Posted in Stories with tags , , , , , on September 4, 2012 by Yemi


Beautiful people and yes you are beautiful, no matter what they say. So, I stumbled across an unfinished story that needed to be completed a few weeks ago while I was doing my regular jacking and here it is. The fun part is that you can also get involved and I beseech y’all to do so, just check out the link and get acquainted with the guidelines. The prizes might not be awesome but the competition is fun.

The part in bold lettering was written by the guys at thenakedconvos while the normal lettering’s are written by me. ENJOY


Aigbe smiled callously as he watched Esosa tumble backwards onto the floor. He thought to himself that she quite looked like a fish out of water – flailing about, reaching for support that would not be forthcoming. His smile very quickly evolved into a cruel laugh as he watched the back of her head crash onto the cold, tiled floor with a sickening, wet sound. Leaping astride her semi-conscious body, he rained three solid blows onto her torso, working his way from her lower ribcage to her sternum. She yelped, shook and choked with each blow, unable to fight back.

“You are the one that will die, not me, Stupid Harlot!”

He spat into her face as the last blow landed and she choked violently, jerking with the impact of the blow and recoiling from the glob of projectile spittle that had hit her face.

“You!  Are! A! Mad! Dirty! Prostitute!”

Each word was punctuated by a slap that sent waves of pain coursing through Esosa’s head. She could barely speak or shout or scream in protest, much less move. She felt herself start to slip into a numb blackness but she tried to hold on.  Aigbe wrapped his hands around her neck and muttered.

“Witch! Harlot! Your plan has failed!”

Esosa closed her eyes and let the numbing darkness take her as her husband choked the remaining life from her, his wedding ring pressing against her carotid artery.

2 hours earlier

Esosa smiled to herself as she poured the brown powder into the bottle of Merlot. She re-corked it and shook it violently until the powder began to dissolve. She knew Aigbe was already on his way home.

She reminisced about the time before her marriage; had she been in love with a man or had she been in lust with the man’s good looks and money. Aigbe was rich, his career was promising and there was no doubt there, no wonder her mother pushed her into the marriage. Despite beauty being her moniker, Esosa was very serious with her academics back in Unilag and she had no time for men or other trivial things. Her only goal was to please her mother and she did that by being the housewife to the first rich man who knocked on her door despite her summa cum laude in political science.

‘Should love be expressed in kind before it is felt by the beloved? Love is above a feeling, it is a manifestation’

Esosa opened the lid of the dustbin and threw the paper away; the sun rays that were able to penetrate the kitchen window glorified the paper as it made its descent into rubbish. Her mother had said it was medicine for love, as potent as a thousand of Cupid’s arrow. All she needed to do was share the same contents of the bottle with her husband and they would both be united in an unquenchable thirst of their love, it was best for her, best for her mother’s exorbitant spending. Only if she knew how much Aigbe loved her but then again it was just a feeling he hardly manifested.


‘All things done in clandestine should remain in the dark but when amateurs strive for perfection in secrecy, the sun blurts out the truth.’

Meanwhile, Chidera the voluptuous house help watched on from the outside window of the kitchen as Esosa gingerly poured out the brown powder into the wine. She wasn’t surprised; she had anticipated this day like the Jews anticipate the coming of their Messiah but Chidera never thought she would bear witness to it. Nothing would have aroused her suspicion if not for Esosa’s unprofessional ways in concealing the truth. For a deceiver, she knew nothing about deception.

Esosa returned that day from her mother’s after running away, afraid to face her husband for her sins. Despite her inability to cook delicious meals, she decided to make her husband’s favorite dish. She sent Chidera on a futile errand that even a 5-year-old would consider suspicious and she locked the doors, denying passage into the kitchen.

For some reason: maybe the devil perhaps, Chidera decided to spy on Esosa and she saw the perpetuating evil unfold before her through the kitchen window that managed to conceal Chidera’s form. She made a mental note to pick the paper from the dustbin and to inform Aigbe before he came in. Maybe it would finally be her turn to be a rich man’s wife. That was her goal and no wonder she walks around the house scantily clad whenever Esosa is not at home, possibly an attempt to seduce Aigbe.

2 days earlier

Esosa overheard Chidera talking to Aigbe on the phone. He was returning back to the country and he needed the driver to pick him at the airport by 2p.m. She confirmed what she overheard from Chidera’s conversation and her heart literally changed position to her esophagus as she was too afraid to face her husband after her last atrocious act. “He must still be madly angry at me, after all, why wouldn’t he inform me of his arrival,” she thought. She made haste to pack her things and move to her mother’s house before Aigbe’s arrival. She couldn’t stand up to him, so she left a long note of apology promising to be a better wife if he forgives her.

