“You better watch out, you better watch out, you better *chops mouth* I’m telling you now, Santa Claus is coming to town” …Ho Ho Hold your horses! I know it’s not Christmas yet and I’m not even trying to speed up things around here. Oh before we delve, allow me to thank you guys again for the votes and belief in the TSC team. Yes y’all voted for us and we got the award for “best humor blog” for another year running. No monetary prizes but hey, recognition aids fulfilment. Thank you.

So yeah, where were we?

As Christmas approaches, there are noteable things that begin to happen: Streets begin to be littered with what are supposed to be carnival flags but actually are either CD plates or triangular cut pieces of paper. Major roads get decorated with Christmas lights and companies pull out their red and green drapes to try show how much Christmas spirit they possess.


Screw you. I’m no Grinch. Well maybe I am but that’s not the issue.

So while you’re here being all posh and popular, you hide the fact that you’re the Christmas Carnival Committee Chairman (CCCC) of Agbotikuyo youth association. You are the one responsible for planning the “Mother of all carnivals” Excuse me but what actually goes on in these carnivals?

Screw you. I’ve never attended any.

Screw you. I’m posh.

Screw you. I’ve never been a CCCC.

*This post ain’t bout the Lagos/Rivers State organised type carnivals.

Oh..I’m sorry. Wrong picture. This is for sometime in January


We talking street here nigga. STREET!

So you delegate people to buy CDs or do they just donate the CDs they ain’t using no more? You get the Area agbero that needs quick cash for his next spliff to climb up various poles to “install” these carnival flags, of course you’ve paid Lukman the electrician who normally helps you with your illegal NEPA connection to rent you his ladder for N500, Haruna (pronounced aruno) is the area printer, He’s got your banner locked down and dabs away contributing his quota to the “Mother of all carnivals.” And here you are reading this article pretending like you do not know wharrahell I’m talking about.

Let’s pretend that the lot of you live on the Island and as such are oblivious of the struggles of the Mainlanders. I’m not trying to segregate but please we island people aren’t about such struggle lives. We want a carnival, we go for Notting Hill or just chill for some real Rio shit.

Our Rio carnivals yo…

Now back to you guys. Have you people seen the names of some of these carnivals? I mean what manner of razz, foul, Wasiu Alabi devil gives such ideas? You see shit like “Unleash the koko dragon 2010” “Obalende Youths YES WE CA(R)NIVAL” “Diamonds in the Sky Riri Carnival” WHAAAAAT??  As if the names are not depressing enough, all that happens in the said carnivals are enough to make you go listen to Drake and just bawl your eyes out while in a shower.

YOUR carnival

The first thing you notice with these carnivals of course is the ‘decorations’ Your Nepa wires just begin to look all designed and shit. Have you ever wondered how come people were able to actually get up there and fix those things on the wires without getting a rooftop Mc like shock therapy? Its two things: One – Jazz. Two – they’ve tampered with your transformer. Most of these carnival areas hardly have light. Yes if you live at Isheri, Ikotun, Ikorodu (Hi Tee),Egbeda, Bariga, Car wash (LOL) You know that of which I speak.

Next, as the carnival day draws near, a mini Lekki toll gate appears. I mean well, it doesn’t exactly have the same structural, automated features as what we enjoy on the Island but there’s nothing a long bamboo stick and two drums (which shall eventually double as Freezers) cannot do. This toll gate shall serve as collection point for the carnival. As you drive past, it is expected that you drop something for awon boys for the execution of the event. Let’s forget the fact that there will be about 15 other toll points within a 50m distance.

Our Tollgate…

Your Tollgate…


These carnivals normally commence on the 24th or 26th of December. Some even last from 24th-26th and generally have nothing carnival-ish about them. Ahmean, you don’t see no sexy ladies with feathers, thin thongs and sexy bras strutting their stuff while dancing to Timaya’s “Shake your bum bum” We don’t see no creative costumes and garbs. All we get if anything is some hungry nigga dressed in straw and dirty clothes carrying a cane ready to flog anyone who doesn’t drop at least N50 for him. Why evils? And then the Music, OhMyGoist…The Music! As is common with you mainlanders, there’s always one guy who sells CDs and has his shop littered with posters of unknown musicians. His shop always has at least 2 speakers outside with the localest of music playing ALL. THE. TIME. Even when NEPA seizes power, nigga’s got his Ibetapassmynebo (lol) gen on stand-by blasting his music with no care in the world. So yes, this dude is given the contract to supply music for the carnival so he moves his speakers to the bus stop (which is often the carnival location), mounts them and begins to fantasize about being a DJ while churning out music worse than a loud Monday morning alarm clock.

In the advertised banner, you’ll be told that guest artistes shall be on hand to perform. You’ll see names like Iyanya, Wizkid, Fatai Rolling Dollar and Davido and you sef believed. All you get on D-day is a donate-to-my-album-plea by kpeguru the aspiring fuji musician on your street. smh. There’s lots of green bottles going round. Of course, the neighbourhood agberos have invited their shorty’s and their ‘awon temi’ and somehow they find the rhythm in the songs and dance along, mostly off beat but who cares? The smell of paraga and that local ‘green’ fills the air and carnival is in full swing. This goes on till late night and lasts sometimes till morning.

