Epilogue – perSPECTIVES

Every good thing they say must come to an end. Well if you have learnt anything these past few days with us on perSPECTIVES, I’m sure you can easily fault this statement. You can either question the limit of this by asking “and the bad?” or asking what qualifies something as an end. Anyway, I’m sure you get my drift.

It’s been a wonderful week on TSC and it has been made more wonderful because we had you guys to share it with. Sadly, we have come to the finale, the end of perSPECTIVES. I really want to appreciate all the guys and gals that hopped on this train and made it worth every read. God go make y’all bigger. I could do like them rappers do and start with the “big shoutout to …. for holding it down” someone really needs to find out what exactly is being held down, but yeah…whatever. All ye writers, you shall move on to greater things.

Thanks to my mans Bankole @xoAfro and Tokunbo @0toxic for the poster work. I appreciate it.

It’s my earnest desire that the essence of this series was not lost on anyone. Beneath the stories (that might have seemed baseless) or the debates (that seemed just humorous), our goal was to get you to look beyond the basic. Life gets boring when you take things as they are or as you’re told. “why?” is a question that unearths the deepest of discoveries. The wise men that we quote are just bums who found out answers to the question “why?”

Everyone sees, but not everyone has vision. There’s that ad that says: “We all look but see differently” and I’m not talking of through your glass or contact lenses. Of course, the key is perception.

What do you see? 20 year old chic or 80 year old mama?

Your mind interprets what information your eye sends to it, This function is not even controlled and happens in split milliseconds. You don’t need anyone to tell you what the color black is because you know it and your mind has registered it so. What if someone were to prove that what you’ve always known as black isn’t so. Would you have the mental ability to engage him?

Is light the absence of dark or is dark the absence of light? If light is the absence of dark, why are shadows still cast and if dark is the absence of light, why do we have candles in the dark? LOOOL…engage your mind people. Your brain wasn’t made to store information. Little wonder we are reported to be using less than 10% of its capacity. A waste if you ask me.

Perception is key

On behalf of the TSC team of Terdoo @Cumical and Dammy @TheGreyGenesis, we want to yet again thank you for enduring this journey with us. We also would crave your indulgence to spread the word about TSC because we’ve got much more coming your way and I’m talking sooner than you expect.

To God be the Glory


Chioma…………………..  @weirdoo











Editing…………………TSC team

Most of the pictures @Sirkastiq

Advisers………………..@TTXiii , @Ms-dania, @the_Daywalker_

Prayer team………….@RaliaDsugargirl

Avatar adverters………All y’all on Twitter

Internet supplier…… MTN, Swift.

©TSC 2012

The Glass – Full/Empty?

Aside the Chicken and Egg debate, only one other question has successfully elicited much concern. It is baffling to know that years on, this question has still evaded any form of satisfactory conclusion but fear not, I am here to undertake it and put the issue to rest once and forever. You might view this as a discourse on pessimism and optimism but that’s really your business because viewing depends on your point of view and I think that’s why we are here. Is it not?

*orders drink*

Forgive me, I just realised I haven’t introduced the topic. Today, we shall be sharing on “The Glass. Half full or half empty?” *sips drink* You must beer with me, this post IS being written under the influence and I swear I probably will regret this when I’m sober but it was the only way to get myself into character to spew the brilliance that such a topic deserves. You must also beer in mind that I am a stout believer in principles and one of mine is not to think when I write, I think.

So let’s go on now shall we? The glass, is it half full or half empty?First of all, I put it to you that this statement is a fallacy. Anyone, anywhere, that asks such a question should be slapped upside the head. Why? You ask? Place a glass in front of you. Is it half full or half empty? Do you see now? The question ought to deal with the content of the glass and if this isn’t specified then we might as well conclude that it is empty. IS THERE ANYTHING IN THE GLASS? Or am I to believe that it contains spirits? Nah men, I’m not that drunk.


BARMAN!!! Do you know that batman was once a … never mind.  I really don’t understand why people care whether the glass (and its content) is/are half full or half empty, it’s still going to evaporate anyway. While you’re sitting there performing your monitoring experiment, the world is moving on and the content of your glass is slowly (but surely) evaporating like the talent we all thought Ice prince had. My main bother right now isn’t this topic but who the fuck is paying for my next round.

Oh, here comes my drink. So I asked the barman to pour me half a glass of Uncle Jack and before he left, I put the question to him: “Emma, is this glass of JD half full or half empty?” He gave me a quizzical look, threw the napkin over his shoulder, held the glass to eye level then said “Oga, e half now but e no mean, na full bill I go still give you” At that moment, I understood the way Kanye feels when he listens to D’banj talk.

I’m sorry but Kanye was unavoidably absent…but that’s the look

Moving on with this debacle, it is said that the optimist sees the glass as half full, and the pessimist sees it as half empty. Who was the person who made this observation? Was he drinking? Who made him judge and overseer in chief of issues of the glass?

No really, is this topic even remotely important in your life? Is it going to cause your phone to beep with reports of an account credit alert? Is the half full/half empty glass really that important? Think about it. We should probably set this issue aside and talk about what’s really bothering you..Just ensure you buy the next round is all I’m saying. No? ok, we carry on then. The good thing about this bar is that there are all sorts that come in here. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take this glass and ask some people around for their unwarranted, shitty opinions. Sigh…the things I do for a glass.

Q: Is the glass half full/half empty?

Policeman: “I’ll ask the questions. You’re drunk abi? You have the right to remain silent…” Eysss Oga, I’m not thunk, I drink. *hurries away*

Actor: “Whatever the director wants it to be-or not to be” Me: Such an assoholic character.

Another pessimist: “The glass is full of shit!” Me: Ahn ahn, who hurt you people seriously?

Born again brother: “It doesn’t really matter, my cup runneth over” Me: What exactly are you doing here, tasting the spirits? (I think the bible said testing, but thats the igbo pronunciation in me)

Mathematician: “if the glass is equally half full and half empty, then half full = half empty, therefore ½ x F = ½ x E; therefore (multiplying both sides of the equation by 2) we show that F=E; i.e. Full equals Empty! Me: and your point is…???

Bigiano (Musician): “Why the shayo no full na” Me: Na your party we dey?

Physicist: “The glass isn’t half full or half empty, it has a probable 50% composition of liquid content and an unseen remainder content of air – hence fully filled on the whole! Me: k, Na Cu story.

Patrick Obahia(etc): “While the terms half full and half empty are colloquially acceptable as used in parlance, this continuum called glass can technically be neither since both are absolute states and therefore incapable of being halved or modified liqua ipsum” Me: -___-

Wole (@TTXiii): “a guess based on a visual cue is inaccurate, so mark the glass at the bottom of the meniscus of the content, pour the content into a bigger glass; fill the empty glass with content up to the mark; add the original content back in; if the combined content overflows the tip, the glass was more than half full; if it doesn’t reach the top, it was more than half empty; if it neither overflows nor reaches the top then it was either half full or half empty. Now what was the question again? Me: *insert BBM ‘beat up’ smiley*

Dude, what the actual fuck?

