Kenyan Madness Abroad

Will this turn out to be the elusive outlet for me to unleash my creative genius on an unsuspecting world? Or is it destined to be nothing more than a hi-tech pen and pad chronicling the ramblings of a delusional mind? You be the judge ... Just so ya know there's a disclaimer: This blog contains strong language and some adult situations. Viewer discretion is advised.

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Cultural, expressive, thoughtful dude. It's not all good though coz I am also an internet addict, and a sometime stalker too. But I am happy to say I am in therapy for the internet thing :)

Wednesday, March 16

Wait, what are these in my bathroom???

Kweli women are from Venus and men from Mars. Its not a knock on either sex; we are just different. Take for example the way in which we approach relationships. Initially men are the aggressors and this is probably drawn from our inate caveman ancestry. Club the cavewoman over the head; once rendered unconscious, drag her by the hair into the cave, and declare proudly "Me found woman!"

On the other hand, women are usually coy and play hard to get. During this initial courtship phase, more slaps are landed on our adventerous, roaming hands than on newborn baby's bottoms in maternity wards across the country. Picture a young couple sitting alone somewhere on a bench in Uhuru Park (ama is that being too cliché?) and the guy is trying to feel her up. "Wewe Balboa, wacha bad manners, keep off ..." she warns, then giggles leaving poor Balboa thoroughly confused; "Niendelee ama nisiendelee?" he asks himself. Where's a club when you need one?

Fast forward six months into the future and the roles are noticeably reversed. Women now become the aggressors and find subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways to lay claim to their "cavemen".

Balboa gets up from bed in a drunken stupor and makes his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He was out drinking last night with his pals and can't even remember how he got home. He finally staggers towards the big boy's potty and as he fumbles in the dark, something cold, fluffy, wet and smelling of OMO smacks him in his face, covering him like a bedsheet. I mean dude is totally draped in this thing. He is temporarily stunned and doesn't know what hit him. Poor Balboa struggles to free himself and reaches for the light switch. Horror of horrors, a woman's wet undies are sitting on his head having been hung there earlier to dry!

The moral of my cautionary tale is whereas once upon a time men were hitting women over the head with big wooden clubs, women nowadays are doing the same thing with a variation in the weapon of choice; big, wet panyoz in the bathroom. I can just hear women chuckle as they read this and think to themselves "She found man!"

Tsk, tsk, tsk.


Blogger demon said...

Where is the personal angle?

1:04 PM  
Blogger BlackKnutz said...

Is that you Mr. Mureithi??? (My Form 2 English Lit teacher)

3:40 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Another SCREAMINGLY funny one! NGATHO!!!! I can see no work is being done today! Off to read more of your archive posts.............

4:41 AM  

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