Like I said, I’m posh.

But you know what I’m talking about tho

Don’t get it twisted, I’m not trying to knock your hustle. I just want you to know my brother, my sister, that there’s a better life for you out there. Emancipate yourself from mental slavery. This isn’t life. Come over to the Lord’s side and taste the goodness of carnivals and shit. Sadly, the West Indies Carnivals that used to hold at TBS don’t hold no more but even them, don’t be a menace. The point of all this apart from trying to annoy the shit out of you (which I hope I succeeded at) is to prepare you for the season ahead. As days pass, I shall come on here to talk about Christmas and things I notice, share some advice and basically just get you ready for the seizing. All pun intended.

Feel free to use the comment box to cast yourself and fall your own hand. At TSC, we don’t judge

Remember guys, all this is fiction. I’m not about this life. Heck, I stay on the Island.

Terdoh: Yo Kel, this carnival won’t plan itself yo!

Dammy: *snickers*







Arghmaigerd you gois! Arghmaigerd!


Okay okay…

*wipes tears*

You’re a real nigga Terdoh. You can’t be doing this in public.

Okay okay okay…

So last night, all three members of the TSC admin were in an executive meeting, waiting for the awards to be announced.

*slow drumroll*

Robert Downey Jnr. in the Iron Man suit stares at camera.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, boys, and men with tits, I have in my hands the winner to this year’s Most Humorous blog for the Nigerian Blog awards.”

*Everyone waits with bated breath* 

Well not really. We were all almost falling asleep. Dammy One of us was actually deep snoring n shit. Everyone’s refreshing the @naijablogawards TL watching for their own blog and then suddenly…








We went ambulance crazy! All we did was “wee wee wee” no matter what! It was an amazing night! People crowding our mentions and our chat boxes with congratulations! Phone calls… (Kel and Dammy, did you guys get any phone calls? I didn’t. I just assumed you did because you know, people love you gois :’)

editor’s note: I got one this morning

Too awesome!

Anyway, it will be unusually lazy of all three of us if we don’t give you a thank you post immediately right? Right?

Can’t be left out…



Thank you thank you thank you thank you!


We would have written a list of “Thank yous and ova ish” but it would be hella painful if you went back to the list one day if we didn’t win and then you’ll be like “Kai! Messuff!”

But anyway, we did win for THE SECOND YEAR RUNNING, so I have to whip up a makeshift list, you know…

Thank you to:

Every single person that used their Kilobytes and Megabytes to open that page and click that tiny radio button next to our blog and used their multiple e-mail addresses to vote for us. You guys make awesome look stupid. We can’t say thank you enough but… wait! Actually, we can! “Thank you enough!”


Thank you to:

To all of you who took out days, and sometimes weeks, to compose a single post just for the sole purpose of making people laugh, or smile, or at least blow air through their nostrils, to all of you who wrote features for our blog, especially during the For Uncolored People series (cos we can’t even front, that series was too instrumental in getting us votes n shit). So to @Colormycake (Otas baby, we have mad love for you. We know how hard It was mayne. Really, we love you girl), The Tush Aboki @MallamSawyerr A-Cup @Andhiii, Sick @C1kko, Immortal @NickFisher, the amazing @Demi_Carson (who came through for us twice in like 3 weeks) and my former present future wife @RaliaDSugarGirl. editor’s note: very lazy girl that one

Also, thank you to:

all the folks who featured on perSPECTIVES, that’s counting The Weird @weird_oo, the inane Bobby @SirScribbles, Our own Femi @MallamSawyerr (who always seems to come through for us (Baba, you need to write more oh!), Banks @xoAFRO (boss! Congratulations on your award man!), @CeceNoStockings (we love you baybuh!), the delectable @MsJulz (awwwks!) and to VIC VIC!! @The_Daywalker_

To all y’all on twitter who gave us moral support and kept asking us “any new post?” Yeah! Your peer pressure is the reason we always make sure we deliver.

It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t acknowledge The Godfather™. It was his idea that we join forces because two heads are always better than one. And we’re not even talking about this threesome that we have. No homo. So, this is our acknowledgement to Wole The Godfather™ @TTXIII (Also known as @TNC_AlChemist). Thank you boss, for that flash of genius.

Meanwhile, this is the part where I add that we’re gonna be celebrating with Sharwarma and Juwees this Saturday. Kelvin is taking us out. (No for real. He can’t escape from this one).

editors note: Wait, What? You’re going to die Tee

Again, we say a deep heartfelt, heartwarming thank you to everyone who voted for us and everyone who made this possible. Thank you again and again and again! You awesome mortals.

