Text your intellect and other short stories

I have a problem with people that have poor texting habits.
This is a topic that's is long overdue and needs to be discussed. I usually don't care much for how people structure their text messages since I came to the realization that not everyone has the ability to text entire words like me; and I'd hate to impose my morals on the world. So, I'll let it alone.
There are two mamas in this hoppa who are shouting their lungs out you'd think they're five. I think they're in KSL since they be preaching some legal stuff but seem too old to be in campus. Clearly maturity and age aren't always synonymous. They have really good grammar though. I think I'll just listen to them talk about their boyfriends, lecturers and True Love the September edition which is apparently a good read. I digress.
So a friend of mine just sent me a text,
hw u
Yes. That was it. Keep in mind that this is a really good friend of mine not the random kind of friends that text only when they want money. I have not replied to this message becausr I dunno how to without seeming sarcastic. Several problems with this text.
1. Punctuation. Mami if you cannot afford to insert a Capital letter in your text or even in the least a question mark, don't bother texting. I don't want to seem like some sort of linguist or grammar teacher... Well I really do not care if I come out as either, but this could be the reason why you don't get a job what with your poor punctuation.
Us guys have stopped to refuel . Never seen a hoppa stop to refuel. I always think they use... Air for fuel. Hmmm. I digress.
2. That text does not make sense. Assuming it reads 'how you'... How you what?! Why did people go to school anyway?! You studied English as a subject for 12 years of your life so you could text that?! Clearly Jesus did not die on the cross for your kind. We (I) understand that SMS has 'Short' somewhere in it but surely how short or economical can you be?!
Remember the loud chics?! Yeah. So one of them sat on a wet seat. Now her pants are soaked and she's throwing tantrums like stones. She just said she'll change when she gets to school. I thought it ended with shoes but women actually have a change of clothes in their bags. I won't even ask. You'd think they're prepared to act out an episode from Lost. Wanawake... (-_\) I digress.
And isn't it funny how smileys can change the entire mood of a text. I know right. Like you'll be texting someone something sarcastic and slide in a smiley to make it all less insulting to their knowledge. Like 'Bitch you're fat ツ' and they'd be happy about it. What's up with that?!
It however must be remembered that typos in texts are mistakes and thus should not be judged. I see you looking at me saying that I make typos in my texts and blogs. Well Bitch you're fat ツ
Bye.
Oh. Now I'm seated next to a priest. How cool is that?! Huh?!

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Law school.

