I have a serious thing for vampires. Since I was about 11, I loved them. And not those pussy type vampires from Twilight or Vampire Diaries, looking like they fresh out of Dawson's Ass Crack. I mean proper vamps. Mean, gangsta, sexy sonofabiches. When I was about 11, there was this show on BOP tv (you have to be an oldie to know this), it was called Forever Knights. About this vamp, anytime he wanted to fang out, his eyes would go fluorescent green and he'd start levitating. Fucking cool. That stuck with me till now. Any movie with vamps, I'm there...except of course those 90210 Twilight muthafuckers.It got bad people. I saw a movie once were 2 vamps were fucking, I can honestly say it was the sexiest thing ever. I wanted to (still kinda want to) fuck a vamp. I wanted to be a vampire.
And now, thanks to my job, I have achieved it. At least when it comes to my family on weekdays. I don't see nobody during the day. On weekends its like "wow mom, you've added some weight!" Or "dammit, who took my dog?!" Okay, so I don't suck blood, I don't have superhuman strength, I can't fly and its not like garlic can actually kill me, its more like it just smells funny. But still, I can only be seen at night! ...at home anyways.
Today turned out to be a rather good day gentlefolk. Yeah, it had the usual phenomenal stress attached to working in a bank, but it came with an added benefit. See, today is the last day of the month, and that means as a financial institution, the bank had to run EOM or end of month. It involves a long and frankly not very interesting process, which I would describe to you, but I have no idea what they're talking about half the time anyways. Back to the point though, the interesting thing about EOM is that in order for the bank's link to work tomorrow, it had to be shut down and reset by 5.00pm today. Which meant that any and all transactions had to be totally rounded up by 5pm too. Which meant after a particular time, we couldn't process any form of transaction or see to any form of business. But still this isn't the best part...the best part is, a majority of the staff forgot about this and no customer had any idea.
Do you see where I'm going with this gentlefolk? It was chaos. Those sombitch customers who take it upon themselves to come late and screw with me, they were fucked. They walked into my cubicle to meet me ready to greet them with a big smile and an even bigger middle finger. They begged, then they demanded, then they got irate. I happily directed them to my boss, who already had his hands full with pissed off colleagues. I was experiencing pure bliss. The customers looked so lost, pleading with any and everybody from me to my boss to the security guards to the fucking cleaners, but nobody could do a damn thing for them.
At I point, I went outside the bank and I saw a couple of customers staring blankly at the building. I have no idea why I did it, but I inquired as to their distress. Why the long faces? They confided in me gentlefolk. Telling me about the deal which would now go sour, and how if wasn't their fault they came late and so on. I was just about to feel some form of guilt, a little sympathy for these people, when they fucked up. One of them said "I don't know what's wrong with you people. I come here later than this all the time. Infact I once came here by 5.30 and I was still attended to." Gentlefolk any chance of sympathy vanished. To be sure, I asked again if a deal did go sour and how they were going to cope. They of course had no other option but to lose the deal. People, I cannot remember the last time I came so hard. Ripper of an orgasm I had as I walked away.
Infact, I think I'm the first male to acheive something that has been enjoyed strictly by females since time. People, I was having multiple orgasms, the first sight to greet me as I entered the banking hall, was that of my boss and another manager engaged in a shouting match. They were losing their heads and minds, and I was estatic. I kept hoping for a fist fight too. Got my phone's camcorder ready, but trust the pussies, they just kept shouting and shouting till they got tired and I lost my boner. I am however pleased to announce that I came at least 4 times. It was beautiful.
I am not a sadist. I have many perversions, but none of them is seeing people get hurt or sad. But these people wake up each morning, strategically planning how to fuck up my day. They draw up detailed plans, make blueprints, consult experts, determine favourable weather conditions and purchase hi-tech equipment. Operation Fuck with Womilee. Mission Frustration. These people upset me daily, and I shouldn't take a bit of joy in their unhappiness?! Is this not a democracy?! Am I not entitled to my rights? Can't life be fair just this once?! Dammit I enjoyed seeing my boss and those fucking customers suffer and I hope it happens again tomorrow. Infact, I'm tempted to walk up to that other manager and tell him my boss called him a pussy and claims to have fucked his wife. That might get things nice and violent. Unfortunately, I don't think he'll believe me...everybody is already of the opinion that Adolf can't even fuck his own wife, much less someone elses.
Gentlefolk, my vampire theory is about to be proven wrong. Its still light out, and I'm almost home. For once, I can thank my employers for something other than not sacking my irresponsible ass.
See you friday gentlefolk.
I am Womilee.
Wednesday 30 June 2010
A.M. ... 30/06/2010
"I don't know what they want from me, its like the more money we come across, the more problems we see..." When I was younger, Biggie's Mo Money, Mo Problems made absolutely no sense to me. I was about 15 years old at the time, and while I worshipped Biggie then (as I do now), it was beyond me how mo money equated to mo problems. If anything, it solved all problems.
There was another song back in the day as well. I don't know the name of the artist or track, but it went 'Back in the days, when I was young, I'm not a kid anymore, but some days I sit and wish I was a kid again...". Gentlefolk, these two songs have resulted in an epiphany for yours truly. This morning, I woke up and for some reason calculated my present networth. Now gentlefolk, as you all know, I am a banker and thus I have at my disposal the most intricate of financial terminology. So, please bear with me as I systematically analyze my current financial standing. I hope the terms which I am about to spew forth are not too verbose for you good people to understand. As such, as I perviously said, after taking into account my expenses and income, in my professional opinon... I'm broke.
Of course I comparism to my 9 year old self, I'm filthy rich! 9 year old Womilee would be immensely impressed with 27 year old Womilee, which is nice in its own way. But 26 year old Womilee is not impresses at all, his disappointment in me provides me with a continual source of amusement and self-loathing. 26 year old Womilee thought things would be better by now. 26 year old Womilee is a dick. He should have done something back then, muthafucker expects me to perform a miracle.
Yes, more money brings more problems, Biggie was right, I don't know why I doubted him in the first place. I have more money than I did last year, much more than when I was 9, but it constantly seems like I'm broker, or more broke, I'm not sure which is proper. But that's besides the point. Which brings me to the second song. Gentlefolk things were so much easier when I was a child. Yesterday, on the ride home, there was this little girl on the bus with her mama. She was obviously bored, so she took a handerchief and tied it around her leg. She instantly became animated, the boredom vanished immediately. She started jumping around, playing, generally making a nuisance of herself. Gentlefolk, I was so jealous, cos if you know me, then you know very few things give me more pleasure than making a nuisance of myself. I was in my usual miserable post-work state, thus, I was not happy at all. And here was this little girl, who derived such joy from such an insignificant act. People, I was inspired.
As soon as I got home, I rushed to my room, found a scarf tied it around my leg and waited. Then after about 30 seconds, I took off the scarf, walked up to my sister and asked her to slap me across the face. When she refused (out of confusion mostly) I walked to the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and smacked the shit outta me. What the fuck was I thinking?! I'm not a little girl, despite what my elder sister thinks and tells people! I'm a grown ass man, and I tied a scarf around my leg, expecting what?! I'm quite ashamed to tell you good people this, but I'm using this as a way to ask a favour. I didn't smack myself hard enough yesterday, so please, if you run into me, feel free to beat the crap out me, I deserve it after yesterday's stupidity.
What I'm trying to get across though is, things were so much easier as a kid. Again, in comparism to myself as a child, my networth has increased tenfold. But so has my unhappiness. When you're a kid, you have absolutely zero worries. You couldn't give a fuck about cash, clothes, respomsibilities. A kid can walk up to his dad, who just got fired from his job, and announce that his school fees just got increased by 500 large. Walk away, with absolutely nothing on his conscience, meanwhile the old man is considering the fastest suicide methos.
I remember my most trying time as a kid. I was 8 years old, and not doing too well in school, so my mom got me an after school tutor. It was so inconvinient gentlefolk, because the lessons were between 3.30 and 4.00pm. That was when Fraggle Rock and Muppet Babies were on! I was livid, like "what the fuck?! I can't miss those, they're important!". Biggest worries of an 8 year old gentlefolk. Now I have to contend with so much shit everyday, its unbelieveable.
I miss the days when going out meant spending someone elses money. When getting home late was by 3.00pm. When getting paid meant a rich relative was in town. When the statement 'fuck girls' was one of disgust, not of desire. I miss being a kid, and no matter how much Samurai Jack I watch or how many video games I play, I can't be one again.
Won't stop me from acting like a child though, that I enjoy. Now excuse me, I gotta go remove the scarf I tied on my leg this morning, just wanted to see if it might work again.
I am Womilee. See you laters.
There was another song back in the day as well. I don't know the name of the artist or track, but it went 'Back in the days, when I was young, I'm not a kid anymore, but some days I sit and wish I was a kid again...". Gentlefolk, these two songs have resulted in an epiphany for yours truly. This morning, I woke up and for some reason calculated my present networth. Now gentlefolk, as you all know, I am a banker and thus I have at my disposal the most intricate of financial terminology. So, please bear with me as I systematically analyze my current financial standing. I hope the terms which I am about to spew forth are not too verbose for you good people to understand. As such, as I perviously said, after taking into account my expenses and income, in my professional opinon... I'm broke.
Of course I comparism to my 9 year old self, I'm filthy rich! 9 year old Womilee would be immensely impressed with 27 year old Womilee, which is nice in its own way. But 26 year old Womilee is not impresses at all, his disappointment in me provides me with a continual source of amusement and self-loathing. 26 year old Womilee thought things would be better by now. 26 year old Womilee is a dick. He should have done something back then, muthafucker expects me to perform a miracle.
Yes, more money brings more problems, Biggie was right, I don't know why I doubted him in the first place. I have more money than I did last year, much more than when I was 9, but it constantly seems like I'm broker, or more broke, I'm not sure which is proper. But that's besides the point. Which brings me to the second song. Gentlefolk things were so much easier when I was a child. Yesterday, on the ride home, there was this little girl on the bus with her mama. She was obviously bored, so she took a handerchief and tied it around her leg. She instantly became animated, the boredom vanished immediately. She started jumping around, playing, generally making a nuisance of herself. Gentlefolk, I was so jealous, cos if you know me, then you know very few things give me more pleasure than making a nuisance of myself. I was in my usual miserable post-work state, thus, I was not happy at all. And here was this little girl, who derived such joy from such an insignificant act. People, I was inspired.
As soon as I got home, I rushed to my room, found a scarf tied it around my leg and waited. Then after about 30 seconds, I took off the scarf, walked up to my sister and asked her to slap me across the face. When she refused (out of confusion mostly) I walked to the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and smacked the shit outta me. What the fuck was I thinking?! I'm not a little girl, despite what my elder sister thinks and tells people! I'm a grown ass man, and I tied a scarf around my leg, expecting what?! I'm quite ashamed to tell you good people this, but I'm using this as a way to ask a favour. I didn't smack myself hard enough yesterday, so please, if you run into me, feel free to beat the crap out me, I deserve it after yesterday's stupidity.
What I'm trying to get across though is, things were so much easier as a kid. Again, in comparism to myself as a child, my networth has increased tenfold. But so has my unhappiness. When you're a kid, you have absolutely zero worries. You couldn't give a fuck about cash, clothes, respomsibilities. A kid can walk up to his dad, who just got fired from his job, and announce that his school fees just got increased by 500 large. Walk away, with absolutely nothing on his conscience, meanwhile the old man is considering the fastest suicide methos.
I remember my most trying time as a kid. I was 8 years old, and not doing too well in school, so my mom got me an after school tutor. It was so inconvinient gentlefolk, because the lessons were between 3.30 and 4.00pm. That was when Fraggle Rock and Muppet Babies were on! I was livid, like "what the fuck?! I can't miss those, they're important!". Biggest worries of an 8 year old gentlefolk. Now I have to contend with so much shit everyday, its unbelieveable.
I miss the days when going out meant spending someone elses money. When getting home late was by 3.00pm. When getting paid meant a rich relative was in town. When the statement 'fuck girls' was one of disgust, not of desire. I miss being a kid, and no matter how much Samurai Jack I watch or how many video games I play, I can't be one again.
Won't stop me from acting like a child though, that I enjoy. Now excuse me, I gotta go remove the scarf I tied on my leg this morning, just wanted to see if it might work again.
I am Womilee. See you laters.
Monday 28 June 2010
P.M. ... 28/06/2010
Gentlefolk, I joined twitter this weekend. Its a magical place filled with beautiful girls, parties and even its own language. I learnt so many new words this weekend. Tweeps, twusband, I even have my own twifey, DM, RT etc. But the word I'm interested in is Timeline, or TL. What baffles me about this term is that the action it performs has absolutely no connection to the name itself. On twitter it refers to an '@' key. When u click it, it shows you what other tweeople (there, another one) have said in reference to you or your twame (ok, I just made that one up, I'm sorry). How the fuck is this a 'timeline'? It has absolutely nothing to do with the words 'time' or 'line'. I dunno, maybe I don't get it. Maybe I'm thicker than I thought. I hear lack of sex can result in anything from mental retardation to social ineptitude. If this is true, then my boss must have been celibate way longer than I have.
But I digress, the reason I'm so interested in the term is that I think GIM should have its own TL. Here, a TL is the time from the end of monday, to the beginning of friday. Our standard 96 hours, that's GIM's TL. The idiots who created twitter should read this. That is how you name something you morons. You just don't give it the first name that pops into your heads?! It should have some kind of connection to the action it performs. What if the people who came up with the words 'dick' and 'bread' interchanged them? That means we would fuck with our breads and put our dicks in toasters... The former sounds un-hygenic and the latter is plain painful, don't you think. Again, lack of sex good people...
There's something else I would like to share with you good people. It is just as ridiculous as the above, but it struck me profoundly today. In traffic, I saw two beggars. No... That's not the profound part dumbass, hold on. Anyways the first beggar was your run-of-the-mill Lagos beggar, he had one leg on a crutch. But he had an extraordinary exception to him... He had a mobile. I've never seen a beggar with a mobile before. But wait, there's more... He had credit on his mobile! I know this because I watched him take it out and make a phonecall. Then I watched him put it back into his pocket. Then I watched him limp over to my window and beg me for money. Then he watched me give him the finger. Then I watched him walk away. How the fuck am I going to give out money to someone who has more credit on their phone than I have?! Gentlefolk, I currently have 0.14 naira on my phone, and its going to stay that way until I need to pay for my blackberry again! Fucking beggar! If he need money so bad, he should go open a business center!
That's beggar number one. Beggar number 2 I had a lot of sympathy for. The poor bastard had no hands. His were cut off at the elbows. I can't even imagine the challenges this man goes through. And it got me thinking... If (God forbid), I had to lose a pair of limbs, which would I prefer, my hands or my legs? Its a stupid thought, I know, but consider it yourself. I decided, I'd much rather lose my legs. Yeah, I won't walk, or run, drive, swim etc, but that's about it right? If I lost my hands (again, God forbid it), then there's all sorts of shit I can't do anymore. And I don't mean the regular things like openings doors, or wiping my own ass or even writing this blog. I'm talking about the extraordinary things which I love so much. No more playing Pro Evolution Soccer! I would actually need someone else to scratch my balls for me! No more squeezing boobies! All gone. But what scared me the most gentlefolk, was that if I lost my hands (seriously, God forbid it!), I would never be able to give anyone the
finger again. That gesture, which encompasses so many emotions, in the simple flick of a finger, gone. Think about how many times you've randomly given the finger. It took nothing to do it, yet it put across exactly the right message you were trying to convey. Its irreplaceable. You can get someone to opens doors for you, wipe your ass for you, scratch anywhere that needs scratching, but you cannot get someone to give the finger for you. It just wouldn't feel right. And you can't give the toe (don't lie, we've all tried this before...). So what are we left with? The tongue? Good people, giving someone the tongue will not be considered an insulting act, its an overt sexual gesture. That my friends is an invitation. I gave that beggar money people, and I did it cos I don't want to live in a world were giving the finger is a luxury only affordable by the privileged. Everyone should have that ability. Look to the person beside you and flip him/her off now, and you'll understand.
I told you it was ridiculous didn't I?
Our timeline is 96 hours gentlefolk, let's all make it out alive and sane.
I am Womilee...see u all twednesday (I'm so sorry, I can't seem to stop.)
But I digress, the reason I'm so interested in the term is that I think GIM should have its own TL. Here, a TL is the time from the end of monday, to the beginning of friday. Our standard 96 hours, that's GIM's TL. The idiots who created twitter should read this. That is how you name something you morons. You just don't give it the first name that pops into your heads?! It should have some kind of connection to the action it performs. What if the people who came up with the words 'dick' and 'bread' interchanged them? That means we would fuck with our breads and put our dicks in toasters... The former sounds un-hygenic and the latter is plain painful, don't you think. Again, lack of sex good people...
There's something else I would like to share with you good people. It is just as ridiculous as the above, but it struck me profoundly today. In traffic, I saw two beggars. No... That's not the profound part dumbass, hold on. Anyways the first beggar was your run-of-the-mill Lagos beggar, he had one leg on a crutch. But he had an extraordinary exception to him... He had a mobile. I've never seen a beggar with a mobile before. But wait, there's more... He had credit on his mobile! I know this because I watched him take it out and make a phonecall. Then I watched him put it back into his pocket. Then I watched him limp over to my window and beg me for money. Then he watched me give him the finger. Then I watched him walk away. How the fuck am I going to give out money to someone who has more credit on their phone than I have?! Gentlefolk, I currently have 0.14 naira on my phone, and its going to stay that way until I need to pay for my blackberry again! Fucking beggar! If he need money so bad, he should go open a business center!
That's beggar number one. Beggar number 2 I had a lot of sympathy for. The poor bastard had no hands. His were cut off at the elbows. I can't even imagine the challenges this man goes through. And it got me thinking... If (God forbid), I had to lose a pair of limbs, which would I prefer, my hands or my legs? Its a stupid thought, I know, but consider it yourself. I decided, I'd much rather lose my legs. Yeah, I won't walk, or run, drive, swim etc, but that's about it right? If I lost my hands (again, God forbid it), then there's all sorts of shit I can't do anymore. And I don't mean the regular things like openings doors, or wiping my own ass or even writing this blog. I'm talking about the extraordinary things which I love so much. No more playing Pro Evolution Soccer! I would actually need someone else to scratch my balls for me! No more squeezing boobies! All gone. But what scared me the most gentlefolk, was that if I lost my hands (seriously, God forbid it!), I would never be able to give anyone the
finger again. That gesture, which encompasses so many emotions, in the simple flick of a finger, gone. Think about how many times you've randomly given the finger. It took nothing to do it, yet it put across exactly the right message you were trying to convey. Its irreplaceable. You can get someone to opens doors for you, wipe your ass for you, scratch anywhere that needs scratching, but you cannot get someone to give the finger for you. It just wouldn't feel right. And you can't give the toe (don't lie, we've all tried this before...). So what are we left with? The tongue? Good people, giving someone the tongue will not be considered an insulting act, its an overt sexual gesture. That my friends is an invitation. I gave that beggar money people, and I did it cos I don't want to live in a world were giving the finger is a luxury only affordable by the privileged. Everyone should have that ability. Look to the person beside you and flip him/her off now, and you'll understand.
