Tuesday, 17 August 2010


Hi. How you all doing? Its been a minute, I know. How's the family and the weather and work and your health and every other factor it is mandatory I inquire about so as to come across that I give a fuck? I hope all is well.
I know what you're all thinking... 'Is he back? He's back!' Well you're wrong! I'm not back, I'm just stretching the fingers. Doing a bit of mental flexing. Seeing if the mind is still unhealthy. So, for the record, this one doesn't count.
I said I was going to find inspiration, and in all fairness, a couple of new things have happened. My identity has been compromised so many times now, I'm considering just putting up my real name and details. I've met at least 3 of my readers, and wouldn't you know it, they're all pretty girls. One was kind enough to give me a large piece of marijuana soaked cake, one was generous enough to let me into her private area (you sick sick bastards, I meant her room), and one is just a big sweetheart. I'm blowing a big kiss to the 3 of you, my dopeman, my reverse cow girl and the sweetest thing I know. Thank you darlings.
These ladies, though sexier than Beyonce looking at Alicia and thinking 'look at that ass', have absolutely refused to play squirrel and nuts with me, thus they are not the inspiration for this post. No, the reason I'm writing this is far from it. I need some clarification on a matter which upset me on saturday night.
I do not like going out. That is probably as obvious a statement as they come. Yes I love getting drinks with my peoples. I love going to see a movie or two. Fuck it, I'll even hit a club if the stars are aligned properly and the balls are hanging extra loose. But randomly going out is not my thing. However, on saturday, Teeto Cmos had a performance at a birthday party and I was kidnapped from my house, stripped of my pyjamas, dressed up in the most presentable clothing I possess, sprayed with perfume, handcuffed to a car and forced to accompany my celebrity friend to said birthday party. My pleas, bribes and even offers of homosexual acts fell on deaf ears and I was advised to shut the fuck up or else.
Now, none of this is important. Its just a build-up. This is the drink, movie and pretence of interest in conversation before she finally gives up the goods.
Granted, I'm a grump. Grouchy and anti-social are descriptions that come to mind. However, I've seen on many a phone and computer a wallpaper which states 'Vodka. Connecting People' and my good friends must have understood this intricately. They pulled a literal 'carrot on a stick', showed me the booze and coaxed me out of the car and into the venue.
It was all bearable too. I was slowly and surely getting drunk enough to slip out of the conscious and into my sub-conscious. I might have made it through the night and not gotten upset at anyone or anything. But then I saw him. Or her. Or it. I don't know what the fuck to call the reject. I'm all for freedom of expression and what not, but for fucks sakes!
How is it that society has become so 'modern', it allows a full grown man to come out in public wearing women's clothing?! And not ordinary women's clothing either. I mean I might have preferred it if he/she/it was wearing a pretty frock and pumps. That way I'd have just been like 'fuck it. He's/She's/It's a fag, but at least he/she/it has good taste in clothing'. But no, this muthafucka strutting around wearing tight red trousers and biker boots and an elephant's pubic hair as a wig?! It/She/He looked like a fucking designer toilet brush. Some sort of feather duster for the criminally homosexual.
I'm a 'live and let live' sort of guy. Do you, I do me, everybody stays the fuck out of everybody else's way. But I can't help this. I must protest. Am I not cultured enough? Are my beliefs of my open-mindedness merely figments of my imagination? Am I not the modern, renaissance man I so value myself to be? Cos apparently, dressing up like one of Queen Elizabeth's make-up brushes is completely acceptable nowadays. Or maybe its because of where I grew up. This party was in Victoria Island, I grew up and still currently reside far away from there. And where I'm from, you dress up like a toilet brush, muthafuckas will use you to clean toilets. Literally.
At a point, I got so upset, I grabbed the vodka and went to hide behind a television. Frankly, I blame each and everyone who shook that bastard's hand that night. Giving daps and hugs and shit. Bumping fists with him/her/it. Fuck knuckle-tapping and use your knuckles in a manner that'll set him/her/it straight. Knock the sonofabich out cold. How can you, in all your right senses and facilities not bitch smack him/her/it?! Do you really think you're doing him/her/it any favours by accepting him/her/it for what he/she/it is or wants to be?! That might be someone's father/mother/pet parrot someday. Tell him/her/it the truth.... 'Dude/Babe/Whatever the fuck you are, stop it. Its not funny, its not sexy and its not cool. Its downright insulting to all human beings/aliens everywhere and I individually swear on my right and left testicles, if I ever have enough money to put a price on your head, I will.
Its not monday, wednesday or friday. I have no idea right now when I'll release this post as I type it, but I had to vent.
Please don't misunderstand gentlefolk, I do miss you all.
I am Womilee.