@Terdoh for TSC


Lol…You thought that was the end right? Me too. But hey, it won’t be fair to just leave without even saying goodbye. So that’s what this is. Before we get to that though, here’s my outro…


“I see the different colours of the rainbow, which one i go take o, all that glitters ain’t gold, it’s all about the ego…something, something, something, somethiiiing…”

The Sun is quite hot this afternoon. Either that or my body temperature is attempting to get me into the Guinness book of records. I’m yet to experience a cold sunny afternoon, so I really do not know what I’m on about. I mean, it’s the Sun, Isn’t it supposed to be hot? Slow pokes. I stroll on, approaching a destination that isn’t quite clear but I do strongly believe in the words of the Immortal Johnny Walker who said “Keep Walking”

“Why are you looking at me?” Oh, I look funny? It must be my hair. Haven’t been to the barber’s shop in a minute and I look like a cross between Clarence Peters and Taribo West taking a shit. Don’t even picture that. But go ahead, snap away. Take as many pictures as you want to. After all, I don’t get to be in the spotlight all the time but what can I say, I’m hot and yes this has all to do with the present Sun temperature and all that.

Nothing is as it seems. Life in itself is a mirage. The things you think you see don’t exist and reality is not as you assume. Norms have defined you all and you accept black just because no one has told you it is white. Who was the person that decided that black is black and white is white and why have you accepted it without trying to prove the authenticity of the claim? Oh because you went to school, and learned some rubbish, you think you are learned?  Someone woke up someday and decided that 2 + 2 = 4 and with constant repetition, he made you accept it and BAM! That’s your reality?

How fickle…

Everything should be questioned. Why? Are you mad? You dare question me?  The roads are seemingly free this afternoon, I can’t find those rickety kids that chase after cars for a living nor those okadas that leave their lanes and start climbing on my road trying to knock me down. They’ve been scarce of recent. I’m not complaining as someone has finally seen what a nuisance they are and gotten rid of them. See how this one is looking at me from her car window. Like I said, I’m hot. Don’t look at the front where you’re going, when you hear GBIM now, you will come down and be speaking English. Idiot.

Someone once told me something, I can’t remember what it is and I’m sure I would remember if it was important enough for me to say here, but since it isn’t I’ll just move on. You’re also stupid for thinking I am stupid. What makes you think you’re better than me? One day, the scales will fall from your eyes and illumination will flood your sight, till then keep living in darkness.  Haha, this one wearing suit just crossed the road, there are easier ways to die sha, that tie can multitask and form a great noose. Heat is killing him o, and he’s there wearing suit. Stupid fool.

That’s true sef…

Why do you wear clothes? To cover your nakedness you say. In whose eyes are you naked and what even defines nudity? Do the birds of the air consider themselves naked; do the chickens feel deprived of their Prada feathers when they are stripped and about to be dipped in a pot of condiments? Oh? Adam and Eve are responsible? I’m guessing you know this Adam and Eve that you speak of with such confidence…or maybe you’ve sat down to tea with them at some tea shop on the sidewalk. I wouldn’t mind listening to your tales about them.

You read a book…??

Oh Oh! You read about them in a book and they told you to wear clothes? buahahahaham Did they also tell you how they were able to sew the leaves that they used to cover up? You amuse me seriously. Since we are believing books, have you read the Aladdin story? Me I’m just here looking for a lamp to rub and change my entire destiny.

You need to hear yourself speak. How do you perfectly keep a straight face and not burst out laughing at the sound of the gibberish you so confidently spew? This must be some form of super power. The traffic light turns red and woohoo, the cars stop moving. I thought humans were the higher beings. I thought machines were made to ease their struggle and be servants to them? Well, Traffic lights are the bosses if you ask me; telling you when to go and when to stay still. Bambalala Bambalala, I skip happily across the street, people seem to be attracted to someone or something on the other side as they are quick to change lanes when I come close.

Or wait…

Did I forget to perfume my body today? has been a while I did that too. I should add it to my bucket list. Bucket?…i should add that to my bucket list too seeing as I haven’t had a bath in a while as well.  The gates start walking toward me as my destination approaches. This must be the place I’ve heard a lot about, No one said it was this big though. I think the gateman is expecting me as he runs off to inform someone of my presence, I walk in boldly, still hot by the way, Now the women and men dressed in white are running as well. I’m such a boss. I feel so at home.

I made it…I made Yaba leave

“I’m really not mad; my mind is just a palette of many colours” – Sirkastiq


Thanks guys, This is it. The end *sobs* It has been a pleasure bringing you this series and on behalf of @TheGreyGenesis and @Terdoh, I would like to thank all our Guest Writers for making this a reality; @Andhiii, @MallamSawyerr, @Cikk0, @RaliaDsugarGirl, @NickFish3r, @Demi_Carson and @ColorMyCake we really appreciate you. Thanks to you guys who have also stopped by, taking time to read through and comment. You all are awesome. We hope this was worth your while. Remember to follow @TheSarcasticCtr for first hand information on our next planned stunner which might just come sooner than you expect. We’ll be back soon with more entertainment and all that gooey stuff. Cheers guys.