I told you it was ridiculous didn't I?
Our timeline is 96 hours gentlefolk, let's all make it out alive and sane.
I am Womilee...see u all twednesday (I'm so sorry, I can't seem to stop.)
Sunday 27 June 2010
A.M. ... 28/06/2010
Tell me the truth... You're sick of the sight of me. I'm a reminder of what's coming. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I wonder if the mention of my name isn't met with apprehension. I only come around when there's a particular type of bad news don't I? You've all had your fun the past 2 days, all relaxed and rested, happy even...then I arrive. Here to sharply jerk you back to reality. I am here to tell you to go back to work.
I wonder sometimes, can I be considered as the sole owner of my life? That song by Dr Alban, 'Its My Life', can I claim to relate to that? Or are things more comparable to Dido's Life For Rent? Because it does feel like I've somehow signed over the property rights to my existence to the bank. And in some twisted way, I am currently leasing my life back from them. It must have been something in the fine print. Some clause I didn't see while I signed the document. I guess I should have been smarter though, I should have smelled something wrong when I was instructed to go home and manufacture the ink I was going to use to sign. Its a very simple solution however, only 3 ingredients are needed for this very special ink. My blood, sweat and tears. Very dark, I know. Womilee in goth mode.
Goddammit, its Monday gentlefolk. What can we do but accept it and immediately start counting down to friday again. Its the only way to keep sane. But do not be frightened though, don't let gidi scare you. She can't do shit. Yeah she can upset you, she can frustrate you. Fuck it, she can and probably will take your money. And yes, in a really bad situation, she can have you killed... I just had a re-thought, please ignore the advice I originally gave... Be afraid, be very afraid. This gidi bitch don't play! She's the boss. Your organisation answers to her. She adopted your organisation. She takes care of it, it does her bidding. She's runs the mob, your company is her conseigliere. She's Don Corleone, your company is Tom Hagen. So be careful when you look her in the eye, watch your fucking mouth when you address the don. But there is hope, I think there is a way out. It just requires courage, strength and big fucking balls. Even the meanest bitch can be conquered just read Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew.
You can fuck her. Fuck her good, fuck her hard. Infact, I should try and do this for myself, lord knows it'll be the most action I've had in a while. So gentlefolk, this week, let's not allow gidi win. We'll say hey, we'll sweet talk her, get her to have a couple drinks with us, see things our way. And just when she's thinking "okay, maybe this isn't so bad..." We'll bend the bitch over and fuck her. Then video tape it and send a copy to our various organisations, with a note attached, "You're next!"
I hope you all did good this weekend. I am feeling much better myself, thank you all for the goodwill messages. We'll chat tonight then.
Goddamit, I am Womilee.
I wonder sometimes, can I be considered as the sole owner of my life? That song by Dr Alban, 'Its My Life', can I claim to relate to that? Or are things more comparable to Dido's Life For Rent? Because it does feel like I've somehow signed over the property rights to my existence to the bank. And in some twisted way, I am currently leasing my life back from them. It must have been something in the fine print. Some clause I didn't see while I signed the document. I guess I should have been smarter though, I should have smelled something wrong when I was instructed to go home and manufacture the ink I was going to use to sign. Its a very simple solution however, only 3 ingredients are needed for this very special ink. My blood, sweat and tears. Very dark, I know. Womilee in goth mode.
Goddammit, its Monday gentlefolk. What can we do but accept it and immediately start counting down to friday again. Its the only way to keep sane. But do not be frightened though, don't let gidi scare you. She can't do shit. Yeah she can upset you, she can frustrate you. Fuck it, she can and probably will take your money. And yes, in a really bad situation, she can have you killed... I just had a re-thought, please ignore the advice I originally gave... Be afraid, be very afraid. This gidi bitch don't play! She's the boss. Your organisation answers to her. She adopted your organisation. She takes care of it, it does her bidding. She's runs the mob, your company is her conseigliere. She's Don Corleone, your company is Tom Hagen. So be careful when you look her in the eye, watch your fucking mouth when you address the don. But there is hope, I think there is a way out. It just requires courage, strength and big fucking balls. Even the meanest bitch can be conquered just read Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew.
You can fuck her. Fuck her good, fuck her hard. Infact, I should try and do this for myself, lord knows it'll be the most action I've had in a while. So gentlefolk, this week, let's not allow gidi win. We'll say hey, we'll sweet talk her, get her to have a couple drinks with us, see things our way. And just when she's thinking "okay, maybe this isn't so bad..." We'll bend the bitch over and fuck her. Then video tape it and send a copy to our various organisations, with a note attached, "You're next!"
I hope you all did good this weekend. I am feeling much better myself, thank you all for the goodwill messages. We'll chat tonight then.
Goddamit, I am Womilee.
Friday 25 June 2010
P.M. ... 25/06/2010
You know what Im going to ask you, dont you? Does it feel good to you? Again? TGIF. I really hope it does people, cos it isnt feeling good to me. Its nothing to do with my health though, I think its because Im not about to close from work. That feeling that friday gives, that un-shackling, the faint cry of 'freedom' I usualy hear in my subconscious.... that's all gone. I guess I look forward to the end of the week as much as I do the beginning of the weekend. I hope that makes some sort of sense.Gentlefolk I have absolutely nothing to report for today. I have spent the entire day sleeping, eating and soliciting myself to girls via my blackberry. Apparently, just saying 'show us your tits!' isnt the best way to get laid nowadays. Who knew?! I am however feeling much better, thanks for asking. I doubt drinking is possible yet, but I think I can confidently say I am ready for coitus, should any attractive, young wench see it fit to grant me the pleasure.
I spoke to a friend today, and she informed me that her sexual life is as non-existant as mine. Gentlefolk, this friend of mine is rather hot if I say so myself. I have asked her severally if she would let me have a look in, just a little game of squeeze me/tease me. Just once, after all, what are friends for? Of course, she continually declines my offer, letting me down ever so gently. Infact just this afternoon, when I again propositioned her, she chose the most delicate of words to refuse.... I believe she said only if I agreed to do it with her dead body. Such a darling she is. But what I want to know is simple. I no longer believe that women dont get horny, I did biology, I now know the truth. What baffles me is how they go so long without sex. Is it a genetic thing? Can you ladies conjure up invisible beings to stick it to you while on the go? I have heard scary stories people, of women going years without nookie. I cant imagine doing this, I fear it might begin to hurt. Physically.
And I dont mean ugly women. Or asthetically displeasing, how ever you want to put it. Im talking about babes. Women who by virtue of their looks can commit bank robberies, control the elements, take over world powers and reverse time. Proper babes. Women that if I am slapped in the face by, I would for once in my miserable life, obey the teachings of the good book, and turn the other cheek. And if they still weren't satisfied, I would gladly bend over in order to allow their feet access to my behind. Women I would commit crimes to sleep with. Ladies who at anytime, anywhere, can have anyone they want. These people decide to refrain (not abstain) from sex. And meanwhile, here I am, climbing the walls everyday. Some have food, but cannot eat. Some can eat, but bluntly refuse to do so cos they're sadists.... thats how I remember the saying anyways.So people, shall we dance our usual dance....from behind again....
1. Sex: ... I dont want to talk about it...
2. Books: Get your hands on John Grisham's The Firm. Its awesome.
3. Movies: Has anyone seen 'Snatch'? It is a most incredible film, easily my favourite movie of all time. The coolest part about this movie is that everyone in it is a bad guy. They're all pretty much villains. Listen out for the part where Bricktop explains the meaning of 'nemesis'. I believe when one is trying to describe the term 'cool' they should refer to that part of the movie.
4. Music: My fellow rap heads, I thought I made it clear on wednesday... Da Freshness of course. You gentler folk, John Mayer's Continuum album is the way to go and for my in betweeners, I really liked Justin Timberlake's Justified album... though I hate admitting it.
And I have some news. As I have earlier stated, the board is not made up off the most rational or reasonable of men. They have used all sorts of strong-arm tactics, from stealing my deodorant to kidnapping my dog to force me into doing something I have been avoiding for a while. They are now threatening to contact an ex of mine who I convinced of my untimely death and disclose my whereabouts to her, should I not accept their position on a certain issue. They have, as the Mafia like to say, made me an offer I cant refuse, thus I have bowed to their demands. And the demands of some of my readers, whom I feel may have gone behind my back to strike a deal with these devils.
Gentlefolk, please search for me on twitter. I believe all you have to do is type my name. For those who may not know it, or have forgotten, let me help with a small reminder...
I am Womilee. TGIF
I spoke to a friend today, and she informed me that her sexual life is as non-existant as mine. Gentlefolk, this friend of mine is rather hot if I say so myself. I have asked her severally if she would let me have a look in, just a little game of squeeze me/tease me. Just once, after all, what are friends for? Of course, she continually declines my offer, letting me down ever so gently. Infact just this afternoon, when I again propositioned her, she chose the most delicate of words to refuse.... I believe she said only if I agreed to do it with her dead body. Such a darling she is. But what I want to know is simple. I no longer believe that women dont get horny, I did biology, I now know the truth. What baffles me is how they go so long without sex. Is it a genetic thing? Can you ladies conjure up invisible beings to stick it to you while on the go? I have heard scary stories people, of women going years without nookie. I cant imagine doing this, I fear it might begin to hurt. Physically.
And I dont mean ugly women. Or asthetically displeasing, how ever you want to put it. Im talking about babes. Women who by virtue of their looks can commit bank robberies, control the elements, take over world powers and reverse time. Proper babes. Women that if I am slapped in the face by, I would for once in my miserable life, obey the teachings of the good book, and turn the other cheek. And if they still weren't satisfied, I would gladly bend over in order to allow their feet access to my behind. Women I would commit crimes to sleep with. Ladies who at anytime, anywhere, can have anyone they want. These people decide to refrain (not abstain) from sex. And meanwhile, here I am, climbing the walls everyday. Some have food, but cannot eat. Some can eat, but bluntly refuse to do so cos they're sadists.... thats how I remember the saying anyways.So people, shall we dance our usual dance....from behind again....
1. Sex: ... I dont want to talk about it...
2. Books: Get your hands on John Grisham's The Firm. Its awesome.
3. Movies: Has anyone seen 'Snatch'? It is a most incredible film, easily my favourite movie of all time. The coolest part about this movie is that everyone in it is a bad guy. They're all pretty much villains. Listen out for the part where Bricktop explains the meaning of 'nemesis'. I believe when one is trying to describe the term 'cool' they should refer to that part of the movie.
4. Music: My fellow rap heads, I thought I made it clear on wednesday... Da Freshness of course. You gentler folk, John Mayer's Continuum album is the way to go and for my in betweeners, I really liked Justin Timberlake's Justified album... though I hate admitting it.
And I have some news. As I have earlier stated, the board is not made up off the most rational or reasonable of men. They have used all sorts of strong-arm tactics, from stealing my deodorant to kidnapping my dog to force me into doing something I have been avoiding for a while. They are now threatening to contact an ex of mine who I convinced of my untimely death and disclose my whereabouts to her, should I not accept their position on a certain issue. They have, as the Mafia like to say, made me an offer I cant refuse, thus I have bowed to their demands. And the demands of some of my readers, whom I feel may have gone behind my back to strike a deal with these devils.
Gentlefolk, please search for me on twitter. I believe all you have to do is type my name. For those who may not know it, or have forgotten, let me help with a small reminder...
I am Womilee. TGIF
A.M. ... 25/06/2010
The fates and I must have a sit-down. We need to come to a mutually beneficial agreement and crush whatever enmity has developed between us.
Gentlefolk, today I have succeeded in achieving what has eluded me for so long, I have taken a day off from work. But as usual, fate is being a bitch about it. For I find that no matter what wish she grants, fate always finds a way to twist it for her own sick amusement. Ask for more sunny days, fate drops you in the middle of the Sahara. Ask for a prettier girfriend, you are suddenly surrounded by women who make your current spouse look like a beauty queen. Ask for a bigger dick, fate shrinks your balls (this did not happen to me, I'm merely giving an example). And ask for a day off work, fate grants you malaria.
People I am currently in my house, in my bedroom, under a duvet and my body is killing me. Thank you fate. This is not how I planned to spend my day off work, if I ever managed to take one. And its a friday too. I'm ill on a friday. Really fate, you should be a comedian. You should have your own show. You could call it Fuck You, Its Fate. Now, my entire weekend is ruined. No misbehaving with the boys, no drinking and no sex...not that sex was an option in the first place, we all know too well my coital deficiency of late.
They say pain is pleasure, but I'm not sure that quite describes having sex while ill. Yes, I have tried it before. I know it sounds stupid and dangerous, but I have a very good excuse for doing it... My ex-girlfriend was very, very hot. And I was horny. In the end though, I'm not sure I enjoyed it or not. I think I blacked-out after a while. I've heard fucking off extascy and cocaine is incredible, but I bet it has nothing on fucking off malaria. At a point in time, you actually start hallucinating. Trippy.
I am in no way suggesting that any of you go dancing in a stagnant pool of water, just to get bitten by a mosquito and engage in a game of hide-n-go-prick, I'm just telling you what I know.
TGIF gentlefolk. A few more hours and we can all wake up from the recurring nightmare that is the weekday. Well, you can all wake up, I unfortunately have slipped into another nightmare. But at least I'm not at work. I'm not getting hassled by customers or my boss. I've been thinking... Do I complain too much? With the amount of un-employed people out there, I guess I should be grateful that I have a job, no matter how demeaning and unsatisfying it is. So people, I shall stop complaining about my job. I will however continue hurling insults at my boss and our customers, for they truly deserve it.
If you've ever been to a carnival, circus, theme park etc, you may have come across a dunking booth before. Its a contraption where a person sits on a platform, suspended above a body of water. There is a switch nearby, when once hit accurately and with enough force, retracts the platform upon with the person is sitting, thus unceremoniously dumping the person into the water. Usually, people pay the owner for balls to throw at the switch, trying to dunk the person on the platform into the water. People, I am the unlucky sonofabich on the platform. Everyday, customers come into the circus that is my workplace, they pay my employers for the right to dunk me into the body of water, which is my discontent, and my boss is the bastard who is managing the dunking booth.
I hope this description has been enough to convince even the most sceptic of you that I am the victim here. And as with all victims who have no chance at revenge or retribution, all I can do is bitch. And believe me, bitch I shall.
Let's say 'til the evening, shall we?
I am Womilee.
Gentlefolk, today I have succeeded in achieving what has eluded me for so long, I have taken a day off from work. But as usual, fate is being a bitch about it. For I find that no matter what wish she grants, fate always finds a way to twist it for her own sick amusement. Ask for more sunny days, fate drops you in the middle of the Sahara. Ask for a prettier girfriend, you are suddenly surrounded by women who make your current spouse look like a beauty queen. Ask for a bigger dick, fate shrinks your balls (this did not happen to me, I'm merely giving an example). And ask for a day off work, fate grants you malaria.
People I am currently in my house, in my bedroom, under a duvet and my body is killing me. Thank you fate. This is not how I planned to spend my day off work, if I ever managed to take one. And its a friday too. I'm ill on a friday. Really fate, you should be a comedian. You should have your own show. You could call it Fuck You, Its Fate. Now, my entire weekend is ruined. No misbehaving with the boys, no drinking and no sex...not that sex was an option in the first place, we all know too well my coital deficiency of late.
They say pain is pleasure, but I'm not sure that quite describes having sex while ill. Yes, I have tried it before. I know it sounds stupid and dangerous, but I have a very good excuse for doing it... My ex-girlfriend was very, very hot. And I was horny. In the end though, I'm not sure I enjoyed it or not. I think I blacked-out after a while. I've heard fucking off extascy and cocaine is incredible, but I bet it has nothing on fucking off malaria. At a point in time, you actually start hallucinating. Trippy.
I am in no way suggesting that any of you go dancing in a stagnant pool of water, just to get bitten by a mosquito and engage in a game of hide-n-go-prick, I'm just telling you what I know.
TGIF gentlefolk. A few more hours and we can all wake up from the recurring nightmare that is the weekday. Well, you can all wake up, I unfortunately have slipped into another nightmare. But at least I'm not at work. I'm not getting hassled by customers or my boss. I've been thinking... Do I complain too much? With the amount of un-employed people out there, I guess I should be grateful that I have a job, no matter how demeaning and unsatisfying it is. So people, I shall stop complaining about my job. I will however continue hurling insults at my boss and our customers, for they truly deserve it.
If you've ever been to a carnival, circus, theme park etc, you may have come across a dunking booth before. Its a contraption where a person sits on a platform, suspended above a body of water. There is a switch nearby, when once hit accurately and with enough force, retracts the platform upon with the person is sitting, thus unceremoniously dumping the person into the water. Usually, people pay the owner for balls to throw at the switch, trying to dunk the person on the platform into the water. People, I am the unlucky sonofabich on the platform. Everyday, customers come into the circus that is my workplace, they pay my employers for the right to dunk me into the body of water, which is my discontent, and my boss is the bastard who is managing the dunking booth.
I hope this description has been enough to convince even the most sceptic of you that I am the victim here. And as with all victims who have no chance at revenge or retribution, all I can do is bitch. And believe me, bitch I shall.
Let's say 'til the evening, shall we?
I am Womilee.
Wednesday 23 June 2010
P.M. ...23/06/2010
This will be in 3 parts gentlefolk.
First, they did it again. The Terrible Two, The Dumb-Fuck Duo, The Asshole Alliance. This partnership I speak of is made up of my bastard boss and and customer that chooses to fuck up my day. I was having such a relaxed day too. Its like everyone was wary of the weather, noone wanted to risk coming out in the rain. The bank was free. Infact, I was already worried about what I was going to rant about this evening.
But thank you fate, you once again supplied a topic. At my own expense as usual. Tell me good people, why is it that if I get to the office late, I get into trouble. But when I leave late, that's totally acceptable, not commendable, but acceptable. And on the flip side, getting to the office early is preferrable, but leaving early is frowned upon. Can you see what I'm getting at here?! What the fuck is wrong with the world. We are sadists. That's the only rational explanation. I'm a sadist, you're a sadist and my boss is Satan.
Tell me gentlefolk, is 4.00pm not the standard closing time for most organisations? Including banks, is this not the normal, generally accepted time by which most companies shut down for the day? If you all agree with me, then tell me why a perfectly rational being, of sound mind and body, and not being influenced by any forces, seen and unseen, physical and spiritual, tell me why this idiot would show up by 4.55pm to conduct business?! Again, is this rational? But let us assume for a minute that this customer is perfectly sane and was just born an asshole. Would you say then, that my boss, who allowed him conduct said business is mentally stable? Cos if I were to diagnose him, with all the medical and psychological experience at my disposal, I would state, as my professional opinion of course, and using the most intricate medical jargon, that my boss must be out of his fucking mind...
