You’d be surprised at just how far sending fan-mail can get you. I know, Ussain Bolt didn’t get back to me on whether we are related or not, and Keri Hilson also kept her lips sealed on whether I inspired that ‘Turning me on’ track of hers. The bad-girl. How can she leave me here guessing? But recently, one individual got back to me. I liked his movie, Avatar, so so much…I know, it had no sex scene but that’s not the point here. So I bothered the guy into telling me about his next movie. He first jam. Naturally. So I bothered him some more. Then, finally, he budged. James and I have since been sending fan mail back and forth.

Presenting his next movie, Rastapunzel. It is very loosely based on that Rapunzel story, you know girl with long hair lets it down and prince charming climbs onto it and they do bad manners and live happily ever after . But with a unique twist (as with all James’s movies). In Rastapunzel, a Rastafarian will star as modern-day Rapunzel; only with dreadlocks (and not “long-flowing blonde hair”), and he’d have a deep voice; also, there’d be no Prince charming, or princess charming for that matter. There’d be a pack of broads and every night, the guy’d have to sit at his window and comb his hair (ya, dandruff and all) and on each night, a different broad would ask (smiling sweetly, shyly, eyes blinking ever so innocently) “Hey Rastapunzel, could I climb into your room, using your hair, so we can play?”. To which he’d reply, “Broad number (inserts number), I’d be delighted to have you for a playmate. Oooh I love playmates. Shall we shag now or shag later?” And then he’d quickly let the previous broad out through the back window (no hair, just gives her a slight nudge and tells her to take a leap of faith) before letting the next one climb in. The suspense of the movie is in trying to figure out if he’d actually fall for one of the broads.

And the movie has environmental-awareness undertones. For example, all the broads do not wear fur coats. In fact, there’s a line where one of the broads, while happily skipping towards Rastapunzel’s home, says, “I do not wear fur coats. Or bras. I’m natural. I love nature.” Then the camera zooms in on her shoulder, and then on her bosom to illustrate the aforementioned facts. The camera lingers on the bosom, just to make sure we, the lusty audience, know just how natural the broad is. And all the while she’s skipping. Skip. Skip. Skip.

Ahh, great movie. Modern-day Casanova if you ask me, or Rastanova. I came up with that one on my own. Of course Rastapunzel’s hair fell-out after broad number 8, leaving him bald and scarred, and in the movie, police arrest the star for gross-acts to women. It is set to be released in a women-charged atmosphere, showing female cops assaulting and battering the Rastapunzel character for his deeds amidst wild cheers from fellow estrogen-laden individuals. Surprisingly some of the estrogen-laden individuals were guys. Two of them actually. Complete with…(sigh) let’s not go there, your imagination can only take so much.

So, I told James I’d blog about his next piece, just so we (him and I) can get a feel of what the audience has to say. A blockbuster, superblockbuster, super x 1000 blockbuster or what? Your thoughts.

This good stuff is brought to you by:

To good times…

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The Mercedes slowed to a stop. The paparazzi, like starved flies descending on poop, attacked the car from all directions. Some carrying spears. Actually one carrying a spear. The beefy bodyguards sprang into action, swatting the flies outta the way. And pushing some paparazzi outta the way too. When some semblance of sanity had been restored outside the car, HE stepped out. As is instructed in the car manual, HE first put one foot out, waited for a reaction from the assembled crowd; then HE put out the other foot. Satisfied with the slight aaaaahhh from the gathered crowd, HE stepped out fully. Blue-striped shirt, black slacks and a raised eyebrow. Flash. Click. Flash. Time for his company to step out…the siren took HER time to get to the door (Mercedes can be really long) and when SHE finally did, SHE almost tripped…almost. HE stepped in and steadied HER step. Flash. Click. Flash.

Mateos was already an anthill of activity. Erique, B2b, Streetsyder, The Edge, Oli?, Normzo, Jny23 n Naome, Carsozy, Lulu, Safyre constituted the welcoming committee. They were, as welcoming committees usually are, seated, slowly getting drunk (except Normzo, nooo Sir! He likes these things faster faster), and making light (and in a secluded corner) heavy conversation.