Disclaimer: If you're related to me by blood, don't read this.
Truth be told, there's something about doing a law degree that makes you feel special. Sure, a LLB isn't really what it used to be. With each up and coming institution of higher learning offering a law related course, but still...
So much so that I always feel like I hold a superior edge over my cousins who... don't do law. I come from a very competitive family, my dad's side that is. Its more of a latent feud but it definately is there. I'd want to believe that its not my family thats solely affected though. We all have those relatives who even though they don't say it, attempt to oust each other in terms of superiority. Who has the best model of car,the newest car, best clothes, designer shoes, coolest phone and the most recent platform of competition, who's kid is doing what in terms of school or work.  But that's family. Competition facilites our relationships. I digress.
So in my family, us guys have all sorts of professionals. Accountants, doctors, computer scientists, fashion designers, economists, teachers (and lecturers who seem to be the majority) business persons... but as you guessed, no lawyers. Infact, someone once said that we could start a hospital seeing that we had an effective workforce already; well with the obvious question of who would address the 'company's' legal issues. I would be lying if I said that my decision to have law as my undergrad wasn't partly influenced by this fact. Being the sole legal professional in a family like mine definately has its benefits. Yes I have a not so distant uncle who's a lawyer... but that is regardless of the point.
So, the biggest challenge that comes with a law degree is the good memory requirement. A lawyer should have everything (well almost everything) he learnt at school on his finger tips. Clients are likely to ask you questions based on very remote topics of law (and trust, law is wiiiide).
I have the worst memory ever. A goldfish has nothing on me as far as poor memory goes. Once heard of a woman who forgot her kid at Walmart. She didn't realize it up until two hours after she got home. That's me. I actually relate to her.
Another thing, lawyers are readers. There's a reason where they choose to cqll themselves 'learned friends' (other than a sarcastic and contemptuous remark of course). Think about it. The stereotype of a lawyer's office: never ending rows of shelves stacked with almost simillar looking books. They actually read those books. Most of the time, the simillar looking books are on previously decided cases that affect judgements issued by courts to date. You have to read those cases to somewhat study the personality of the court and the limits of its discretion. Sh¡t is serious. No joke. I can't count the number of sleepless nights I've had reading those big ass books borrowed from the library. It could probably be because I've never lacked sleep coz of school. I digress.
And boy are are those books expensive. Case in point. All England Law Reports. Vol 1-4 USD 19,457.80. This coming from a sufferer's viewpoint, is God Damn Expensive!
Thus every law student will at some point in undertaking their undergrad, question their ability to continue with school and proceed to ask numerous rhetoric questions as to why they are in law school. At this point, majority drop out. Us guys started off with three classes with approximately 200 students; fast forward two and a half years later and we only have a single class with less than 60 peoples, and its just third year. When you sit down and think about it, its actually scary, with some of us narrowly escaping axe. That is why when you think about it, most law schools are separate from the main Campus in many universities. *mind blown.
Somewhere in the middle of this post, I forgot what my main point for writing was.
Ummm... bye.

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To be young...

They say that we all have inside of us an inner child. Well I recently had a meet up with my inner child. Actually, over the last couple of days he's decided to manifest himself in my action and deed. Well its not exactly a problem. Infact, its all fun and games for a third year student of law to scale trees looking for wild fruits (actually ni mapera, I just say wild fruits to sound bad ass). To use the lid of a bucket as leisurous past time by strolling it around with a hanger wire. (I think this why I'm single. I don't think ladies find this attractive) For twenty year olds to play marbles like children and get 'down and dirty' while doing it.
Infact my neighbours have come up with a 'Things To Steal For No Reason At All Just Because We Are Bored And We Can Do It' list. Now I thought I had no purpose in life until I saw this list. Here's an excerpt...
1. A shopping trolley from Nakumatt ✔
2. A menu from java ✔
3. Those scissors they use to cut chicken at KFC 
4. A 'Fire Exit' sign from school (which I recently realized was glow in the dark) ✔
5. A metal decector. You know, the kind they use everywhere these days to check for bombs in ladies' purses and men's pockets which I personally think is a rubbish idea but hey...
6. A 'Kindly Do Not Sit On The Patient's Bed' sign from Karen Hospital. ✔
7. Cutlery from any commercial coffee house ✔
Yes. Dimwits I know. Just so you know, the items with ticks aganist them have already been acquired. We have the goods. I repeat. We have the goods.
I will however chose to exempt myself from this lastest track of robberies for obvious reasons. I've never been to eithe KFC or Java (don't look at me like that! I'm waiting! I want my first time to be perfect) and I'd really hate it if my first time is my last. My reasons are understandable. In as much as I want to be famous and shit (I say '...and shit in the middle of sentences to make them seem cool and shit) I dint think post juvinile delinquency is the way to go. I can see mugshots of my face posted on the doors of all branches of Java and KFC all around the world with a bolded 'MOST WANTED' sign below... No. Bad publicity. Plus I've been saving myself. (That paragraph right there is a dedication to all you perverts. Dont come to my blog anymore. Lol. I'm frigging hilarious. *slaps Eric Omondi. )
So a member of this renegade group owns a slingshot. You truly dunno the power that a slingshot possesses until you hold one. At that very moment I felt like Thor with his hammer or like I was lifting the sword of Excalibar. This must have been how David Killed Goliath with just a stone. Shit is real people! Like in movies how the past flashes before a charachter when he's about to die... Bingo. The birds I killed, the windows I broke, the eyes I almost popped out of people's heads, the spankings that followed after a bloddy snitch ratted me out to my folks... (I still think snitches will die an ugly death).
And on that note I think us guys had a lovely childhood. The 90's actually rocked. With the obvious exception of the stupid clothes we had to put on (I think I'll photoshop my kid pictures; throw in a pair of timbs, Gucci belt, and probably a shamballa just to give it a lil spice) we actually had fun. Too bad for kids these days though. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy Call of Duty as muchas the next low life but you need to know how it feels to take a real hit. I'm just saying... *applause*.
Back to track. Yeah. So I haven't killed anything... YET! Its kinda hard to do anything when there's nothing to kill. Plus the owner took back his slingshot so no more sling for Georgie. :-(
So imagine my excitement when I'm walking the streets of NY (Nairobi Yetu) and I come along this woman selling slingshots for 100 bob. Tell me this is not a message from the universe!
Anyhow, In unrelated news, I am the proud owner of a slingshot. It doesn't look anything like the one above though. Why would anyone even get something like that?! Elephant hunting perhaps?! Smh.
I shall name my slingshot Cassilis the Soviet Assassin. Lol. I crack myself up. Whats that?! No?! Cassilis... Soviet Assassin? You dont get it?! Shish! Well you're a tough crowd! Yall need to watch movies. The Double would be a good start. Losers.