Esosa returned to her mother; there she got the necessary moral support to be strong and brave but as far as being a good wife goes, she knew nothing. Esosa never knew the truth behind her father’s death but Aigbe knew it all after a drunken lecherous night with her mother before the wedding. He thought it best not to ruin Esosa’s relationship with her mother by telling her.

2 weeks earlier

Aigbe set out for the airport straight from his office. He was to be in South Africa as soon as possible but as fate would have it, he forgot his passport. He hurried back home to get his passport but to his utmost surprise he saw his wife in bed with Yemi: his boss’s wife. The sight killed him and he literally collapsed but remained sentient.  He sat up and tucked his legs under him, still befuddled and overwhelmed by what he understood to be grotesque. Yemi was swift to flee while Esosa tried to apologize. Aigbe rewarded her apology with 2 vicious slaps; got up, got his passport, and walked out of the house without demanding an explanation. That was the first time he struck his wife.

2 months earlier

Aigbe and Esosa were both on a weekend holiday in Singapore but he brought work along. On a Sunday afternoon when all was calm and Esosa was asleep, Aigbe perused through Esosa’s phone out of boredom and he came across some lasciviously worded messages from Yemi. He initially decided to keep it to himself but then his curiosity got in the way. He asked her if she was cheating but she denied it blatantly until he brought up the messages and asked who Yemi was. Seeing as she was at a dead-end, she used the guise that Yemi was his boss’s wife and the messages were just a joke since he was hardly around to talk.

He flared up in a bout of anger asking if she wanted to end his career, he soon calmed down and hoped his boss would be lenient if he got to know. He couldn’t entertain the idea that his wife was a homosexual so he finally took the messages as the comical play Esosa said they were and promised to be a better husband.  Later on, Aigbe engaged in an orgasmic night for himself; Esosa just pretended to moan along.

2 years earlier

Esosa had just gotten married to Aigbe after a year of dating. They were on a 2 weeks honey moon trip sponsored by Aigbe’s boss who also tagged along with his wife. That was the first time Esosa laid eyes on Yemi, she was astonishingly beautiful and she looked misplaced in the hands of the pot-bellied tiny framed boss that looked like roasted frog on a stick. It wouldn’t take a trained eye to know she was more or less the trophy wife, if not even the contract wife.

The both of them had instantly bonded and Esosa spent a greater part of her honey moon with Yemi. It wasn’t long before Yemi laid her lips on Esosa’s and then introduced her tongue to other parts of Esosa’s body. She was initially hesitant but then how can you hate magic, she had never felt such pleasures and so she gave into infidelity with a woman. Fortunately for Yemi, she was in an open marriage and she was free to do as she pleased as far as nothing was in the media but Esosa never knew this; she continually allowed herself to be filled with sinful lust. Her end 2 years from now.


Posted in Stories with tags , , , , , , , on August 28, 2012 by Yemi



Do imaginary friends really exist?

“Mummy, mummy!”

Dupe whined in a voice tainted with excitement. She tugged vehemently on her mother’s blouse as her mother sliced onions in the kitchen. Dupe was a child that sought attention rarely but when she sought it she ensured she got it.

“Mummy, what is pornography?”

Sade put the knife through the onions with so much vigor that the blade ricocheted off the kitchen sink and unto where are hands lay; missing her flesh by a few millimeters.

“Why are you asking?” she blurted out

“Jide told me to ask you, he would have told me but he said it’s a mother’s job to explain such things.”

“Jide is just in your imagination, young children like you have imaginary friends.” Sade would always say to her daughter with a worried mien and voice masked under a more condescending mien and voice. There was no single evidence to support Jide’s existence.

A week ago Dupe asked her mother what sex meant, she claimed it was Jide that told her to ask but Sade thought it to be a ruse. Sade remembered the first time she asked her mother the same question and her mother had scolded her accusing her of being immoral, she was 12 years old then and she only needed to know the meaning of sex to fill a medical questionnaire. “Times have changed,” she chuckled a bit before she added “sex means a person’s gender.” Three days later Dupe told her mother a much more surreal explanation of sex that Sade didn’t get to know until she was in the university. Her head literally spun. “Where are you getting all these things from?” She shouted at the top of her voice. She had suddenly become infuriated with a deep anger, a ton load of anger she had hidden under a thin sheet of happiness.

“Answer me! I said answer me!” Dupe began to cry as her mother’s grip on her arms tightened.

“Jide told me.” She shook her some more, “don’t lie to me and tell me the truth, I am not joking with you.”