Usually the most discreet creature (having studied the ways of the Amazon Ooga Agaa people), HE glided into their company unnoticed and soon started making animated contributions to the ‘Is Stewie a god’ conversation? SHE sashayed in 2 seconds behind HIM. Pause.

“I like Stewie. He always has the most profound punch lines,” Normzo

“But unlike you Normzo, for me I just like stew in any form. Oba Chicken stew. Oba beef stew. Atte there’s this place I went to which had chickenut stew, a mixture of chicken and g-nuts”. Streetsider

“Bati you Streetsider, that Chickenut stew turned out to be really nice. Though for me I prefer gonja with vegetable stew. Diet issues,” Erique.

Blank stares. Gulp. The music stops. DJ fumbles to play number 3, lest people start to hear each others’ thoughts. HE saw a great opportunity to change topic.

“What would it be like to have Stewie for president? For example, there’s this matter of Sleek for blogger president…”

“Do you know that that Sleek guy was once a president those days. Hehe, you play play with that guy. Those those days he wasn’t like you see him now” Bystander paid to say that exact statement. With better grammar but it’d have to do. The deal was he walks off after. But he lingered, prolly trying to squeeze for more dollars.

HIM, grabbing the ball and running with it, “Yes, that guy would actually handle. Do you know what the first point on his manifesto says? It says that if voted into power, he’d allow bloggers to write posts…(pregnant pause)…WITH THEIR MINDS! Yes, the thing bees typed out as you think it. Of course this facility would come with a porn-filter to help guys so that certain bits of their thoughts don’t make it onto paper. Otherwise posts would be…anyway, the porn-filter would also be given to Gikobwa, for free. And also Petesmama. “

SHE “Oso me can I get that filter?”

HE: I don’t see why not. Your thoughts seem to need it. (Feeling HE’D talked too much, makes a move to change topic, again)

HE: “jny23 and Naome, don’t you think this beer’s too salty…does it remind you of anything?”

And they all fell for it, and talked at length about the composition of beer (all the while sipping it of course), and the joys of its consumption. And also the joys of the good life God has given each of us. And the need to make good use of the gift.

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The writer insists that this is how the things played out. If you disagree…well you disagree. Noticeably absent: Santosh, King, BAZ

But the thing, it was nice. Turn-up was nice, convo was good (esp that part about a certain presidency). Till next time. Great week.

PS: Photo respectfully nicked from here

Come here baby. Come here…don’t be like that. I know it’s been a month…I know. But I brought you a keg of beer…ahhhh, now you’re smiling. Here’s your keg.  Hey hold up…hold up, don’t beat me up…hey that’s not fair. (Darting for cover…). Stops to reason with TORMENTOR…hey, hear me out…(sees, rather late, heavy pillow headed for his head. It hits him square in the face. He sees TORMENTOR reach for a flower vase. He pauses to take in the amusing picture as TORMENTOR struggles to actually lift the thing. Heave. Heave. Breathe. Breathe. Angry breathing. Wipe brow. Heave. Strain muscles. He considers offering to help. Sees vase start to move. First slowly. Gathering speed. Ha! Dives. Crushing sound. )

(From the safety of the closet) Look here, listen for a second….blogger, listen. Things have been tight. That philandering bitch, WORK, came onto me. She’s really demanding. She left me spent. If it’s any consolation, she wasn’t even as good as my workmates say she was…I swear.

(Gets phone call. Phone’s on silent. Vibrator tags at his thigh. He picks up.)

(Whispers) Yes? Listen WORK I can’t talk right now, but you’re the best. Yeah, aha. Yeah, yes, okay…let me get this straight, you want me to buy us some leather straps, and to come over wearing nothing, but with a yellow rose between my teeth? Aha…yes…yes….you’ll have nothing but the music on? Aha…okay…ya, yah, you already said that. What? I should come wearing an eye patch? Ok, I’ll see you…you what? Eh oso me…

Blogger baby, that was WORK. I just gave her the tongue-lashing of her life. Told her that she may have my body during the day but you have my life. My passion. My love. My drive. She forces me to do all kinds of things. She…she even…(chokes back tears)…she drove us apart. That…that tart! That…that…WHORE!! (Bursts out of closet, gets blow to the head)

(X minutes/hours later)

(Our star recovers to find blogger passed out from the gift keg of beer)

(Talking to passed-out blogger)

I’m sorry. It will never come to this between us again. It’s been a month to you but it feels like an eternity for me. (Rubs his temples, trying to nurse the throbbing headache)…

(Moves towards passed-out blogger) I’m going to put in that extra time just for you. You and I, we are…we are… (Hugs passed-out blogger) … (The wheels are turning but the car’s not moving) …we are… (Borrowing from his buddy Akon)… we are stuck with each other.