Mother with her nagging 5 year old: “sweetheart, it’s whatever you want it to be, just please let me have 5 minutes peace and quiet” Me: err…ok

Abeg, I’m tired of walking up and down this bar, staggering more like it. I’m not so much concerned with whether this glass is half whatever, can you imagine all the germs it has gathered now? And no one has yet offered to buy the next round *goes back to sit* The theory of the glass basically represents two states of existence, some say it shows whether you’re happy or sad; Positive or negative; pessimist or optimist. I have come to realise that these things aren’t always flip sides, sometimes there’s more than meets the eye as our ‘correspondents’ have shown. I personally like to look at the glass as half full, the only time I look at it as half empty is times like now when I wonder where the other half went

In conclusion tho, here’s my stance *tries to stand and staggers* I put it to you that the glass is both half empty and half full, that neither can exist without the other and as such a balance is required to maintain universal equilibrium. These two states are merely mirror images of the same realistic concept, so in the purity of absolute truth, the glass is neither half full or half empty, the glass simply IS…

*gulps drink and slumps to floor*

Sirkastiq… out.

The glass: Full or Empty?

Hey guys, Welcome to today’s edition of #perSPECTIVES and what is actually the penultimate barrage of posts. From the intro post, you would remember that we promised a special post from a guest. Not originally listed on the poster because i feared for his ability to deliver, Not because he’s not able but because he’s the best person to write on this topic. I however couldn’t vouch for his sobrierity. As the good Lord will have it, he came through just in time.

Ladies and Gentlemen, sober up for what promises to be an interesting read written by my brother Victor aka @The_daywalker_


*walks into crowded audiotorium clutching two bottles covered in black polythene bags. Places both on the table and turns to face the waiting crowd*

I assure you, I wasn’t chased here neither did i stagger in. I came in here of my own volition and by myself. Don’t give me those strange looks or you’ll turn to stone. *clears throat* Is the glass half full or half empty? That is the question I have been asked to answer today. Many before me have tried (and failed) to solve this riddle. Psychologists, philosphers, stonemasons and even pastors have proferred different answers to this one question.

Many believe it to be a function of one’s outlook in life, suggesting that those who see the glass as half full are optimists while those who see it as half empty are pessimists doomed to a life of misery and emptiness. Ladies and gentlemen, ho’s and tokunbos, I am here to tell you that you have been misinformed.

*Tokunbo tears*


*pauses for dramatic effect*

No drama? Oh ok… -__-

When my friend Saka asked me to solve this mystery I was scared of the task. I wondered how I, a lowly mortal would answer the greatest question of all time. As I always do when confronted with dauting tasks I bought a ticket to my personal nirvana, boarded and flew high above the thoughts of simpletons to a place of clarity and wisdom. Once I arrived there I was welcomed by those who had gone before me, the mayor of Nirvana, the great Charlie Sheen

Other Members of the council include Lady Amy Winehouse, Lady Lana Del Rey, Sir Frank Ocean, Lord Terry G and the chief Security Office of Nirvana…Yoda. If you wonder what all these greats have in common then permit me to say that you need to get high on the spirit more, yeah so ber that in mind.

As I sat down in their midst a bottle of the elixir of wisdom (also known as Jack Daniels) was opened and we all drank deepiuyly #PAUSE. What the fuck is ‘deepiuly?’..You’re high abi?  I spoke of the question to which I sought an answer to and immediately the company became silent. Finally the wise Sage Sheen spoke up: “To answer this question you must fist understand the origin of the question. Let me tell you a story.”

A long long time ago in a galaxy far far away there was a terrible battle being fought between good and evil. The forces of light were a sovereign nation of dark-skinned people known as the Whiskels of Tennessee. The dark forces on the other hand were made up of two nations; the blonde people of the Beervarian tribe and the albinos of Vodkerian race.

The forces of good fought bravely to spread the Kingdom of the light and truth but time after time they were beaten back by the dark co-allition until the birth of the chosen one, a man Jackson Danielson. Trained by the Jedi Knight Jim Beanie, young Jack grew stronger and until his powers matched those of the Dark Lords Sir Roc and his albino bride Dame Stella Artois.

The battle finally came to a head in the middle glasslands where both sides had been struggling for supremacy for millions of years.

At this point I stared at the great elders before me, hoping that they’d finally explain the answer to the question I had brought to them. It was then that the great Jedi master Yoda spoke up.

“Young padwan. Answer you seek very confusing. It matters not the fullness of the glass but the contents therein. What side you stand you must choose today for the battle wages on even as we speak.”

It was that moment that I finally understood. I stand here today bringing you the message of the great Captain Jack Danielson, the message of hope and of truth. Choose your sides carefully for the battle rages on still.

*takes off polythene bags from both bottles to reveal a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Ciroc. Walks away holding a bottle of Jack Daniels*

The End.


So you read all this way and actually believed that this was the end of the tale? Do you even know or remember the topic we are discussing here? DO YOU? Oh! so you are satisfied with this explanation I  just gave, right? Is the glass half full or half empty? Why on earth would you bother about the content of a flimsy glass when you can have the whole darn bottle? I mean, I can’t for the life of me understand it. You guys stay arguing and debating over a stupid glass when you can walk away with the bottle? What is really wrong with you?

i mean…

I came with my bottles,I can’t be bothered with your glass. The grand masters have spoken and twice i have heard  (though I’m not sure if it’s just words ringing in my ear). I really don’t care what you guys do with your glass, Just let me have the bottle when you’re done.

The End.

Yes, The End this time.

I mean it you fucktards.





Oh…you may want to check back again by 4pm.

Old Roger

Today is one of those days where we just want to chill and give your mind a rest for a bit. We believe we have successfully confused, convinced and convulscated your mental faculty (if in existence), so what better way to ease in than with a cool story. It’s general knowledge around these parts that no one tells cool stories better than this bush baby. Ladies, Gentlemen and Frank Lotion wannabes, enjoy @TheGreyGenesis


We all, at one point or the other, (Since we’re not Actual Pokemons pretending to be Human beings) must have heard of the Old Roger Nursery Rhyme.
Oh, You haven’t? Really? Really?

*Old Roger is dead and gone to his grave (Hmm Ha, Gone to his Grave)
They Planted an Apple tree over his head (Hmm Ha, Over his head)
The Apples Grew ripe and Ready to fall (Hmm Ha, Ready to fall)
A Lady came by and picked them all up (Hmm Ha, Picked them all up)
Old Roger got up and gave her a Knock (Hmm Ha, Gave her a knock*

Something like that.

Toh. Anyway, There I was, Picking Beans last thursday, innocently Day dreaming … thinking of mundane things like How to Pick the Beans without annoying the hapless bean weevils or causing a Riot in their community about why their homes were being picked and for what purposes exactly. I had just started to hum waywardly to myself hoping to cause more confusion for the weevils and had to pause mid-hum when I realised what tune I had hither-fore been humming.

