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I Really Want to Get Laid 👉 👌

I want to get laid

You shouldn’t use those words!”

Hehehehe! What did I just say? That you have nice titties, and I would like to spank your booty too? And all the respect that you had for me just evaporated. That’s why you looking at me that way. Coz you thought you had finally landed a church boy. One whose interest won’t be to jump you to the sack at the first available opportunity.

Well, guess what my little Flower, you just flopped that teenage lessons of never judging a book by its cover. Guess you will now be justified if you walk around whining about how every man is a jerk. I know that is how you feel about every man you’ve ever met.
But you thought I would be different coz I have a college degree. You thought I would not be a jerk because I have this look that says ‘innocent’. But you just found out am the jerkiest of the jerks.

“I can’t believe it’s you!”

But baibe it’s me. It’s me that just said I need a fuck. Coz I am tired of playing the good boy role all the time. All my friends are getting laid left, right and center, but I am here stuck with you and your ideologies. Just because you got the looks. But you can’t screw looks, honey, can you?

So I decided today will be the day. I want to lose it all. Or gain it all. You either stay, and let me have it or fucking walk out of my house, and out of my life.

But when I made the move, you pulled back. And I mean like really pulled back. You stood by the window staring out and I staring at your curvaceous spine, the object of my desire and of our frequent quarrels. And you gave me that lecture. Ati respect. Respect kitu gani?

You can screw respect for all I care. Or maybe not. I can’t screw respect. And all I want is to get laid. It’s been long and the testosterone is making me jumpy. That’s why I talk to you like shit I don’t care about. That’s why I gawk at other women when we walk in the street. I know it makes you mad. But you can never speak it out. Because you know the moment you raise it, is the moment we start this talk. And the moment we start this talk is the moment you lose your ground.

Or can you really justify why you bar your ‘hubby’ as you call me in all those WhatsApp texts you send me from accessing his rights?

Can you, Pumpkin?

Can you blame me for being ‘oggly’ while all you do is dress in that gunny that should be made a reserve for the akorino federation?

Can you blame me for sticking my ass into some unlikely relationships or for soliciting for what you won’t give me from Mama Brian? Can you, honey?

Today I can speak all the shit I want because all I want is to get laid. I will spew the venom with total disregard on how it will make you feel coz all I want is to get laid. But you never know, honey. You don’t know the crazy things a man will do in to get laid, to beat the prostate cancer. He will talk shit if that is what it takes to get laid. They will beg and plead.

But am not begging you to lay me. And I’m not putting up with your games.

Tonight I am going out and I’ll drink myself silly and flirt with the bartenders and touch their boobs and do other things which I know you would be mad about if you got wind of.

Or maybe I won’t go out.

Maybe I will kick you out of my house. Maybe I’ll lock myself in the bathroom and wank your memories away. One thing is for sure honey; tonight I am ending this John-Whore kind of a relationship. Though I have tried doing it a thousand times, but the scent and the memories of you, of what it could have been, never really fade away.

Do you even remember the stains on my bedsheets last Saturday?

“Kina Tony were using my room…”

That was a damn lie, baibe. I tried to wank away the scent of your hair, and the feel of your kiss and your boobs pressing against my chest. But tonight I know what I’ll do. I am going to Club X-Tacy and I am going to drink myself silly and flirt with the bartenders and every damn thing that will be in sight.

And you better fucking make up your mind before I make up mine. What will it be baibe, walking away or getting laid?

When you Start Sinking


There’s a deep abyss in front of me, and I am sinking right into it. I cannot be saved. Cannot be helped. I just have to let myself go, until I hit rock bottom.

I will know I have hit rock bottom when I turn suicidal. But for now… For now, I am just fine. Or so I tell myself.

Hopefully, I will snap out of it right before I take the final plunge.

My friends suggest that I should do something to get out of it. But my hands… Or rather, my willpower is tied. What can I possibly do? Go on holiday? See a professional? I honestly don’t know what I am supposed to do but to just sit here and hope that the feeling will eventually wane off before I take the final plunge.

I am afraid of death.