Saturday, 7 August 2010


Good people, I will be short and sweet. A number of you already know I'm about to go into semi-retirement. I enjoy writing this blog. I enjoy reading the comments it gets. Lord knows I enjoy all the female attention that has come my way from the beginning. It has all been wonderful. But there is a problem. I am un-interested.
I now understand why it takes some artists years to release a new album. Why it takes writers years to publish a new book. To be honest with you gentlefolk, the past 2 weeks have been a herculean effort for me. I simply do not have anything to write about. I have been scraping the bottom of the depraved barrel that is my mind for a while now, just to give you all something to enjoy. But I fear I have not succeeded. The truth is simple, but bitter. I have been boring my readers. Yet, this is not the worst part. What upsets me the most, is that I have been boring myself. I used to enjoy writing this thing. Now it seems like a burden. At first, I couldn't wait to tell you good people the thoughts floating around in my head. Now its like 'oh fuck, I gotta write today....'
So my people, my comrades, my gentlefolk, my Womileeans, I regret to announce I am leaving again. And this time, it will be for a longer time than the last. I am going to find inspiration. I'm going to absorb everything around me, going to explore new opportunities. And I'm going to get laid too.
But I require your assistance gentlefolk. I need your help. I cannot do it alone. I am asking for suggestions good people. Tell me what you would like to read about. Tell me what you'd like to hear. Baby, tell me what you want me to do to you. Send me an email, hit me up on twitter, comment on this very post. Let me know what it is you would like me to turn into madness.
On the upside, I hear I've sprouted all sorts of mini-me's. Everyone and they mama now has a blog. I've read (or tried to read) some. And I reserve my comments. I'm no expert, but.... Again, no comment.
My final hurrah will not be complete without our weekly dance.....
Music: I used to be such an Eminem fan. I do not like his new shit though, so for my hard heads, The Marshal Mathers LP is a fucking classic. My gentler gentlefolk, Norah Jones's Come Away With Me is beautiful. Look for a song called Turn Me On in particular. Its so fucking sexy. And for you in-betweens, Elephant Man's Good 2Go. Seriously. The album was awesome.
Movies: I am a child. I admit it. Equilibrium was fucking cool. Yes it had un-realistic stunts, and a more than ridiculous story line. But gun martial arts?! Come on, how could I not love it? Again, I am a child.
Books: go get an Archie, a Peanuts. Get a comic dammit! Just cos its a cartoon, doesn't mean its not mature. I think. And if anyone out there still has TinTin's, I will do anything you want.
Sex: not to worry good people, I guarantee the next time we meet, I would have gotten someone pregnant.
Goodbye my people, I hope to see you soon.
I am Womilee, ill miss you.