The Old Roger tune.

Why was I thinking about this song on a thursday, I wondered.
Why did this song baffle me so? O_o

I decided to mentally analyse the song line by line and just like that – I was caught in the throes of an aimless epiphany. I suddenly realised why the song troubled me so.

3 Questions Sprung to my mind:

Now, You need to understand this one thing before you continue reading. Whenever I get hungry? Like Honest to God  Hungry? I start to see Visions.

Let me Explain…

*          *          *

Carolina moved in Silence like the G in Lasagna as she Vaulted over the Low Brick wall that served as the Fence of the Graveyard. She dropped and Rolled dramatically on impact with the earth on the other side; ending up in a Semi-crouch.

“I’m in.” She whispered into the Microphone cuffed to her left wrist sleeve.

She had received this Top Priority Classified Assignment from the agency last night and had flown in with the Boss immediately on the first flight this Morning. It had taken the better Part of her afternoon to assemble the equipment she now had packed in the medium sized Duffel bag tightly strapped across her back.

Carolina had been told this Mission was of utmost importance to the very foundation of the Existence of every living thing on the Planet and as such, was a Secret Mission.

No One was told what the mission was.
No One.
Not even Carolina.
The Boss just dropped her at the Graveyard and whispered “Good luck”.

She tiptoed gingerly between the Silent Graves as she peered Blankly into the darkness. Now, Carolina was not a smoker.  She never Drank Alcohol nor did Drugs, Which was why she was Genuinely Shocked as she suddenly saw Casper the friendly ghost sitting innocently on a Tomb stone with a half eaten Corn cob in one ghostly hand.

She Screamed.

Like, Imagine how you’d feel if you had a room that Absolutely NOBODY goes into except you, and one day you come back from School/Work and you open the door of the room and you meet YOUR Parents with YOUR Landlord and Landlady all naked and astride each other in an unholy Tangle on YOUR bed?


Yeah. That’s how Carolina felt as she saw Casper.

It shook its head and asked her Gently if she wanted her mission explained now, or if she still felt like screaming Rudely
She swallowed.

“H-how is this happening?” She Spluttered.

It looked at her funny as if she had just asked for a Twitter follow back during a Sermon while in church and asked her if she had expected to see the Easter bunny instead, seeing as she was Loitering in a Graveyard at Midnight.

She Swallowed again. “Okay. What is my mission?”

It Began explaining about the existence of a myth that stemmed from this very Graveyard. Then it asked her if she ever heard of the Old Roger Myth?

She Blinked

“The One that died with an Apple tree over his Grave?” Yes and No, the Spirit told her. Yes, that’s the Roger. And No. Old Roger is Very Much Alive, it said sounding constipated.

“EHN?” Carolina intoned

Once upon a time, the spirit recited dully, the Government wanted Old Roger’s Farm just because. So they had him killed and uprooted one of his apple trees from his farm and planted it over the head of his grave.

Casper went on to inform her that sadly whenever the Apples Grow ripe and fall, Something Strange occurs. Whoever tries to Pick these apples, Be it Ghost, Civilian or Marine Spirit, Old Roger would suddenly Jump out from God knows where, and deliver a Knock of Abysmal Head shape changing Proportions to the picker of the apples.

Apparently, the other resident Ghosts recently learned from Carolina’s agency that Old Roger has been alive for Centuries now, after having escaped from the Government’s plot and learned Strong Black Magic. He then infused this Black magic into his apples, all of which could grant a wish to anyone who takes a bite. Yet he won’t let anyone do so, just to spite the Government.

They also learnt that Old Roger had a new unknown Look and only one thing about his identity was for certain. Females named Carolina make him want to sit down

Carolina gasped.

Casper apologised to her without sounding sorry and explained that she was requested from her agency solely because of her name and agency’s assurance of her courage in the course of all previous missions.

Carolina started putting 2 and 2 together. Evidently the Apples were ripe at the moment and must have started to fall.

Casper Peered at her intently, nodded and told her point blank that her mission should she choose to Accept would be for her to Pick as many apples from Roger’s grave then try to discover his identity by telling him her name when he appeared.

The chubby spirit explained to her:
(1) with The Power of her name, Old Roger would be compelled to sit down and would therefore be unable to give unto Carolina, the Knock of head shape changing proportions and …

(2) he should be obligated to tell her HIS new name and the ghosts and agency would thereby be able to identify him.

Carolina ingested this information silently and wondered why her Agency was so dramatic. This was the earth Changing mission?

She yimu’ed and told Casper it was a Piece of Cake and she would accept the Mission. She wanted to ask what Ghosts wanted with wish granting apples in the first place but spying the half chewed corn Cob in Casper’s hand, she left the issue at that.

The Ghost led and she followed. That Ghosts existed and that she just had a dialogue with one had not fazed her since the initial shock. But that there was a Man from a Myth who was alive and Magic apples and talks of Concussion inducing Knocks? Carolina found that funny indeed and she Laughed out loud as they came round a Bend and Casper pointed at a lone grave afar off with a Giant moody tree beside the Head stone.

The Spirit wished her Goodluck and disappeared as she trudged over to the Grave. Apples were everywhere on the graveyard floor beside the Headstone which Simply read ‘Old Roger’.

She looked at the Tree, looked at the Grave, looked around quickly, saw no one and Bent down to Pick an apple.

Immediately her finger touched the Apple, a Guttural HMMMMMMMMMMMMM HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Boomed from the tree and a Sudden Breeze Gusted over her entire frame. Carolina looked up quickly and dropped the Apple in shock.

Plummeting from the tree’s top Branches, fist Outstretched (like Superman trying to fly to the sun) towards her forehead, a figure dropped with incredible speed.

She Ducked aside just in time as the fist Brushed the air in front of her forehead and Smashed into the Earth where she had been standing Just a Split second ago. Carolina could have sworn she  actually inhaled the knuckles as the fist swept past. It smelled like Sulphur and Aspirin. The force of the impact created a Crater in the earth which ripped open the floor, along with Old Roger’s grave.

Carolina started to shiver.

Sudden understanding flowed into her mind. THAT was what the Knock would have done to her had it touched her head! Her throat felt parched. The figure rose from the Crater and started to walk towards her, somehow managing to evade the moonlight.

“Oh no. Oh shit. Oh dear God No” She whimpered. She had seen shit like this in movies. The Movies NEVER END WELL.

With a Start, she suddenly remembered Casper’s instruction.

“MY NAME IS CAROLINA!” She Screamed at the figure and a remarkable thing happened.

The figure Suddenly sat. Like, no chair, no stool. Just sat on air with both arms outstretched. He just assumed the posture of someone riding a Bike. But without the Bike.

Remembering the mission, Carolina quickly picked as many apples as she could stuff into her back pack and started to scamper away. Then she paused.

Casper had told her to also find out Old Roger’s identity.

If Old Roger was truly still alive, Carolina Personally wanted to know what he looked like, regardless of how scared she felt.