Have you voted for us at The Nigerian Blog Awards, Please click here to cast your vote for The Sarcastic Center in “Best Humor blog” and “Best Collaborative/Group Blog” Thanks

Engine Oil Black

“Although we’ve come to the end of the road, still i can’t let you go…”

Oh, Hi there guys, Today brings us to the close of the series which has run since Thursday last week. It has been a good run so far and we appreciate all of you for reading, the comments, feedback etc.  Let me step aside and allow you enjoy what real love looks like. PS: All characters are fictional and bear no semblance to real life people. Ladies and Gentlemen…



Today my lover & I went for a walk. It was very romantic. He kept looking back & staring at me. It was going rather well until he yelled at me to stop following him because he doesn’t know me. How ridiculous is that? How can he not know the mother of his 3 future children? I’ve done nothing but love him. I’ll have to address this tonight while we’re in bed together. He always leaves his bedroom window open for me. Romantic isn’t it? I’ve never really been in his room yet. We’ve been together 6 months but I’m kind of an old fashioned woman and believe intimacy should wait. But tonight on our 6 month anniversary and after this romantic walk, I feel its time we took it to the next level. I even bought him a new cell phone because his current one keeps hanging up on me.  So I’m thinking, give him his new cell phone, then we’ll lay in bed together and discuss where this relationship is going.

Anyways that’ll be for later, let me tell you a little bit about us. Kelvin and I met about 8 months ago at a Friend’s Dinner party. Turns out we had both attended the same college. It was really love at first sight. I kept staring at him & he kept staring back. Then 1 week later, I had been mugged outside a Starbucks and guess who my hero was? Yup. Kelvin. I mean sure, I’d been following him for one week and had been waiting outside his favorite starbucks to “casually bump” into him but that’s besides the point. The point is, he was my hero. Isn’t that the stuff all great romance stories are made of?

Since then we’ve gone to a lot of places together. Dinner dates, movies, however Kelvin is very shy so I have to sit two chairs away. Once we even went to his parents barbecue together. I introduced myself as K’s friend and his mum seemed to like me. We’re a very romantic couple but you know how boys are, so I don’t tell him all the wonderful things we do together.

We rarely fight because we’re so perfect for each other. Once I’d been mad at him because he had gone on a date with another girl. At first I thought it was just mid relationship jitters, we were 3 months in and very serious but then the camera I installed in his home for his own safety had caught them making out. Sigh. So I took care of the girl. Us women have to make sure no one steals our men you know? All these trifling hos don’t know when a man is taken. I called him to talk about it a few times but he kept saying “I think you have the wrong number” and hanging up. Maybe my voice sounds different over the phone, then again I also had a cold that day.  But he sounded sorry, I could hear it in his voice.

It’s midnight and I’m on my way to the Lover’s house. Its finally that night. I’m so happy. After 8 months I know he’s the one. His door is locked even though I texted him that I’ll be coming over. And so is his window for the first time ever. Hmm. Then again I did hear him on the phone talking about some girl stalking him, I’m sure she spooked him. I don’t understand why girls are so desperate and don’t understand when they’re not wanted. Thank God I’m not like that. He seems to be asleep so I let myself in with my key that I made, Undress put his new phone on his bedside table and slip into bed with him. He feels amazing. He doesn’t complain and snuggles into me. We’ll talk in the morning, for now I just want to bask in this.

After a peaceful night I’m awakened by shrieking. I wake to a half naked Kelvin in bed screaming “What the fuck are you doing here?” I’m really confused and calmly reply “Didn’t you get my text baby? Would you like breakfast?” He continues screaming and asks me to leave before he calls the police. I try to reason with him and say “Baby, sit down let’s talk.” He doesn’t seem too keen on it. Boys. I think he’s just having a hard time at work and wants to be alone so I leave.

Or maybe he wasn’t ready for this stage in our relationship because he looks a little scared. I’ll just see him later.


Later that day anyways I receive a letter called “Restraining Order” and its from Kelvin. I think he’s apologizing or maybe it’s a “just because” poem.


Have you voted for us at The Nigerian Blog Awards, Please click here to cast your vote for The Sarcastic Center in “Best Humor blog” and “Best Collaborative/Group Blog” Thanks

Grey Matter

Love is a mysterious thing. People stay in love for the funniest reasons. I mean who would have thought that after helping her discover her inner mascara, Rihanna would still crave Chris brown? It’s a wonder…Today, we examine one such scenario.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The coolest story teller this side of the world…



I watched as though locked in an unfortunate trance as Mummy Nkem charged towards me with the ferocity of a raging bull. In record time, she had wrapped both her porky arms around my waist, simultaneously putting her head under my left armpit. In the same swift motion, she lifted me off the beloved ground and left me in the air…

“Pride goes before a fall.” If this is true, then for what seemed like an eternity, I had become the most humble, down to earth man alive by the saving Grace of My Lord and personal savior; Jesus Christ. In this time of ascending to familiarize myself with my ceiling, the past 3 years of my marriage flashed through my mind…


The first time my wife beat me? It was on our honeymoon. Yes, that night. The night I had been waiting for all my teenage years; That night. The night I had planned to reveal how much of a man I was; That night. The night when I believed she would ask me to spank her hard and I would gladly oblige while asking her “who’s her daddy?”THAT FUCKING NIGHT! You see, she said she was feeling sleepy as soon as we entered the plush N652,050 per night Suite of the Hilton which I had proudly booked and paid for. Ah! I had every reason to be appropriately ‘thanked’ by my new bride and men, was I fully ready to receive the ‘thanks.’