Do you know the most upsetting part though? It was the way he told me to handle the transaction. He said 'we' should just round it up quickly. Apparently, it wouldn't take 'us' that much time. So if 'we' are fast, then 'we' can go home to 'our' families and avoid the rain soaking 'us'.... Who the fuck are all these people he was referring to?! Cos from where I was standing, there were no collectives. It wasn't a joint venture. I wasn't wearing a Batman costume and calling him Boy Wonder, this was not a team effort... It was me! I was the one who had to be quick. It was I who had to avoid getting drenched by the rain. MY family who I had to get back too. Unless of course we're somehow related... Which is entirely impossible. There is no history of insanity in my family. Or maybe he has somehow moved into my house... But that too is an impossibility. I cannot see myself having that much access to my boss. He would have shown up to work one day with the right-side of his moustache and left eyebrow shaved off.
It feels good to get that off my chest. Now for part two, some shameless advertising and PR. It is no news that I'm a rap fan. I love me my music, but rap is my first love. So it makes me happy when I hear a Nigerian rap. I would very much like Eedris and several other nigerian 'rappers' to sit down now, I wasn't talking about you bastards. As I was saying, music is important to me and so when people are not shouting 'ginger' and 'swagger' constantly, it brings me inexplicable joy. Now to my point. There is a mixtape coming. A mixtape to end all mixtapes. Put together by a group of gentlemen who share a part of their name with a dish... Apparently they enjoy fresh fish quite a bit. Gentlefolk, Fresh Boy is in the building! Dammit, my boy's mixtape is coming! Gentlemen, I guarantee you, my family can spit it! If he couldn't, I wouldn't have him on the board. Yes people, he is a member of the elusive board I constantly refer to, so please anything about this blog that upsets you, feel free to see him.
His name is Teeto Ceemos, and he is ILL. The other board members must however be left unknown, this exposure is as much as we can allow. So boys, listen to and love the mixtape. Ladies, he's a pretty boy. Nuff said.
Finally gentlefolk, the third part of this. If you all remember, there was a post in which I was very upset... Okay that is a bit obsure. Let me rephrase... There was a post in which I was irate. Right, that's still a rather wide selection of posts. It was about my boss (again) and an inspirational speaker? Now you remember. Anyways, I mentioned an acquaintance who was upset about her ex, and told me all about it. Well gentlefolk, she saw the blog today. And she's not happy. So I'm saying this to her. Babe, if you're reading this (which I doubt), I apologise. It was an insensitive thing to do and I'm very very sorry. I would tell you this privately, but you've done the smart thing and deleted me from your contact list.
And by the way, to my idiot advisors, thanks a lot for the 'advice' gentlemen. Bastards that you are.
One more thing. One of my reader's says today is her birthday. Happy Birthday Bee A. Hope you having a good day.
I'll see you all on friday gentlefolk.
I an Womilee...What it look like?!
First, they did it again. The Terrible Two, The Dumb-Fuck Duo, The Asshole Alliance. This partnership I speak of is made up of my bastard boss and and customer that chooses to fuck up my day. I was having such a relaxed day too. Its like everyone was wary of the weather, noone wanted to risk coming out in the rain. The bank was free. Infact, I was already worried about what I was going to rant about this evening.
But thank you fate, you once again supplied a topic. At my own expense as usual. Tell me good people, why is it that if I get to the office late, I get into trouble. But when I leave late, that's totally acceptable, not commendable, but acceptable. And on the flip side, getting to the office early is preferrable, but leaving early is frowned upon. Can you see what I'm getting at here?! What the fuck is wrong with the world. We are sadists. That's the only rational explanation. I'm a sadist, you're a sadist and my boss is Satan.
Tell me gentlefolk, is 4.00pm not the standard closing time for most organisations? Including banks, is this not the normal, generally accepted time by which most companies shut down for the day? If you all agree with me, then tell me why a perfectly rational being, of sound mind and body, and not being influenced by any forces, seen and unseen, physical and spiritual, tell me why this idiot would show up by 4.55pm to conduct business?! Again, is this rational? But let us assume for a minute that this customer is perfectly sane and was just born an asshole. Would you say then, that my boss, who allowed him conduct said business is mentally stable? Cos if I were to diagnose him, with all the medical and psychological experience at my disposal, I would state, as my professional opinion of course, and using the most intricate medical jargon, that my boss must be out of his fucking mind...
Do you know the most upsetting part though? It was the way he told me to handle the transaction. He said 'we' should just round it up quickly. Apparently, it wouldn't take 'us' that much time. So if 'we' are fast, then 'we' can go home to 'our' families and avoid the rain soaking 'us'.... Who the fuck are all these people he was referring to?! Cos from where I was standing, there were no collectives. It wasn't a joint venture. I wasn't wearing a Batman costume and calling him Boy Wonder, this was not a team effort... It was me! I was the one who had to be quick. It was I who had to avoid getting drenched by the rain. MY family who I had to get back too. Unless of course we're somehow related... Which is entirely impossible. There is no history of insanity in my family. Or maybe he has somehow moved into my house... But that too is an impossibility. I cannot see myself having that much access to my boss. He would have shown up to work one day with the right-side of his moustache and left eyebrow shaved off.
It feels good to get that off my chest. Now for part two, some shameless advertising and PR. It is no news that I'm a rap fan. I love me my music, but rap is my first love. So it makes me happy when I hear a Nigerian rap. I would very much like Eedris and several other nigerian 'rappers' to sit down now, I wasn't talking about you bastards. As I was saying, music is important to me and so when people are not shouting 'ginger' and 'swagger' constantly, it brings me inexplicable joy. Now to my point. There is a mixtape coming. A mixtape to end all mixtapes. Put together by a group of gentlemen who share a part of their name with a dish... Apparently they enjoy fresh fish quite a bit. Gentlefolk, Fresh Boy is in the building! Dammit, my boy's mixtape is coming! Gentlemen, I guarantee you, my family can spit it! If he couldn't, I wouldn't have him on the board. Yes people, he is a member of the elusive board I constantly refer to, so please anything about this blog that upsets you, feel free to see him.
His name is Teeto Ceemos, and he is ILL. The other board members must however be left unknown, this exposure is as much as we can allow. So boys, listen to and love the mixtape. Ladies, he's a pretty boy. Nuff said.
Finally gentlefolk, the third part of this. If you all remember, there was a post in which I was very upset... Okay that is a bit obsure. Let me rephrase... There was a post in which I was irate. Right, that's still a rather wide selection of posts. It was about my boss (again) and an inspirational speaker? Now you remember. Anyways, I mentioned an acquaintance who was upset about her ex, and told me all about it. Well gentlefolk, she saw the blog today. And she's not happy. So I'm saying this to her. Babe, if you're reading this (which I doubt), I apologise. It was an insensitive thing to do and I'm very very sorry. I would tell you this privately, but you've done the smart thing and deleted me from your contact list.
And by the way, to my idiot advisors, thanks a lot for the 'advice' gentlemen. Bastards that you are.
One more thing. One of my reader's says today is her birthday. Happy Birthday Bee A. Hope you having a good day.
I'll see you all on friday gentlefolk.
I an Womilee...What it look like?!
A.M. ... 23/06/2010
Gentlefolk, inspiration can come from anywhere. You could have entirely different plans and programmes prepared, but then somthing totally unknown affects you and changes the pattern. This morning I was prepared to give you such a rant, inspired by last night's loss. I was going to suggest torture techniques, disembowlement, genocide and middle finger signs at family members. It would have been spectacularly vulgur and violent. But the inspiration hit, and now I am subdued. Gentlefolk I have found my muse.
I have again decided to take the 2nd bus to work this morning, and as usual, they are all beautiful. The ugliest of them can get it. Easily. They are that fine. But there is one gentlefolk. She stands out so clearly. She is my muse. She is light skinned,of average height, she has strong looking legs. An ample chest, a beautiful face and an even more beautiful ass. I think I'm in love. Unfortunately, I fear she has had this effect on someone else already, who acted faster than the rest of us. She has a ring on her finger.
Its rare to fall in love and get heart-broken in such a short space of time, but that's exactly what has happened to me. Truthfully, I admire her husband. He has balls, big brass balls. Because if she was my wife, I swear down I wouldn't let her out of my sight. I'd beg her not to work, I will slave for the two of us. The risk of another man seeing her is too great. I wouldn't be able to take any chances. If she insists on getting a job, I'd bribe, kill, cheat to find a way to get her into what ever company I am employed under, just to make sure other fools don't get near her. I know what you're thinking... Most organisations do not allow persons who are related to each other work together. I have a solution to that. I will gladly change my surname. I will go to a court of law, ask to be renamed and if it is inquired as to why I want to change the name given to me by my father, I will simply say "Dude, have you seen my wife?!"
I want to tell her she's perfect. But it'll be a waste of my time. She isn't blind, she probably knows. So I have decided not to take this bus again, its one thing to get my heart broken once, but getting it broken every morning is just sadism. So, if she ever reads this, light-skin in the red shirt and black skirt, you are beautiful.
As I said, I've been inspired. So, this post is for the ladies. I love you all. I've often said, women are proof of divine existence. You are evidence that there is a God. No man, no matter how brilliant could have come up with the concept of a woman. There are too many parameters to consider. Your minds, the way you smile, the switch in your walk, the smell of you, the incredibly irrational way you think and talk, and your bodies. Dammit the female body is a work of art. Granted, there are some sketch drawings, some modern art, even some cartoonish caricatures...but there are also some classics. Some of you should be considered as invaluable pieces.
How can you explain some female bodies? Sometimes, when I'm teasing and flirting, I ask for a touch and the ansewer I get (apart from the usual 'gerrout!' or 'I'll slap you!') is "my body is the temple of God, don't touch." Ladies, I have no doubt about the sanctity of your bodies, I bless His name everyday for giving you to us. What I'm asking is, let me worship in that temple. I want to sing praises, clap my hands, use big words and scam people off their money in that temple. I want to be the high-priest of that temple.
I love girls, girls, girls, girls. Think of all the songs that have been written about women. RnB singers have always gotten their inspiration from you all. And rappers got in on the act, pioneered by Uncle LL Cool J. Infact, I made a playlist dedicated to you. It is aptly named Songs About Girls. I would love to play it for any of you someday. But the classics only, I don't need no fine art up in my business.
See what one beautiful woman can do? I was angry, and now I'm wrtitng a love note to women at large. The gentlemen out there, I'm sorry, but really fuck y'all. I know you understand, you probably feel the same way too.
Hopefully though, today I will not be similarly affected by anymore women, and be back to my usual self. Now I must go, I think her stop is next, and I want to watch her walk away.
I am Womilee, and Damn!
I have again decided to take the 2nd bus to work this morning, and as usual, they are all beautiful. The ugliest of them can get it. Easily. They are that fine. But there is one gentlefolk. She stands out so clearly. She is my muse. She is light skinned,of average height, she has strong looking legs. An ample chest, a beautiful face and an even more beautiful ass. I think I'm in love. Unfortunately, I fear she has had this effect on someone else already, who acted faster than the rest of us. She has a ring on her finger.
Its rare to fall in love and get heart-broken in such a short space of time, but that's exactly what has happened to me. Truthfully, I admire her husband. He has balls, big brass balls. Because if she was my wife, I swear down I wouldn't let her out of my sight. I'd beg her not to work, I will slave for the two of us. The risk of another man seeing her is too great. I wouldn't be able to take any chances. If she insists on getting a job, I'd bribe, kill, cheat to find a way to get her into what ever company I am employed under, just to make sure other fools don't get near her. I know what you're thinking... Most organisations do not allow persons who are related to each other work together. I have a solution to that. I will gladly change my surname. I will go to a court of law, ask to be renamed and if it is inquired as to why I want to change the name given to me by my father, I will simply say "Dude, have you seen my wife?!"
I want to tell her she's perfect. But it'll be a waste of my time. She isn't blind, she probably knows. So I have decided not to take this bus again, its one thing to get my heart broken once, but getting it broken every morning is just sadism. So, if she ever reads this, light-skin in the red shirt and black skirt, you are beautiful.
As I said, I've been inspired. So, this post is for the ladies. I love you all. I've often said, women are proof of divine existence. You are evidence that there is a God. No man, no matter how brilliant could have come up with the concept of a woman. There are too many parameters to consider. Your minds, the way you smile, the switch in your walk, the smell of you, the incredibly irrational way you think and talk, and your bodies. Dammit the female body is a work of art. Granted, there are some sketch drawings, some modern art, even some cartoonish caricatures...but there are also some classics. Some of you should be considered as invaluable pieces.
How can you explain some female bodies? Sometimes, when I'm teasing and flirting, I ask for a touch and the ansewer I get (apart from the usual 'gerrout!' or 'I'll slap you!') is "my body is the temple of God, don't touch." Ladies, I have no doubt about the sanctity of your bodies, I bless His name everyday for giving you to us. What I'm asking is, let me worship in that temple. I want to sing praises, clap my hands, use big words and scam people off their money in that temple. I want to be the high-priest of that temple.
I love girls, girls, girls, girls. Think of all the songs that have been written about women. RnB singers have always gotten their inspiration from you all. And rappers got in on the act, pioneered by Uncle LL Cool J. Infact, I made a playlist dedicated to you. It is aptly named Songs About Girls. I would love to play it for any of you someday. But the classics only, I don't need no fine art up in my business.
See what one beautiful woman can do? I was angry, and now I'm wrtitng a love note to women at large. The gentlemen out there, I'm sorry, but really fuck y'all. I know you understand, you probably feel the same way too.
Hopefully though, today I will not be similarly affected by anymore women, and be back to my usual self. Now I must go, I think her stop is next, and I want to watch her walk away.
I am Womilee, and Damn!
Monday 21 June 2010
P.M. ... 21/06/2010
Time is an interesting concept. It takes 5 minutes to properly boil an egg. It takes 9 months to conceive and give life to a child. It takes 24 hours for villan afte villan to realise that Jack Bauer is a bad muthafucker. It takes me 72 hours every weekend to search for and fail in getting me some nookie. And after today, we are all going to tolerate our bosses, indulge our colleagues, and scrutinise our lives, in 96 hours.
I do this every week. Its the only way I get through it. Soon as its monday morning, I wake up, scratch the balls (just making sure they're still there) and tell myself that only 4 days are left. Always, friday is on my mind.
A great many people consider me lazy and irresponsible because of this outlook on work. "How can you already be talking about friday? The week just started! That's laziness!" And they say these things like its some sort of momumental discovery. When they say these things, they look at me, expecting some form of remorse. Maybe hoping for me to suddenly have a tearful epiphany..."Oh God! You're right! I am lazy and irresponsible! I should appreciate my low paying, time consuming, brutally tasking, mind numbing job! What have I been thinking?! I have been chosen to perfom this task. This incredible assignment, which could just have easily been done by a trained monkey, who's high off cough syrup. But no, rather than said monkey, I was chosen. I should be grateful and thankful..."
As you can imagine, I haven't quite had this epiphany yet. I'm sure I will one day. When I've decided to become a nun. But for now, I am continually baffled by their complaints. People, I know I'm lazy and immature. My friends and family know and have known this. Dammit my first words as a baby were sleep, tv and milk. Yeah, I was born a boobie man, things have changed though. So please to all those who accuse me of being lazy, immoral and having a low work ethic, I say to you..."Duh? I know this...".
Now gentlefolk, a segment I would like to call 'Writer-Reader Relations'. My foremost advisor in charge of this blog brought to the attention of the board the concerns of some readers. Apparently, a number of you are offended by my continual use of the F word, and also the vivid and macabre imagery I project sometimes. It will come as no surprise that these particular readers are also female. Unfortunately however, this did not sit well with the remaining board members, and they immediately started throwing up middle fingers like gang signs, cussing uncontrollably and threatening everything from dismembering to purposely spreading STDs to said female readers.
Luckily, I was there, as I always am, as the voice of reason. I explained to them the delicacies which form the female mind, and how gentile and cultured women are and so on. I suggested revising and editing the content of my material before posting, so as to pacify and indulge you beautiful creatures. This resulted in the board threatening me with dismemberment and STDs, thus I did what anyone would do and shut the fuck up.
However, we managed to iron out a solution which would suit all parties concerned here. That is us (meaning the board), the readers who don't care how much I cuss and you gentlefolk out there who are put off by my profanities. This is actually a groundbreaking height in personality and tolerance that has been achieved by the board, for they are not usually the most reasonable of men. I must say, gentlemen, I am proud of you and you should be too.
So gentlefolk, the board has given me a list of suggetions to supply you good people with. This list contains a good number of helpful publications which do not contain any form of profanity. The Vanguard, Guardian and Punch newspapers are excellent choices. For the more literary inclined, Reader's Digest has lots of columns and articles which do not contain any swearing at all. The more political, economic and business minded of you will thoroughly enjoy The Economist and The Wall Street Journal. And as for those who prefer visual and audio stimulations, stations such as CNN and the BBc are excellent choices.
What the board and I are trying to get across to you all is ... And I quote directly from a board member... We'll be fucked if I stop swearing! Thank you.
I am Womi-fucking-lee. See you all on wednesday.
I do this every week. Its the only way I get through it. Soon as its monday morning, I wake up, scratch the balls (just making sure they're still there) and tell myself that only 4 days are left. Always, friday is on my mind.
A great many people consider me lazy and irresponsible because of this outlook on work. "How can you already be talking about friday? The week just started! That's laziness!" And they say these things like its some sort of momumental discovery. When they say these things, they look at me, expecting some form of remorse. Maybe hoping for me to suddenly have a tearful epiphany..."Oh God! You're right! I am lazy and irresponsible! I should appreciate my low paying, time consuming, brutally tasking, mind numbing job! What have I been thinking?! I have been chosen to perfom this task. This incredible assignment, which could just have easily been done by a trained monkey, who's high off cough syrup. But no, rather than said monkey, I was chosen. I should be grateful and thankful..."
As you can imagine, I haven't quite had this epiphany yet. I'm sure I will one day. When I've decided to become a nun. But for now, I am continually baffled by their complaints. People, I know I'm lazy and immature. My friends and family know and have known this. Dammit my first words as a baby were sleep, tv and milk. Yeah, I was born a boobie man, things have changed though. So please to all those who accuse me of being lazy, immoral and having a low work ethic, I say to you..."Duh? I know this...".
Now gentlefolk, a segment I would like to call 'Writer-Reader Relations'. My foremost advisor in charge of this blog brought to the attention of the board the concerns of some readers. Apparently, a number of you are offended by my continual use of the F word, and also the vivid and macabre imagery I project sometimes. It will come as no surprise that these particular readers are also female. Unfortunately however, this did not sit well with the remaining board members, and they immediately started throwing up middle fingers like gang signs, cussing uncontrollably and threatening everything from dismembering to purposely spreading STDs to said female readers.
Luckily, I was there, as I always am, as the voice of reason. I explained to them the delicacies which form the female mind, and how gentile and cultured women are and so on. I suggested revising and editing the content of my material before posting, so as to pacify and indulge you beautiful creatures. This resulted in the board threatening me with dismemberment and STDs, thus I did what anyone would do and shut the fuck up.