I remember the last time the abyss appeared. It was around April of this year. I woke up with this persistent feeling of worthlessness and all I could think about was taking that final plunge. I was living on the fifth floor of some apartments somewhere on TRM Drive and a simple dive from the balcony would have taken care of my then miserable self. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I remember staring into my bathroom mirror for hours. Screaming myself hoarse.

“I don’t want to die…” I kept yelling at the strange man in the mirror. That’s how much I fear death.

I locked myself in. Threw the keys away. And called a friend to come over. That’s how I was able to get out of it. And hopefully, I will also manage to weather this oncoming storm.

Have you ever suffered from depression? It is probably the worst thing that can happen to anyone. This bitch can be persistent. You will have a few months of feeling fantastic. Feeling like you’re part of the human race, after all. But then, the sneaky bitch will once again rear her ugly head at you.

If you’re lucky, you’ll know when she starts teasing you before she reaches for your jugular. You’ll feel it coming. The symptoms will be all over. You’re probably drinking alcohol more than you do. Probably smoking more cigarettes than any other time. Wishing for alone time. Feeling alone, even when you are in the presence of a loved one or a multitude. Your sleep cycles will be severely altered. Living recklessly, trying to fill the perceived void in your life

I personally fall under this lucky group. The group that can feel the grip start to tighten. If you are a girl, and I am hitting at you at this time, you better run for the hills. This is not me, and you are certainly not the only girl I am hitting on. It’s my way of filling the void. It is narcissistic I know, and wish there was a way I could control it. Maybe I will, now that I am addressing it before the grip gets any tighter.

I do drugs at an abnormal rate, when the bitch hits. No. Not the hard kind of drugs. Just some cigarettes and alcohol. I hate myself when I smoke. I can feel my chest compress. I start whining, unable to breathe.

The fact that I am smoking adds a few inches into the abyss. It gets deeper and deeper with every puff that I take. I want to take a gun and shoot my damn self for it.

I hate the taste of cigarettes in my mouth, and how the smoke makes my throat dry. I brush my mouth countless times in a day. Then I find myself sauntering back to the local kiosk.

“Some Dunhills, please”

Why can’t I just shake it. This horrible habit. It’s killing me in more ways than I can explain.

I become unperceptive to love when the depression strikes. There’ll always that one girl who would die for me… But I fail to recognize it. I start waging unending wars in my subconscious. Trying to decide whether I should keep the relationship or call it to quits, and run after all these other unsuspecting girls.

Maybe I should just call for a break, if at all she can understand why I need it. Or maybe I shouldn’t be dating at all in the first place. Do you think a person who turns narcissistic when he’s depressed deserves to be with someone else?

I once joined a Facebook group of ‘victims’ who’ve passed in the hands of narcissistic people. I saw the vitriol that was being poured out there for the ‘victimizers’, and it was just nasty. It was like the general consensus in that group was that NPD people just wake up one day and decide to go hurtful on their loved ones. But that’s not usually the case, at least it isn’t for me. It is a battle between doing what’s right or succumbing to the evil side that’s occasioned by depression. And ultimately, that evil side wins. Especially if those who love you fail to understand what you’re going through.

I try to think about what might have caused this recent attack… I probably already know how it rolls. I suspect that my depression is recurrent. It starts and ends at certain times of the year. But does it start this early, and become worse towards the beginning of the year? I don’t know.

But here is to hoping that I will have a tighter handle on it this time. I am not letting this bitch bring me down.

The Graduation List

The graduation list

First, there was the panic. Damn! I’m not on the graduation list. That paralyzing shock that shudders your temples with a jolt more stronger than a 50W electric circuit, rendering your senses numb. You think you will die, but you know you will not, though you wish you were dead.

Can’t even think straight.

You don’t know whether you want to die or remain alive and listen to the clock tick-tock to that D-day that you damn know you should be a part of but you are not.

Maybe it’s fate.

But Cryptic ain’t even thinking of fate at this particular time. You are fumbling for the straw that might save you from drowning. So, even though you know it’s past five, you dial the landline to the faculty. And you damn well know there’s no one on the other side of the line. But the adrenaline makes you grasp for the ether.


Cryptic static!