Monday, 2 August 2010

P.M. ... 02/08/2010

When I go on and on about the evils of Monday and how she's after me in particular, you good people have a laugh about it. You all say, 'Womilee is crazy' and 'he's lost his mind' and what not. Some of you consider me to be a form of entertainment, others think I should seek professional help and counselling. I'm sure some of you even consider me a tad paranoid.... How can a day of the week hate just one guy? Well let me tell you all, its so true. Monday fucking hates my guts. If you're already thinking the above, consider this...
Laziness is generally frowned upon. People have always endorsed hard-work and disapproved of laziness. Despite this, I have always embraced my laziness as a part of my genetic make-up. Yes I am lazy and quite happy about it. My laziness has gotten me into trouble far more times than gotten me out of it. But today, if I had just accepted myself for who and what I am, I may not have had such a frustrating morning. All you people out there who consider laziness a thing of negativity, I finally have proof. I can prove that yes, Monday is out to get me, and that laziness can be a good thing.
You good people who follow this blog know I am an avid fan of the Lagos state governor. The man has done many a great thing, but the best of all is the BRT bus service. Again, my loyal readers, you know that this is my preferred mode of transport when getting to and coming from the office. Its fast, convenient, comfortable and most importantly, allows me to snooze while enroute to wherever I'm going. I love the bus, and thus, my car sits at home, lonely, all week. Noone to drive her or take care of her. As I left the house this morning, I looked at my motor vehicle and thought to myself 'give her a spin. Cars get damaged when they're parked for so long'. I did not know that Monday, like some evil, calculating chess grandmaster had already forseen these musings of mine and laid out a vicious trap for me to fall ass first into.
Putting my laziness aside, which again was a huge mistake, I hopped in my space ship and fucked off to work. All the while driving, I kept saying to myself 'this isn't so bad'. There was minimal traffic, I was going along just fine. And then Monday, that bitch, did what she does best.
Gentlefolk, there were at least 100 cars that had to have passed the exact same spot I passed that morning. How in fuck's name is it possible that the nail found its way right into my tyre?! 100 cars equals 400 tyres! You want to tell me that out of 400 previous tyres, it was sheer coincidence that the nail ripped up my tyre? The 401st?! Really?! I think not. Fucking Monday put it there! The bitch put that nail there on purpose, just as I was passing. Monday tried to fucking kill me! Now, does everybody believe me yet?
I know what you all are thinking... Just whip out the spare... Do you really think Monday didn't think about that already?! My spare was flatter than an 11 year old girl! Again, coincidence?! Really?! Fuck no! I was set up! And by guess who?
This was not enough however. Oh no, Monday had to go the extra mile to piss me off good and proper. She sent over her minions. Her henchmen. In the form of 2 Lastma officials.
Good people, tell me, the power of observation, is it not a wonderful thing? Is it not good enough that the Almighty gave us the sense of sight? After this generous gift, is it not right that we use it to the fullest capacity? If you agree with the above statements, then you too might find it strange why 2 supposedly government officials, supposedly trained in the intricacies of road and traffic procedures, would walk over to a man, standing outside an obviously disabled car, with a tyre iron in his hands and a look of total confusion on his face, by 6.-fucking-30 in the morning and ask 'Is there a problem?'.
This question upset me so much, I actually had to use my left hand to hold back my right hand. Cos the right hand was holding the tyre iron and it suddenly developed a mind of its own. Is there a fucking problem?! 'No officer, everything is just fucking fine. I belong to a religious sect who believe that deflating one's own tyres by 6 in the morning is the path to true enlightenment! I do this every fucking month! In fact, this is just level one. To reach the next level, I must use my dick to jack the damn car up and use my testicles as wedges for the wheels!'
What kind of fucking question did those bastards ask me?! 'Is there a problem'?! Bad enough this shit has happened, I now had these two university professors asking me questions....
In a nutshell gentlefolk, my original tyre tore so badly, I had to buy a new one, I got to the office late and I had to give the two geniuses some money for helping me out. Does anyone now understand why I loathe Monday so much? She did this and enjoyed it! BITCH!
It is time for me to leave now good people, I need to get away from today.
See you soon.
I am Womilee.

A.M. ... 02/07/2010

What to say, what to say? Can I possibly have anything else to vent about? I have used every metaphor, every euphemism I can think of. I have meditated, prayed, fasted, visited a couple of native doctors, consulted various oracles and joined all sorts of dark sects.
I have tried reason, force, sweet-talking, trickery and deceit.
I have employed science, alchemy, voodoo, New Ageism and religion.
I have done everything I could possibly try, and yet, despite my valiant (albeit shady) efforts, monday is back.
GIM gentle folk. I am upset. As usual. Lest I forget, please don't pay any attention to that homo Mr Green. Apparently, he was here on saturday, spewing his happiness and good will and shit. Fucking bastard makes me mad. Then again, there is very little that doesn't annoy me. Unfortunately, I have to share a body with the guy, so I guess from time to time, he might so his annoyingly happy face. One day though, ill find a way to switch places with him. 2 days in my shoes, see if the bastard is still so cheerful.
I feel like crying. Its not fair. I shouldn't have to work for a living, I'm too awesome for it. Really. I should be engaged in the business of simply being awesome. Awesomeness should be a vocation which brings dividends. Infact, I should be an awesomeness consultant. Of course, my methods of teaching awesomeness would be quite unorthodox. I would simply sit my my un-awesome patient down, and tell him exactly why I am more awesome than he is. After which I'd tell him to emulate everything he has heard, take his money and tell him to fuck off. Awesome right?
This monday in particular feels personal. It feels as though everbody else is still stuck in the weekend, or has passed their own mondays. So monday has her full concentration on me. I don't want her full attentions, you people should come get her off me. She's ugly. Her head game sucks, and no, not in the good way. Fuck this. Fuck it all. I don't think I can rightly explain how upset I am this morning. But Monday, I swear down, if its the last thing I do, ill get mine back. Of course this is somewhat an empty threat. How exactly does one enact revenge on a day of the week? I cannot cause physical harm, I cannot steal money, damage property, fuck spouse, kidnap children, deflate tires, piss in battery water, disconnect cable tv or poison. I cannot harm monday in any way or manner. But one day, when she least expects it, Womilee will strike.
Again good people, GIM. My word, that phrase is catching on. I was on twitter last night (in my usual stealth mode) and I saw various people use it. It was a bit of an ego trip, I must admit.
I must away now, duty calls.
I am Womilee.