However, we managed to iron out a solution which would suit all parties concerned here. That is us (meaning the board), the readers who don't care how much I cuss and you gentlefolk out there who are put off by my profanities. This is actually a groundbreaking height in personality and tolerance that has been achieved by the board, for they are not usually the most reasonable of men. I must say, gentlemen, I am proud of you and you should be too.
So gentlefolk, the board has given me a list of suggetions to supply you good people with. This list contains a good number of helpful publications which do not contain any form of profanity. The Vanguard, Guardian and Punch newspapers are excellent choices. For the more literary inclined, Reader's Digest has lots of columns and articles which do not contain any swearing at all. The more political, economic and business minded of you will thoroughly enjoy The Economist and The Wall Street Journal. And as for those who prefer visual and audio stimulations, stations such as CNN and the BBc are excellent choices.
What the board and I are trying to get across to you all is ... And I quote directly from a board member... We'll be fucked if I stop swearing! Thank you.
I am Womi-fucking-lee. See you all on wednesday.
Sunday 20 June 2010
A.M. ...21/06/2010
I almost hate doing this. I'm like the bearer of bad news. I'm a kill joy, the Grim Reaper. Or the Grim Writer. There I go calling this rubbish I do 'writing' again. I am the Grim Blogger! I don't like doing this to you good people... But I have to, its kinda what I do now.
So, as usual, GIM. The beginning of the week is here, so take off the happy faces and put on the frowns. Or serious looks. Or poker faces. You can call it whatever you want to. The fact of the matter is that it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile and right now, we're all doing some serious flexing.
You are all perverts by the way. I know what you're all wondering. "Did he finally get laid?" Well you sickos, I'm happy to tell you, no, I didn't! Dammit this is getting ridiculous. Its been almost ... Honestly, that's none of your business. Let's just say I am now without genitalia for the time being. Yes, they made good on their strike threat and have walked out on me till further notice. I am currently in negotiations with their leader, but he's being a real dick, if you know what I mean.
Gentlefolk, how did you all do this weekend? Hopefully your sex life is far healthier than mine. I was feeling kinda ill on saturday, so I couldn't even go drinking. All in all, this weekend would have really sucked, if not for one thing... The rain. I swear people, I was in a coma throughout sunday. My family was scared I'd been drugged. I just kept falling asleep. It was brilliant. The weather just cooled everything down. Yes, it made me exceedingly horny, but fuck it, I just kept on falling asleep. I actually feel healthier, apart from the over-abundance of love juice in my systemn of course.
But alas, monday returns. And no more hotel duty. Which means I'm back to seeing Adolf everyday (that's my boss by the way, I have decided to call him that). No CEO's girl. But the worst part of it all, is customers. I have to see those shit bastards again. But what can be done? We must work to survive. Or so they want us to think.
I wonder how I'm going to get through this week. Will it drag along, prompting thought of homicide and genocide? Or will it just flash by, and save the lives of annoying customers and Adolf. Cos I bought a new tire iron this weekend, and it hasn't been bloodied once. I will have to break it in soon. A colleague of mine got married on saturday. Poor bastard. In my usual way, I want to send my congratulations to the bride...and my condolensces to the groom. Poor bastard.
Ill be honest with you good people, I'm not as upset as I usually am on monday mornings. I wish I knew why. Maybe its because I slept like a I'm pregnant with Rip Van Winkle's love-child all weekend, maybe I have finally accepted the coming of mondays, thus I'm dealing with it. Or maybe, I missed these anti-therapy sessions of ours. I doubt they've helped me per say, and I'm very sure they haven't helped you either. Chances are, they may have depraved your thinking slightly. Okay, so you're now more fucked up mentally than when you started reading this thing. But from within chaos comes order, and if you believe that then you're more fucked up than I thought.
The city of gidi is alive again gentlefolk, ready to upset us all. Mean bitch that she is. Working in Lagos is like having a schitzsophrenic wife with a sexual disorder. For five days out of the week, she fucks you and fucks you and fucks you. Then for two days, her mood changes and she wants to make love and cuddle. But don't let her deceive you, cos come monday morning, she'll be right there waiting with her dildo, all lubed up to violate you again. That is a disturbing thought I know, but in my defense, I am a disturbed man.
I didn't exactly have fun this weekend people, but I at least rested my weary bones. I hope you all managed to do the same. Or better yet, pulled off the two activities. Now, if you will all excuse me, I have to go get upset at the office.
My name is Womilee, GIM
So, as usual, GIM. The beginning of the week is here, so take off the happy faces and put on the frowns. Or serious looks. Or poker faces. You can call it whatever you want to. The fact of the matter is that it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile and right now, we're all doing some serious flexing.
You are all perverts by the way. I know what you're all wondering. "Did he finally get laid?" Well you sickos, I'm happy to tell you, no, I didn't! Dammit this is getting ridiculous. Its been almost ... Honestly, that's none of your business. Let's just say I am now without genitalia for the time being. Yes, they made good on their strike threat and have walked out on me till further notice. I am currently in negotiations with their leader, but he's being a real dick, if you know what I mean.
Gentlefolk, how did you all do this weekend? Hopefully your sex life is far healthier than mine. I was feeling kinda ill on saturday, so I couldn't even go drinking. All in all, this weekend would have really sucked, if not for one thing... The rain. I swear people, I was in a coma throughout sunday. My family was scared I'd been drugged. I just kept falling asleep. It was brilliant. The weather just cooled everything down. Yes, it made me exceedingly horny, but fuck it, I just kept on falling asleep. I actually feel healthier, apart from the over-abundance of love juice in my systemn of course.
But alas, monday returns. And no more hotel duty. Which means I'm back to seeing Adolf everyday (that's my boss by the way, I have decided to call him that). No CEO's girl. But the worst part of it all, is customers. I have to see those shit bastards again. But what can be done? We must work to survive. Or so they want us to think.
I wonder how I'm going to get through this week. Will it drag along, prompting thought of homicide and genocide? Or will it just flash by, and save the lives of annoying customers and Adolf. Cos I bought a new tire iron this weekend, and it hasn't been bloodied once. I will have to break it in soon. A colleague of mine got married on saturday. Poor bastard. In my usual way, I want to send my congratulations to the bride...and my condolensces to the groom. Poor bastard.
Ill be honest with you good people, I'm not as upset as I usually am on monday mornings. I wish I knew why. Maybe its because I slept like a I'm pregnant with Rip Van Winkle's love-child all weekend, maybe I have finally accepted the coming of mondays, thus I'm dealing with it. Or maybe, I missed these anti-therapy sessions of ours. I doubt they've helped me per say, and I'm very sure they haven't helped you either. Chances are, they may have depraved your thinking slightly. Okay, so you're now more fucked up mentally than when you started reading this thing. But from within chaos comes order, and if you believe that then you're more fucked up than I thought.
The city of gidi is alive again gentlefolk, ready to upset us all. Mean bitch that she is. Working in Lagos is like having a schitzsophrenic wife with a sexual disorder. For five days out of the week, she fucks you and fucks you and fucks you. Then for two days, her mood changes and she wants to make love and cuddle. But don't let her deceive you, cos come monday morning, she'll be right there waiting with her dildo, all lubed up to violate you again. That is a disturbing thought I know, but in my defense, I am a disturbed man.
I didn't exactly have fun this weekend people, but I at least rested my weary bones. I hope you all managed to do the same. Or better yet, pulled off the two activities. Now, if you will all excuse me, I have to go get upset at the office.
My name is Womilee, GIM
Friday 18 June 2010
P.M. ... 18/06/2010
Gentlefolk, I have good news and bad news. But it all depends on how u take the bad news. Infact its not really bad news, its more like un-good news. But before that, my usual drivvle about friday. I wish I was actually speaking, not writing, this would be an awesome time to clear my throat.
Its friday again. I live for this day! All I do is geared towards this day. Really though, its all towards today. All the shit I take at the office, the traffic to and from work, the shit I take at the office... Already said that haven't I? Well fuck it, ill say it again, the shit I take at the office, from my idiot boss, with his itty bitty hitler moustache sitting on his top lip. I don't understand what goes through his mind when he gets that trimmed. It looks like two cockroaches making out on his mouth. I enjoyed that one people, really I did.
I've been temporarily relieved of my hotel duties too. Yuip, for now, no more staring at the CEO's girl's ass, looking like there's a carnival going on in her pants. I never told y'all something though... She's white. Not caucasian white though, not like Julia Roberts white. She's Brazilian, just not the negro kind. For my soccer fans, she's like Kaka white. Do u have any idea how much brazilian porn I've watched gentlefolk? Do you know what these women can do?! That CEO knows what he's doing, and I don't mean the hotel is thriving under his management.
I haven't said it people, TGIF! Goddamm, this was a long week. I thought it would never end. I can't wait to get this suit off. Hell I might even go for a drink tonight. All that mental fatigue is gone, now I'm all hyper. Do you know the Energizer Bunny? That little rabbit that keeps going and going and going? I'm like his evil twin. Cos if the weekend goes the way I want it too, and I do get laid, then I gonna keep coming and coming and coming... I enjoyed that one too people.
I have two missions to complete this weekend gentlefolk, and one of them involves a mattress... Stop thinking filthy things people, I need to rest. That's what the mattress is for. The other thing is to play a game of hide the sausage with some healthy young wench. That I don't need a mattress for. Who fucks on beds anymore anyways? Boring. I want it like Tony Matterhorn baby, fuck inna the water, fuck inna the sea, fuck inna the bushes and fuck inna the tree, if u fuck upon the bed, your not fucking me!
I didn't enjoy that one as much as the first two, but we still have time. But before I continue my fuckery, I gotta say something serious. My baby cousin is unhappy today, something didn't go as planned. I love you darling, don't worry, everything will be good.
Where was I? Ah yes, TGIF! I'm not going to miss work, I'm not going to miss my colleagues, I'm not going to miss traffic. Fuck it, I'm not going to miss the CEO's girl. I'm not going to miss shit. I will however miss you all... Which brings me to the bad news.
People, I had a sitdown with my advisors, and we came to a decision which might not sit well with you good people. The way we see it, I'm going through writer's middle age. Its like an aging man. He can't do what he used to when he was 25. Especially in the backseat of the car (we're boycotting bedrooms remember?). He needs a little time, some R&R, maybe some extra stimulation to get his flagpole waving properly. Well the board feels I should emulate this technique. Therefore, it is with a great deal of sadness that I tell you GIM will no longer be coming to you twice everyday.
Luckily, I can't be bitch-slapped via the web, cos I fear some of you might already have you pimp hands up. I pray your indulgence gentlefolk. I want to do thsi every waking minute of everyday, but like that old man, I need time to recharge the batteries. I need mental viagra to get the literary boner up. I need to smoke a little sticky to expand my imagination. Okay, that's not a metaphor. I'm going to be doing that for fun as well.
Gentlefolk, GIM will now be coming to your good selves thrice weekly. On mondays, wednesdays and fridays. Hopefully this arrangement will allow me to get upset in the days in between, just the way you good people like me.
But let us leave such depressing discussions. Its friday dammit. We should be texting our various hookups, calling our peoples, mixing our drinks and swearing for our bosses. It just occured to me that some people who read this might be bosses in their organizations. Well Sir/madam, I hope you don't take what I say about your kind to heart. I had to clear that up, lord knows who I'll be working for someday.
Alright people, its suggestion time:
1. Music- I've been bumping rap all day, and it feels good to me. So I suggest Xzibit's Restless album for my fellow rap heads. For all the lovers/fuckers in the house, R. Kelly's TP2.com album. There aren't any love songs on it, but damn there's a lot of slow shit on it. Word of advice, with this album, use contraceptives. And for my in betweens, Neyo's In My Own Words.
2. Movies- I say go for a classic. The Usual Suspects. Kaizer Suse man!
3. Books- Douglas Adams' A Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy is the funniest book I've ever read. One of my advisors is probably foaming at the mouth right now. Ill give it back man, I swear.
4. Sex- I don't know about y'all, but mine is probably a matter of life and death. I found a note from my genitals this morning threatening to walk out on me effective monday if something isn't done about their current condition.
I enjoyed that one as well. Gentlefolk, let us not say goodbye, let's say its been nice and you aint gotta go home, but you gotta get the fuck outta here.
I am Womilee people, see you monday and TGIF!
Its friday again. I live for this day! All I do is geared towards this day. Really though, its all towards today. All the shit I take at the office, the traffic to and from work, the shit I take at the office... Already said that haven't I? Well fuck it, ill say it again, the shit I take at the office, from my idiot boss, with his itty bitty hitler moustache sitting on his top lip. I don't understand what goes through his mind when he gets that trimmed. It looks like two cockroaches making out on his mouth. I enjoyed that one people, really I did.
I've been temporarily relieved of my hotel duties too. Yuip, for now, no more staring at the CEO's girl's ass, looking like there's a carnival going on in her pants. I never told y'all something though... She's white. Not caucasian white though, not like Julia Roberts white. She's Brazilian, just not the negro kind. For my soccer fans, she's like Kaka white. Do u have any idea how much brazilian porn I've watched gentlefolk? Do you know what these women can do?! That CEO knows what he's doing, and I don't mean the hotel is thriving under his management.
I haven't said it people, TGIF! Goddamm, this was a long week. I thought it would never end. I can't wait to get this suit off. Hell I might even go for a drink tonight. All that mental fatigue is gone, now I'm all hyper. Do you know the Energizer Bunny? That little rabbit that keeps going and going and going? I'm like his evil twin. Cos if the weekend goes the way I want it too, and I do get laid, then I gonna keep coming and coming and coming... I enjoyed that one too people.
I have two missions to complete this weekend gentlefolk, and one of them involves a mattress... Stop thinking filthy things people, I need to rest. That's what the mattress is for. The other thing is to play a game of hide the sausage with some healthy young wench. That I don't need a mattress for. Who fucks on beds anymore anyways? Boring. I want it like Tony Matterhorn baby, fuck inna the water, fuck inna the sea, fuck inna the bushes and fuck inna the tree, if u fuck upon the bed, your not fucking me!
I didn't enjoy that one as much as the first two, but we still have time. But before I continue my fuckery, I gotta say something serious. My baby cousin is unhappy today, something didn't go as planned. I love you darling, don't worry, everything will be good.
Where was I? Ah yes, TGIF! I'm not going to miss work, I'm not going to miss my colleagues, I'm not going to miss traffic. Fuck it, I'm not going to miss the CEO's girl. I'm not going to miss shit. I will however miss you all... Which brings me to the bad news.
People, I had a sitdown with my advisors, and we came to a decision which might not sit well with you good people. The way we see it, I'm going through writer's middle age. Its like an aging man. He can't do what he used to when he was 25. Especially in the backseat of the car (we're boycotting bedrooms remember?). He needs a little time, some R&R, maybe some extra stimulation to get his flagpole waving properly. Well the board feels I should emulate this technique. Therefore, it is with a great deal of sadness that I tell you GIM will no longer be coming to you twice everyday.
Luckily, I can't be bitch-slapped via the web, cos I fear some of you might already have you pimp hands up. I pray your indulgence gentlefolk. I want to do thsi every waking minute of everyday, but like that old man, I need time to recharge the batteries. I need mental viagra to get the literary boner up. I need to smoke a little sticky to expand my imagination. Okay, that's not a metaphor. I'm going to be doing that for fun as well.
Gentlefolk, GIM will now be coming to your good selves thrice weekly. On mondays, wednesdays and fridays. Hopefully this arrangement will allow me to get upset in the days in between, just the way you good people like me.
But let us leave such depressing discussions. Its friday dammit. We should be texting our various hookups, calling our peoples, mixing our drinks and swearing for our bosses. It just occured to me that some people who read this might be bosses in their organizations. Well Sir/madam, I hope you don't take what I say about your kind to heart. I had to clear that up, lord knows who I'll be working for someday.
Alright people, its suggestion time:
1. Music- I've been bumping rap all day, and it feels good to me. So I suggest Xzibit's Restless album for my fellow rap heads. For all the lovers/fuckers in the house, R. Kelly's TP2.com album. There aren't any love songs on it, but damn there's a lot of slow shit on it. Word of advice, with this album, use contraceptives. And for my in betweens, Neyo's In My Own Words.
2. Movies- I say go for a classic. The Usual Suspects. Kaizer Suse man!
3. Books- Douglas Adams' A Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy is the funniest book I've ever read. One of my advisors is probably foaming at the mouth right now. Ill give it back man, I swear.
4. Sex- I don't know about y'all, but mine is probably a matter of life and death. I found a note from my genitals this morning threatening to walk out on me effective monday if something isn't done about their current condition.
I enjoyed that one as well. Gentlefolk, let us not say goodbye, let's say its been nice and you aint gotta go home, but you gotta get the fuck outta here.
I am Womilee people, see you monday and TGIF!
A.M. ... 18/06/2010
People, who was that chap last night? I've warned him severally to stop bugging me and now he's gone and upset you good people. I can't stand the guy honestly. Always moaning about how depressed he is and upsetting me and everyone else around me. I swear, I would love to kick his ass someday. Unfortunately, I'm not a contortionist, I can't bend my legs all the way round my own body.
Last evening's P.M. edition was me in a bad place, I think I let the week get to me gentlefolk. But now however, I shall let the weekend get to me. I am so incredibly happy that its friday people. Despite my relatively relaxing job, I am worn out. I think its more mental deterioration than physical fatigue. I guess there's something about staring at the same wall every day that can cause a person to become dis-illusioned.
Never the less, its friday and we thank God for it. Now gentlefolk, I had made an amazing discovery this morning. Its ground breaking, breath taking and nut cracking all in one. People, I am on the 1st bus.
Yes yes, due to a long and frankly, not very interesting combination of factors, I somehow made it on the 1st bus to leave this morning. While this in itself is amazing, it is not my discovery, which by the way, I should get a Pulitzer for. Okay maybe not a Pulitzer, but at least an Emmy. Mtv? Aight fine, ill settle for a Soul Train award.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have already arrived at a ground breaking theory, which was my Early Babe Gets My Worm thesis, postulating that hot women get up earlier than not-so-hot women. Well, this morning's discovery is even more astonishing (and way more ridiculous) than that. Gentlefolk, I am on the first bus, and it is filled to the brim....with dudes!
Big, hairy, loud muthafuckers! Its like the International House of Schlong in here. Willy Wanker's Sausage Factory. This bus is like a casting session for 300, Return of The Spartans. Or as Boy Better Know put it, there's 2 many man, 2 many many man! I mean yeah, there's the occasionaly boobie in here, but if this bus has 40 people in it, there are just 5 females here. That's only 10 boobies! Out of 40 people, there's only 10 boobies! I do not like these odds. I am a banker, I know my numbers, and these figures do not add up.
In my usual way, I am now going to give this discovery a fitting name. A monicker that will describe the factors present in the most scientific manner. I shall call it Womilee's Theory of I'm Never Taking This Fucking Bus Again! What the hell?! Why should I wake up this early to spend time with a bunch of pissed off muthafuckers?! If I wanted to do that, I'd just splash cold water on my brother and father while they're asleep. Then the 3 of us can spend as much quality time as possible. I shouldn't have to pay to be surrounded by men, that just isn't right.