“You are just being reactive Cryptic.” That’s the woman I married. “Cool down take some deep breathe, try to think straight and…”

To the M-Pesa…

I cross the highway like it was a herders’ trail in the Suguta Valley. Cryptic needs some cash. Some fare to travel to Western. Find the haters. Ask them why I am missing from the graduation list. Cryptic is racing across the highway. Trucks honk, tires screech, someone hurls curses at my back. I show him the middle finger and jog to the other side of the road.

The M-pesa is three blocks away.

“Hey, I need to withdraw,” I croak hoarsely. Barely audible. I can’t even hear my own voice.

“Pardon me, what did you say?”

“I said you don’t fucking talk to me with that gear in your ears,” Cryptic thunders.

The young lass flinches then starts to pout. She would love to tell me off but I own the damn Mpesa and I am her boss, and I could as well fire her for listening to Rick Ross while she should be listening to the damn clients.

But Cryptic is not that evil. Not that sadistic even when he is a little way off his radar. So I’ll only give her a little lecture just to prove that I still got some handle on my mantle, even when I’m feeling like a toast of shit.

“Can you try to do some things right even if they are not the right things? Can you do that pumpkin? You know-like try to do the wrong things right?”

I can tell I am losing her, and I damn hope I am losing you too. Sometimes you just need someone or something to vent out your frustrations on. Hahaha who am I kidding! Or am I really frustrated? Wasn’t I expecting this? Wasn’t this what I sowed with all those assignments and CATS I skipped? Always chasing after the moola.

“Hi, Cryptic, my server just went down. Will you come have a look at it?”

That is not even a request, brother. It rings with expectations. Did I tell you Cryptic never turns down a business opportunity?

“How much are you chucking…”

And the cycle continues over and over again, through out the semester.

And then there was Ouko, always getting under my nerves, always trying to make Cryptic less cryptic. ‘I never see you in my class!’

“I have a family to take care of, sir.” End of debate.

And then it was the graduation list, and I being conspicuously missing, and you getting all jolly about it on Facebook.

This is what divides the goats from the sheep, right?

No. Hahaha. Don’t even mind Cryptic’s sadistic guffaw.

You go ahead and graduate and make merry. Me? I’ll just be fine.

You are graduating and I am not. And that means you are fucking brighter, no, make that successful than me. Or isn’t that ceremony the yardstick we use to measure the chances of you swinging to the other side of the status quo divide, the side of the divide that does not comprise of selling chapattis in class,and doing assignments for your comrades? Isn’t it sweetheart?


Why then do you need the papers? Why do you need those papers? Why do u stare at me with those pitiful eyes when I tell you I’m missing from the grad list. Tell me, why?

Stop doing that because I am not pitying myself. I’m swallowing the good news in style. Damn, I’m writing an article about it, and I hope you know this writing means more than a vent for my pent up emotions. This writing has the aphrodisiac smell of paper. The real paper that buys Toyota Klugers and makes wimps kiss ass.

It has the grease of power and influence, this writing. Just imagine how many times you peek into my blog, hunting for something to kill the boredom. And I never disappoint you, do I? Tonight I wrote this for you. Go ahead and share it with your friends and followers. Tell them about me. Call my shit the musings of an obsessive prima donna, or isn’t that what I always was to you and your graduating comrades?

I’ll probably write another piece like this on the eve of your graduation, maybe in the wee hours of the night when my muse behaves like its high on steroids. Maybe by eleven o’clock I’ll have posted a link on your Facebook Timeline. Maybe it will keep you from dozing as the university chancellor bores you to to sleep with his monotonous speech, before authorizing you to now have the power to read and write and do all that pertains to that degree, as if you have merely been doodling for the past four years.

But I’ll not turn on the telly on that day. I’ll shy away from social media until all the hullabaloo about nothing has died off, until the pictures you uploaded wearing the gown have all faded and the gowns in those photos have started tattering; until all adrenaline has left your body and we are back to where we started; until you realize that not the ceremony nor the certificate should draw boundaries among us.

But in the meanwhile I’ll reside to that shell where it’s just me and my alter-ego. I will mount insurmountable walls around myself and watch everyone try to break them down. I’ll bury my head in the sand and act sad and maybe that will make you glad.

But I will eventually get my groove back. I’l rejoin the social media sites and get a massive hard-on from reading your sorry updates, hakuna kazi.