The tears began to flow on both their faces, “I am not lying ma, I swear it was Jide that told me.” Her grip loosened and at the very first opportunity, Dupe ran off to her room to go find solace in Jide, she knew he would be there, he mostly came visiting around that hour.

Sade remained confused and stayed in a place beyond reality for a moment, trying to take in all the details of what happened in recent times, her mind was literally a diorama of strings that didn’t connect. She initially used to take the news of her daughters imaginary friend with cheer, the idea was somewhat absurd and funny, her daughter was part of the few things that made her happy. All the American and European story books and cartoons Dupe had made her plight easier; it was quite understandable for her to boast of an imaginary friend, it was her way of getting through. Dupe hardly made friends as a matter of fact she didn’t have any. She stayed indoors most of the time and when Sade checked the browser history of the computer, there was nothing to confirm her suspicion. Asides switching on a computer her daughter didn’t know much more than what they taught her in her computer class which was pretty much or less how to type. She resolved to go see Dupe’s school headmaster and confront him with the happenings; maybe Dupe had made some bad friends. She could not come to the terms that her 10 year old daughter might need psychic evaluation as a friend suggested. A friend that became a fiend for her sincere opinion.

She had no decent answer for what porn meant and she didn’t need her daughter knowing what it meant talk less of watching it so she said, “I don’t know what it means and what your mother doesn’t know, you don’t need to know. Remember that and tell Jide what I said.” She gave a wry smile as she said Jide. Two days later Dupe approached her mother with all glee and sat beside her as she was going through some documents. “Mummy, Jide says it’s a bad thing to be ignorant, it can kill so he showed me a video yesterday.” Sade paid rapt attention, “there was a naked man and woman and he put his penis inside her mouth and vagina, she called it a lolly…..” Sade stopped her midway; she receded into her shell and said in a voice of a woman on a lost course, “Go and pack your things. You will stay with your grandmother tomorrow.”

That night Jide made his last appearance. He laid behind Dupe on her bed, felt her still burgeoning breasts viciously, and whispered “I am going to take you to dreamland” before he let his phallus burst her hymen.

Writer’s note: A great deal of the story has been left to your imagination. Is Jide real or not? Share your views in the comment box



Posted in Humor with tags , , , , , on August 17, 2012 by Yemi

It’s been a while since the failure of my post a day challenge to even see the 10th day. Blame my internet service provider: Espresso.

I have a special for you today: a 2 in 2 humor post courtesy yours truly and Bunmi Morgan (@Mhorghan) of tainsville. @Mhorghan is first with the mic. Enjoy.


In my 4th year currently on mandatory internship and yeah, I’m loving it…though all the friggin bones in my body are crying out for help. This body needs a sleeping beauty kinda nap…really exhausted.

Internship for me translates to no free rides. I can’t hitch a bus with anyone because I really have to leave for work early. Leaving me with just one option: the Yellow Buses! *screech*

Really?! Jega really? Even after 80 billion naira. O ni fe lo Jega fun wedding planner… Joor oh!


The yellow buses popularly called danfo buses according to a survey are responsible for the continued shortening of the lifespan of folks residing in Lagos. If you want to live long, you’ve got a better chance with riding bicycles or just walking! These danfo buses aren’t really buses, they are like sardine tins on four wheels with seats in them and someone in front pretending to know how to drive but that’s not why we’re here. I just feel the need to warn you about the passengers you have to avoid. You must avoid these folks! I call them the do-not-sit-beside-me-passengers

Passenger 1: the Elderly

Picture this: it’s the end of the day, you stroll to the bus stop with thoughts of a good dinner and much-needed sleep. You board the bus and sit beside this calm old man holding a walking stick, you let out a sigh of relief, finally home sweet home *screech* wrong!

You see the odd thing about old people in buses is that they always have something up their sleeves. He would know that the bus fare is N100 but decide to pay N50. When (not if) the conductor gets angry and starts threatening…baba too raises his voice in a bid to defend himself, he starts gesticulating too. At that point, brothers and sisters, you don’t want to be the passenger next to him, believe me. Baba can elbow you straight in the eye because he’s trying to dodge paying the full fare, he might even turn to you and tell you to help appeal to the venting conductor and God help you if you try to ignore him, he turns the spot light on you and gives you a long lecture on how youths nowadays should have more respect. It gets more awkward, in a bid to get the still venting conductor to look at him, he picks up his walking stick and *whack* accidentally hits you on your jaw and then starts apologizing *sighs* all you wanted was to get home in one piece to a good dinner and long nap! Finally, when baba sees that all else has failed he plays the age card on the conductor “omo mi jo ba mi gba be, iwo na wa darugbo” *kapish* the more sentimental passengers join in and baba gets his way. Through all this drama, you want to be the guy in the front seat holding your laughter or snickering, not his frigging neighbor!