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Glad to be back. Now, fast forward…BHH tomorrow. It’s always been close to my heart this BHH thing. Word got round that blogger elections are coming up. I’m going for the top spot; I want blogger president. My manifesto will follow but first, lemme say the Streetsider and Bazanye have written their names in my ‘Sleek for President’ book. BHH tomorrow, have to get YOU to sign too.

BHH, BHH, BHH…..BHH, tomorrow, Mateos. Licensed to thrill.

Heavy heart, be still…Heavy heart, be still…okay, for a second there I was going Princess on you.

It was a very fast day. HE was at work. After turning down repeated advances from the heavy-laden receptionist, heavy-laden because of very ample mounds positioned firmly on upper torso, positioned in a way that, as many of their kind, they were more imposing than the unfortunate carrier, unfortunate because she didn’t know just how much power she carried around…After turning those advances down, HE sat at his desk and started to go through shit-loads of work, only coming up from the clutter to sip katunda. Katunda, juice, is the stuff that fuels the country’s economy by way of :

1. Beating the hangover

2. Allowing itself to be served to the MP by the mistress the morning after his ‘long trip to meet his constituents’

So, when HE was finally done with work, he looked up to see that it was fast approaching 2100hrs. So he rang DK to find out how fast HE needed get to BHH.

DK: BHH? ah, you’ve missed. We are re-locating. Kels was here and he did ‘Happy people’, he dedicated it to all  the illiterati, i think he was going for Illuminati but for literary people, thus illiterati..he even..

(girly screams in the background, younger girly screams too)

DK: (continues) Oh, that’s him these femmes are gushing about. One of them just (static) and she’s (lots of static) She even offered to blow (more phone static)

ME: (shouting) Dude, I can barely hear you…

DK: (oblivious to the bad connection) And you won’t believe what he just did…he..he just..

(more very young girls screaming…)

DK: (still going on) he is now reaching over and….

(goat bleating)

Word from The Streetsider has it that BHH was ok. And that they re-located, en-mass, to a dingy place where they all sunk into a shit-load of debauchery. And some intelligent banter. Like:

Baz: That one, you see her (using his one good eye to point her out)

27th: By all means my good man, yes, my eyes have caught a whiff of her exuberance (sic)

Baz: (still chewing on the word ‘exuberance‘, wondering whether it’s in the right sentence) Those ones, (using his hands to draw ‘the big picture’), are they real?

This long lost stuff is brought to you by:

We saw pain the blogcks was putting this guy through. So we stepped in and saved him from that whore. She’s sleeping with every one in blogville. Whore. And so the year finally kicks off, here, on the wild side. Good reading. Also, drink our stuff. It unlocks packets of energy you never thought you had. Yes, you Carsozy.

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Lil Sleek always had his eyes on some juicy stuff in the neighbor’s compound. No, it wasn’t a girl. Let me point out that Lil Sleek actually had his eye on many girls. So many girls, he needed more eyes. But this isn’t about them. That juicy stuff in the neighbor’s compound was a guava tree. Lil Sleek had never seen any fruit that had made an impression on anyone like those guavas…that guava tree stood firm, and could be seen for a radius of 1 km. That or Lil Sleek’s sense of measurement was warped. But that had no bearing on Lil Sleek’s resolve to relieve that bewitching tree of some of its goodies…I can see girls reading this getting excited at that word; Goodies.

So, in preparation for operation ‘Juicy Fruit’, Lil’ Sleek insisted that mummy prepared chicken for lunch. And he ate it. Oh, so nice. Nyam, nyam.  Not that the chicken would in any way have an effect on his juicy quest, but the young man wanted to just get some. In those days, ‘getting some’ referred to eating home-made chicken. This quest for juice was too big for the young man to pull off on his own, so he wrote a note to Sly, his cunning buddy, and went to his window to call carrier pigeon to do the delivery. But carrier pigeon was out having quality time with his harem of birds. Pigeon pimp. No wonder the feathered one was always tired. You’d send him to deliver a note to Salama, telling her to come over since mummy and daddy were away, and the foul would only stop at Pallen’s, panting, spent. Late night’s partying, bird manners and beaking were getting to him; he’d have to be relieved of his duties.