And am I reaping what I sowed. Are we together in this?

Yes? No?

Do you even remember Mbugua’s assignment? Well it sharpened my business acumen and my empire is now expanding. Forward me your CV and Cover letter, and attach the good-for-nothing piece of paper they gave you after the ceremony, I might have some internship for you.

What’s Wrong With the Kenyan Undergraduate


I don’t have to excuse myself to scribble on this space-in fact, the joke is entirely on me. No one asked me to excuse myself…But talking of excuses, I do feel there is a group of people who I must grudgingly tender my excuses to.

The misters and misses so and so, who educated or not, feel the need to tarnish the name of the Kenyan undergraduate. These are blokes who in so many clear terms, you’ll find (mostly in overloaded matatus or snazzy tea-joints in town) bickering on and on about how campus students have become shenanigans, malenges, a thorn in everyone’s a* and so on and on.

More often than not, they will go down the memory lanes, compare and contrast the current scholar with last century’s scholars-the likes of akina Anyang Nyong’o, and lament how political zest has sizzled out of our universities.

It’s this kind of talk that makes me want to retort with something like, ‘Why don’t you just haul Anyang’s a* back to Kilimanjaro hostels, Mzee Moi back the throne and derepell(wtf is the opposite of repel?) Section 2A of the constitution!’ you may then get lucky to spot me in the streets of Nairobi singing bado mapambano and other Saba-Saba affiliated hits.

A friend of mine tried to convince me that campus political activism fizzled out with the success of the second liberation and the subsequent end of the Moi regime. Yes and no, I agreed and disagreed.

Disagreed because he tried to paint the Kibaki government like the harmonious board of angels in heaven after Lucifer had been shown the red-card and shoved to where the sun never shines. No regime lacks its excesses to fuel civil activism, I argued.

And I agreed because, even tho we were not taught this in LIT 101, we all know the 2nd group of ‘freedom fighters’ shortchanged us by abandoning the real motives of their course once they caught the smell of honey and milk wafting from a harlot’s kitchen disguised like the promised land. Greedily, they settled for this and abandoned the real course of the liberation. And so when the freshman joined campus, he was greeted by the lure of ‘the fight is over.’

In abandoning the fight half-way, this group of second liberators also revealed their real drive. They were a selfish, power-hungry lot, and their fight should be classified under the tales that try to explain that old adage of the sage who said the end justifies the means!

It is this highly contagious selfishness portrayed by the second liberators that the current undergraduate mushrooms upon. We refuse to verge into the betrayal-laden world of martyrdom due to the dishonor that the surviving liberators treats their fallen heroes to.

So, instead of running the streets screaming to hell with unpopular government policies, dudes prefer to sit in the students center discussing who’s-banging-who and which babe has got a killer anatomical scape.

In the process we guzzle enough cheap liquor to jump start a fire engine. Nationalism is relegated to a far backbench as we pursue more pressing needs (libidos is the befitting word, nay for the puritanical among us).

Our ladies became obsessed with social networks, with the constant hope of snagging a Mr. Moneybags for the weekend rave, romp and unlicensed barter trade between money and sex. Their relationships became complicated to a point of making Mercy Keino’s murder debacle appear like a scene form a badly scripted and directed Nigerian film.

Then came that other degree program, PSSP (which The Commission for Higher Education has revealed that it had initially construed to mean Poor Scoring Students Program).

To attract unsuspecting naive and vulnerable form four leavers with a thirst for higher education, and make some money they decided to change the acronym to stand for what it stands for today).

Anyway, to make the long story short, the programme hammered in the last nail on the prestigious coffin of campus political activism.

I won’t say I’m sorry, nor do I imply that I have anything against the prestigious students who attain their degrees via this avenue. The truth of the matter though remains that most institutions have abused this thing called PSSP in pursuit of money.

But that is also not my point. My point is this: most of these buggers hail from the right side of the status quo, and so when they see you start running the streets calling for equality, employment opportunities and what-a-few, they call for a cold Tusker, lean back and enjoy the show. So much for comradeship, ehh?.