Sleepy kwa? I thought.

Hehe…Sleep ke?

Surely she must be joking. I thought.

Until my beautiful Obiageli -whose body harvestation thoughts and plans had caused me plenty sleepless nights and subsequent confused days- went into the bathroom and returned with her face covered in something that looked alarmingly like Nixoderm and the FUGLIEST hair net imaginable. This Impostor net thing was flattening and covering and compressing and merging her hair into and with her small skull. And she was tying an Ankara wrapper too. No. not the expensive Ankara types, The Enugu Umu- Ada Rotary club types with the face of some lady you can barely recognize emblazoned on it. Dear God! She then climbed in beside me on the large water bed and I cringed inwardly.

Then. She. Fucking. Started. To. Snore.

She wasn’t joking ?

This went on for quite sometime while my mind kept switching between emotions of pain, disbelief, anger, grief, then acceptance, then doubt, then I started to shake. I started to remember all the features of the suite we were lodged in: “Desk, WLAN, Micro wave, Safe, Coffee maker, Terrace, Smoke detectors, Kitchen, Kitchenette, Alarm clock”… I’d believed that by the breaking of dawn the next day, I would have formed new sex styles using the name of each of the room’s features. I mean, Can you imagine how much I’d been trying to imagine a style with my Obi called ‘the smoke detector’? Can you???

And this was how everything was going to end? On the night of its beginning? No, No, No. My ancestors would toss in their rest.

I started taking deep breaths and pretended to be asleep beside my new bride who was lying on my right side with her back turned towards me and her head facing away, stealthily reaching out with my left hand, I casually dropped it on the bumbum of my own wife. Ladies and Gentlemen, that was how things started to happen almost too quickly for my belief and mental capacity for documentation.

I noticed the IMMEDIATE cessation of Obiageli’s snoring and in that same EXACT instant she did a quick rotating flip from her side of the bed and landed beside me with her hand smack on my face- fingers splayed over my right eye.

The room went white.

Then it went pitch black.

Then multi colors started to appear.

Then I noticed the pain of the slap.

Then I screamed.

She wasn’t finished though. Obiageli climbed atop me – wrapper and all- and straddled me. Lord Jesus, this was not how I pictured this straddling session. This was not the reason why you said woman should leave her mother and father. With one hand holding my neck she proceeded to interrupt my thoughts, punctuating her next sentence with hard slaps into the side of my face with her other hand.






“I- I’m sorry dear” I whimpered as she let go of my now swollen neck and climbed to her side of the bed….And went back to sleep. Just like that. And somehow, through the entire humiliating incident; even though my face felt like newly peeled Yam, I somehow still managed to feel aroused.

That was 3 years ago.

We now have a daughter named Nkem and Obiageli has only beaten me 4 times since that fateful night; once in front of my friends, twice with a pestle and once along with my best friend Chike. Apparently, we were shouting too much while watching football in my parlour. Our favorite team had just scored and Chike and I were bouncing on either end of the couch screaming “GOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLL!!!!” In the midst of the excitement, I had forgotten how Obi’m had warned me never to raise my voice talkless of shouting “goal” seeing as she hated football. I had also forgotten that she was at home. Chike had tried to intervene when she rushed in from the bedroom, pounced on me, dragged me off the couch and started to flog me with what I later realised was my own belt. I had managed to whimper “Chike nooooo” but the testosterone in his system was blocking his ear drums it seemed.

She flogged Chike as well and that one has never come to visit my house again since that day.

See I’m no coward okay? And I’ve decided severally to speak firmly with/to the mother of my child about this beating issue. I am the man that wears the pants in this house. I am the one who paid her bride price and dowry. I am the man who believes that “blessed are the peacemakers…” However, you must understand that the proper opportunity has not presented itself as I generally become weak in the knees whenever I try to talk to her and she replies with “EHN?”

“Ah din’t say anyteen”

Secondly, I’m a small man; barely 6 inches above 5 feet tall and my wife is 6 ft 2 inches tall; Part of how we met and got married in the first place. A private joke about how opposites attract and all. *sigh* You see, while some people’s marriages are clearly outlined in Black and white with some partial shades of grey areas, Mine is a complete grey area with no white or black whatsoever. Call me a glutton for punishment but I know in spite of the occasional beatings, my wife loves me. And I genuinely believe that the last time she beat me would be the last time she’d ever do a thing like that ever again.