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It does not pay to be small.

Its always tough coming back to this blog to publish a post after being away for sometime. Over the past few weeks I've drawn inspiration for great (or atleast I want to believe so) 'articles'. I say articles in reverence of this new lecturer I have that expects us to read about forty pages of notes (publications, journals, articles, periodicals, statute law, the works) prior to every class (yes EVERY FREAKING CLASS) failure of which will yeild a loss of marks meaning that us guys will be going into exam rooms with negative marks. Viva la Law School.

My inspiration however doesn't go as far as I'd want it to, but I'm here now aint I?! And Imma make this work. It will as boring and nonsensical as hell and thus as always, I pray that you cease and desist from further reading.

If she'd have her way, there are two 'professions' my mother would have done away with a really long time ago.

First is deejays. Her justification is basic; they don't 'finish' the songs they play. Lemmi put it into context. A really nice jam comes on telly or radio (and by nice I mean old song that I wouldn't listen to under normal circumstances), mumsie gets up and gets in the mood dancing all over the living room, strutting her stuff like she owns the place- which she technically does (in a manner that I'm particularly not proud of).

A minute into the song, she sees another one coming on; a more modern 'kinda not her thing' jam. Her reaction is priceless. First she thinks that there's a problem. She doesn't understand why any sane being would overlap a song over another- to her its noise. She stops dancing and just stares at the telly to see if this shit is for real. The song passes and enters the next jam. It especially doesn't help if the deejay in question prolongs the transition with his 'useless' scrathes. Lol. She then goes to the kitchen murmuring about how she doesn't understand how a person gets paid to 'disrupt' good music and reap from the benefits of someone elses work- because when you think about it, all a deejay does is play music made by other artists.

The best part is, its routine. It happens everytime. Don't believe me?! Pop in by my house at noon on Sundays when almost every tv station tries to get a spot on the Heaven Gatepass list by playing gospel music. I reiterate: priceless.

The second condemned group of individuals is kanges and matatu drivers. Insane, stupid, dumb, pumpkins, cabbages... Practically every curse word that a Christian lady is allowed to use,they have been called. She hastily repents after that though. Once she said, 'If I wasn't a Christian...' I snickered all the way from here to... Timbuktu. Haha. Matatu drivers I can't defend. But kanges.... I think (thought) they're just out to make money in the best way I know how to. Right?! Wrong! No...wait. WRONG! These dumb pieces of horse shit are the worse product of the Kenyan society. Worthless than plankton! You differ?! Oh I see you looking at me in protest defending that kange who lets you travel without paying fare. You will pay my friend... Thou shalt pay in kind for these 'free favours'. Trust!