And you dare ask where comrades power disappeared to.

kenya university students

So the next time I hear the Mr. and Mrs. so and so bickering about this, I’ll surely give em this piece of my mind in the form of the excuse I mentioned earlier, though it won’t be the conventional polite schoolboy hands-folded-to-the-back excuse. It’ll b the kind of excuse that Lady Gaga, Ciku Muiruri or Kalekye would lash on a shagmodz who try to box em’ in using last century’s pick-up lines. The one that is dished out hands akimbo, neck doing something akin to that ka-chinese dance in Madtraxx’s video, eyes rolling like new marbles on a cemented floor, all coordinating wt the lips and the tongue to spat out, ‘puhleez, excuse me’ the ‘mscheew’ and the ‘nkt’ all in one split second.

Mutula Should not be Blamed for Controversial Decisions


During his first public appearance after he was appointed minister for education, Hon. Mutula Kilonzo thanked the president for his new post and predicted his stay at the Ministry of Education to be similar with a fish’s stay in the aquarium.

Amidst ear-breaking applause, jubilation and standing ovations from teachers, parents, pupils and other education stakeholders who had flocked the Moi stadium in Voi Town for the district’s education day, Mutula vowed to bring major reforms in the country’s education sector.

Maybe we misunderstood what kind of reforms he was talking about.

Mutula's ideal skirt: The minister was addressing Rwathia girls High School
Mutula’s ideal skirt: The minister was addressing Rwathia girls High School

Parents and teachers who applauded the legislator are now sniping and curling their backs in abject horror of the unknown whenever his name is mentioned.

Two of his major decisions have hit the limelight and watered down the throat of many Kenyans the wrong way.

His endorsement for shorter skirts and longer school holidays was not what many parents had in mind when they heard the man talk of reforms.

I have nothing against Hon. Mutula Kilonzo; in fact I think he is one of the best legislators who ever set foot in the August House. His stint in the ministry has also not been all shambles (God knows the Education Bill and TSC Bill which he propagated through parliament were much overdue and called for.)

His is just a case in point of why we need to move fast to fully implement the new constitution that provides for the National Assembly’s thorough vetting of cabinet secretaries before they assume office.

And in as much as the new constitution does not explicitly state that cabinet secretaries should possess academic qualifications correlated to their dockets, the 14th august house has a moral obligation to the people of this nation to ensure that successfully vetted secretaries possess academic qualifications and background relevant to the docket they will be manning.

This will put an end to days when the president appointed ministers with limited background knowledge in their respective ministries, and who like Hon. Mutula, end up making unpopular decisions that raise the ire of the affected and make them the laughingstock of others or where the president allotted or reassigned ministerial flags in order to fulfill some ulterior purpose.

The latter is what befell Hon. Mutula Kilonzo, who in snippets of conversations with the media, has severally attributed his transfer from the Ministry of Justice and constitutional affairs as an egocentric move by leaders who wanted him out of the justice and constitutional affairs office so that they could effectively mutilate the new constitution to their advantage.

The honorable minister, whose prior prediction has degenerated to what many Kenyans would liken to a whale’s frantic efforts to fit in an aquarium, should therefore not be blamed for his controversial decisions, and irked parents should find somewhere else to vent their frustrations, precisely the colonialist method of ministerial appointment that is being practiced to date albeit of the new constitution’s provision for the parliamentarians vetting of cabinet ministers.

Luckily enough, Kenyans have so long to persevere for this colonialist mode of operating the ministries.

Optimism that the next government will bring in the much needed changes reigns supreme in every Kenyan’s heart. Up until then, however, all we can do is hope that the ministers manning ministries which they have no background knowledge about do not make any more ridiculous decisions.


Blog Yourself All The Way to the Bank- How to Make Money Blogging in Kenya


Every graduate’s greatest anxiety is hitting the Kenya Tarmacking Network (KTN) without any hope of seeing the light, even at the distant end of the tunnel.

I personally know of some of my former college classmates who had schedules and lists of companies they would be hitting after clearing campus, lists long enough to make a small Stephen King manuscript.

Sorry to say that most of them are still marking off their lists, unsuccessfully.

The mentality of being formally employed however worries me a lot.

Have we become so dependent on other people that we cannot even for a second sit still and think of innovative ways with which we can make money?

For starters, I have never been one to trust on anybody for anything, and I am not bragging when I say am sufficiently self-made up to a certain level. After all, I took myself through University education without relying on a dime from my parents.