But of course it wasn’t :’)

Whoever I was offered as sacrifice to in the air must have rejected me as I came crashing down to earth with a heavy thud. With that landing, It suddenly occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea what I’d done to warrant this ongoing session of Obiageli’s wrath. My mind told me to play dead and so I lay perfectly still on the floor.

“Nnamdi!”  “Nnam!” “Baba Nkem!”

Maybe she would go easy if she realizes she almost lost me to death from beating. I said nothing.

Her footsteps drifted away in frenzy and I felt a sense of victory. “I’m sure she’s gone to call the neighbors for help” I thought.

From the corner of my eye, I miraculously saw her approaching again. This sight would have risen Lazarus from the dead too. Dear God! Not the Pestle again!!!


Have you voted for us at The Nigerian Blog Awards, Please click here to cast your vote for The Sarcastic Center in “Best Humor blog” and “Best Collaborative/Group Blog” Thanks

Semen White

It’s been a long journey and we appreciate everyone for going the distance with us. We *sob* have almost come to the end of this. Today’s story is quite short for reasons you shall discover as you read on. Thanks again for bearing with us on this project. You guys are so freaking awesome.

Ladies and Gentlemen…



“Really? Seriously? This is all?”


“You’ve got to be kidding me. Pass me my bra please…”


“Yes, I love a man who can make me laugh. But not by tickling me with his penis”



-About 4 different girls.

“Where is the rest?”


“I thought this was a no-smoking zone”


It’s not funny.

It usually starts off beautiful. One or two dates and she is asking for more. I take her home, lights are dim, the wine is chilled, the music is soft and the mood is just right. We start touching; 1st base, 2nd base, 3rd base, her clothes imitate autumn as they fall to the floor, I get on my knees and make her more than happy, she’s yelling for me to “take me baby!” and just as I’m about to get lucky, I take off my shorts and this is when shit happens…

Shit always happens.

And they get so creative with the retorts… I once had a woman ask me if Gulder didn’t conduct their famed searches in my pubic hair to find the “Hidden Penis”. Another asked me if I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t my hospital offer help for amputees?

“No wonder you were playing Wande Cole”

*long deep sigh*

I just want some ass…

I have this recurrent dream. I’m in a hospital chair, and the doctor is showing me an array of beautiful penises and asking me to choose.

Doctor: Excellent choice. Now how many inches do you want?

Me: Nothing excessive. Say….10 inches?

Doctor: No problem. So that will bring your size to a total of what, 10 inches?

And all the nurses would burst out laughing.

See? Even in my dreams, people have a way of taunting me with the small penis jokes.

What’s even worse about this is I’ve been told to “give it time. It’ll grow on you”. I want to take that literally but apparently, nothing is growing. I’m sure you’re going “Really, it can’t be that bad”. Here’s how I overhead an ex describing her penis to her friends;

“Stick out your pinky finger”

[At this point all her friends go “C’mooon! It can’t be that small!!”]

“Oh please! He’s not that big. Now, see the length between the joint where the finger meets the palm and the 1st joint in the pinky? That’s Dayo when he’s flaccid”

“And when he’s hard?” one of her friends prodded…

“No difference honey.”

“My dear, I don’t know how you survived three weeks with him.”

“He said it was his longest relationship ever”

I’m not saying I cried myself to sleep that night…

Why can’t you just love me for me? Why? Why do you have to love me for my penis? You shallow women who say they want a man who will be loving and caring. I’m all that shit and more. I stroke your ego, I bring breakfast in bed, I freaking cuddle for the love of Michael Bublé and all the other gay people.  Yet, you women are so quick to put your clothes back on and reply my “why are you leaving? I made dinner” with “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

I just want some ass…

A friend of mine suggested that I pay for sex. He even offered to foot the first bill and got a half caste Lebanese chick that would do whatever I wanted, and would never say anything derogatory about me.

She said it was the best dry hump she ever had.

Another friend of mine said I should just service myself.

I think he was making fun of me. I mean, how do I stroke something that’s too small to fit in the palm of my hand comfortably? Not to talk of…

I’m tired please.

I know what you’re saying. Why don’t you just go for penile enlargement surgery? That shit costs an average of $4,500 dollars you idiot! Am I supposed to get that on a doctor’s paycheck? Please don’t piss me off.

You know how they say don’t mix business with pleasure? I didn’t listen. You see, these nurses ehn, they swing their hips seductively, lick their lips and flutter their eyelids furtively and you’re all wanting to go to bed with one of them. Then you do (well, in my case, you try to) and the next day, guess what all the nurses are calling you?

That’s right… Dr. Too-Little.

I’m not saying I cried myself to sleep that night…

Don’t tell me it’s just sex. Just…sex? Sex is one of the most beautiful things God created and you’re saying it’s…just…sex?

Don’t let me rape you.

Oh that’s right! I can’t even if I want to…

I’m about to break down.

It’s not enough that I have to put up with the “Has anyone broken your hymen? Let’s get Gay Josh to do it for you”, and the “The pygmies aren’t extinct. Tell Ted to pull down his pants”  jokes from my male friends; some of my female friends have actually tried to introduce me to some of their gay friends.