Gentlefolk, I hope this isn't a sign of things to come. I want this weekend to be filled with so many women, I might be mistaken for a gynaecologist. I want to feel like I couldn't get into medical school, so I had to settle for nursing school. This weekend should bring about the kind of satisfaction one gets from managing a strip club.
My sex life or lack there-of is well documented, and its situations like this one that cause it. I believe the environment which you find yourself in always has an effect on you. Therefore, this bus is severely hampering my chances of finding a girl to play pickle me/tickle me with this weekend. Something must be done! On a totally random note, I just saw a girl with the words 'I've got male' written on her tshirt. I just felt like sharing that.
Its almost over people, see you in the evening for our kiss goodbye.
I am Womilee, and there's 2 many man, 2 many many man.
Last evening's P.M. edition was me in a bad place, I think I let the week get to me gentlefolk. But now however, I shall let the weekend get to me. I am so incredibly happy that its friday people. Despite my relatively relaxing job, I am worn out. I think its more mental deterioration than physical fatigue. I guess there's something about staring at the same wall every day that can cause a person to become dis-illusioned.
Never the less, its friday and we thank God for it. Now gentlefolk, I had made an amazing discovery this morning. Its ground breaking, breath taking and nut cracking all in one. People, I am on the 1st bus.
Yes yes, due to a long and frankly, not very interesting combination of factors, I somehow made it on the 1st bus to leave this morning. While this in itself is amazing, it is not my discovery, which by the way, I should get a Pulitzer for. Okay maybe not a Pulitzer, but at least an Emmy. Mtv? Aight fine, ill settle for a Soul Train award.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have already arrived at a ground breaking theory, which was my Early Babe Gets My Worm thesis, postulating that hot women get up earlier than not-so-hot women. Well, this morning's discovery is even more astonishing (and way more ridiculous) than that. Gentlefolk, I am on the first bus, and it is filled to the brim....with dudes!
Big, hairy, loud muthafuckers! Its like the International House of Schlong in here. Willy Wanker's Sausage Factory. This bus is like a casting session for 300, Return of The Spartans. Or as Boy Better Know put it, there's 2 many man, 2 many many man! I mean yeah, there's the occasionaly boobie in here, but if this bus has 40 people in it, there are just 5 females here. That's only 10 boobies! Out of 40 people, there's only 10 boobies! I do not like these odds. I am a banker, I know my numbers, and these figures do not add up.
In my usual way, I am now going to give this discovery a fitting name. A monicker that will describe the factors present in the most scientific manner. I shall call it Womilee's Theory of I'm Never Taking This Fucking Bus Again! What the hell?! Why should I wake up this early to spend time with a bunch of pissed off muthafuckers?! If I wanted to do that, I'd just splash cold water on my brother and father while they're asleep. Then the 3 of us can spend as much quality time as possible. I shouldn't have to pay to be surrounded by men, that just isn't right.
Gentlefolk, I hope this isn't a sign of things to come. I want this weekend to be filled with so many women, I might be mistaken for a gynaecologist. I want to feel like I couldn't get into medical school, so I had to settle for nursing school. This weekend should bring about the kind of satisfaction one gets from managing a strip club.
My sex life or lack there-of is well documented, and its situations like this one that cause it. I believe the environment which you find yourself in always has an effect on you. Therefore, this bus is severely hampering my chances of finding a girl to play pickle me/tickle me with this weekend. Something must be done! On a totally random note, I just saw a girl with the words 'I've got male' written on her tshirt. I just felt like sharing that.
Its almost over people, see you in the evening for our kiss goodbye.
I am Womilee, and there's 2 many man, 2 many many man.
Thursday 17 June 2010
P.M. ...17/06/2010
Gentlefolk, I fell asleep on the bus. Now this isn't really that big a deal, I fall asleep on the way home quite a bit. And so do you I suspect. Its one of the few benefits of not driving. There's just something about being transported in air conditioning isn't there? Its almost undemocratic not to nod off every once in a while. I mean seriously, just what are you trying to prove?!
Anyways, I'm quite happy about this. To be perfectly honest with you good people, I hadn't the faintest idea what to write about. I experienced what I believe is known as writer's block. But c'mon gentlefolk, I'm no writer. So we'll say I had jackass's block.
I tried to write, I couldn't think of a damn thing to say. Today was the most normal of days. It was the definition of average. Absolutely nothing spetacular or specific occured today. Okay, the CEO's girl wore something quite interesting, but in the end, all I got was a stiffy. And not like it was a super stiffy either, it was a nice relaxed gentleman's boner.
Okay, the Super Eagles fucked up as usual. But again, their display and ensuing result was expected. So I wasn't moved in the least. I do however wish I could meet that Kaita chap. Those vuvuzela things could be put to use as a torture tool as well. Especially when surgically inserted up a fool's backside.
So gentlefolk, today was totally normal, and I was fucked. I had no idea what to tell you, or how to explain it, so I did what any writer who is concerned about his reader's would do... I said fuck it and I fell asleep. It was a stroke of genius gentlefolk, I wish I had thought of it before... Or at all. I was just sleepy.
I think I was out for about an hour (you gotta love gidi traffic) and when I woke up, I looked out the window and I had no idea where I was. Apparently, there's traffic everywhere and the driver took an alternative route. This may all seem like nothing to write about people, but its the biggest adventure I've had in such a long time. This sounds strange, yes, but you must understand, I lead an extremely boring life.
And so do you people. Let's be rational, when was the last time you did anything new or fun? Not going for drinks or hanging out or even getting laid. I mean proper new. When was the last time you were somewhere else? I realised when I woke up that in the past year, my life has revolved around the area I live in, the area I work in and the areas my closest friends live in. In a nutshell, Festac, the Island and Ikeja. That's it. No matter what I'm doing, I'm doing it in one of these 3 places. I'm bored.
That's why I was so excited when I woke up and found myself in the middle of Surulere (got my bearings eventually). I haven't been in 'Lere at night for naybe 6 years now. And certainly not that part of 'Lere.
People, we need to break away from the norm. Every once in a while, we should do some exploring. Do something new. And I said 'something', not 'someone'. Don't get me wrong, I would love to hide my snake in a different monkey shadow every night, but that just isn't enough. My grandmum told me that the most fun days of my life were back in school and that I should not expect to rediscover that. I fear she is right. When I really thought about it, I haven't felt alive in years, and this makes me unhappy. I am an adult now, and thus I must live, work and act as such. I am bored.
Gentlefolk, I know this post isn't particularly amusing, but I have managed to depress myself. Without the help of the bank. Hopefully Ill wake up in a better mood tomorrow.
I am Womilee, goodnight.
Anyways, I'm quite happy about this. To be perfectly honest with you good people, I hadn't the faintest idea what to write about. I experienced what I believe is known as writer's block. But c'mon gentlefolk, I'm no writer. So we'll say I had jackass's block.
I tried to write, I couldn't think of a damn thing to say. Today was the most normal of days. It was the definition of average. Absolutely nothing spetacular or specific occured today. Okay, the CEO's girl wore something quite interesting, but in the end, all I got was a stiffy. And not like it was a super stiffy either, it was a nice relaxed gentleman's boner.
Okay, the Super Eagles fucked up as usual. But again, their display and ensuing result was expected. So I wasn't moved in the least. I do however wish I could meet that Kaita chap. Those vuvuzela things could be put to use as a torture tool as well. Especially when surgically inserted up a fool's backside.
So gentlefolk, today was totally normal, and I was fucked. I had no idea what to tell you, or how to explain it, so I did what any writer who is concerned about his reader's would do... I said fuck it and I fell asleep. It was a stroke of genius gentlefolk, I wish I had thought of it before... Or at all. I was just sleepy.
I think I was out for about an hour (you gotta love gidi traffic) and when I woke up, I looked out the window and I had no idea where I was. Apparently, there's traffic everywhere and the driver took an alternative route. This may all seem like nothing to write about people, but its the biggest adventure I've had in such a long time. This sounds strange, yes, but you must understand, I lead an extremely boring life.
And so do you people. Let's be rational, when was the last time you did anything new or fun? Not going for drinks or hanging out or even getting laid. I mean proper new. When was the last time you were somewhere else? I realised when I woke up that in the past year, my life has revolved around the area I live in, the area I work in and the areas my closest friends live in. In a nutshell, Festac, the Island and Ikeja. That's it. No matter what I'm doing, I'm doing it in one of these 3 places. I'm bored.
That's why I was so excited when I woke up and found myself in the middle of Surulere (got my bearings eventually). I haven't been in 'Lere at night for naybe 6 years now. And certainly not that part of 'Lere.
People, we need to break away from the norm. Every once in a while, we should do some exploring. Do something new. And I said 'something', not 'someone'. Don't get me wrong, I would love to hide my snake in a different monkey shadow every night, but that just isn't enough. My grandmum told me that the most fun days of my life were back in school and that I should not expect to rediscover that. I fear she is right. When I really thought about it, I haven't felt alive in years, and this makes me unhappy. I am an adult now, and thus I must live, work and act as such. I am bored.
Gentlefolk, I know this post isn't particularly amusing, but I have managed to depress myself. Without the help of the bank. Hopefully Ill wake up in a better mood tomorrow.
I am Womilee, goodnight.
A.M. ... 17/06/2010
Gentlefolk, it is said that sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you. I can confidently say that yesterday, the bear attacked me, kidnapped me, took me back to his place, sexually assaulted me, then passed me along to his bear friends so that they could have a go, before cooking, eating and shitting me out.
Yesterday was bad. And not the regular run-of-the mill bad either, it was horrendous. I've had a few bad days at the office and out of it before, but yesterday is defintely on my top five list of shit days at the office.
As bad days usually go, it started out pretty normal. Good almost. Apart from the heart stopping horniness from yesterday morning, everything was fine. And sure enough, the minute I saw the bank building, away went the need to bleed the weed. I got to the office on time, sorted myself out and fucked off to the hotel. Infact yesterday morning/afternoon was so mind numbingly bored that I fell asleep in my chair at the hotel. I already had plans to tell you good people about that. And the shit bastard who was laughing at me. I think he might have even taken pictures. Gentlefolk, yesterday's P.M. edition would have been hilarious. But no, it all got fucked up by the following factors:
1. My boss: the urge to get to the office and pee in his fuel tank is strong within me gentlefolk. I want to replace the gas for his air conditioning with carbon monoxide. If I could get my hands on some dish washing liquid, I would slip it into his morning tea. I hate the bastard. And rightly so. What in the name of all that is good would he fix a 'lecture' or 'training' by 6.30pm? Its irrational. We all had a busy day at the office (except me of course) and by 6.00 its time to mosy on home. But not, this fool thought it wise to keep us all there till about 8.00pm, listening to some asshole who was supposed to tutor us about life... Which brings me to the 2nd recipient of my aggression today
2. The speaker: gentlefolk, those who know me know that I'm not the easiest person to convince about most things. I prefer to form my own opinons and conclusions, and though mostly wrong, I can beat on my chest and say "I know I fucked up, but I fucked up without help from anyone!" Thus motivational speakers or life councellors or career mentors are not in my add to facebook friend list. Generally, I don't have a problem with them. Or people who indulge in their teachings. Whatever floats you boat is cool with me. But when I'm forced to listen to one, then shit gets ugly. How the hell does he know what I want out of life and how to achieve it? Dammit, that's my business! You don't see me walking up to hin and saying "so, if you bend her over is this position, and you work the backstroke in a 1, 1, 1 2, 1, 1, 1 2 sequence, you'll definitely rock her world"!
Again, I don't care who listens to or likes this guy, I don't. I wanted to go home. Just because he speaks well, albeit with an obviously affected accent, does that mean he has the solution to all my problems? I too am eloquent, but you don't hear me giving out advice on everything from work to proper masturbational etiquette?! "Oh no sir, when engaging in hand to gland combat, its best not to look directly at your member"?!
This asshole spoke for close to 2 hours and I didn't hear a damn thing. When he was done, he asked if there were any questions. I was tempted to say "ah, yes sir, I have one. What I'd like to know, you bastard, is now that the staff bus has left, and I didn't drive and its 8.30pm, exactly how the fuck am I supposed to get home today? Thank you sir." But the icing on the cake gentlefolk is that he then announced that his cd's usually go for ten grand per cd, but he is giving them to one lucky person who can answer a question. I was like what the fuck?! Ten large?! Gentlefolk, in my personal opinion, the greatest cd ever made was Biggie's Life After Death album, and that goes for 2grand, tops. So no sir, I do not want your cd. What I would like however is to bend you over and ram that projector up your backside, just to see if it can still display on the wall via your mouth.
Needless to say people, I got home extremely late last night, which was the reason for the incredibly short P.M. edition. And I would have written it on the bus ride home, which bring us to me next target
3. MTN: the shittiest network. I believe their slogan is 'Everywhere, we blow'. This frigging phone which I basically sold my birthright for and the blackberry service which I'm currently paying for with the sale of my little brother into slavery, the both of them had no internet connection. I couldn't do shit with them. So MTN workers beware, I will soon be going Sept 11th on your asses. Jihad Womilee style.
Finally good people, I think I over reacted last night when I said some people should learn to shut the fuck up. I met someone I know on the bus, and she went on and on about her shit ex. This makes me feel sorry for anyone who has been in the company of any of my exs after we parted company. But baby, don't worry you'll find a good man soon. Till you do of course, why don't you let me help you out with that back stiffness.
Before I leave, I want to say a couple more things. First, one of my readers has complained that I don't read my post comments. Baby (please be female) I do read them and I appreciate them. I'd reply, but I think I'm shy.
Secondly, thank you all for your patience. My advisors and I are most grateful.
I am Womilee.
Yesterday was bad. And not the regular run-of-the mill bad either, it was horrendous. I've had a few bad days at the office and out of it before, but yesterday is defintely on my top five list of shit days at the office.
As bad days usually go, it started out pretty normal. Good almost. Apart from the heart stopping horniness from yesterday morning, everything was fine. And sure enough, the minute I saw the bank building, away went the need to bleed the weed. I got to the office on time, sorted myself out and fucked off to the hotel. Infact yesterday morning/afternoon was so mind numbingly bored that I fell asleep in my chair at the hotel. I already had plans to tell you good people about that. And the shit bastard who was laughing at me. I think he might have even taken pictures. Gentlefolk, yesterday's P.M. edition would have been hilarious. But no, it all got fucked up by the following factors:
1. My boss: the urge to get to the office and pee in his fuel tank is strong within me gentlefolk. I want to replace the gas for his air conditioning with carbon monoxide. If I could get my hands on some dish washing liquid, I would slip it into his morning tea. I hate the bastard. And rightly so. What in the name of all that is good would he fix a 'lecture' or 'training' by 6.30pm? Its irrational. We all had a busy day at the office (except me of course) and by 6.00 its time to mosy on home. But not, this fool thought it wise to keep us all there till about 8.00pm, listening to some asshole who was supposed to tutor us about life... Which brings me to the 2nd recipient of my aggression today
2. The speaker: gentlefolk, those who know me know that I'm not the easiest person to convince about most things. I prefer to form my own opinons and conclusions, and though mostly wrong, I can beat on my chest and say "I know I fucked up, but I fucked up without help from anyone!" Thus motivational speakers or life councellors or career mentors are not in my add to facebook friend list. Generally, I don't have a problem with them. Or people who indulge in their teachings. Whatever floats you boat is cool with me. But when I'm forced to listen to one, then shit gets ugly. How the hell does he know what I want out of life and how to achieve it? Dammit, that's my business! You don't see me walking up to hin and saying "so, if you bend her over is this position, and you work the backstroke in a 1, 1, 1 2, 1, 1, 1 2 sequence, you'll definitely rock her world"!
Again, I don't care who listens to or likes this guy, I don't. I wanted to go home. Just because he speaks well, albeit with an obviously affected accent, does that mean he has the solution to all my problems? I too am eloquent, but you don't hear me giving out advice on everything from work to proper masturbational etiquette?! "Oh no sir, when engaging in hand to gland combat, its best not to look directly at your member"?!
This asshole spoke for close to 2 hours and I didn't hear a damn thing. When he was done, he asked if there were any questions. I was tempted to say "ah, yes sir, I have one. What I'd like to know, you bastard, is now that the staff bus has left, and I didn't drive and its 8.30pm, exactly how the fuck am I supposed to get home today? Thank you sir." But the icing on the cake gentlefolk is that he then announced that his cd's usually go for ten grand per cd, but he is giving them to one lucky person who can answer a question. I was like what the fuck?! Ten large?! Gentlefolk, in my personal opinion, the greatest cd ever made was Biggie's Life After Death album, and that goes for 2grand, tops. So no sir, I do not want your cd. What I would like however is to bend you over and ram that projector up your backside, just to see if it can still display on the wall via your mouth.
Needless to say people, I got home extremely late last night, which was the reason for the incredibly short P.M. edition. And I would have written it on the bus ride home, which bring us to me next target
3. MTN: the shittiest network. I believe their slogan is 'Everywhere, we blow'. This frigging phone which I basically sold my birthright for and the blackberry service which I'm currently paying for with the sale of my little brother into slavery, the both of them had no internet connection. I couldn't do shit with them. So MTN workers beware, I will soon be going Sept 11th on your asses. Jihad Womilee style.
Finally good people, I think I over reacted last night when I said some people should learn to shut the fuck up. I met someone I know on the bus, and she went on and on about her shit ex. This makes me feel sorry for anyone who has been in the company of any of my exs after we parted company. But baby, don't worry you'll find a good man soon. Till you do of course, why don't you let me help you out with that back stiffness.
Before I leave, I want to say a couple more things. First, one of my readers has complained that I don't read my post comments. Baby (please be female) I do read them and I appreciate them. I'd reply, but I think I'm shy.
Secondly, thank you all for your patience. My advisors and I are most grateful.
I am Womilee.
Wednesday 16 June 2010
P.M. ... 16/06/2010
Gentlefolk, I find myself apologising repeatedly for the tardiness and brevity of my articles. I fear this evening will be the worst. I am later than fashionable, and this will be my shortest edition to date.
I pray your indulgence people, bear with me. I will explain it all in the morning. For now let us say that I hope my boss burns in hell, life coaches/ inspirational speakers/ career mentors or whatever the fuck they call themselves can blow me, I am suing MTN very soon and people should know when to shut the fuck up.
Again gentlefolk, I am so very sorry. I guess the fates really are fucking with me. All shall however be explained in the morning.
I am Womilee, and I beg for forgiveness.
I pray your indulgence people, bear with me. I will explain it all in the morning. For now let us say that I hope my boss burns in hell, life coaches/ inspirational speakers/ career mentors or whatever the fuck they call themselves can blow me, I am suing MTN very soon and people should know when to shut the fuck up.
Again gentlefolk, I am so very sorry. I guess the fates really are fucking with me. All shall however be explained in the morning.
I am Womilee, and I beg for forgiveness.