Seeing no other option, Lil’ Sleek decided to consult Penelope, his cousin. This Penelope, she lived with those of Lil’ Sleek. And all day everyday, she stayed holed-up in her room, getting high on the only thing that gave her teenage life meaning; Mills and Boon. The few times she’d wander out of the room, like the one time her curtains caught fire, a glassy, far-away look in her eyes never left her, and she’d keep twiddling the flowers in her hair, long gone dry from lack of exposure to proper sunlight and lack of soil and all those things Lil’ Sleek had been taught in Science. As though preparing him for a lifetime of  farming. Not knowing that the lil one had his hopes set on being a poet. One who only performed at national celebrations; independence and the like.

The hero of our story approached Penelope’s room stealthily, for he knew that he’d require a whole lot of tact, and luck, to tear that teenage girl away from her Mills and Boon. Like all girls her age, she read those Mills things faster than they were produced. And she couldn’t re-read any of that stuff; even she couldn’t stoop that low. So she’d resorted to writing her own. Anything for a high. And then at school, between giggles, the girls would pat down their pink skirts (starting to bulge from nature taking its course in the chest area) and then after solemnly swearing en-mass, not to steal each others books, they’d exchange the litter, ahem, literature. And the giggling would start immediately as pages were turned. And they’d go on to fail in class. Those books killed a generation. They still walk among us, eyes heaven-cast, waiting for Hector, Ramon, Carlos to fall from the sky. To come on a horse. Yz, not ‘come’ in that way. Sick child.

Grown-up Sleek has run into some of these deluded girls. Screaming to get them to stop staring at the sky, he usually tells them, in a deep, roughshod sorta way, “Lady, (appropriate cowboy soundtrack playing in the background), Hector, Ramon and Carlos won’t fall from the sky, but Daddy Sleek has got you.”(Said while partially tearing shirt-off to reveal just enough chest hair to cause movement in female-chest area)

“Lady, I may not have….”

They usually walk past him at this point, eyes still heaven-cast.

Big digression there. As big as they come. Again Yz, not ‘come’ in that way. Back to the story.  So, Lil’ Sleek obviously had a grand task on his hands. Getting Penelope’s attention. All stops had to be pulled. Guavas needed to be got. These guavas would be his first conquest. But first, to get Penelope’s attention outta the Boon.So he reached for a frying pan…

The year has started on an all-time low for Sleek and Wild. I think while the two were gorging all those niceties during the festive season, blogcks creeped in behind them…one second they were dancing in the rain, singing hallellujah in Russian, schmoozing with Anastasya and Valeriya (not in any way related to the Czar), and generally trying to take as many body shots of Vodka as possible… the next they were splayed out on the floor, uttering sentences only coherent to monks…and to certain animals. That’s not to say that monks speak animal…that’s not to say they do not.

The massacres took a hit…(heavy sigh) so sponsors are holding onto their purses…but even the lowest moments do have some good stuff. Guys, listen closely coz I’m going to whisper this, don’t want the ladies eavesdropping…Back off a bit, that’s too close GUG…now, I came into the possession of some high-end details on the best wingman on the market right now. This stuff will have you telling the ladies,

“Hey, stay in the queue and your turn’ll come. Stand in line woman, stand in line”

“Hey you! Hot mini skirt, low-cut top, luscious lips, oogy eyes, get back in the queue. I said get back in the queue! Lady, don’t make me….” (you trail off as she finally eases off and steps back into line)

(Sigh)…(you wipe your brow, steadying your humping heart beat.)

OFFTOPIC: Is that correct? Can one say ‘humping heart beat’? Doesn’t it bring to mind bad manners? Maybe, in the interest of all the youth that are here, we outta take that down. Let’s rephrase..