“Old Roger?” She called out apprehensively as she took one step, then another towards him.
Closer. Closer. She urged herself. One more step.

She was now standing Directly in front of his Oddly seated form.

The Moonlight shone directly on him and Carolina Gasped again in shock even as all the apples and her Bag fell to the floor from suddenly numb fingers.

The Long hair. The Beard. The Stoned expression in those eyes.

“YOU???” She asked, Shocked to the Core of her Mind.


He laughed then.

“I was Old Roger but Old Roger is now me. I chose to hide myself in the Plain view of Public eyes. And you all never knew a Damn thing. That’s how UnderGee I am” He rolled the Words out with the familiar rhythmical Lilt Carolina was very familiar with.

Carolina stared incredulously at him. In mid air in front of her was none other than Saucekid.

It all started to make some Weird sort of sense then even though it didn’t.

‘Carolina’. ‘Undergee’ .The ‘making him want to sit down’ bit. But …

“Yes, Utunu.” He said. “You have discovered my identity. I, Sinzu am Old Roger. And Old Roger is Sinzu too. But I have one Question for you”



Carolina looked in my direction from my mind at this point and Screamed 8 words at me.


The End.

[N.B No Bean Weevils were harmed during the Meditation that eventually led to me having wasted YOUR time with this Spective. Peace, Love and Shoprite Bread Y’all] (???)\/

What did the Blind man say to the deaf man?

Hey people, Welcome to today’s post. You know it’s actually heart warming to know that you are still here keeping up with the brain teasing and shit going on in these parts. Good stuff. We do hope we are succeeding at the plan we had which we aren’t sure of anymore but yeah…So you know those stories that you hear/read that are full of lots of balderdash and hullabaloo that end up being much ado about nothing? The ones that make you wanna choke the living daylights out of the one sharing it with you? Well, I’m not exactly saying this is one of such but yeah…It was written by @Cumical. Do the math…


Everyone knows the joke format “What did the blind man say to the deaf man?” right?
And everyone’s answer is the same. “It doesn’t matter because he’s a deaf man, and he can’t hear anything!” and you all burst out laughing like jackals that had caffeinated coffee.
Ignorant humans…

The truth is some of you did not even allow your brains attempt to process whether this is actually possible or not. Y’all are just lazy AF. But yeah, I guess that’s why I’m here. Oh by the way, did you know that Beethoven was deaf?

Beat Oven…Cooking up def tunes

This is common knowledge, but in case you didn’t know, when you lose one sense, all your other senses have a general meeting like mourning relatives, and divide the loot left, so in a way, your other senses become ‘richer’. In other words, when you are reduced from 6 senses to 5 senses, the 5 senses become more acute. For example, if you lose your sense of smell, your sense of sight probably becomes more acute, and if you lose your sense of sight, your senses of sound and touch become more acute, and if you lose your sense of humour, you become an absolute moron.
But let’s not dwell on Tweet[Computer Program]

*real tears featuring kelebe*

Anyway, like I was trying to stress, the loss of one sense is of great advantage to all the other senses.
I shall begin with a preposterous story.
What? I’m a great story teller. Just watch this:
There was once this dude, we’ll call him Abacha. And he was close friends with this other dude, we’ll call him Jonathan. Now let’s establish a few rules before we begin;
•    Abacha > Blind
•    Jonathan > Deaf
•    Abacha > Married
•    Jonathan > Perverted.
Jonathan and Abacha go way back. Abacha used to steal Jonathan’s babes cos he was way cooler with the Aviators™ and what not. And Jonathan used to swear that he would get Abacha back but karma was seemingly absent. However, one day during a Charley Boy/Muma Gee concert, Abacha went blind. In the same concert, Jonathan went deaf. Even though Abe was blind, the girls still flocked around him. However, Jonathan saw Abe’s blindness as his chance. Sometimes when they were alone, Jonathan would load his penis with whipped cream and tell Abacha it was ice cream on a cone. And unsuspecting Abacha would…you know…have some ice cream.
In my defence, I did say the story was preposterous.
Hey, anybody noticed how I manage to slip something gay into everything I write? This should be a warning for those of you who want me to feature.
All this was not enough for Jonathan. The infrequent facials he gave Abacha weren’t quite cutting it. Abacha however, continued to score with the ladies like a unisex football match. In time, he decided to marry one of his hoes.
Now this is where the trouble began for Abe, and this is where Joe found himself lucky. Cos Abacha’s wife was fine as fuck yo. But the thing about fine girls is, they’ve usually been around a lot of guys, so they’ve had loads of variety. (Pro tip, if you’re about to…you know…procreate…with a fine girl, stock up on Viagra).

But…I digress.
Abe wasn’t giving it good to her. Most times during coitus, he would squeeze what he assumed was her breast, and they would have to replace the feather pillow, other times, he would almost poke her eye out when he wanted to get some head. After a while, it also got boring cos he wasn’t learning any new moves. He wasn’t a very imaginative fella (I mean, it’s Abacha we’re talking about here. He wasn’t the sharpest pen in the pack). So it was the same old same old and frankly, the mind has not being so perverted as to conceive porn in Braille.
There’s a business idea. These ideas just come off the top like convertibles.
So what does the wife do? She talks to the only person who knows how to talk to Abe; Joe. She starts confiding in him, (via DMs on twitter of course, cos Jonathan is deaf) telling him about her travails, and what she’s experiencing with him, his fits of anger, his terrible aim with the shaft, and mostly, her sexual frustration. Joe becomes her confidant.
As expected, Joe and Abe’s wife become really tight, and he goes from being a source of comfort and support to a source of pleasure. He begins to suggest that he show her how a real G puts it down; a true man of the soil. Of course, a hoe is a hoe. She spread her legs faster than a new inmate could say “Please don’t rape me in the butt”.
Long story short (even though it’s a little late for that), they start having an affair, and banging up the place and Lucky Joe beats it up better than a drummer from Congo Get it? Also, because he’s not hearing shit, he’s not listening for fake moans or cries to deities, so she doesn’t have to fake it. However, as all flings involving hoes and deaf men, one day, they’re caught.

Abacha saunters in one day after a meeting with IMF and catches them. Of course he can’t see anything so he thinks it’s his wife watching porn again. But then they’re his wife’s moans. So he concludes that she’s cleaning out the pipes. Then, he smells sex in the air.

oh shit…

Hollup! You do know that you can smell sex right? I remember one time when…wait. Yes, the story…
Here’s what happened next:
–    Jonathan didn’t hear him walk in.
–    Wife loses her voice in shock.
–    Jonathan keeps pounding.
–    At this point, we have a blind, a deaf and a mute person.
–    Wife climaxes from excitement, Jonathan climaxes from wife’s climax
–    Loads of grunting
–    Abacha figures out what’s going on, pulls out a gun and shoots in the direction of the sounds
–    Narrowly misses Jonathan, but pops his wife in the head
–    Jonathan runs for his life.
At this point, Abacha is screaming obscenities off the top of his lungs, and guess what? Jonathan knows what he’s saying. Why? He can see him speak. Yes people, all of a sudden, Joe can fucking read lips.
Heightened sense of things…
What did the blind man say to the deaf man?
Editor’s note: You may interpret this post however you want. I am not responsible for what you read. After all, it’s your perSPECTIVE.