A.M. ... 16/06/2010
Gentlefolk, first off this morning a slight adjustment. I had a word with my advisors last night, and they are of the opinion that I should declare a specific time for the release of new posts. These gentlemen, who apparently are more concerned about this blog than I am, are worried about the distribution of the blog. According to them, there is a specific time period within which I should deliver so as to ensure you good people get yout daily dose via email. They used terms like 'email subscription' and 'feed burner' and what not. I have no idea what any of this means, I'm just the writer.
However, the board did reach a decision. From now on, the new posts will be up between 9 and 11 am and pm everyday. I hope this makes things more convenient for you good people. If it doesn't, I will be more than happy to give you the names, phone numbers and address of my advisors, so you can all have a nice sit down and sort it all out.
Gentlefolk, how is the day going so far? I am once again on the 2nd bus this morning, through no small effort on my part, and once again, the ladies do not disappoint. Which brings me to my musings for today. Last night, someone asked after reading the P.M. post, what my inspiration is. How do I get my ideas and/or what inspires me. Gentlefolk, I honestly do not have an answer to this. I cannot pinpoint any one influence, external or otherwise, that determines my thoughts for the day. My inspirations come from every and anything that happens to me, you and the next guy. For instance, the inspiration for this morning's post is a very simple one. Gentlefolk, I woke up horny. And not my usual morning stiffy either, I woke up with viagra in my veins.
This is one of those mornings where I wake up, praying I do not get propositioned by an unattractive female, for I might commit a serious blunder. The way I feel presently, a hug that lingers for too long might result in an unwanted pregnancy. I pray not to catch a cold today, for I fear it is not mucus I may sneeze. Yes gentlefolk, I am that randy. This is the kind of horniness rich old men pay doctors massive amounts of cash to induce upon them. Imfact, I am doing everyone in this bus a favour by just typing with my fingers, cos I'm pretty sure an extra appendage would love to get in on the action.
I do not know why I feel this way today. I did not watch any thing remotely stimulating last nite. I ate no form of aphrodisiac before going to bed, not unless eba can now be used as a stimulant. I am just very frigging horny. I almost wish masturbation was socially and morally acceptable, because the urge to put the lotion in motion is strong within me. But alas, there is nothing that can be done about this. I shall have to suffer through this pain alone, for I see not form of relief in sight. If only the bank wasn't littered with security cameras and CCTV... If only the hotel was doing a get a free room promo today... If only the CEO's girl was feeling the exact same way I'm feeling right now, then maybe there may have been hope for me.as it stands however, it will be an uncomfortable day for yours truly.
Now I'm on this bus, which of course is transporting a literal buffets of tasty dishes. All flavours, kinds and colours of woman is on this bus, here I am, a healthy, virile male and all I can do is stare. I came to the buffet without a ticket, and thus I cannot eat. This is torture gentlefolk, I am dying. Every woman I look at now is attractive to me. In my twisted mind, I have already turned this bus into my harem, and dammit, the sheik wants some loving this morning. Two at a time ladies. Don't bother rushing, there's enought to go round. People half the ladies in this bus are pregnant for me already, the other half aren't cos they're the latter half, meaning I wasn't in a rush anymore, so I used a condom with them.
I know the womenfolk out there probably consider me a pig right now, and I'm sorry ladies. But every once in a while, the neanderthal must come out. The boys know what I'm talking about. So ladies, please if you bump into me today, refraind from hugging me. I might take it too far. Not to worry though, if there's anything that can cure me of this illness, its my office. One look at that building, and I turn into a eunuch.
My name is Womilee, and lord help me today.
However, the board did reach a decision. From now on, the new posts will be up between 9 and 11 am and pm everyday. I hope this makes things more convenient for you good people. If it doesn't, I will be more than happy to give you the names, phone numbers and address of my advisors, so you can all have a nice sit down and sort it all out.
Gentlefolk, how is the day going so far? I am once again on the 2nd bus this morning, through no small effort on my part, and once again, the ladies do not disappoint. Which brings me to my musings for today. Last night, someone asked after reading the P.M. post, what my inspiration is. How do I get my ideas and/or what inspires me. Gentlefolk, I honestly do not have an answer to this. I cannot pinpoint any one influence, external or otherwise, that determines my thoughts for the day. My inspirations come from every and anything that happens to me, you and the next guy. For instance, the inspiration for this morning's post is a very simple one. Gentlefolk, I woke up horny. And not my usual morning stiffy either, I woke up with viagra in my veins.
This is one of those mornings where I wake up, praying I do not get propositioned by an unattractive female, for I might commit a serious blunder. The way I feel presently, a hug that lingers for too long might result in an unwanted pregnancy. I pray not to catch a cold today, for I fear it is not mucus I may sneeze. Yes gentlefolk, I am that randy. This is the kind of horniness rich old men pay doctors massive amounts of cash to induce upon them. Imfact, I am doing everyone in this bus a favour by just typing with my fingers, cos I'm pretty sure an extra appendage would love to get in on the action.
I do not know why I feel this way today. I did not watch any thing remotely stimulating last nite. I ate no form of aphrodisiac before going to bed, not unless eba can now be used as a stimulant. I am just very frigging horny. I almost wish masturbation was socially and morally acceptable, because the urge to put the lotion in motion is strong within me. But alas, there is nothing that can be done about this. I shall have to suffer through this pain alone, for I see not form of relief in sight. If only the bank wasn't littered with security cameras and CCTV... If only the hotel was doing a get a free room promo today... If only the CEO's girl was feeling the exact same way I'm feeling right now, then maybe there may have been hope for me.as it stands however, it will be an uncomfortable day for yours truly.
Now I'm on this bus, which of course is transporting a literal buffets of tasty dishes. All flavours, kinds and colours of woman is on this bus, here I am, a healthy, virile male and all I can do is stare. I came to the buffet without a ticket, and thus I cannot eat. This is torture gentlefolk, I am dying. Every woman I look at now is attractive to me. In my twisted mind, I have already turned this bus into my harem, and dammit, the sheik wants some loving this morning. Two at a time ladies. Don't bother rushing, there's enought to go round. People half the ladies in this bus are pregnant for me already, the other half aren't cos they're the latter half, meaning I wasn't in a rush anymore, so I used a condom with them.
I know the womenfolk out there probably consider me a pig right now, and I'm sorry ladies. But every once in a while, the neanderthal must come out. The boys know what I'm talking about. So ladies, please if you bump into me today, refraind from hugging me. I might take it too far. Not to worry though, if there's anything that can cure me of this illness, its my office. One look at that building, and I turn into a eunuch.
My name is Womilee, and lord help me today.
Tuesday 15 June 2010
P.M. ... 15/06/2010
Good evening good people. As you can see, the delivery of this evening's post is prompt and punctual. I have received a number of death threats regarding my late delivery today. I don't know if I'm flattered or frightened... Ill go with flattered.
How did your various days go? I hope the weather did not constitute too much of a nuisance. It did do those of us in the service business a favour, keeping customers away, thus severely reducing the workload. Not that any of this means a thing to me nowadays, I work in a hotel. Or better yet, I lay about in a hotel. What I do cannot be considered as work.
However, I do vividly remember when my job description ensured that I interact with customers everyday of the week. I used to pray for days like today, hoping against hope that it would begin raining heavily at exactly 8am and the downpour would continue till 5pm. Cos honestly, I hated customers. The way I saw it, the bank was the source of my pain and unhappiness, and without customers, there would be no bank. Hence customers where the reason there was a source for my unhappiness.
Not to mention some customers are plain assholes. No manners, no morals, no personality. It just dawned on my that maybe I hated them so much cos they reminded me of me. But really though, sometimes it was unbearable. After a horrific day, 5pm would finally come round and you're thanking the lord its finally over. But at that precise moment, a customer walks in, acting like her puts the finishing touches on your girlfriends perfect ass and demanding that he/she be attended to. And trust the boss, he's not going to decline. Why should he? He isn't going to be the one actually working... He'll the doing the important stuff, serving the customer tea and inquiring as to the customer's impeccable timing.
These bastards had no pity on the junior staff. Some of them would go as far as thanking and commending the boss on a job well done. You're standing there like "what the fuck did he do?! Was it the tea? Or was it the ass kissing? I can serve tea AND kiss your ass sir... I multi-task!" But no, its the boss who did the good job. This got to me a couple of times gentlefolk. I must admit it, I had quite a number of macabre and violent day dreams. Infact, at one point in time, I was worried about bumping into a customer outside the bank. It didn't even have to be someone I know.
One weekend, I was driving past one of our branches, and I saw someone using one of the ATMs. I became overwhelmed with inexplicable rage people. This was one of the bastards who was to blame for my daily unhappiness. I envisioned myself approaching him in a friendly manner and politely enquiring if he was a customer of the bank, a mamber of staff or simply making use of the machine with another banks ATM. In my mind, I pictured him returning my polite attitude and with a smile, confirming that he indeed was a customer of the bank. I saw myself smiling back, thanking him for his patronage and walking back to my car... Where I got the wheel spanner out of the boot, ran back to the ATM and beating the bastard to deathe with the tire iron. That'll teach the sonofabitch to bank with us.
This little day dream actually calmed me down ladies and gentlemen. It felt good to fantasize about this brutal act of homicide. Unfortunately, committing said act was not possible... I lost my wheel spanner several months ago.
So, if you are one of those selfish individuals who feels that we bankers are there to attend to your every need, including providing the tissue with which you use to wipe your ass, please cease and dissist henceforth. If not then I suggest you pray for one of, or all three things;
1. That you do not bank with my employers
2. That if you do, then I am never removed from my current hotel assignment
And 3. That I don't find my tire iron.
I am Womilee, goodnight.
How did your various days go? I hope the weather did not constitute too much of a nuisance. It did do those of us in the service business a favour, keeping customers away, thus severely reducing the workload. Not that any of this means a thing to me nowadays, I work in a hotel. Or better yet, I lay about in a hotel. What I do cannot be considered as work.
However, I do vividly remember when my job description ensured that I interact with customers everyday of the week. I used to pray for days like today, hoping against hope that it would begin raining heavily at exactly 8am and the downpour would continue till 5pm. Cos honestly, I hated customers. The way I saw it, the bank was the source of my pain and unhappiness, and without customers, there would be no bank. Hence customers where the reason there was a source for my unhappiness.
Not to mention some customers are plain assholes. No manners, no morals, no personality. It just dawned on my that maybe I hated them so much cos they reminded me of me. But really though, sometimes it was unbearable. After a horrific day, 5pm would finally come round and you're thanking the lord its finally over. But at that precise moment, a customer walks in, acting like her puts the finishing touches on your girlfriends perfect ass and demanding that he/she be attended to. And trust the boss, he's not going to decline. Why should he? He isn't going to be the one actually working... He'll the doing the important stuff, serving the customer tea and inquiring as to the customer's impeccable timing.
These bastards had no pity on the junior staff. Some of them would go as far as thanking and commending the boss on a job well done. You're standing there like "what the fuck did he do?! Was it the tea? Or was it the ass kissing? I can serve tea AND kiss your ass sir... I multi-task!" But no, its the boss who did the good job. This got to me a couple of times gentlefolk. I must admit it, I had quite a number of macabre and violent day dreams. Infact, at one point in time, I was worried about bumping into a customer outside the bank. It didn't even have to be someone I know.
One weekend, I was driving past one of our branches, and I saw someone using one of the ATMs. I became overwhelmed with inexplicable rage people. This was one of the bastards who was to blame for my daily unhappiness. I envisioned myself approaching him in a friendly manner and politely enquiring if he was a customer of the bank, a mamber of staff or simply making use of the machine with another banks ATM. In my mind, I pictured him returning my polite attitude and with a smile, confirming that he indeed was a customer of the bank. I saw myself smiling back, thanking him for his patronage and walking back to my car... Where I got the wheel spanner out of the boot, ran back to the ATM and beating the bastard to deathe with the tire iron. That'll teach the sonofabitch to bank with us.
This little day dream actually calmed me down ladies and gentlemen. It felt good to fantasize about this brutal act of homicide. Unfortunately, committing said act was not possible... I lost my wheel spanner several months ago.
So, if you are one of those selfish individuals who feels that we bankers are there to attend to your every need, including providing the tissue with which you use to wipe your ass, please cease and dissist henceforth. If not then I suggest you pray for one of, or all three things;
1. That you do not bank with my employers
2. That if you do, then I am never removed from my current hotel assignment
And 3. That I don't find my tire iron.
I am Womilee, goodnight.
A.M. ... 15/06/2010
Its raining, its pouring, and Womilee was snoring. Got up from bed, and scratched his head and he's pissed off in the morning... Na na na na na...My word it is uncivilized to be up this morning. The government should pass a bill stating that on rainy mornings, automatic public holidays should be observed.
Gentlefolk, I want to apologise for my late delivery this morning. As you can imagine, getting up from bed today was not an easily acheiveable task. I got to the office late and for the first time, I'm actually writing from here, not on the way to or from home. Its actually much worse than I anticipated. As always, human beings feel the need to converse with one another, so I am continually hampered by questions, statements and conversations. I generally don't mind these, but it makes it bloody hard to write.
At this very moment, while I'm typing this, a colleague is thrilling me with a story about a friend of hers who went missing last night. While I'm very sorry about her concerns, I haven't had breakfast dammit, thus I care very little.
The tuesday morning meeting held on time, despite the rains, thanks to my boss. Speaking of whom, I have forever ruined our working relationship. I tried to greet him this morning, but when I looked at his face, he had a leather mask on, and his mouth was covered by a zipper. Gentlefolk, be careful what you say in jest, for it may come to pass. I now constantly dread the moment he calls my name, I may answer 'yes mistress'.
Back to the meeting though, there is a rule or should I say a penalty applicable to those who arrive late for these meetings. No matter your excuse for your late arrival, there is a 1000 naira penalty for showing up later than 7.05 for the 7.00 meeting. I came in by 7.40. And trust these bastards, there was someone on hand to write my name and account number down, gleefully anticipating debiting said account of my hard earned money. These people do not know me gentlefolk. I would rather cut off my balls with a rusty spoon than relinquish my cash to them.
So as my name was being jotted down, I smiled, excused myself and headed straight for the ATM machine. My account is now empty. And if these muthas want a grand, they will have to come and prise it from my cold, dead fingers! Its not my damn fault I'm late, blame it on mother nature. Infact isn't there a song about this very situation? "Blame it on the rain, yeah yeah. Blame it on the stars. But whatever you do, ill never give my cash to you", or something like that.
Gentlefolk, I once again apologise for my tardiness, and the brevity of this mornings article. I must rush off to the hotel now, duty calls. Now join me in praying that the CEO's girl is wearing tight jeans again. Duty calls. Till the evening...
I am Womilee.
Gentlefolk, I want to apologise for my late delivery this morning. As you can imagine, getting up from bed today was not an easily acheiveable task. I got to the office late and for the first time, I'm actually writing from here, not on the way to or from home. Its actually much worse than I anticipated. As always, human beings feel the need to converse with one another, so I am continually hampered by questions, statements and conversations. I generally don't mind these, but it makes it bloody hard to write.
At this very moment, while I'm typing this, a colleague is thrilling me with a story about a friend of hers who went missing last night. While I'm very sorry about her concerns, I haven't had breakfast dammit, thus I care very little.
The tuesday morning meeting held on time, despite the rains, thanks to my boss. Speaking of whom, I have forever ruined our working relationship. I tried to greet him this morning, but when I looked at his face, he had a leather mask on, and his mouth was covered by a zipper. Gentlefolk, be careful what you say in jest, for it may come to pass. I now constantly dread the moment he calls my name, I may answer 'yes mistress'.
Back to the meeting though, there is a rule or should I say a penalty applicable to those who arrive late for these meetings. No matter your excuse for your late arrival, there is a 1000 naira penalty for showing up later than 7.05 for the 7.00 meeting. I came in by 7.40. And trust these bastards, there was someone on hand to write my name and account number down, gleefully anticipating debiting said account of my hard earned money. These people do not know me gentlefolk. I would rather cut off my balls with a rusty spoon than relinquish my cash to them.
So as my name was being jotted down, I smiled, excused myself and headed straight for the ATM machine. My account is now empty. And if these muthas want a grand, they will have to come and prise it from my cold, dead fingers! Its not my damn fault I'm late, blame it on mother nature. Infact isn't there a song about this very situation? "Blame it on the rain, yeah yeah. Blame it on the stars. But whatever you do, ill never give my cash to you", or something like that.
Gentlefolk, I once again apologise for my tardiness, and the brevity of this mornings article. I must rush off to the hotel now, duty calls. Now join me in praying that the CEO's girl is wearing tight jeans again. Duty calls. Till the evening...
I am Womilee.
Monday 14 June 2010
P.M. ... 14/06/2010
96 hours. Or 4 days. Depending on how you want to look at it. Like I said before, 96 hours can kill you. But let's face it, so can 4 days. I want out. If I wasn't already on the way home, I'd want to go home.
Gentlefolk, I confessed this morning to being something of a hypocrite and I feel that way again. The reason for this is simple. For the past year that I've been under the employ of my current place of work, at the beginning of each week, I choose a day and proudly announce 'I'm not going to work that day. Ill call in sick, stay home and relax'.
I don't know how many of you do this, but I've never failed to make that statement. However in some sick two-faced, back stabbing fashion to my very own person, I've never seen it through. People everyday, for the past year that my presence is expected at the office, I have not failed to show up.
As you can imagine, this is upsetting me greatly. Just today, as I was making this bold faced lie of a proclamation, screaming softly in my head "I'm not coming to work on friday", a smaller, more sinister voice snickered back "oh yes you are!" This frightened me people, for I have never really engaged myself in conversation before. Asides from the occasional drunken shout into the mirror of "YOU'RE THE MAN!", I prefer to speak to other people outside my subconscious.
Clear as a bell though, I heard it, "oh yes you are". Gentlefolk, I fear that management may have implanted a controlling chip inside my head. That is the only rational explanation I can give. Because as you all know, work isn't exactly my favourite pasttime. So how does it come to be that even though every fibre in my body has declared a private holiday, there's a part that has already decided to make an appearance at the office.
Of course, there is another rational explanation. I am a masochist. That by the way is the 2nd option, not a declaration. Let me rephrase... Am I a masochist? Depsite my obvious dislike of my job, employers etc., do I enjoy the pain? Because for the life of me, I cannot explain why I haven't taken that day off which I keep promising myself. Somewhere deep inside, is it possible that my job can be compared to nipple-clamps, studded dildos and serrated dog collars? Do I enjoy the punishment and pain that I endure everyday. If this is the case, then that would make my boss my dominatrix. The very thought of my boss in a leather thong or PVC, brandishing a whip and telling me to call him 'mistress' is single handedly the most disturbing thought I've ever had... And trust me, I've had some sick shit in my head before.
Just one day off, that is all I ask of myself. Yet once the morning comes, and my alarm goes off, I jump out of bed like a good little slave, dash to the office and beg my 'mistress' to punish me, cos I've been a naughty boy. Its sick I tell you.