PASSENGER 2: Christian Sisters

These passengers are not hard to spot. They are clutching a bible or a devotional and supposedly studying. I’m not sure why they feel the need to observe their quiet time in a moving rickety bus. You grab a seat next to them, still groggy from substituting part of your sleeping hours to reply Deola’s pings. What could possibly go wrong!?*screech*

Sister innocent has just finished reading her devotional and starts speaking in tongues. Well, let her speak in tongues, no problem. Wrong! She hits another gear in the spirit and consequently stomps her heels on your shoe (emi ti gbe lo). Naturally, you let out a grunt and look to her for a deserved apology but no, at that instant she rounds up her session and decides you need Jesus. Without hesitating, she brings you the gospel of Christ. Where you wan pass now? How you wan take avoid preaching? You’re right there beside her. You wan jump commot through window? Tell her you’re born again?…aha wrong move! Tell her you’re a muslim?…ahaha worse move! Ignore? that’s not even an option.*sighs* all you wanted was  peace and an apology, you don’t even want the apology again, peace is all you ask for *sighs again*

PASSENGER 3: Ibo Passenger

Relax. I’m not a tribalist I even think I might marry an ibo girl, all my high school crushes were ibos J…however, when you board that Yellow Bus in the morning or after closing hours, carefully scan the arena for any ibo fellow and avoid them. Why?*screech*

So your journey is going on smoothly…everyone’s minding their own business, looking forward to their next activity and then your distinguished ibo fella receives a phone call! The end folks! Why? Because he feels the need to shout in order to make his point clear to the person at the other end and also, to inform you of how much he has in his bank account and how many crates of the allegedly legal merchandise he has at the seaport.

Unfortunately, your eardrums are also getting a huge beating. like that’s not enough, he gets angry with the caller switches from English to pidgin then to full-scale ibo! Folks, you don’t want to be sitting next to him. By the time you alight from that bus your eardrums will be buzzing! If you like plug headset, fail! It’s like he sees it as a challenge and increases his pitch. When he’s done with his call, he turns to you and says “biko my brother, was I disturbing you? That chukwudi is just a useless boy..was I shouting?”  you should totally reply with this: “Hian! no, you were not shouting nah, didn’t you hear how you were whispering quietly on the phone about the 1 million naira in that black water proof.”

Nonsense! Instead you just give him a not-interested nod and pray he receives no more calls.

There you go folks, the life of a jumping-bus Intern. The struggle *boards bus, sees old ibo man with bible* *screeeeecccccchh*


@Yemijohnson with the mic.

As far as Bunmi’s knowledge of jumping buses goes (It’s a very far knowledge sha!) he forgot to include this passenger or should I say these passengers:

the-broke-not-so-elderly-yoruba-woman-with-3-hungry looking-children.

I will leave you to discover that passenger by yourselves. Not a pretty thing, I tell you.

And finally, my ONE CHANCE BUS experience. If anybody asks, I simply say, “I gave out to charity.”

So once again, I had just burst out of computer village (I think I should stop going there. I’m not compatible with that kind of hustle.)  I have 3 things of dear importance in my worn out ugly bag (wearing the bag was intentional, I guess.) It was my sole aim to look like a pauper so that I wouldn’t be accosted by any hooligan. It kind of worked because a thug already tried to obtain me but after I pleaded and gave him the only #200 in my fine ass wallet, He collected the wallet, fortunately my important documents were not there, it was still new. He didn’t bother collecting my phone tho! Why would he bother himself with a Nokia torch-light. Since my first BB got stolen, I stopped taking my fine phones to the market.

Now, because of the way I dressed, the thug had doubts, he thought I was a petty thief. He assessed my look: uncombed hair, oversized T-shirt, baggy jeans that had frayed at the hems, slippers that was covered in dust and the streaks of sweat that ran down my face. The only thing missing was the hungry look. He chased me away after I attempted to collect my wallet. Fortunately because of his hasty judgment, my #200,000 was safe in the inside pockets of my jeans.

I bought the new Samsung SII galaxy. Why? The advert was very cool and every time I visited the phone was being advertised. Talk of oppression. I journeyed further to pick up a friend’s Ipad (Ipad 2 of course, who dash am Ipad 3) and my laptop from the repair man (I think he ripped me off, story for another day).

To cut the long story short (I think that’s rather late now) I boarded the nearest bus available, actually I had to hustle to get a space in the bus, it had few seats in it and only 3 of us had entered by the time the bus zoomed away (I should have smelt trouble then).

5 minutes into the ride, I realized there were only men in the bus and the bus seemed scantier than at the beginning (my suspicions still did’t kick in).