Which came first? – The EGG

Yup. We are back again guys. This time we want to hear the other part of this Chicken/Egg fiasco. hopefully, we shall not reach boiling point but successfully “un-scramble” this situation. To do justice to this topic is the downright hilarious, multi-talented Julia..@MsJulz


You know how you sit and your mind wanders to various topics all in the speed of a gazillionth of a second? You don’t? Oh! Standing works for you? Do you even know what “gazillionth” is? I’m thenymetrically sure you don’t. Don’t even front, you also don’t know what that means, but its ok. I’m not here to slight you, Just showing off some of my super powers: the ability to switch topics with ease and create non existing words that sound right.

I kid really…I’m hungry

I am so hungry I started boiling a chicken before typing this. All this egg and chicken talk will do that to a foodie.Before I could start typing, my tummy started making noises and the neighbours threatened to call the police so I decided a chicken wouldn’t be enough. I took out another pot and started boiling two eggs. Considerate right? I know. I try.

So I’m sitting here trying to make sense of the topic “Which came first: the Chicken or the egg?” I have read so many arguments and majority of them support the claim of the chicken. This is just blatant oppression. Is it because the egg is smaller and cannot speak for itself? Must it still be subjected to such discrimination? A part of me dies each time someone says the Chicken came first. Are you all so heartless? Take you, YES YOU reading this. From whence did you come from? You do know you’re just a grown, creamy egg yes?

um…cocky much?

It’s a conspiracy I tell you, the government wants you to believe that some flying bird was flying around, landed for a bit and couldn’t take off again. Or maybe the bird was walking around for a minute and realized it enjoyed pecking at the floor more than the cool breeze through its hair during flight. Guess what it did with its comb.

Creationists are yapping in the background. I can’t hear them because I’ve got my earphones in my ear and I’m blasting Rick Ross. Grunt. God created the earth and the birds. Did he create a bird or an egg or some chickegg creature that was a cross? However, he commands these creatures to fly and I guess one day is too little for an egg to hatch and the chick to grow into a flyable bird. However, chickens don’t fly so ha!

Let’s even entertain the thought that God created Chickens and not eggs because the major point here is that the Bible doesn’t record that The Lord made eggs. I have a question, don’t take it personal. Does the bible record that the Lord made dust? Yet, Where was the first man made from? Huh? Huh? Whatchu wanna say? Boo-yah!!

Evolution has a good head on its shoulders. Head…hahaha. It tells us the chickens came from the red Junglefowl.  I tell you a Red Junglefowl will taste amazing in soup. The next bit happened in either of two ways. Either a non-chicken got tired of hopping his kind and decided to ‘spread his wings’, hopped another non-chicken and 12 days later, plop. Or some weird non-chicken smoked some tobacco leaves and mutated into a chicken. Everyone was like oooooh. The mutation event is against my argument so pretend you didn’t see that.


I say two non-chickens mated and laid a chicken egg. Allow me to slide unto another aspect for a little bit. The Igbo girl in me wants to say birds were laying eggs before chickens came along with their awful cluck but I know we’re talking about chicken eggs. I just thought I would throw that in there like I just threw that whole onion into my pot of chicken.

As I was saying, these non-chickens laid an egg from which a chicken waltzed out. The moment the chicken came out it stopped being a non-chicken egg and became a chicken egg.  DO NOT ARGUE, JUST ACCEPT IT!!!

It’s not rocket science really. It’s just plain common sense. Have your parents ever told you “remember the home you come from?” It just shatters my heart when I see chickens that fail to remember the home they CAME from (the egg). They now strut about, carrying their shoulders, flapping wings and poking their beaks upwards, some even become cocky. I was raised up well enough to never forget my home. My home comes first. The egg came first.

Still doubting you terrible Thomas, how about you go ponder on the picture below and come to your conclusion. My work here is done.

With these points you better be convinced the egg came first. I know where you live.


Oh, eggs just boiled.

Which came first? – The Chicken

People of TSC, i bid thee welcome to walls of this great house of humor. The biggest in all the land of the Interwebs. Matter at hand deserves utmost attention hence we shall not hold tongue any further. We shall set hand to purpose to bring understanding to all who cast glance upon this matter. Without much ado and with beauty rivaled only by brightness of light beacons, People, welcome the most adorable lady you will ever meet @CeCeNoStockings.


Welcome to today’s class, or whatever you deem this to be. Now take a GOOD look at the picture above. What do you see? OK. How many ‘beings’ can you count? (not arrows) You see just three? Not four? Ok. I shall get back to this. Hold that answer…

This question “which came first: the chicken or the egg?” is a topic of epic proportions. Deliberation on this matter have been ongoing since the days of our Lord when the disciples couldn’t decide what they wanted to accompany the bread at the Last supper. Eventually, they settled for just bread and wine. Please when i use the word “came”  I do not mean the feeling of explosive nature you experience when you get to the zenith of sizzling sex. As a matter of fact, i know nothing of such matters. ‘Came’  as used in this context represents precedence in the order of arrival…

Come on guys…not that -_-

Have you ever eaten an egg? I mean, have you at one point or the other actually eaten a perfectly cooked egg? That sunny-side up egg with the perfect yolk consistency, golden and not too runny. Or maybe a hard boiled egg you took your time nibbling on? You certainly can’t deny that amazing feeling inside you when you’re enjoying a perfectly poached egg, or an omelette with bits and pieces of those little things you love. Eggs are amazing. Awesome, even. So awesome in fact, that you KNOW they couldn’t have just come from nowhere.

This is why the question actually upsets me a lot. How could the chicken possibly have come AFTER the egg? I mean! How?!

A little history lesson.

I’m sure you remember the story of creation, don’t you? On the fifth day, God created the creatures of the sea and the birds of the air. He went on to bless his creations telling them to “be fruitful and multiply”. I don’t know about you, but I’ve read the creation story thousands of times and I didn’t see nothing about God creating no eggs. Nahm sayin’? There was nothing in there about creating eggs, or little adorable baby animals. He didn’t need to because he created the birds, and every other creature, ready to reproduce.

Not buying it?

Oh! can’t even picture that…well obviously

Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I want you to think of an egg as an orgasm. Go on! You can do it. Really, it’s not that hard.(all puns intended) Do you just sit down and spontaneously have an orgasm before you now decide to have sex? No, you don’t. It’s the same way an egg doesn’t just happen. Don’t you think there had to be a chicken there to hatch the egg in the first place? Please don’t start thinking about self-pleasure because i know that some of you want to raise that point now. People that think like this are chickens and cum first.