Please gentlefolk, don't get delusional and imagine that the reason for my steady work rate is the fact that I'm hard-working and responsible. That misconception can easily be cleared up by anyone who is acquainted with me on a personal basis. I could give a fuck bout responsibility, team spirit or work pride. I here for the money. Period.
Clearly I'm disturbed. But do not fear for me, I shall find a way to escape this seemingly desireable pain which I get from my workplace.
Gentlefolk, my ass is sore from repeatedly being whacked with a cricket bat. I must put away my handcuffs, step out of this PVC shirt and get some rest now. My mistress expects me to bend over again tomorrow.
96 hours gentlefolk. Or 4 days, depending on how you want to look at it.
I am Womilee. You dig?
Gentlefolk, I confessed this morning to being something of a hypocrite and I feel that way again. The reason for this is simple. For the past year that I've been under the employ of my current place of work, at the beginning of each week, I choose a day and proudly announce 'I'm not going to work that day. Ill call in sick, stay home and relax'.
I don't know how many of you do this, but I've never failed to make that statement. However in some sick two-faced, back stabbing fashion to my very own person, I've never seen it through. People everyday, for the past year that my presence is expected at the office, I have not failed to show up.
As you can imagine, this is upsetting me greatly. Just today, as I was making this bold faced lie of a proclamation, screaming softly in my head "I'm not coming to work on friday", a smaller, more sinister voice snickered back "oh yes you are!" This frightened me people, for I have never really engaged myself in conversation before. Asides from the occasional drunken shout into the mirror of "YOU'RE THE MAN!", I prefer to speak to other people outside my subconscious.
Clear as a bell though, I heard it, "oh yes you are". Gentlefolk, I fear that management may have implanted a controlling chip inside my head. That is the only rational explanation I can give. Because as you all know, work isn't exactly my favourite pasttime. So how does it come to be that even though every fibre in my body has declared a private holiday, there's a part that has already decided to make an appearance at the office.
Of course, there is another rational explanation. I am a masochist. That by the way is the 2nd option, not a declaration. Let me rephrase... Am I a masochist? Depsite my obvious dislike of my job, employers etc., do I enjoy the pain? Because for the life of me, I cannot explain why I haven't taken that day off which I keep promising myself. Somewhere deep inside, is it possible that my job can be compared to nipple-clamps, studded dildos and serrated dog collars? Do I enjoy the punishment and pain that I endure everyday. If this is the case, then that would make my boss my dominatrix. The very thought of my boss in a leather thong or PVC, brandishing a whip and telling me to call him 'mistress' is single handedly the most disturbing thought I've ever had... And trust me, I've had some sick shit in my head before.
Just one day off, that is all I ask of myself. Yet once the morning comes, and my alarm goes off, I jump out of bed like a good little slave, dash to the office and beg my 'mistress' to punish me, cos I've been a naughty boy. Its sick I tell you.
Please gentlefolk, don't get delusional and imagine that the reason for my steady work rate is the fact that I'm hard-working and responsible. That misconception can easily be cleared up by anyone who is acquainted with me on a personal basis. I could give a fuck bout responsibility, team spirit or work pride. I here for the money. Period.
Clearly I'm disturbed. But do not fear for me, I shall find a way to escape this seemingly desireable pain which I get from my workplace.
Gentlefolk, my ass is sore from repeatedly being whacked with a cricket bat. I must put away my handcuffs, step out of this PVC shirt and get some rest now. My mistress expects me to bend over again tomorrow.
96 hours gentlefolk. Or 4 days, depending on how you want to look at it.
I am Womilee. You dig?
Sunday 13 June 2010
A.M. ... 14/06/2010
Good morning gentlefolk, unfortunately, I'm back. I say unfortunately not because I am unhappy to write this. Truth be told, I missed you all. I find I have developed a diva-like mentality, I need an audience to perform too. So please do not misinteprete my use of such a negative term. I use the word 'unfortunately' for the obvious reason. GIM.
As it always does, the beginning of the week cometh. And so do I. I'm back people, to continue our little support group, or support blog, there's no need to nit-pick with words here. No matter what term I choose to use, it is the same message I'm trying to convey. GIM.
I think the fates may be trying to punish me for this blog. Or maybe they're just having a laugh, cos I swear down I didn't have a weekend. This isn't my usual conspiracy theory of the weekend blowing by and missing it if you blink. This is even worse.
Gentlefolk, I can honestly say I went to sleep on friday night and woke up this morning. I'm not joking or being paranoid here. I have absolutely no recollection of any events of this weekend. Yes, maybe there are slight flashes of scenes and conversations, but I swear down, these may just as well have been dreams. I think I was drugged on friday night. Some bastard added a little something extra into my celebratory drink. Or maybe it was some crazy broad. If this was the case, whoever you are, the least you could have done was to date rape me. What's the use of spending money on a roofie, and not committing a sexual offense?! This idea of course only applies if I was slipped said roofie by a female. If a dude slipped it to me, then I thank you sir for not violating my tenderness.
People, this weekend is a blur. I don't know when it happened, how it happened, to whom it happened to, and what I was smoking while it happened. All I know is, its gone and I'm unhappy.
All that euphoria, the indescribeable joy I felt on friday has dissolved and has been replaced with unparalled grief and apprehension. If I must cut the bullshit, then my inner Superman has been exposed to Kryptonite. Someone sprayed my Spiderman with Raid. My inner Batman finally nailed Catwoman, and the bitch has AIDS. But the worst of all these is that my dick has shrunk. I am unhappy. I don't want to go to work today, my boss might be there. I don't want to go to the hotel today, the CEO's girl might be there...and I'm pretty sure that regardless whether she'd be in a good mood or not, she will not do me.
How are you all? I fear I am a bit of a hypocrite. Despite my colourful suggestions, I did not indulge in any of them this weekend, due to my being totally unconscious thoroughout (I'm sticking to the roofie story). I vaguely recall dreaming of a couple of drinks, but really, that isn't very impressive, considering the instructions I dolled out on friday. And if you're wondering why I don't just get to the point, then fine, ill admit it... I didn't get laid. Again. Which is honestly beginning to be a concern to me. Didn't even watch any porn, though in retrospect, I guess it would have been a bad idea. Making sweet tender love to myself isn't something I want on my conscience. How would I look in the mirror after that?!
The World Cup was a nice consolation however, and our eagles did not disappoint. They lived up to every expectation I had for them and now we can only hope that the players, the coaching staff and the Nigerian Football Association all contract some form of rare sexually transmitted infection. After being butt-fucked by the South Americans. But give respect where respect is due, at least they went over with protection. Enyeama is a great condom isn't he? Made sure the anal rape wasn't too brutal, kept the unwanted pregnancy at bay.
Ladies, especially those averse to football, please briefly switch to another webpage now, preferrably where shoes are the topic of discussion, I'm about to talk football. Gentlemen, if you all remember when Amodu was coach, it was always a matter of great concern and amusement to all the look of total confusion on the head coach's face whenever the team was being outplayed on the pitch...which you will all agree with me was more often than not. Pundits, commentators, analyst and mostly pure fans continually questioned the man's competence and lack of inspiration when the eagles were at play, saying Amodu was simply stupid and was a shit coach. Such was the intensity of clulessness displayed on his face.
But I want you all to take a look at Mr Lagerback's face this weekend. The similarities are uncanny. The same exact look of hopelessness and idiocracy is displayed on his face as well. Gentlemen, I know the NFA isn't renowned for its wisdom and knowledge. Chances are, they're are a right bunch of unmitigated morons themselves. But I doubt they have the abilty or luck to choose two idiot coaches in a row. I have come to the conclusion that though the coaches have quite a lot to do with the delivery or lack there-of of results, clearly its the players that are to blame. The stupid looks displayed by our current and former head coaches are not looks of idiocracy, they are looks of confusion, as if to say "Hang on! This isn't what we agreed on! What the fuck are you morons doing? Dammit, do what we practised!" Gentlemen, the coaches look dumb because the players suck. Its that simple. You can take a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Therefore you shoot the nag before it starts giving too many problems.With this in mind, pleqse join me in doing two things. Firstly, kindly invite the womenfolk back, or we'll all surely be spending cash on engine oil. Secondly help me in soliciting that our country adopt an approach to our super eagles similar to the one adopted by the Americans towards their Bald eagle. To the less sharp of wit, the American Bald Eagle is extinct. 'Nuff said.
With this gentlefolk, I must close for the morning. I'm rather enjoying my sulk, and don't want to ruin it. Welcome back though, I did miss this and you all.
I am Womilee... GIM.
As it always does, the beginning of the week cometh. And so do I. I'm back people, to continue our little support group, or support blog, there's no need to nit-pick with words here. No matter what term I choose to use, it is the same message I'm trying to convey. GIM.
I think the fates may be trying to punish me for this blog. Or maybe they're just having a laugh, cos I swear down I didn't have a weekend. This isn't my usual conspiracy theory of the weekend blowing by and missing it if you blink. This is even worse.
Gentlefolk, I can honestly say I went to sleep on friday night and woke up this morning. I'm not joking or being paranoid here. I have absolutely no recollection of any events of this weekend. Yes, maybe there are slight flashes of scenes and conversations, but I swear down, these may just as well have been dreams. I think I was drugged on friday night. Some bastard added a little something extra into my celebratory drink. Or maybe it was some crazy broad. If this was the case, whoever you are, the least you could have done was to date rape me. What's the use of spending money on a roofie, and not committing a sexual offense?! This idea of course only applies if I was slipped said roofie by a female. If a dude slipped it to me, then I thank you sir for not violating my tenderness.
People, this weekend is a blur. I don't know when it happened, how it happened, to whom it happened to, and what I was smoking while it happened. All I know is, its gone and I'm unhappy.
All that euphoria, the indescribeable joy I felt on friday has dissolved and has been replaced with unparalled grief and apprehension. If I must cut the bullshit, then my inner Superman has been exposed to Kryptonite. Someone sprayed my Spiderman with Raid. My inner Batman finally nailed Catwoman, and the bitch has AIDS. But the worst of all these is that my dick has shrunk. I am unhappy. I don't want to go to work today, my boss might be there. I don't want to go to the hotel today, the CEO's girl might be there...and I'm pretty sure that regardless whether she'd be in a good mood or not, she will not do me.
How are you all? I fear I am a bit of a hypocrite. Despite my colourful suggestions, I did not indulge in any of them this weekend, due to my being totally unconscious thoroughout (I'm sticking to the roofie story). I vaguely recall dreaming of a couple of drinks, but really, that isn't very impressive, considering the instructions I dolled out on friday. And if you're wondering why I don't just get to the point, then fine, ill admit it... I didn't get laid. Again. Which is honestly beginning to be a concern to me. Didn't even watch any porn, though in retrospect, I guess it would have been a bad idea. Making sweet tender love to myself isn't something I want on my conscience. How would I look in the mirror after that?!
The World Cup was a nice consolation however, and our eagles did not disappoint. They lived up to every expectation I had for them and now we can only hope that the players, the coaching staff and the Nigerian Football Association all contract some form of rare sexually transmitted infection. After being butt-fucked by the South Americans. But give respect where respect is due, at least they went over with protection. Enyeama is a great condom isn't he? Made sure the anal rape wasn't too brutal, kept the unwanted pregnancy at bay.
Ladies, especially those averse to football, please briefly switch to another webpage now, preferrably where shoes are the topic of discussion, I'm about to talk football. Gentlemen, if you all remember when Amodu was coach, it was always a matter of great concern and amusement to all the look of total confusion on the head coach's face whenever the team was being outplayed on the pitch...which you will all agree with me was more often than not. Pundits, commentators, analyst and mostly pure fans continually questioned the man's competence and lack of inspiration when the eagles were at play, saying Amodu was simply stupid and was a shit coach. Such was the intensity of clulessness displayed on his face.
But I want you all to take a look at Mr Lagerback's face this weekend. The similarities are uncanny. The same exact look of hopelessness and idiocracy is displayed on his face as well. Gentlemen, I know the NFA isn't renowned for its wisdom and knowledge. Chances are, they're are a right bunch of unmitigated morons themselves. But I doubt they have the abilty or luck to choose two idiot coaches in a row. I have come to the conclusion that though the coaches have quite a lot to do with the delivery or lack there-of of results, clearly its the players that are to blame. The stupid looks displayed by our current and former head coaches are not looks of idiocracy, they are looks of confusion, as if to say "Hang on! This isn't what we agreed on! What the fuck are you morons doing? Dammit, do what we practised!" Gentlemen, the coaches look dumb because the players suck. Its that simple. You can take a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Therefore you shoot the nag before it starts giving too many problems.With this in mind, pleqse join me in doing two things. Firstly, kindly invite the womenfolk back, or we'll all surely be spending cash on engine oil. Secondly help me in soliciting that our country adopt an approach to our super eagles similar to the one adopted by the Americans towards their Bald eagle. To the less sharp of wit, the American Bald Eagle is extinct. 'Nuff said.
With this gentlefolk, I must close for the morning. I'm rather enjoying my sulk, and don't want to ruin it. Welcome back though, I did miss this and you all.
I am Womilee... GIM.
Friday 11 June 2010
P.M. ... 11/06/2010
Does it feel good to you? Again? I feel incredible gentlefolk, really, I feel light-headed. By some incredible stroke of luck, I'm already on my way home. I'm not as pissed off as I usually am at the end of the day. This wonderful feeling I'm experiencing can be attributed to several factors. I had my usual slow day at the hotel, the CEO's girl had to lean over me severally to reach her desk, a certain darling cousin popped in to say hi. All these things contributed to the excellent mood I'm in, but most importantly...and don't act like you haven't been waiting for me to say this... TGIF!
Fuck it, I'm happy. I'm not waking up early tomorrow morning, I'm not wearing a suit, I'm not smiling at any assholes cos they're bosses tomorrow. I'm going to get up by 10am, I'm going to be in shorts all day and I'm going to randomly give the finger to anyone I feel like. I'm so happy.
People, today went alright. With a slight exception of course. Bankers. Dammit, bankers are boring. Today on the way to the hotel, I got stuck in the car with a banker, and an ugly banker at that. For some reason, bankers love to prove how sophisticated, and financially knowledgeable they are to everyone. What's even more surprising is that they pull this bullshit on each other too.
This babe wouldn't shut the fuck up. She kept going on and on about stuff I had no idea about. Using words like 'full disclosure' and 'regularisation' and 'equity' and shit. All I was thinking was "goddamn, that's a healthy beard you've got there."
Generally, I prefer my women completely hairless. I like it when I'm stroking a girl and it doesn't serve as a reminder that I need a shave. But I guess I can always make allowances for the occasional chin strand. But I swear this babe had a Mr T thing going on with her beard. She looked like Rick Ross, just a bit ligher skinned. Same size tits tho. I guess I should have been listening to what she was yammering about, but all I could think was whether she went to the barbers' to get it trimmed like I do, or if she used a shaving kit. Damn near asked her for her views on the new Gilette razor blade.
I shouldn't be talking like such a bastard. I'm sorry, its my mood. Can't help smiling as I'm typing it. You know what, let me talk about something else, this isn't fair.
Goddamit people, please tell me you're all in a mood like mine. I feel awesome. Stronger, faster, better and frigg it, I swear my dick got bigger! I am superman! No fuck that, dude wears red underwear on the outside. I'm batman!... No I'm not that cool. Spiderman? Aquaman? Dammit I'm some sorta superhero! With a bigger dick!
So what are you all doing this weekend? Gonna follow my advice? Music, movies books and sex? We'll do it in reverse order this week. So...
1. Sex; y'all go on head. Fuck like rabbits on viagra. If you in love, make love. If you're feeling maternal, make babies. And if you're just feeling horny, then make like Nike and Just Do It! For my ladies out there who have gotten their plumbing sorted in a while, call me darlings. Let's do the do. The number is 0802-I-GOT-WOOD!
2. Books; Not this weekend people. This weekend is for immaturity, immorality and all round fuckery.
3. Movies; in the theme of the weekend, dammit I suggest porn! Or at least something with a lot of nudity and a totally senseless script. We are trying to have fun people. FYI, please, please, please gentlefolk, don't do this alone. Make sure there is someone to touch nearby, just incase. And hide the lubricants! Unless absolutely necessary.
4. Music: I'm sorry, I can never be careless with this option. It is too important. Please get you hands on Robin Thicke's The Evolution of Robin Thicke. The album is simply beautiful.
I almost forgot, the World Cup is finally here! Alright! I am Nigerian, so I will be watching tomorrow. I will also try to be as drunk as humanly possible, to ensure I can't get angry... Just in case.
Gentlefolk, the week hasn't always been great, but we had each other for support. The blind leading the blind. Remember to remember people, cos ill be back before you can say GIM.
Till then people, I am Womilee, TGI muthafucking F!
Fuck it, I'm happy. I'm not waking up early tomorrow morning, I'm not wearing a suit, I'm not smiling at any assholes cos they're bosses tomorrow. I'm going to get up by 10am, I'm going to be in shorts all day and I'm going to randomly give the finger to anyone I feel like. I'm so happy.
People, today went alright. With a slight exception of course. Bankers. Dammit, bankers are boring. Today on the way to the hotel, I got stuck in the car with a banker, and an ugly banker at that. For some reason, bankers love to prove how sophisticated, and financially knowledgeable they are to everyone. What's even more surprising is that they pull this bullshit on each other too.
This babe wouldn't shut the fuck up. She kept going on and on about stuff I had no idea about. Using words like 'full disclosure' and 'regularisation' and 'equity' and shit. All I was thinking was "goddamn, that's a healthy beard you've got there."
Generally, I prefer my women completely hairless. I like it when I'm stroking a girl and it doesn't serve as a reminder that I need a shave. But I guess I can always make allowances for the occasional chin strand. But I swear this babe had a Mr T thing going on with her beard. She looked like Rick Ross, just a bit ligher skinned. Same size tits tho. I guess I should have been listening to what she was yammering about, but all I could think was whether she went to the barbers' to get it trimmed like I do, or if she used a shaving kit. Damn near asked her for her views on the new Gilette razor blade.
I shouldn't be talking like such a bastard. I'm sorry, its my mood. Can't help smiling as I'm typing it. You know what, let me talk about something else, this isn't fair.
Goddamit people, please tell me you're all in a mood like mine. I feel awesome. Stronger, faster, better and frigg it, I swear my dick got bigger! I am superman! No fuck that, dude wears red underwear on the outside. I'm batman!... No I'm not that cool. Spiderman? Aquaman? Dammit I'm some sorta superhero! With a bigger dick!
So what are you all doing this weekend? Gonna follow my advice? Music, movies books and sex? We'll do it in reverse order this week. So...
1. Sex; y'all go on head. Fuck like rabbits on viagra. If you in love, make love. If you're feeling maternal, make babies. And if you're just feeling horny, then make like Nike and Just Do It! For my ladies out there who have gotten their plumbing sorted in a while, call me darlings. Let's do the do. The number is 0802-I-GOT-WOOD!