(you wipe your brow, steadying your excited heart beat)

Now, Alba, where were we? Yes, how did you beat the queue to get to me so fast? Nice little black dress by the way…what’s that? Ah yes, I love my goatee too…

I had to give you a picture of how good this wingman is. I know Mo hasn’t got it yet but that’s that…this wingman helps you skip most of  the preliminaries: No ‘meet the girlfriends’, no ‘holding hands at Rugby club’, no ‘reading poetry to each other’, no ‘watching Hentai together’…. However, you’ll still have to clean up your wardrobe and put in those pink shirts she bought you; wingman can only do so much.

Now, jumping straight in…this wingman is actually a…..(drumroll…)

Movie.

Shock. Awe. Finger-raising. You think I’ve ripped you off. Now, ignoring your angst, I’ll go ahead and say that Twilight, going by research done by www.twilight-as-a-wingman.com, that movie will get you more hits than the Beatles.  Women worldwide are gaga and giggle about this movie…so dude, use it as a bargaining chip.

You: “Honey, I’d like you to (insert appropriate perversion)”

Honey: “WTF!”(reaching for high heel, aiming for your already crooked nose from all the beat-downs)

You: “Boo, if you do not do (repeat appropriate perversion), I won’t let you watch Twilight for the 26^th time”

Please document your findings.

PS: My verdict on the movie? C.H.E.E.S.Y. And I can’t see how anyone can be attracted to someone that pale. I’d check for a pulse first. There will be more vitriol on this topic…(deathly soundtrack as writer picks up his pen and limps out of the dark room)

PPS: It is assumed, by Writer, that you know what a wingman is. If by some stroke of nature-doing-bad-manners-to-itself, you do not know, then google is your friend.

PS: (Hush, I know I already did a PS)Writer has depicted a violent, dysfunctional couple in this article. Writer does not encourage such stuff. Violence, it is bad.

The current Santa is a very fake guy, with a low IQ, and no training in any formal field, as Doperah’s interview showed us last week. And much as his usefulness has passed, (seeing as ‘The Big Day’ is out of the way and we are back to poverty and fornication), I feel that this is an opportunity for me to leave my mark on the world. I need to make a contribution. Mother Theresa style, or thereabouts. I think I’ll settle for ‘or thereabouts’. Somehow going to the ghetto to save the aching hearts there doesn’t seem so appealing right now. So, presenting the new Santas. The types that’ll bring the long-lost pomp back to X-mas. Starting next year that is. We are all tired(and rather scared) of that guy who wears red all year, and whose dimwit vocabulary is restricted to ‘Ho ho ho’… so, angst out of the way, presenting the new Santas:

SANTOS

Well Santos is short for Santiago. He is a Santa strictly for ladies. To the ladies who’ve been good all year (those who haven’t fantasized about boning their boss, or sweating it out with cute married workmate), Santos slips through their chimneys and drops highly energized gadgets that these ladies can make use of when they are alone. He leaves a phone number just in case the ladies need ‘how to’ instructions or just in case they want Santos himself. He has a steady job as a chef in a high profile restaurant so the ladies have to call after working hours. First serve basis depends entirely on the passport photo submitted.

SANTY

This vixen is a package strictly for the guys. And yes, she comes in red. No dude, she won’t slide down your chimney…it’ll ruin her nails. Because of her big heart (and her secret desire to win a Nobel Prize) she takes time off from the catwalk this time of year to do this Santa thing. To the guys who’ve been good all year (those who haven’t cheated more than once), Santy purrs at their door. When they open, she walks in and offers them a trick or a treat. When they finally usher her out 5-45 minutes later, the guys are always smiling, boner gone.

SANNY AND SANDY

This respectable married couple santas the kids. Originally from the Dominican Republic, this couple travels the world during Christmas spreading cheer, goodwill and of course presents to the children who’ve been good all year. (those who haven’t given their parents a heart attack, or drowned the cat, or drunk rat poison, or stuck  a bean in their nose, or cooked roaches, or pulled limb by limb off of  insects, or jumped off trees trying to fly with a towel  for a cape). All kids who pass these stringent conditions get themselves a Dominican Republic flag, and a toy of their choice. No knives. No ‘gaggles that can see under people’s clothes’. No ‘portions that can make a girl/boy like me’.