Hol’ Up! Oh Oh..Ok..kevin. not keLvin -_-

There will be those who will try to convince you that reptiles somehow managed to lay the egg the first chicken emerged from. They will spew all sorts of rubbish about adaptation and what-not. When these people come along, you are to silently shake your head at them and pat them on the shoulder. Why? Because you ought to know better, and, thanks to me, now you do.  But I’d have loved to have seen that. Can you imagine an alligator laying a chicken egg? Can you imagine a little tiny Chicken egg next to an Alligator egg? How about an alligator, or any other reptile for that matter, watching a chicken emerge from one of their eggs? You know, that doesn’t even make sense. Because reptile bury their eggs in earth and wait for them to hatch. And we’ve already established that a chicken egg needs a hen to sit on it for it to hatch.

I think it would even make more sense if they tried to sell the whole dinosaur story. A dinosaur somehow “evolving” into a chicken is somewhat more believable if you buy that sort of thing. But, even then, the dinosaur will FIRST have to become a chicken before laying a chicken egg. Some others might try to confuse you by asking if a chicken egg is an egg laid by a chicken or an egg carrying a chicken embryo. These confused set of humans will tell you the egg had to come first if it is defined as “an egg carrying a chicken embryo”. But where did the chicken embryo come from then? Because it sure as hell didn’t put itself in there.

Guy, you really aren’t alone bruff..

Need more proof?

A group of know-it-alls from England and the land of the Scott were messing around with a “supercomputer”, doing only God knows what. They somehow managed to “discover” that a vital protein used to kick-start the formation of an egg can only be found in a CHICKEN.

That’s right, the same people who tried so hard to convince you the egg came first are back with their tails between their legs trying to save face. Talmbout how they examined the protein closely and realised it actually controls the process. Nigguh, please! Fall all the way back with your BS excuses!

To set this issue at rest and to bring it to a definite conclusion with evidence that can neither be faulted, contested nor questioned in any court, tribunal, beer parlor , salon or viewing center, i present my final evidence on the matter. This is the final word.

I rest my case!

Oh, i know i said “this is the final word” but yeah, one more final word. Remember the picture at the beginning of the post. Look at it again. Do you still see three ‘beings?’ Hmm…Look at the chick, can you see the egg it is shitting? Any further questions? Bye.

Why did the Cookie Crumble?

I grew up loving those Nasco wafer biscuits. You know, the ones with the strawberry and vanilla flavor wrapped blue and green. Crunchy stuff. Anyway, today the saying “that’s why the cookie crumbles comes to mind” It’s quite popular but a lot of us don’t even know what it means. What cookie? Why did it crumble? How did it crumble? To hopefully bring light to this worrisome matter is Bankole @xoAFRO

WARNING: This post is quite um…just follow along and hopefully you wont crumble along with the Cookie.


We should be aware, my munchkins, that in the bid to invent the eternal, non-crumbling cookie, the browser cookie was invented. However, it would seem that they are intangible and as a result cannot be enjoyed with a glass of milk.

Now what would a cookie be without a glass of milk?
We should also be aware, dear munchkins, that the Nigerians are entirely hilarious. They also have invented the solid cookie which that call the ‘Skuki’ – it sings, it dances and it comes in a very colourful twin pack. It however, unlike the browser cookie can be consumed with a glass of milk if you flip that way. I assure you though, it is a different experience from what you would expect.
And Semi-demi-Munchkins,
This is the first story that you would ever read about cookies.
Google told me that the first cookie was probably made in Persia around the seventh century AD. I believe this information is false. I honestly believe that Leonidas packed some of his wife’s trusty oatmeal cookies inside the pockets of his metal war briefs before setting out with three hundred of his best soldiers. But this story is not about the war general thrusting extended spear into oncoming enemies with his weak arm while brushing off cookie crumbs from his luxurious beard with the hand that mattered. I believe that the battle was lost when the general dipped his war hand into his pocket and felt nothing but good ole’ dick – it felt good for a minute and he was distracted enough to miss the move that cost him everything.

Why had there even been a war? I’ll tell you why. Xerxes’ first lady, Queen Esther had not the technology to bake cookies. But, the aroma of chocolate chip treats and hash brownies and rock cakes would waft across the sea to punish the ruler of the world until he could take it no longer. The Queen of Sparta would bake those little devils when Xerxes was playing medieval golf with the polished thigh bones of his enemies and the smell of them would distract him so much that it would ruin his handicap ratings.
Meanwhile Leonidas was getting these amazing cookies and tapping Spartan booty. Anyone would be jealous.
But again, this story is not about Leonidas or Xerxes.

It’s not??? Tell me more…

Talking cookies, in 510BC, the Emperor Darius discovered during a war campaign that, in the words of the urban philosopher, ChuddyKrates, sugarcanes really weren’t bamboos. This is the first record of the source of today’s most popular sweetener being discovered, but don’t forget that honey had existed a long time before so we’d have to dig deeper.
Isn’t it obvious? We eat cookies because they are delicious. Of course, the story starts the first mention of the noun ‘honey cakes’ is made. I can see you imagining a Neanderthal hoodrat, calling her caveman by this endearment when she wants some cowries to buy the latest warthog skin purse from the Ice Age collection by Wolfe Mammoth II. Relax, I’m talking about literal honey cakes.
Many years ago, before the Yoruba were exiled from Mecca for calling the name of God the wrong way and before Ibos ladies discovered that they could transplant yam tubers from inside the floor into their hairy legs, someone discovered honey.

It is rumoured that this individual had eaten a significant part of a beehive after a drunken game of Root and Deer and that the last words of this nameless individual were “E sweet die”, after which the individual passed on after going into anaphylactic shock because of allergies to the many bee stings he had suffered in fulfilling the dare. It is also rumoured that Yoruba people give their children names like Bisi, Bimbo, Bisola, Biola, and so on, in honour of the person who made this ultimate sacrifice. It is also rumoured that the Yoruba forefathers could not spell properly and after the invention of these naming schemes, the concept of a spelling bee was created to assist their children better understand general lexicon and phonetics.
However, even though honey had been discovered, baking flour hadn’t. The same Yoruba people were too busy putting yam flour in their local guns as a getaway mechanism to help them escape from their enemies in case the bullets didn’t hit the target. This was because the guns were honestly useless except for killing small animals like bush rats already dying in traps. The Yoruba people weren’t doing so badly however, because their Ibo counterparts were painting the powder on the faces of their young maidens as a form of fashion and on their witch doctors as a signal of office.