2. Books; Not this weekend people. This weekend is for immaturity, immorality and all round fuckery.
3. Movies; in the theme of the weekend, dammit I suggest porn! Or at least something with a lot of nudity and a totally senseless script. We are trying to have fun people. FYI, please, please, please gentlefolk, don't do this alone. Make sure there is someone to touch nearby, just incase. And hide the lubricants! Unless absolutely necessary.
4. Music: I'm sorry, I can never be careless with this option. It is too important. Please get you hands on Robin Thicke's The Evolution of Robin Thicke. The album is simply beautiful.
I almost forgot, the World Cup is finally here! Alright! I am Nigerian, so I will be watching tomorrow. I will also try to be as drunk as humanly possible, to ensure I can't get angry... Just in case.
Gentlefolk, the week hasn't always been great, but we had each other for support. The blind leading the blind. Remember to remember people, cos ill be back before you can say GIM.
Till then people, I am Womilee, TGI muthafucking F!
A.M. ... 11/06/2010
Writer, Patrick Dennis, once said "I wake every morning with a dirty mind, and a clean sheet of paper." Gentlefolk, I find similarities in this author and I. Cos I too wake up in the morning with a dirty mind, a blackberry and a stiffy.
People, today is special, for two reasons. One being quite obvious, it Friday baby! Just hold on, the day will soon be over. The second reason is something of much sentiment to me, and I hope you too.... Its our one week anniversary.
I started this thing on the 4th of June, 2010, exactly one week ago this morning. I'm getting all misty eyed now, faning my self with one hand, like a beauty queen. Its crazy, cos usually I'm useless with anniversaries. Just ask any of the girls who have been mis-fortuned to date me. Can't remember dates for shit.
Weirdly enough, I'm good with birthdays, which are essentially anniversaries too. I've never forgotten a family members' birthday, not one of my friends and a special darling cousin of mine (though this last one is more out of fear than anything else), but I can never seem to remember other dates.
Trust the womenfolk though. It has been said that in order to always remember you and your wife's anniversary, all you have to do is forget it once. See if what happens that day isn't memorable. And not just wedding anniversaries either. The ladies will remember every insignificant date there is. "Today is the 72 hour anniversary of when we first said hi... Today is the one week anniversary of one first day in the same class... Today is the fortnight anniversary of the day I wore those tight black trousers, and you told your friend you'd like to get you some of that!" ... All the dude is thinking is "Bitch, you knew about that?!"
I'm teasing ladies. I keep saying it, I love y'all.
But seriously people, I'm getting very emotional here. I started this cos my friends say I'm a jackass, and I should write some of my shit down. I never dreamed people would actually like it. There has got to be something seriously wrong with you people! Get help, please, you need to be institutionalised. My heartfelt thanks to all of you.
Believe it or not, I have absolutely nothing to do with the distribution of this blog. I just write it. How it gets to all of you is totally out of my hands. That task is controlled by my advisors, an extraordinary group of gentlemen. I'm sorry, that is all I'm permitted to say. I do not want to endanger the well being of you gentlefolk. If I must go on, just know that whatever you engage in, it comes first from nature, thus it is natural. And these men control all that is natural... I've said too much already, we must never speak of this again. Gentlemen, soon, it shall be all be ours...
My friends, who also partake in the distribution of this blog, you are all a right bunch of bastards, and I thank you for being so.
And now, I want to talk to everyone one who reads this thing. Again, I didn't expect anyone to actually like this. Now I have followers? People who wait for me to drop something every morning and evening? Flattered doesn't cover it. I'm shy. I'm shy like the virgin who is being told for the first time that she has perfect breasts. Thank you all so much. Gentlemen, may you bear strong sons. May your wife/girlfriend suddenly become more open to the idea of another woman joining you between the sheets. May that mechanic who has been charging you all kinds of cash for you car and not doing shit, may he suddenly catch syphillis (this one is really personal to me).
And my ladies, without whom I would be buying engine oil for more than just my car engine. May your man finally accept that you are the best thing that ever happened to him. May he realise that whatever you decide to do with his money is none of his goddamn business. And ladies, next time your absolutely tired and overworked, and that bastards has the balls to announce that he is hungry, I pray that you suddenly find divine strength and vigor to grab him by the ears, shove his head between your legs and give the sonofabitch something to eat!
Gentlefolk, the friday has begun and so it must end eventually. I can't bloody wait.
I am Womilee and I love you all.
People, today is special, for two reasons. One being quite obvious, it Friday baby! Just hold on, the day will soon be over. The second reason is something of much sentiment to me, and I hope you too.... Its our one week anniversary.
I started this thing on the 4th of June, 2010, exactly one week ago this morning. I'm getting all misty eyed now, faning my self with one hand, like a beauty queen. Its crazy, cos usually I'm useless with anniversaries. Just ask any of the girls who have been mis-fortuned to date me. Can't remember dates for shit.
Weirdly enough, I'm good with birthdays, which are essentially anniversaries too. I've never forgotten a family members' birthday, not one of my friends and a special darling cousin of mine (though this last one is more out of fear than anything else), but I can never seem to remember other dates.
Trust the womenfolk though. It has been said that in order to always remember you and your wife's anniversary, all you have to do is forget it once. See if what happens that day isn't memorable. And not just wedding anniversaries either. The ladies will remember every insignificant date there is. "Today is the 72 hour anniversary of when we first said hi... Today is the one week anniversary of one first day in the same class... Today is the fortnight anniversary of the day I wore those tight black trousers, and you told your friend you'd like to get you some of that!" ... All the dude is thinking is "Bitch, you knew about that?!"
I'm teasing ladies. I keep saying it, I love y'all.
But seriously people, I'm getting very emotional here. I started this cos my friends say I'm a jackass, and I should write some of my shit down. I never dreamed people would actually like it. There has got to be something seriously wrong with you people! Get help, please, you need to be institutionalised. My heartfelt thanks to all of you.
Believe it or not, I have absolutely nothing to do with the distribution of this blog. I just write it. How it gets to all of you is totally out of my hands. That task is controlled by my advisors, an extraordinary group of gentlemen. I'm sorry, that is all I'm permitted to say. I do not want to endanger the well being of you gentlefolk. If I must go on, just know that whatever you engage in, it comes first from nature, thus it is natural. And these men control all that is natural... I've said too much already, we must never speak of this again. Gentlemen, soon, it shall be all be ours...
My friends, who also partake in the distribution of this blog, you are all a right bunch of bastards, and I thank you for being so.
And now, I want to talk to everyone one who reads this thing. Again, I didn't expect anyone to actually like this. Now I have followers? People who wait for me to drop something every morning and evening? Flattered doesn't cover it. I'm shy. I'm shy like the virgin who is being told for the first time that she has perfect breasts. Thank you all so much. Gentlemen, may you bear strong sons. May your wife/girlfriend suddenly become more open to the idea of another woman joining you between the sheets. May that mechanic who has been charging you all kinds of cash for you car and not doing shit, may he suddenly catch syphillis (this one is really personal to me).
And my ladies, without whom I would be buying engine oil for more than just my car engine. May your man finally accept that you are the best thing that ever happened to him. May he realise that whatever you decide to do with his money is none of his goddamn business. And ladies, next time your absolutely tired and overworked, and that bastards has the balls to announce that he is hungry, I pray that you suddenly find divine strength and vigor to grab him by the ears, shove his head between your legs and give the sonofabitch something to eat!
Gentlefolk, the friday has begun and so it must end eventually. I can't bloody wait.
I am Womilee and I love you all.
Thursday 10 June 2010
P.M. ... 10/06/2010
People, I fear I am not in the best of moods tonight. I have had the most frustrating day. Its amazing how a day that originally started out as basically nothing can end up as everything. And by that, I mean everything wrong.
I had the day all planned out. Laze around for all the working part of it, then come back and thrill you with stories of the CEO's girlfriend and how I put my mac down. But alas, I could not achieve this plan. I mean, don't get me wrong, I did laze away the working hours of the day, but I did not expect the post-working hours to have their own plans.
This gidi is one hell of a city. According to Jay Z and Miss Keys, if you can make it in New York, you can nake it anywhere. While I applaud their belief and love for their home town, I find it difficult to believe that cos one can make it in NY, they can make it in Lag. This place is simply a large and vast mental asylum, housing some of the world's most criminally insane persons I've ever seen. Gidi showed me something else today. I have never, in my 27 years in this world seen traffic the way I saw it today.
I know what you're thinking... "Traffic in Lagos? That's what he's complaining about? Rubbish!"... Well fuck you! You weren't there! Forgive my outburst gentlefolk, as I said earlier, I'm not in the best of moods.
It was almost humbling. I swear on my lucky striped socks, every street in Victoria Island today was blocked. Not just the major ones people, even the ones without banks, telecommunication giants, clubs and those little shops that you're always wondering exactly what the fuck this place is for. I'm talking about those little streets that the people who live on them don't know their names. Everywhere was packed. Nothing could get through. Not cars, not bikes, not reason. It was horrific. And I was smack in the middle of it, rushing back to the office, so I wouldn't miss the staff bus. Which I missed.
Then I rushed to the BRT bus stop, hoping to find a bus waiting as soon as I got there. Which I didn't. I instead waited for another 2 hours, and now I'm seated next to this Ibo man who is under the impression that the entire bus should listen to and enjoy the conversation he is having on his mobile. Gentlefolk, I am not a tribalist. I hate all ethnic groups fairly and equally, including my own. But I really wish this bastard would shut up.
I think my anger may be stemming from the fact that I didn't utilise my day properlyl. Seeing as I now spend a majority of my time in a hotel, which is kind of a dream come true for me, I feel I should take full advantage of this opportunity. In other words, I want to get drunk in the bar and get laid in one of the rooms. However, I am just a lowly banker. I have s sneaking suspicion that a night in one of their rooms is the equivalent of a full month's salary for me. A drink at the bar might result in me having to wash the glass I drank from, as well as other dishes, as payment.
To do this to myself would be like wacking off with heat balm because I got horny in the winter. Might seem like a good idea, but probably best left un-experimented. I love me my beer. Gimme a Guinness and we're probably gonna end up being bosom buddies. I salute the legends that are Johnny Walker and Jack Daniels, for they truly have made the world a more habitable place for us all. And over the years, I have willingly sacrified my liver to them, over and over againl. But sacrificing my wallet, bank account balance and financial well-being to them as well is something I will not do! That belongs to you ladies... You know I love y'all.
I think I'm done for the day people, right now I'm like Dorothy fron the Wizard of Oz, I just wanna go home. And this fool beside me is ugly enough to be Toto anyways.
My name is Womilee, but you already know this.
I had the day all planned out. Laze around for all the working part of it, then come back and thrill you with stories of the CEO's girlfriend and how I put my mac down. But alas, I could not achieve this plan. I mean, don't get me wrong, I did laze away the working hours of the day, but I did not expect the post-working hours to have their own plans.
This gidi is one hell of a city. According to Jay Z and Miss Keys, if you can make it in New York, you can nake it anywhere. While I applaud their belief and love for their home town, I find it difficult to believe that cos one can make it in NY, they can make it in Lag. This place is simply a large and vast mental asylum, housing some of the world's most criminally insane persons I've ever seen. Gidi showed me something else today. I have never, in my 27 years in this world seen traffic the way I saw it today.
I know what you're thinking... "Traffic in Lagos? That's what he's complaining about? Rubbish!"... Well fuck you! You weren't there! Forgive my outburst gentlefolk, as I said earlier, I'm not in the best of moods.
It was almost humbling. I swear on my lucky striped socks, every street in Victoria Island today was blocked. Not just the major ones people, even the ones without banks, telecommunication giants, clubs and those little shops that you're always wondering exactly what the fuck this place is for. I'm talking about those little streets that the people who live on them don't know their names. Everywhere was packed. Nothing could get through. Not cars, not bikes, not reason. It was horrific. And I was smack in the middle of it, rushing back to the office, so I wouldn't miss the staff bus. Which I missed.
Then I rushed to the BRT bus stop, hoping to find a bus waiting as soon as I got there. Which I didn't. I instead waited for another 2 hours, and now I'm seated next to this Ibo man who is under the impression that the entire bus should listen to and enjoy the conversation he is having on his mobile. Gentlefolk, I am not a tribalist. I hate all ethnic groups fairly and equally, including my own. But I really wish this bastard would shut up.
I think my anger may be stemming from the fact that I didn't utilise my day properlyl. Seeing as I now spend a majority of my time in a hotel, which is kind of a dream come true for me, I feel I should take full advantage of this opportunity. In other words, I want to get drunk in the bar and get laid in one of the rooms. However, I am just a lowly banker. I have s sneaking suspicion that a night in one of their rooms is the equivalent of a full month's salary for me. A drink at the bar might result in me having to wash the glass I drank from, as well as other dishes, as payment.
To do this to myself would be like wacking off with heat balm because I got horny in the winter. Might seem like a good idea, but probably best left un-experimented. I love me my beer. Gimme a Guinness and we're probably gonna end up being bosom buddies. I salute the legends that are Johnny Walker and Jack Daniels, for they truly have made the world a more habitable place for us all. And over the years, I have willingly sacrified my liver to them, over and over againl. But sacrificing my wallet, bank account balance and financial well-being to them as well is something I will not do! That belongs to you ladies... You know I love y'all.
I think I'm done for the day people, right now I'm like Dorothy fron the Wizard of Oz, I just wanna go home. And this fool beside me is ugly enough to be Toto anyways.
My name is Womilee, but you already know this.
A.M. ... 10/06/2010
I would like to start of today wit an apology. To you gentlefolk out there. It has reached the attentions of my advisors that many of my articles contain several typos (typographical errors for the less literature-inclined). Please forgive and overlook these mistakes. I assure you, that is exactly what they are, mistakes. I can spell, really. Infact, join me in placing the blame on blackberry, for making the buttons on this phone so damn small. I do not have dainty fingers, I have brutish, man-like digits, like a real man should. But no matter, please accept my heartfelt apologies.
I am on my way to work this morning as usual people, but today I have armed myself with a rather unusual tool. I told you yesterday of the new assignment which I have been entrusted with by the bank and how immensely boring it is. Well people, I have with me a very temporary solution to this problem. I have brought along a book. A novel to be exact. The Alexandria Link, by Steve Berry. It should be an entertaining read, I'm sure. Now, I'm quite happy that I brought it along, at least I now have another activity to engage myself with, other than chatting on my phone and staring at the CEO's girlfriend's behind.
But when I got on the bus this morning (my regular 4th not 2nd, and as expected, the chickens are not clucking), several other passengers looked at me with some awe in their eyes and maybe too much surprise. It was like they were saying "why should a man be carrying a novel?" Gentlefolk, this is not the first time this has occured. Many occasions in the past, people have questioned me about my interest in literature. Infact just yesterday, a friend found out about this very blog and asked why I was doing it. According to him, blogging is girly. I honestly did not know this.
Tell me, why is it that according to our culture, men should not indulge in fictional literature. Its not like I read romance novels... Fucking Mills & Boons and that shit. Somehow in this society, recreational reading is not masculine and neither is recreational writing. If for instance I'm reading one of those self help books, you know, How To Make Money While A Monkey Scratches Your Balls, or Acheiving Greatness By Eating A Sandwich, then everybody will be just fine with it. But because I'm reading fiction, or writing a blog, I'm a woman.
Both Wole Soyinka and Chinua Achebe read and wrote fiction. Does this make Prof Soyinka a pussy? When Mr Achebe walked by, did people loudly whisper 'girly-man'? Both these men are literay icons of our nation, yet they both indulged in fictional literature.
Gentle folk, I am in no way comparing myself to these men. I am nothing compared to their shadows, let alone they themselves. I am not fit to trim Prof Soyinka's immaculately kept beard. Uttering Mr Achebe's name and mine in the same sentence should be an offense punishable by castration. These men were visionaries which words in their hearts and magic in their pens... I'm just a pissed off dude with a blackberry. But these men and I share a passion for works of word.
Reading habitually does not make you soft. On the contrary, it gives you more ammunition. Especially in the ladies department. It expands your vocabulary, thus making it easier to lie to and confuse the ladies. Say a couple of words, make them sound grandoise, and the womenfolk eat it all up. I'm not being chauvanist here ladies, I'm telling you how it is. What I'm telling my brethren here is the equivalent of when someone advises you to wear a push-up bra. More ammunition.
People, I'm no pussy. Far from it. I drink, smoke, drive too fast, curse, watch sports, hit on girls and scratch my balls with the best of them. And I also read like a prepubescent 14 year old girl.
I am Womilee. Period.
I am on my way to work this morning as usual people, but today I have armed myself with a rather unusual tool. I told you yesterday of the new assignment which I have been entrusted with by the bank and how immensely boring it is. Well people, I have with me a very temporary solution to this problem. I have brought along a book. A novel to be exact. The Alexandria Link, by Steve Berry. It should be an entertaining read, I'm sure. Now, I'm quite happy that I brought it along, at least I now have another activity to engage myself with, other than chatting on my phone and staring at the CEO's girlfriend's behind.
But when I got on the bus this morning (my regular 4th not 2nd, and as expected, the chickens are not clucking), several other passengers looked at me with some awe in their eyes and maybe too much surprise. It was like they were saying "why should a man be carrying a novel?" Gentlefolk, this is not the first time this has occured. Many occasions in the past, people have questioned me about my interest in literature. Infact just yesterday, a friend found out about this very blog and asked why I was doing it. According to him, blogging is girly. I honestly did not know this.
Tell me, why is it that according to our culture, men should not indulge in fictional literature. Its not like I read romance novels... Fucking Mills & Boons and that shit. Somehow in this society, recreational reading is not masculine and neither is recreational writing. If for instance I'm reading one of those self help books, you know, How To Make Money While A Monkey Scratches Your Balls, or Acheiving Greatness By Eating A Sandwich, then everybody will be just fine with it. But because I'm reading fiction, or writing a blog, I'm a woman.
Both Wole Soyinka and Chinua Achebe read and wrote fiction. Does this make Prof Soyinka a pussy? When Mr Achebe walked by, did people loudly whisper 'girly-man'? Both these men are literay icons of our nation, yet they both indulged in fictional literature.
Gentle folk, I am in no way comparing myself to these men. I am nothing compared to their shadows, let alone they themselves. I am not fit to trim Prof Soyinka's immaculately kept beard. Uttering Mr Achebe's name and mine in the same sentence should be an offense punishable by castration. These men were visionaries which words in their hearts and magic in their pens... I'm just a pissed off dude with a blackberry. But these men and I share a passion for works of word.
Reading habitually does not make you soft. On the contrary, it gives you more ammunition. Especially in the ladies department. It expands your vocabulary, thus making it easier to lie to and confuse the ladies. Say a couple of words, make them sound grandoise, and the womenfolk eat it all up. I'm not being chauvanist here ladies, I'm telling you how it is. What I'm telling my brethren here is the equivalent of when someone advises you to wear a push-up bra. More ammunition.
People, I'm no pussy. Far from it. I drink, smoke, drive too fast, curse, watch sports, hit on girls and scratch my balls with the best of them. And I also read like a prepubescent 14 year old girl.
I am Womilee. Period.
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