Let me show you where I'm coming from. I have Wednesdays as my free day so last week I decided to make a house call on a friend of mine, Sonnie ( I still donno why you ever read this blog btw).

Okay, So I panda the jav and sit almost next to the kange since I don't exactly know where I'm going and I have to work with hazy details (chics give the worst directions btw). Pay time. I give the kange guy 500 bob since it was the only cash I had on me. Don't judge me. Welcome to the life of a Campus Student. I'd thought of buying her cookies but went aganist my better judgment and didn't. She'd have to earn those cookies if you get my flow... *wink*

Anyway...paytime. I give him my 500 reds and he says he doesn't have change and that he'll give me my balance laterz.

Easey.

He begins to look for change for five soc and goes ahead to give it to this mama seated next to me.

I'm chill. No pressure. Almost everyone shukas the jav and I'm left with some other mama in the mat since my stop is like the last one. Naturally, I ask for my money.

'Pesa gani?!'

At that very moment, I knew I was screwed. What ensued was this senseless discussion about how he's been working the jav for sijui a long time and how he's never messed up his math...and how I was lying to him. Now I have a very scrawny figure. I couldn't scare a mouse let alone this huge beast infront of me even if I tried. What to do...what to do.

I just shukad at my stop and cursed all the way. Thank Jesus for that two hundred bob that appeared in my coat pocket from heaven knows where (which conviniently shows itself now rather than when I was paying my fare) and I got home safe. So yes, I hate all kanges until I get my 450 back... With damages! Like a boss- a thin frail boss but A BOSS NONETHELESS!

No. I dont regret not buying her cookies.

P.S. All of them shall burn in the eternal fires of hell.

Word!

Except the one on the picture. She can stay. :-)

I was too lazy to look over this post so forgive all grammatical errors.

One.

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Give me what I want

Courtesy of Big Sis. Lotsa love!

I miss being courted like the old days in the old ways. Nowadays in the first 10 minutes a guy has already told you that he wants to sleep with you and what he will do to you in bed.

Before the date is over, he will have touched you inappropriately and kissed you. It doesn’t matter whether you kiss him back or not. I want to know that I can lie near a man and he will not touch me. He will cover me to shield me from the cold and not attempt to do funny things to/on me. I like the old school way where a guy actually wants to know you better before taking you to bed. He wants to know your values, what you like and what you don’t, what you are interested in and what will bore you to death. He will not attempt to touch you inappropriately or say words that would make our forefathers turn in their graves.

Most importantly, he will respect you and treat you like the lady you are, or should be.

However, that does not happen anymore. Very few people know how to value themselves and I guess that’s why society is changing too much. We women do not respect ourselves anymore thus very few men will respect us in return. That’s why a man will have two women in his lives because neither of the two respects themselves enough to let him know her stand.

I want to be courted like the women in the old school movies and stories I have watched and read. Where a man who is fit to be a fantasy in the current world comes and whisks the lady off her feet and they live happily ever after. I want to be sought after like Rachel of the bible, whose husband worked for 14 years in order to get her hand in marriage. I want to be fought for by my man, not two men fighting for me, no, one man doing all he can to have me, to keep me. I want love letters and poems, art and shady gifts like a green apple but I know I am asking for too much especially in this day and age where technology has taken the place of thinking men. I know, it is very unlikely to get such from the men of today who only think in materialistic terms and not what matters to the heart.