15 minutes into the ride, the conductor says “pass all your belongings forward” (I’m like O_o). Then he gets vicious and his remaining 3 assailants unveil their identity. The real passengers or magas in the bus (me and the unlucky 2 fellas that hustled well to enter). We are shocked out of our guts and I clutch my bag under my legs. They can’t do me strong thing like this. Never!

I began to wonder if there was a tattoo on my head that read:


They begin to dash out commands like “empty ya pockets”, “give me ya phone”, “pull ya shirt.” The 3 of us initially refuse until they slap one of us. The other guy didn’t waste time, he obliged. When I saw the battle was lost, I gave in but I refused to remove my shirt. I begged for my laptop. It was worthless (probably 15K in the market). I told them how important my documents were. Then one of them told me his name was Charity (In my mind, I’m like WTF are you telling me.) Then he told me straight out, “Konji they catch me and I dey do anything, boy or girl even dog, I go do am” My cojones fails me and at this time, I’m the only passenger that seems to have a lot by the time they go through our belongings.

Charity suddenly whips out his belt (I’m not sure if he wants to flog me or do the deed and I can only pray to my father in heaven,) Then I look at the bright side: At least they are not Jazz men. Charity touches my jeans either in an attempt to search it or pull it off, I don’t know which. I scream, punch and kick hoping the remaining 2 magas will come to my aid but instead, Charity whips me (as a bad guy, I chest it…. Ask Mr. Faniran/Benjamin, my house master, I’m a born chester.)

Charity feels a bulge in my trousers but it’s not my D, it’s my remaining stash of cash. (Te mi ti tan bayii, I commit my life to Jesus sharpaly). Now I’m on all limbs begging. They attempt to slap me but retract their hands millimeters away from my face. I don’t know what happened at that moment but they bundled me up and threw me out on the road side without my jeans. They take only the Samsung Galaxy device and the money. They dash me 1k for transport and go away with the remaining 2 passengers. I didn’t understand what just happened but I know Jesus just saved me.

People came to hear my story rather than assist me *sigh! Nigerians* I got home safely sha and nobody knew what happened. Since the incidence, I became a coo kid and started hiring cab services. It’s expensive to be a coo kid oh! I can’t wait for my own personal ride with chauffeur then I can declare my big boy status.


Yep! Guilty!! That’s what I always tell them babes. Can’t destroy my coo kid reputation

. Can’t destroy my coo kid reputation

When my friends ask me about my #200 k savings in my account. I simply say,

“I gave it to Charity.”


If you believe any part of that story is true, Then you obviously don’t know me…………… I’m INVINCIBLE.

p.S: You also need Jesus.



Posted in Humor on August 2, 2012 by Yemi

Hurray!!!!!!!!  CHARM’S BOOK is 1.

Actually it was 1 a few days back but it evaded my mind. Today we shall be reading an old unedited post, my very first post, the sole reason I started this blog. It was titled ‘This is not karma’ and I made a sequel to it titled ‘My first ping (‘; it brought me my most views.

As it is my nature to be benevolent (I’m not washing myself), I have decided to give out recharge cards (value withheld) to the first 2 people who comment. ENJOY THE READ.

Was mugged on 28-07-2011.

Today is going to be awesome was the only thought across my mind at the beginning of the day and well the day started out good and when it was about to climax everything turned upside down. I was stranded and that is not even the worst part at least thank God that the blessed soul that robbed me gave me #500 to buy paraga for him before he took off, if not I would still be on the streets of computer village.

I set out around 11:30pm today with the sole intention of retrieving my mtn line and getting a blackberry curve 3, as I got out of my street an empty keke napep was just passing, unusual but I assumed this was God’s way of giving me a go ahead. I got to the bus-stop where I was going to board another keke to ikeja, din’t even wait up to 5 minutes before the keke was filled unlike the last time that I waited over 30 minutes, I got there then I took an okada to mtn office at  opebi, where some magas first troubled me, to God be the glory I was able to retrieve my line but that is where I first noticed #1000 was missing from my pocket but as a big boy (not the wannabe type) I boned it, left mtn office, withdrew money from zenith bank and headed back to computer village.