SPOOF SANTA

This guy is a phoney. I felt the need to include him here so you stand warned. And look out for him. And clobber him on sight. And use that pepper spray. He goes around offices saying ‘Whore whore whore’ to girls. And making come hither signals. And asking them to sit on his lap. And promising, with a sly wink,  to ’slide down their chimney’. And saying that he’ll spank the bad girls. And saying that he has a big reindeer. And saying that the white hair is from all the angles he has had to work at. Bad santa. Bad santa.

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And to all who’ve visited sleekandwild this year, a year that saw Sleek quit procrastinating and actually start beating this here keyboard, spewing out this stuff, thank y’all…This week’s ish wasn’t sponsored coz I came clean and told the sponsor that the epilogue of the post would be raw emotional mumbo jumbo…so Sponsor recoiled, saying macho Sleek shouldn’t do any such stuff…

And yes, thanks to my sponsors…I’d still be here without you, but Thanks oh so much

I’ve loved doing these here massacres, thanks Erique for passing them on. Ima find a way to put digital strippers in this here stuff next year…(hi5 Normzo!)

2010,let’s rock this thing…!!!!

This goodness is brought to you by:

It’s a season for red, and we aren’t exactly happy about that…so we are sponsoring this guy to put our yellow stuff out there…

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The conventional Santa has done his time. He is old, rugged, has weak lines (Ho ho ho?) and probably has a very low IQ. Honestly, what kind of guy lives in bloody cold weather all year, spends the entire year watching kids to see whether ‘they’ve been good’ and wears red all year round? The dude is always either with elves (which are as intelligent as goats) and reindeers. The dimwit. He even has names for his reindeers. Let’s put this into perspective…

Doperah (the wildly popular show that replaced Oprah. The show host is a struggling dope addict): Santa, it says here that you spend all year at the North Pole in the company of elves and reindeers

Santa: That’s right dope

Doperah: No Santa, you cannot abbreviate my name

Santa: Okay dope, I mean Doperah…Ho ho ho…I just made a joke

Doperah: Do you have any formal training in anything?

Santa: Aahhhh, not really…

Doperah: What do you do for fun?

Santa: I play with my animals…

Doperah: Do you touch your animals?

Santa: Of course I do…How else would I play with them? (scratching chin)

Doperah: So you touch your animals…the elves, the reindeers…you touch all of them. And do you enjoy touching them?

Santa: Ho ho ho…(belly boogies in sync with the laughter)..yes I do Doperah, I do

Doperah: So when you aren’t touching your animals, and enjoying it, what else do you do to get by?

Santa: Well Doperah, my job involves watching children to make sure that they are being good all year round. That way I can slide down their chimney on Christmas and leave them a present

Doperah: So all you do all year round is watch kids and touch animals?…no offence if I got the order wrong. It could be touch animals and then watch kids. There are claims that you are as racist as the XXX. Or is it KKK? Anyway, word has it that you only take presents to America, and the rest of the world you leave it to Madonna to adopt the kids

Santa: (starting to show signs of anger) How can anyone say such insulting things about me? That’s sodomy. I mean sedition. The truth is my reindeers do not really fly so…(gasps from the audience)

Santa: I mean…I mean…

(sensing that the old man is almost losing control of his bowels, calls for a short commercial break)

Doperah: Welcome back. We hope you enjoyed that sensual ad by Gildo, that new vibrating tool for that hot, know-it-all emancipated woman in your workplace. Now Santa, you were saying something before we broke off…

Santa: Yes Doperah…I was saying that my reindeers were brought up on a wussy regimen that didn’t harden their skin. They generally avoid all areas with people with strange accents, no cologne, no McDonalds, no democracy and slow internet connections. This naturally leaves the U S of A as the only area of operation. I however have plans to expand my operation with time; this year alone I’ve tried my hand at genetics to make these reindeers less wussy; I tried to get some Alsatians to you know, get jiggy with them but they didn’t quite hit it off. If these cross-mating things fail, I may have to start using commercial airlines rather than reindeers…I am in talks with the atlantic virgins to give me a good deal

Doperah: I think you mean virgin Atlantic

(blank stare)

Doperah: Okay Santa, it was great having you today…

It seems the fun,FFFBHH, has to be put off till later…now as the heavy sighs die down, African wisdom, passed on from generation to generation, comes into play:

“It requires a lot of carefulness to kill the fly that perches on
the scrotum” – Ghana