Similar to cold showers, going to hospitals is always a last resort. I’d rather dig my own grave than trudge towards Mater or Aga khan. I’m the kind of guy who says they’re fine. I’ll look you straight on and lie through the lenses of my blood-red bulging eyes. Fam, my body might be as wrecked as a car rammed head-on by a train but I’d still insist I’m okay. Even cavemen rode out their ailments toxin by toxin. And …
Category: Comical
I think we should limit it to 500 words. 500 words? What do I look like? Ninakaa bucket inafuja maji kama zile huchota maji ushago? Hahaha. You have no choice, bubii FOR CHRISSAKE, WHICH 88 WORDS SHOULD BE REMOVED AND STILL MAKE THIS STORY HAVE SENSE? You’ll figure it out. Wewe ni mzii! Goodnight booby bear. ⤄ Remember when I used to rumble about my editor’s deadlines? Turns out it was a matter of time …
I’ve been scrapping off some tea stain on this damn coffee table before an unwelcomed visitor passes by and unwittingly judges. I think the stain has a grudge, it refuses to nudge. It reminds me of high school days where I used to peel stamps for reuse. Remember? The vicious fights with stamps back when girls loved getting letters. They still do, at least my editor says she does, then again, a girl from Riara never had the time of …