PART 1 (Preambles)

I visited a guys shop concerning a laptop charger I purchased. The guy’s eyes were redder than sin, he had probably been drinking and smoking Indian hemp because by the time he came back, I could smell tom-tom oozing from his mouth. Unfortunately he disappointed me, surprisingly but not so surprised (yes, I know what I’m saying) I saw bolo there (he knows himself) chatted a bit and departed, went straight to the shop to buy my blackberry curve 3 (see what peer pressure can cause but I won’t lie to you that I bought BB torch #moneycannotwaste *all na d same ping*), be informed that my 32 gig itouch fourth generation was in my pocket. I continued my journey to my trusted supplier to purchase the phone (I have my doubts now), the guy took a quick glance through my itouch then he said and I quote “who jailbroke your itouch, there is one app there I would like to get, can I get his number” he said it in a very disturbing igbotic accent but the guy is hausa sha! (Pelumi wherever you are someone admires your work), went ahead to another shop to buy screen guard and get the price of an ipad 1. @_Olupee_ I checked and I blame you for my predicament.


Was heading back towards the brigde all happy and gay (twisted minds gay means merry in this context), suddenly I felt a callus palm on my hand around my elbow, I looked back to see a dark yoruba man with stained yellow teeth and around the same height as I. I swear it seemed like the guy’s only hope of survival was the paraga and alomo he drinks with the regular dose of Indian hemp that leaves a man in the grave. My mistake was not brushing the guy aside early enough and I regret it. He calmed me down and threatened me, saying that is other guys were around  (I think is threat was invalid), till now I actually don’t know what made me succumb to my maga; maybe it was fear or pity. For a minute there I thought I could help him (I wonder who helps a thief, well I’m a nice guy like that). He kept on yammering about how the other guys had planned to dispose me when they were through but he was an alaanu (full of mercy)…. What kind of NFA is an alaanu? (trust me everybody loves his life). We walked together to a more quiet place (foolish of me abi?) where he was able to hijack and loot all my properties and he gave me #500 to go and buy paraga for him at a far corner, I took a few steps forward and by the time I turned back it was like he was never there, everything that happened eluded me, all I knew was that I wanted to get out of computer village. The items stolen from me where my newly purchased blackberry, my itouch and #1000, didn’t really have cash again *ANGRY MUCH*

n.b: He had a knife but I won’t lie he had a gun just not to look like a weakling.


I initially planned not to tell anyone at home but how would I explain. I started thinking about the money and where I would get a new phone from. At that moment I wanted to force myself to cry but the tears would not even come, funny enough I kind of laughed over it. After all, every disappointment is a blessing. Right now I think I want him………………. *Long pause*…………….. ok, not dead but at least in prison, I have forgiven him though but I stammered many times before the words could come out of my mouth. Got home and told them the story, well we all know how that played out not forgetting that earlier on in the year I was busted by VIO and my last phone was also stolen. We all have to give glory to the almighty God that I’m alive. Some people will not stop rambling about what happened #wishtheywillstop.  Now every time I see a blackberry I get annoyed, I don’t even want a phone again (don’t take my last sentence seriously ooh, ….. i totally want a new phone).

Let me use this avenue to thank everyone that has ever visited my blog, retweeted, shared or spoken about it to another person. Without you I would still be that kid that didn’t know where to pour his boredom into and still confused ‘has & as’ (i’m not kidding, it’s a disorder).



Rants of a spoilt brat.

Posted in Humor, listen on August 1, 2012 by Yemi


I (we) assume that the ‘post-a-day-as-far-as-there-is-internet challenge’ is kind of off owing to the fact that I have a crappy network service provider (never use espresso) but I will be coming to you with a post as frequently as I can.

Today’s post is written by an anonymous guest writer; apparently she does not want anyone to know that she is loaded and ‘the last 2 words of the title.’ RATHER THAN ENJOY, I URGE YOU TO REFLECT.

My song for this summer is The Fighter by Gym Class Heroes featuring Ryan Tedder. It is not just because I am madly in love with Travis McCoy; I have had a relatively horrible summer so far. Relatively because I guess I still have a better summer than most but anyway by my standards it is a horrible summer. It is not entirely because I did not plan; it is because most of what I wanted was out of my control. So I was left chasing pavements and hoping for the impossible.

My plan for the summer was work for a while in London, go to Paris with this cute guy I had been getting it on with and then go back to Nigeria to work. Of course the highlight was going to Paris with this potential boyfriend. I guess man proposes God disposes because my plans were greatly disposed of. I should have seen the red lights coming. My first London internship fell through and got cancelled, I still have a relatively good internship so far but it is not the one I wanted. It is not the best and it is extremely boring. I could have even managed the internship but the real kicker came when this amazing guy I had built my summer around got back with his ex. I was not angry, I was just dizzy for a long time; imagine being punched in the stomach? Have you ever been hit by a car? I was at work when I got the call from my best friend, she was like ‘babe I have bad news’. I did not react at first because my friend is quite the drama queen. After she told me, everything became hazy. I was confused. What had happened? What had changed in 3 days that I had last spoken to him? Oh! Well when it comes to guys I have learnt to deal with disappointment. He came to my house the next day and said he was sorry. I laughed and said it was fine. What else can you do? Anyway I joined the boxing club and those punching bags have felt the full wrath of his disappointment. He refunded my part of the trip payment and now he is going with her. I guess now I know what it feels like to watch your prince ride away with the wrong girl. Lol! Ok fine maybe I’m being too dramatic but who wouldn’t be utterly gutted?