This may sound almost unbelievable to the same people who are right now scratching their chins hoping the temp at the office they hit today did not guillotine their CV, and strategizing on which company they will be hitting come tomorrow morning.

Am not bragging, but I am not in the same league with you, am earning my dollars as you sit down scratching your chin.

Blog your way to riches

Let me save your skin with maybe the easiest thing you can do and earn money even as you utilize your education, start blogging.

Apart from running your own blog and earning money from programs such as Adrite Advertising or Google Adsense you can also offer to write content for other people’s blogs, in return to which they will pay you handsomely, though you will lose on the copyright of any work submitted to them.

The other excellent way to earn money through your blog is carrying sponsored adverts from companies around you. These ones pay a little price in return to bringing publicity to their company or image.

You may also consider writing product reviews for a company’s products. This involves asking for contracts from these companies you want to review products for, you write, you host, they get increased sales and product awareness and you smile all the way to the bank.

Don’t wait anymore. Plug in that modem and start earning now!

Just as a BTW, one of my friends told me I was whoring my services to the cheapest of the cheapest hookers by taking the ‘easy’ way out (writing blogs), what do you think? Leave your comment below.

Malaika Festival Brings Glamour to Voi Town


Revelers at Voi Town in Taita-Taveta County were yesterday treated to an evening of pomp and sound as the Malaika Festival hit town for the second time in two years time.

The audience who braved gustily winds and asthmatic clouds of dust blowing across the stadium with signs of a heavy downpour in the evening said the event is the best thing that has happened to Voi Town in a very long time.

Mzee George Ngatia, 66, a retired civil servant and fervent admirer of the late Fadhili Williams left his wife at home to bring his grandchildren to the event. He termed the event as the major highlight of his old life saying it conjured in him memories of his young years when ‘music was still music’.

“I was in the first event which was organized last year at Mwanyambo secondary school…I liked what I saw and made a point to attend all similar events,” he said.

Fadhili Williams

Malaika Festival
Fadhili Williams (left) with Duncan Mwanyumba

Part of the audience however did not have an inkling as to who Fadhili Williams was but nonetheless recognized his music when the band struck ‘Malaika’ and ‘Taxi Driver’ which are some of Fadhili’s most popular songs.

Apart from the Magesho Women Dancers who performed most of Fadhili’s classical hits, rigorous performances from Fahari Girls Dancers left some audience calling for more while some wished they were a few decades younger.

Other spectacular performances came from Njama ya Mzanhgo dancers who performed the traditional ‘Kitila’ dance which lifted the audience off their seats and poured them into the dance floor in massive numbers.

Acrobatics, dancing competitions, mimicry and solo performances from upcoming rap artistes and comedians also highlighted the evening in a sheer and unanticipated burst of talent from the small Voi Town.

The festival which aims to celebrate and revive the Taita culture as well as celebrate the works of the late Fadhili Williams who passed away on 11th February 2001 also attracted merchants of traditional brews, curios and foodstuffs.

Halted businesses

Local entertainment business entrepreneurs were however left counting their losses as the event brought their business to an abrupt standstill as most clients preferred the free and much livelier entertainment in the stadium.

A bartender in a local club who refused to be named hailed the Festival for freeing her from what would otherwise have been a rigorous end-of-month weekend.

“My Boss is also here…business has come to a standstill…there are no clients in the bar. We will however have to bring our wares here if the event continues all nightlong,” she said.

Mr. Mwanyumba, the proprietor of the Mwanyumba law Firm and sole-sponsor of the Malaika Festival said he was happy with the outcome of the event.

Underutilized potential

He however lamented at the dismal economic growth of Voi District and blamed it on high levels of illiteracy and lack of entrepreneurial skills by most of the population.

“It is obvious that we have a lot of untapped potential in the district,” he said. “We however lack an avenue and aggressive marketing strategies to showcase the talent and market it to the outside world.”

He added that in as much as Malaika Festival was about celebrating the life and music works of the late Fadhili Williams and to trace the origin of the ‘Malaika’ song, it was also geared towards promoting budding local talent, environmental conservation and to position the Taita hills as a major tourist destination.