Basically, although some of the ingredients to make a cookie, at least, a yam flour cookie, were available, the two tribes kept faffing around till some caucasian Neanderthal discovered fire while poking the end of his walking stick into a rock because he thought trees needed to have sex with the floor to grow. It took another five hundred years for fire to find its way around the world.
But when fire eventually found its way to the general area near the Niger, the denizens there had already started cooking with spiritual assistance. Sango was making a fortune sending electric power from the sky to fall upon enemies as well as cooking pots and Amadioha wasn’t too far behind. When the technology of fire arrived however, they discovered that they did not have to risk electrocution to eat a cooked meal so they let bygones be bygones.
I digress…
Even though our ancestors were too busy frying, boiling, broiling, roasting, smoking, grilling, poaching, steaming and generally applying the heat from fire to their foods in any way necessary, they never for once thought once about baking. This is why we have no baked local dishes.
Except Agege Bread…
But this is also why there is no moi-moi in Israel. Somewhere along the line, someone in Egypt figured out how to mix flour, honey and eggs in the right proportions and let them stay somewhere hot just long enough. Unfortunately, the person would pour some cheese on it and serve slices of pizza to Pharaoh. Cookies yet refused to be invented. At least, not until some kid added too much honey to the recipe and left it in the oven for too long. This kid invented the cookie and he is the forefather of all coo kids.
See what I didn’t do there?

But any of this is not why the cookie crumbled. Why the cookie crumbled is really simple.
The cookie crumbled because it was in Leonidas’ metal pants. During his “Tonight, we dine in hell” speech.
And ever since then, they tried to invent the non-crumbling, eternal cookie so that no more wars may be lost on account of such an hallowed treat.

*editors note* Ladies and Gentlemen, insert your WTF? here. Thanks.

The Zebra is BLACK with white stripes

Welcome again guys, In continuation of the ruckus that we started earlier on this topic, we shall now ‘hear’ from the horse’s mouth what his take on this matter is. Speaking on behalf of most of your negro asses, *round of applause…*

Welcome with me to TSC, the always hilarious Robert @Sir_Scribbles


You like huh?


Consider the picture above because it is related to our discussion. (wrong picture KELVIN!!!) I’ve been asked to debate a matter which is of the utmost importance to mankind’s existence on this godforsaken carbon time-bomb we call a planet. “The Zebra is Black with White Stripes”, that is the topic I’ve been asked to use as an excuse to flood your mind with the Buddha-grade enlightenment. Prepareth thyself for thou enlightenment for thy mind is about to be blowneth (Yes, this one)

Definitely this one….

A variety of approaches came to mind when I took this topic. The most obvious one was to use it as a platform to unearth the racial undertones the words “Black” and “White” almost always transmit whenever they are together. Like on MJ.  I could have argued that Zebras are Black with white stripes because the Zebra, as a specie, are Afrian Equids, from the horse family, and are unarguably black with white stripes because the white stripes, though simply being natural manifestations of specific DNA traits, symbolise the indelible marks the white man left on the black race, evident in slavery, resource exploitation and allowing Goldie on Big Brother.

Hol’up, Hol’up NIGGA WHAAAA?

It would have been an easy and worthwhile approach, play the race card and wrap this up in two paragraphs tops. However, I have chosen a more pragmatic route towards the enlightenment I promised earlier.  Being the empirical individual that I am, I have collected and analysed urine and semen samples from volunteering Zebras and it goes without saying that for literary credibility in this post, I spent some time with Zebra phallus. Consequently, through rigorous investigation, I have come to the conclusion that Zebras are black with white stripes because it has a black phallus…tick tock tick tock Ive just planted a bomb in your brain

*tick tock tick tock*

This was fate. Having this topic fall in my lap is not coincidence because a few days ago I had one of those moments where the universe cranks open your mind with a crowbar and squeezes a drop of enlightenment from its omniscient mammaries into your mortal mind. In other words, I had an epiphany. I didn’t suddenly have the answers to all of life’s questions. Just one. “Who are you?” and thanks to the sweet all-knowing mammaries of the universe, I realised, “You are your phallus”

How very apt.

*tick tock tick tock*  “You are your phallus”.

Fact: “The pigmentation of one’s phallus is an almost accurate representation of one’s racial divergence”. Basically, Black is Negro, Pink is Not Negro, Green is Hulk. Semi-Fact: “Black Males are hung” This is true in most cases, except if you are a coal-skinned singer for MAVIN. Somewhere in a Zebra’s evolutionary chain, a white donkey and a black stag had a clandestine meeting and engaged in illicit relations. The White donkey probably did the trot of shame the morning after, the Black stag probably didn’t call the White donkey back afterwards and it may have led the white donkey down a dark depressing road filled with low-self esteem and perceived diminished self-worth because she thought it was more than just a heated night of horsing around when it wasn’t. Despite being the evolutionary offspring of the Black Stag and White donkey, the half-caste/mixed race Zebras of today have kept one unadulterated trait across generations, A Black Phallus. As rudimentary as it sounds, it’s a basic fact of nature like Water is wet and 30-day old Darling Yaki smells like armpit. The pigmentation of one’s phallus is an almost accurate representation of one’s racial divergence. Ergo, You are your phallus

*tick tock tick tock*….

Postulating that a Zebra is black with white stripes does not mean black is superior to white. It simply means white is a pseudo-addictive and black is literally its dominant colour and figuratively, its true nature. Vybz kartel has nearly bleached himself caucasian.But do u call him white? No! He’s black because its his true nature.

Um..after and before. Why Vybz? Why evils?

Only difference is a Zebra has white stripes and Vybz has a carton of Tura soap. You might have acquired various attributes due to experience and evolution but you never lose your true nature and as a Zebra’s phallus has proven, A Zebra is black with white stripes either as an evolutionary manifestation of its genealogy or simply a fashion statement. Even If you are a guy, take a moment to unzip your pants. If you are a girl, also take a moment to unzip the nearest guy’s pants. Now grab the phallus and give it a good look. Do not rub! Focus please! Look at the pigmentation. Now ask Who am I?/Who are you?

Oh my…Oh…Ohhhhhh…ohhhhhhhhh

*tick tock tick tock*  KABOOM!

The Zebra is WHITE with black stripes

*singing* ..and you could have been my baby, it don’t matter if you’re black or white. HeeHee! *grabs crotch, spins and tiptoes, kicks air and extends right arm out* Oh Hi there, my bad, didn’t know you guys were here already. So yeah, Welcome fam, it’s gon’ be a ruckus up in hurr today yo. Lemme lay it on u for a minute. So today we’ve got this mad ass topic that done be giving many a brother sleepless nights for donkey years yo! “Is the Zebra a nigga or is he just a white ass with nigga strippings?”
It’s so much of a problem that i had to get two of my niggas to help sort it out. What this means is that today we gon’ have two posts. Ungh! Here’s the first of the two, the next follows at 4pm so you might wanna look out for that.

Yáll give it up for my man Femi @MallamSawyerr


Greetings earthlings! It’s a bright sunny afternoon and we are coming to you live outside The Sirkastiq Centre here on WordPress Boulevard. The atmosphere is PULSING. Hundreds are inside the centre with thousands more outside, all here to witness this memorable event. Make shift galleries have been set up with huge 3D screens to make this experience one to be remembered for those not pulsing enough to be inside. For on this day the age old debate on what the true colour of Zebras is will finally be put to rest.

