to go to work and the boys will wake up at 7 a.m. because one of them has exams and has to study (we told him to just write a mwakenya but he wouldn’t listen) and the other, well, smokes some really hardcore shit (Hehe) that just won’t allow him to sleep past 7 even when he has nothing to do. But us? Hell No! We will snore and toss and turn in bed while everyone else has already begun their day. Our 9 a.m. alarm will ring but we will shut it off and keep dreaming about getting engaged to Gabrielle Union because – inasmuch as we hate to admit it – we may or may not have caught an episode of ‘Being Mary Jane’ while everyone was asleep last night and – na this is the most difficult part – actually loved it.
We will only wake up when our noses pick up a scent of sausages, which will mean breakfast is served. So we will jump out of bed, brush our teeth (barely) and dash off for the dining table. Where we will dig in to buttered bread and sausages and top it off with cornflakes. We will not even clear out the table or do the dishes when we’re done. No! We’re waay too lazy for such chores. We will then snatch the T.V remote from your hands and tune to some channel still running episodes of ‘My Wife And Kids’. Then when noon clocks, we will unashamedly open our mouths and say, “By the way, that whiskey you mentioned the other day, y’all spared some for a brother, Yes?”
Ladies and Gentlemen, there was no particular moral lesson to this story. All I wanted you guys to know was that when a broke lazy good-for-nothing-smelly-feet bachelor (like this one here) says they’re stopping by your house, you only need to have two things at the ready; kick ass Chapos (preferably with madondo), and some fine ass Whiskey.
You know, I get away with almost everything in this town under the pretext of, “I’m a Bachelor.” And it works, actually, You’d be surprised how gullible (I really wanted to say dumb but that sounded offensive even in my head) some people are. My boys will leave me at the joint because they have to buy supper for their girlfriends and then the next morning ask me shit like, “Ian, why didn’t you leave with us,” and I’ll growl and reply, “Because I’m a Bachelor.” My Boss will call me on a Tuesday Night to ask about a story I should have submitted the previous night but I’ll be at the bar so I won’t pick up, instead, I’ll text him back saying, “Sorry, can’t get to the phone now, Sir. I’m at the bar,” and he will get so mad he’ll call another 386 times after that before finally giving up and texting, “Why are you at the bar on a Tuesday?” and I will reply, “Because I’m a Bachelor.” Or, and this one’s my personal favorite, I’ll be getting it with some mami in the digs and a couple of hours later – amidst heavy breaths – she will ask, “Why didn’t you pull out?” and I’ll pretend to be remorseful for a second or so then plant a cocky smile on my face and say, “Because I’m a Bachelor.” Hehe.
Now, guys, do you remember the other day when we asked you to nominate us for the 2016 OLX Social Media Awards (SoMA)? Well, guess what…we made the shortlist. And we couldn’t have done it without you guys, and we’re duly grateful. Now that the first step is complete, here’s the thing, we need to bring that award back home, sindio? So what we’re going to request you guys to do is simple; Go to www.soma.or.ke/vot/ and, under the ‘New Blogger Personality Award’, check on www.mister-left.com . Then log on to your email address, validate your vote, and then you can go on about your business. If the site doesn’t load on your phone – maybe you own a Kaduda and just ran into this in the cyber – you can vote via Text too. Simply Text ‘ 4B to 21195 .’
Photo : COURTESY