When God closes a door he opens a window, to be fair he opened a bigger window. I sort of kind of met up with an old friend and there has been kind of a flame rekindled. He is in London over the summer and he is having a shit time like me so we are able to meet up and moan. And this new guy is way richer then Paris boy, please don’t judge me. I’m not a gold-digger I’m just getting what’s mine.

Anyway back to the song, I have chosen this song because it encouraged me. Reminded me not to give up, held me together, showed me that sometimes getting to the top is not always some rosy road that I have always been on. My favourite part of the song is

If you fall pick yourself up off the floor (get up)
And when your bones can’t take no more (c’mon)
Just remember what you’re here for
Cuz I know Imma damn sure
Give em hell, turn their heads
Gonna live life ’til we’re dead.
Give me scars, give me pain
Then they’ll say to me, say to me, say to me
There goes the fighter, there goes the fighter
Here comes the fighter
That’s what they’ll say to me, say to me, say to me,
This one’s a fighter

Even at my shitty job, the people are cool and friendly. I guess every dark cloud has a silver lining. I’m still holding out for a brilliant summer, hopefully it will come. The song is for everybody who wants something really badly. It is all about how bad you want it and what you will do to get it. Forget any hater; fuck anybody who says you can’t get what you want. You can just hold on and hold out.

My summer is not over, I’m still hoping for the best summer. I still have 2 months of vacation time. I know and I’m sure it will get better.

To my unborn daughter.

Posted in Humor with tags , , on July 22, 2012 by Yemi


I hope DHL delivers to heaven.

My dear daughter,

the milk of my heart,

the first in the number,

the mortar that allows the pestle,

the one that won’t bear my last name forever but by force by fire you will bear it,

the heir to my empire.

I know special efforts are being taken in heaven to create you and your wonderful siblings but I wrote this for you, hopefully you get to read it and tell the angels what your daddy wants in his daughter.

First off, I pray you never have a chest like that of Candice from the Phineas and Ferb cartoon. In their latest movie she claimed she was an adult and yet her chest was as flat as a punctured tyre. I hope you got the humor in that last line because you had better come with a plethora of humor to make your daddy laugh. May I add that there would be no need to bust your younger brothers because I actually want them to be as smart and as adventurous as Phineas and Ferb but for obvious reasons I won’t christian them Phineas and Ferb.

Your mother and I are highly anticipating your arrival…… Ok, you caught me *sigh*, I’m not married and I don’t know who your mother is yet but I assure you that she’s beautiful, smart (she would be like a living encyclopedia. Yep, you should know I only trip for booksmart girls, I was wired that way). She would be a nice and caring mother and you can include other paraphernalia’s expected of the best mum in the world. I will try my possible best to be the best husband and father also (my mum, your grandmother has always said that any girl would be lucky to have me… *sigh*)

You must be beautiful and cute, the kind that make boys turn their heads 360. Trust me when it’s time to ogle their necks puts no restraint on their heads (Darwin was right, humans adapt to environment and evolve). Don’t worry your father is a decent man, he doesn’t do shit like that. And when you enter that age, add voluptuous and fashionable to the list. You must be smart enough to outwit those boys that want nothing reasonable from you, do not chop their money under any circumstances. Your father is a very wealthy man, he will provide for your needs even the Brazilian and the Peruvian weaves, the 1 million dollars Hermes bag, the 100,000 naira bra and other ridiculous requests.

You had better come as a prodigy, a maestro or with an eidetic memory so that your training will be easy. As my first child. You have to set a pace for your siblings (daddy is not joking here, so pay close attention). Y’all must learn at least 3 languages asides English of course and in addition you must learn at least 2 musical instruments including the piano. You will play less and work harder, I don’t want you wasting time on social media like I do, they are the devil’s workshop (I kid you not). You will be assigned a governess, the best money can afford. She is not your babysitter or your nanny. She will be your teacher, your guardian and maybe sometimes; your caretaker. She will put you through the course I have lined up for you.

You must be gentle, not quiet but gentle and calm. My nephews, your cousins have given me enough grey hair and wrinkle lines, I don’t need any more but just in case I convince them to babysit you, make sure to be on your worst/naughtiest demeanor. Those children must suffer at least half of what they made me suffer while taking care of them.