What’s worse is I have been put in the cuddle zone. A few of my female friends heard about my ‘little situation’ and have decided that every time they’re cold and don’t want to have sex, they’ll just come over to my crib, stay under the duvet, and watch a movie.

Some of them come to talk to me about their problems. I’m Ultimate Friend Zone chilling with a Gold Card and unlimited access to their reservoir of secrets, but no ass…

No ass yo…

I just…

I just want some ass.


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Ajebutter Green

Hey Guys, it’s our deepest desire to entertain while at the same time mess up your brains with the things we put out on here. This post however, is geared at righting the wrongs of generations past and bringing forth World peace…or not.

Ladies and Gentlemen, enjoy…



“He touched me, he touched me, oh what joy fills my soul…”

Try as I might, every single time the choir sings this song, I can’t help but choke on my own giggle. So seshual, so damn seshual. He touched you. Of course you’re happy he touched you. Ehn, judge me o, judgemetina and judgementus, you hear, go ahead judge me. This bola lady won’t kill me in this church though I’ve told her a thousand and one times to stop dressing and winding like she’s  backup for beyonce; always looking sexy abi horny. Speaking of which, I am…Horny that is. Crap. Not again.

You’re confused aren’t you? Turning your nose up at me? lol. Let’s not play that game, I’ve turned my nose up at people more times than Mitt Romney’s been called a liar. So you can like to chill. Anyway, my name is Pastor Funmi and I’m the minister-in charge of the choir department of Victory House fellowship, University of Ibadan. I’m in my final year of Medicine and surgery and believe me, I can NOT wait till I’m inducted. It’s been 6 years of hiding, 6 years of deceit, 6 years of keeping this huge secret. Well, it’s not really a secret seeing as all have sinned and come short of the Glory of God. I’m just a sinner waiting for the R.kelly like saint who’s going to save me….and no, Pastor is not my first name. eyin oloriburuku oshi! Tueh!!

Daddy personally handed me over to the pastor-in-charge when I resumed school in my first year. He wanted me to be a pastor too you know. Bless his poor soul.  In other news, Service needs to come to an end though, this between my legs needs to be put out. *facepalm* I still have to welcome the first timers. *sigh* memories. He was a first timer too.


Kande was a Hausa god in guinea. I remember the sexy ass, flowing green guinea kaftan he was wearing. I literally tripped over my own foot on sighting him at the visitor’s corner after service. I had never shelled so many times in one conversation in my entire life as I did that day. Thank God for excess melanin, I’d have been beet red! I got his number and address as was requested for visitors’ follow-up. That, was where it started going down south. Down south. Now if that’s not a badly placed pun….

He was on the phone when he ushered me in to his BQ. Oh Lord that Hausa accent laced with a bit of English. Perfect I tell you. I sat on his bed (see how the devil starts?) since BQs in school barely had enough space for extra furniture, listening to him argue on the phone. He seemed angry. Maybe this was a sign from God. Maybe God wanted me to help him with anger issues. Maybe he was my helpmate and God wanted me to help him grow; you know, till we both were ready for harvesting. I flipped open my bible and you know what my eyes fell on? Ezekiel 23:20… “for she doted upon them whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emissions were like that of horses.” The devil’s a bastard isn’t he? Using the bible against me? I mean, come on! Of all verses to have stumbled on! I quickly flipped to the 23rd Psalm, I needed The Lord to be my Shepherd and lead me to the still waters located somewhere in Kande’s mouth…No, not that. “…even though I walk through the shadow of the valley of his dick, I’ll…” Wait. What? This is going all wrong, I quickly excused myself to the bathroom… an attempt to get the devil behind me. Wrong call… I stepped back into the room to meet kay waiting… on the bed… naked… My Lord jesus, kay was uncircumcised. And that thing, that thing hanging between his legs, that thing was big enough to pound Christmas yam! “hello pastor Funmi…”. That was the end guys, THE END, that cherry popped and it was well popped! The service was amazing, My God! I sang heavenly choruses and saw the Cherub and Angels descending Heavenly banisters. At some point during the servicing, sorry service, I swear I heard the Halleluyah Chorus while David played the Harp.

Not all fairy tales have happy endings, definitely not mine. Kay just disappeared. I mean, it couldn’t have been the rapture ‘cos I’m still here. Well fuck you for that raised eyebrow; The Lord loves me the way I am, Get your pretentious darling yaki wearing ass outta here. It felt like my world crashed. I would look out for him at fellowship meetings, even made him a special prayer point during our prayer meetings but he never showed up.I would later learn that he was advised to withdraw and he took the advice. I don’t know why he never told me, Oh then again, we didn’t do much pillow talk.

“Pastor Funmi!”

