Why I only date Kenyan women

I have tried to date women from different cultures and have finally come to the conclusion that our kenyan women are the best. We fit like a hand and glove. We understand each other. We complement one another.

I tried to go out with a Chinese girl once. Her name, Ping Pei Ting, was from the sound made when a sufuria was dropped down the stairs before she was born. That is how Chinese name their kids. Her brother was called Chang Ding Dong because the sufuria was full of white fried rice. Anyway, Ping Pei Ting's ass was so narrow I found myself squinting just to see it. After two months of this, I took a look in the mirror and shock of shocks I had started to look Chinese! No wonder their men squint! They are trying so hard to look at their women's diabs!

I moved onto an akataa. Shaniqua was her name. She introduced me to the ways of African Americans and soon I was smoking weed, drinking 40 ounce liquors, and walking around cursing and wearing a wife beater (aka white vest). She also braided my hair in cornrows on one side, leaving the other side in an afro. I got fired from my job and now I was truly an akataa - jobless, braided, and high. She somehow convinced me that I could become a rapper. "You don't need no white man all up in your grill telling you what to do! Start rappin' nigga! That's gon' be our ticket outta the hood!" I tried to write rap lyrics in my free time and knew it was time to call it quits when she wasn't diggin my first rhyme: "Microfone cheka, Waafrika wanasumbuka, Kioko ana kwashioko, Oloo ana minyoo, Nduta ana shuta ...". That was the end of that relationship.

Next was Heather. She was a white girl that had grown up in Minnesota in a middle-class suburban neighborhood. She was a dare devil that loved the outdoors like many white people do. She introduced me to white-water rafting, paintball, mountain hiking and skiing. This was all new and exciting to me until she suggested we go bungy-jumping. I am terrified of heights and I said "Hell No!" After some cojoling on her part (plus I remembered she had helped me fix up my credit after Shaniqua had ripped it to shreds), I agreed to try it one time. A week later, I found myself dangling upside down in my underwear from a bridge with my legs bound together by the bungy cord. My pants had been torn off when a nail on the bridge hooked onto them as I made the leap of faith. It was time to pack my bags.

I tried to date a Mexican called Mariangeles. She had sneaked across the border into the US so I knew there was no way she was gonna hook me up with makaratasi but I decided to give it a shot anyway. In less than a month I found myself mowing lawns and speaking some basic Spanish with other Mexicans like "Yo quiero taco bell". She had convinced her uncle that I was a strong worker and could help with his landscaping company. Do you know this girl had me eating burritos and taking tequila shots all day with my earnings from the job? On the way from one garden to another on the back of a "Jose Chievo's Greener Grass Landscaping Co" pick-up, I knew it was time to say Hasta La Vista baby.

I tried other African nationalities too. A South African had me singing songs from Sarafina and doing the gumboot dance, a Senegalese had me smelling of fish 24/7 even when I went clubbing, an Egyptian convinced me to sell my cadillac and buy her father a dromedary camel, and a Rwandese gave me the short man syndrome - and I am 6 feet tall!

After this disastrous tour of cultures, I realized I was better off with my Kenyan women.