You won’t be allowed to make personal life decisions not until you are at least 16 years old or you are through with high school depending on which one I find appropriate. You would be allowed to follow your life dream whether it’s athletics, tennis, boxing or soccer. Wait, scratch that.  I don’t need an aggressive daughter with muscles big enough to make her brothers and father jealous and neither do I want a blind man wanking to the video of my daughter playing tennis just because he thought he was watching porn…… hell no!!!! You are free to do anything in the academics and art.

Despite all I have said, there are many things I hope and pray for you and your siblings, I can’t write everything here but I pray them in my heart. They say earth hath no love like that of a mother. So I say a mother knows no love like that of mine. The future might not be what you always want it to be and human nature is fickle but I want you to always know that despite the times I will always be there for you.

Note that you are not my favorite child, I have a letter for each of your siblings. I love all of you rugrats equally. You are the leader of the bunch, the first heir to my fortune. There is no room for error, so get prepared to storm this world.

Don’t keep your mother and I waiting unless you might just get bitch slapped at birth.

With much love,

Your father.

Be back here tomorrow for another hopefully exciting read.


Posted in Stories with tags , , , , on July 21, 2012 by Yemi

Hello, welcome back to DAY 5 OF POST-A-DAY-AS-LONG-AS-I-HAVE-INTERNET.

@weird_oo will be gracing us today with her talent. I read a story about a winchy!! house help she wrote after the story ended, music started playing on my system from nowhere couldn’t even find the source……  That’s weird oh, I tell you. I had to shut down the computer……. True story not a cool one at all…….. Here’s today’s story, ENJOY.

He would wake up with no memories of the night before.

What is he doing in this strange apartment? And most especially, why is there a dead naked woman sleeping next to him on the bed?

How does he know she is dead?

There is a smiley on her throat. A dark red smiley that says ‘Hey! I just had my throat cut!’

He would yelp in surprise and jump out of bed. He would look down at himself and see blood stains on the blue jeans and blue collared shirt. He would look around and see a knife anointed with blood lying carelessly on the floor. He would assume the worst.

He would assume he was the killer.

He is a killer.

With shock he would look for the rest room in the house. He would wash off the spots of dried blood on his hands. He would try cleaning the splotches of black blood off his jeans with no effect. He would give up and go back to the bedroom. Taking care to avoid looking at the bed’s occupant, he would rummage through the wardrobe for anything to change into. Seeing the abundance of female clothing, he would assume the apartment belongs to the deceased. He would find a pair of mens’ jeans carefully tucked into one of the compartments. Probably belonging to a boyfriend. He would panic at the thought of someone coming in to find him there. He would find a shirt to complement the jeans and would promptly change.

He would pack his ruined clothes into a black polyethylene bag he stumbles on and stuff it into a suitcase he would get from the wardrobe. He would pick up the weapon and toss it into the bag. He would go round the house looking for something; anything that would connect him to the murder. He would find his bunch of keys down at the kitchen table and put them in his pocket.

He would find his shoes at a corner and slide his feet in. He would then go back to the bedroom to continue his foray. He would notice a bedside picture of the deceased on the bedroom floor and he will gaze at the beautiful pale skinned redhead who is far from being the same woman on the bed. Death has been so unkind. He would open the drawer and bringing out a sheet, he would gingerly sidle to the bed and cover up the body of the woman on the bed. Using the sheet, he would shield her unseeing eyes rolled up in…surprise? Ecstasy? He would wonder for a second if they had sex and would look around for used condoms. Finding none, he would assume they did not and would let out a sigh of relief.

He would find his wallet wedged between the bedpost and the wall. He would gingerly bring it out but would fail to notice something.

He would check to make sure it’s his. It is his picture on the ID Card smiling up at him. He would nod in satisfaction, pocketing his London Metropolitan Police ID.

He is a killer and a police officer.

He would leave the house with the suitcase containing his ruined clothes in tow.

He would forget something important wedged between the bedpost and the wall.

The smiling face on his driver’s licence which would be his own undoing.

He would leave the house of murder to dispose the suitcase at a dump site. He would go home to his wife and three kids, claiming to have been busy at the station.

He would try to put the incident off his mind; pretend.

He would be arrested within 48 hours.

He would claim innocence. After all, you cannot be guilty of a crime you do not remember committing can you?

How do I know this?

I know.

How can I foretell the future?

Because it would happen just as I have planned it.

My name is Rage.

Look, they’re coming!

Having an argument; The police officer and the pale skinned redhead woman.

Who knows…

Maybe I’d be wrong.

Fat chance.


Make sure to pay homage to the writer at the phantom pages. Be back here tomorrow by 4 p.m for another exciting read.