I want to randomly meet a man who will be the love of my life, a man who will know when I want to be alone and my fear of being lonely. A man who will let me be when need arises but will bug the intestines out of me to tell him what is wrong. A man who will take care of me with all that he has and who will live me with all he is. I want a man who is not afraid to be a man. A man who embraces his sexuality and has no issues with himself. A man who can cry and not feel like he is weak, rather knows that tears are a sign of strength, strength within (although that doesn’t mean he cries all the time! That we leave to the women.)

I believe that this man is out there, heck I have probably met him. I want this man to exist, not just for me but for all the ladies out there.

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A letter to the less fair sex

The New Kenyan Constitution ensures that women and men will have the right to equal treatment and opportunities in political, economic, cultural and social spheres without discrimination. Article 27 (3). I am of the opinion that this blog qualifies as a social platform so, in accordance with the provisions of Article 27(3), Imma let my girl express her (heartfelt) views and opinions.

The views expressed in this post are solely those of the writer's and not necessarily those of The Blodwyn World management. Lol!

Seeing that there’s too much testosterone in here, I figured a female touch would be appreciated. *Draws curtains, new carpet, a few throw pillows over there* this feels just like home now .

A LETTER TO THE LESS FAIR SEX.

Ok so maybe this is less of a letter than I have led you on to believe - closer to a bunch of musings put together. Because we all know when a woman says we need to talk it means we have something new to complain about. More recently I have been questioning my taste in men (a friend says I’m being too dramatic and chooses to define this as a slump) hence I am starting to think that I will get married to a less than pretty man because pretty men are just a lot of work. But this theory will be addressed at a later date if @Baiya_ lets me. So let’s get down to business because I get easily carried away and could possibly go on and on and on and on *Yup. You get the idea*.

DISCLAIMER: After consultation this has been proven to be the general opinion of the female community.

Dear prospective boyfriends, First and foremost NO MATTER what we say, Valentine’s day is a big deal. It might be too late for this but to avoid future mistakes it must be said.  This is coming from the young lady who on that particular day had lunch with a bunch of females who think that Valentine’s is a day set out for women to treat themselves. Not forgetting to mention the fact that this was all because the boyfriend was “busy”. This type of behavior shall not be entertained!! I do not expect the grand of the grandeur *I amaze myself* but make an effort.

Secondly I’d like to call this one ‘THE BOYS syndrome’ *I could write a book about this one*. Yes, yes I know ‘bros over hoes’ is how it goes. If you’re dating her and she’s yours. She cannot be a hoe. Let the line be drawn. Personally, I cannot even count the number of times I have been picked over the bros *yes he was a jerk*. Always give your woman her place in your life. Spend time with her, love on her and you’ll be amazed at what she would do for you.   This is where, as guys, in general you get it wrong. Your duty is to make sure you’re mami isn’t insecure. If she is, you’re doing something wrong. Women just don’t wake up paranoid. Lemmi say this now. If I am dating you I probably think you’re the most amazing person and at that point in time. By virtue of that, any woman is a threat and at this point I could turn into a crazy b*tch at any flip of a second. And for that I need to be flossed! That way I know you’ve made a statement it therefore gives me a sense of security.

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The Three Day wait.

This post is inspired by His Awesomeness Barney Stinson. It was originally a note I wrote on Facebook but in the spirit of Easter, I am publishing it as a blog post. Have a blessed Sunday people.

Jesus waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect! If

he had only waited one day, a lot of people wouldn't have even

heard he died. They'd be all, "Hey Jesus, what up?" and Jesus

would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday!" and they'd

be all, "Uh, you look pretty alive to me, dude..." and then Jesus

would have to explain how he was resurrected, and how it was a

miracle, and the dude'd be like "Uhh okay, whatever you say,

bro..." And he's not gonna come back on a Saturday.

Everybody's busy, doing chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' the

beard, NO. He waited the perfect number of days, three. Plus it's

Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there

like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back

door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI,

that's when he invented the high five. That's why we wait three

days to call a woman, because that's how long Jesus wants us to

wait.... True story. ”

bit.ly/HwVYq1

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