Vehicles dropping off notable Blogsville personalities and WordPress Noblesse have formed a steady stream. First to arrive is the presiding judge in today’s case, Justice Saka of the Ugwu Court. Next to arrive are his colleagues on the bench, Justice Terdoo of the Terdoh Court and Justice Grey of the Meme Court. It promises to be one for the books ladies and gentlemen. They are followed by individuals of timbre and calibre; I’m talking high media net worth people, The Naked Convos team led by the bawse himself The Tools Man. I also see The Susheys are here as well, all ten of them. The Pass The Salt band just dropped off as well. Would you look at that ghen…oh sorry, I got distracted for a minute there. Right, I’m going to hand you over to our correspondent inside the centre for the real action.

Everyone is seated and all we await is the arrival of the lead counsel representing the whites. Suddenly the door opens, and in walks the one known as the Gidi Mallam leaving a pool of glistening liquid in his wake. Never have I seen one man drip so much swaggu. It’s literally forming a pool on the centre’s floor setting off irridescent reflections like a disco ball. A man with extensive experience with animals of all kinds on all continents including but not limited to pussies, bitches, asses, rabbits, cougars, pandas, bingos, giraffes and a host of others. He is certainly a huge asset for the white team. *i see what you did there you pavat*

As he gets to his designated position, he immediately begins his address.

Your Honours, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, ladies and gentlemen, animals, oh and freaks, here present. I come to you today with a truth that was deduced after careful investigation, involving many hours of safari stake outs, interrogation of several animals and clandestine experimentation. Ladies and gentlemen, it is with confidence and solid conviction I tell you today, that Zebras are white with black stripes. Ordinarily, it would be enough for me to end my case here, but being the man of science that I am, such a conclusion must be followed by indubitable logic supported by rock solid evidence and ratified by expert witness. I will do that shortly.

Allow me to invite to the stand an actual zebra for cross examination.

Shock and awe fill the room as in trots a fine Zebra specimen, truly a sight to behold. Immediately the Zebra is sworn in the cross examination begins.

Mallam: *facing the crowd* For the purpose of records, and since not too many of you speak Animal, Monsieur Panda’s ass has volunteered to interpret for us.  A very gracious ass I must say.


*He then faces the Zebra*

Please state your full names for the court.

Zebra: *neigh neigh* *snap snap* *neigh neigh**tongue noise*

Panda’s Ass: *long fart* *short fart* *long fart* *jiggle*

|I am Nauoff Zebra, you can call me NZ, of House Equus Grevyi, largest and ruling house of the  Equus Quagga. A Southern Son and heir to the Zebra throne. Thus I am worthy to speak for my people.|

Mallam: NZ I’m afraid you will have to prove to this court why you are the heir to the Zebra throne.

NZ suddenly turns his rear quarters fully to the entire court and then speaks.

NZ: *jiggle jiggle* *twerk twerk* *bounce bounce* *clap clap*

Panda’s Ass: *wobble wobble* *twerk twerk* *jangle jangle* *clap clap*

|You see this booty, it is THE GHEN GHEN. The only booty greater than this booty in the whole Zebra kingdom belongs to my mama. That’s why I’m the heir. You think they call us Imperial Zebra for nothing.|

Mallam: Thank you NZ. Now that we’ve settled the credibility of my witness we shall proceed.

Now NZ I would like you to nod in affirmation or shake your head in negation to the following questions. Do you understand my instructions?

NZ: *nod*

Mallam: Good. According to the Encyclopedia Brittanica the Southern Sons have white and black stripes with these stripes receding into full white around the stomach area. Is this information correct?

NZ: *nod*

Mallam: Thank you. Is it also true that even in the Northern Sons even though the stripes are thicker and cover the entire body by measurement the white segments cover a larger surface area.

NZ: *nod*

Opposition: Objection your honours. How does the witness know this, did he actually take said measurements with the counsel.

Judges: Ogbeni sharrap and let’s hear from Nauoff Zebra o jare. Ehen Mallam, continue jo.

Opposition: Oho!

Mallam: Thank you your honours. So in much the same way we call the human meal “Rice and Beans” because the rice is more than the beans it follows logically that because they have more white than black Zebra are actually white with black stripes.

Mallam: Now NZ, this next question is a very important one. Is it true that there was once a race of Zebra called the Equus Quagga Quagga that, had stripes only on the neck, legs and hind quarters, with their backs being solely brown?

NZ: *nod*

Mallam: Will you care to share with this court how it became extinct?

NZ: *neigh neigh neigh* *trumpet neigh* *tongue noise* *neigh* *snort snort* *snort neigh tongue noise*

Panda’s ass: *etighi* *azonto* *twerk twerk jiggle* *clap clap* *atilogu*

|Well, it’s simple really, their black asses couldn’t survive because they weren’t strong enough. In Zebra it’s opposite of the situation with y’all humans. The whiter the zebra, the bigger the booty and the stronger they are. That’s why Southern Sons rule. You seen the booty in this part of Africa? Dude, they are the ghen ghen. Oh and yeah, because them Quagga were ratchet. Only ratchet folk have their name repeated twice.|

Mallam: Thank you very much for that insightful revelation. No further questions for this witness your honour.

At this point I would like to bring in the Physics of pigment colours into this argument. It is a fact that pigments add subtractively. In essence, we see colours because of the colours of light that are absorbed by such pigments. Thus white implies an absence of pigment. While black implies a presence of ALL colours of pigments, thus absorbing all the colours of light. In essence, it makes more sense that Zebras’ coats are actually white bases covered with white stripes.

The entire court is stupefied at such sound logic.

In closing I would like to say that the result this day in no way casts aspersions on any human race. After all we are not truly black excluding the likes of Wande Coal, Mode Nine, Alek Wek and Lumeelogan. Neither are Caucasians truly white, Nicole Kidman and Paul Scholes are as well not considered. We are simply seeking to settle once and for all for the sake of humanity what the Zebra and all other animals have already accepted, that Zebra are white with black stripes. At this point, seeing as Res Ipsa Loquitor, I can confidently say Quod Erat Demonstrandum. *Wait WTF?*

The applause is resounding as the Gidi Mallam goes to take his seat. It has indeed been a great performance. Humans, animals and freaks alike all standing in ovation.

*After Jury passes its verdict*

The entire hall is in an uproar from the excitement of the ruling. Suddenly, an individual rushes to the front and grabs the mic.

My name is Uncle Ruckus, no relation. And I tell y’all that the Zebra is the monster offspring of the black Africans who performed acts of bestiality with the lovely unicorn. Oh that lovely white skin. With the beautiful white horn and the long flowing white hair. But these niggas had to taint it. THEY ARE DEMONS I TELL YOU. DEMONS. DEMONS!!!

The court bailiffs hurriedly whisk him away bringing a colourful end to our day’s proceedings.

*sign off*


So guys, this is obviously one perspective of things. Join us at 4pm when we bring to you the flip side of the coin. Till then, lets hear your comments on Femi’s post and um… keep your ass out of trouble. Cheers yo!