Great! this one has spotted me now. Let me tell you a bit about Sheye. He was recently anointed as the Usher’s leader but was my padi padi back then. We had met at 411 on a Friday when I’d gone to buy shawarma and the attendant was wasting my time, I wanted to cuss her out but had to chill because you know, I was in year 2 and ought to be the prim and proper Christian. Sheye was next on the queue, Obviously he had seen my frustration and was quick to hassle the attendant on my behalf. He introduced himself as  “brother sheye from Fire Ablaze ministries” and then asked me to join him for some drinks later. Don’t judge me, He was HAWTER THAN FIRE!!! Which is a good thing you know; wonderfully made and shit…

I ordered the Cranberry Juice…He ordered the Vodka.

Dear God, so this is where my extra rib is meant to complete? How great thou art…

One tin one tin, we were flashing each other halogen green lights over the drinks. Me, I kuku know how to alcohol my handle as you can see. Our friendship grew as days passed, I converted him to my fellowship, we became drinking (communion) buddies and one Friday night, we ended up at his apartment in the middle of the night. For a “brother,” sheye had the most suspect bedroom I’d ever visited. My panties found their way to the floor joining my top and bra that I had somehow gotten rid of. He lay me on the bed and started kissing me all over, kissing my inner thighs and all. You know, everywhere but where I really needed ministration. Ko funny at all. Kini gbogbo nonsense. But really, why do you men like to form harlequin romance during sex? I will brush you! I don’t have time for senrenre mehn! “brother sheye, don’t waste my time’ I swear, I don’t know when it slipped out. He looked up at me and gave me the cockiest smile ever. “Mental eye roll* I watched myself push his head down in the mirror above his bed (now I see why we’ve never had home fellowship at his place) and smiled.

It’s about to go down…omo i bad o

Barely had he started when the devil struck… shebi I thought he was a bastard before ehn, this time he showed me. I pushed his head deeper, letting myself sink into it and then it happened… I messed. No, not that sexy pussy-fart. I MESSED. Mo so. Iso kikan! Everyone thinks a mirror above the bed is kinky and sexy and all that…not till you see your gbensher’s reaction after you fart. He looked like someone had exposed him to a lifetime of suffering and depression. The mess left him a mess to be honest. That’s not even the worst part, he didn’t even give me the chance to do the Walk of Shame. Sheye looked like he had just experienced the Damascus light as he got up, glassy eyed and walked out into the darkness. I grabbed my clothes and had to escape the smell too.

“Omo pastor, she don’t listen, Omo pastor she’s a vixen, Omo pastor k’okin gbo’ro…”

I wind vigorously as Ajebutter’s jam blares loudly from the speakers here at Club 10, Lagos. Omo mehn, my Azonto is badder than all of you. What? My Induction party  is so much fun, nothing beats this life I think to myself. I down another shot of Tequila and resume my hand-leg coordinated movement when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, careful not to go out of step. OH MY! Who says my God is not a miracle worker and cannot locate his lost sheep?


I start speaking in tongues while craving his tongue. MasaaasaaasaTontotontoisaDikedooooo”

I’m going to heaven today.


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Mechanic Blue

Hey Guys, Today we continue our series with the voice of one who has it all but yet seemingly doesn’t realize his place or something like that.

Ladies and Gentlemen…representing “Mechanic Blue,” …




I swear if you have not watched Yoruba blue film before you should die by a coward’s sword. Someone like Theon Greyjoy I reckon.


Even though my Yoruba brethren are normally loud, the way this Usman BuranGiraffe, the northern actor who had his 16 inch phallus inside Bukola Orobokibo’s genitals was pumping her with a straight face is quite amusing. This is making Bukola louder than your average.

As I write this, I can’t help but stare at this niggas straight face and the sharp contrast that is on Bukola’s face. Usman is in his no arms stance, arms akimbo with a straight face ramming her from behind. Orobokibo it seems I paused mid moan, has a mixture of pain & joy plastered on her face and her mouth so wide ajar I can see the entrance to her gut. She was in the middle of screaming ‘AYAMATANGAAAAAA!!!’ when I hit pause.

I know because that’s what she screams anytime she’s cummin’. You lot are missing.

I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, Platinum will be more like it. I mean, it’s not my fault that my family happens to own the whole of Victoria Island & Lekki. My dad became king in these parts before I was born so you can call me a true blue blood. All I have known all my life has been sheer splendor so it’s not my fault really that I’m spoilt. Heard in the news a few days ago some piece of crap info about a 96 year old man who impregnated a teenage girl being the oldest father in the world.

*blank stare*

Let me tell you something about my grandfather, the late Ajanaku Olokonla Alainikanse Adoboyaro II. He had his last child at the ripe age of 108. Ajanaku lived till he was 145 before he decided to give up the ghost. Baba had 104 wives and 128 children so naturally we colonised our environment. If you’re from the same local government as I, your descendants were our slaves. Thank God for civilization, maybe they would’ve have given you to me as a birthday gift or something. My milkshake brings more of everything good to the yard.

I remember one time I was with my boy Slim T in Mushin. Yes, I don’t have any friends on the island. They’re all boti and I cannot be associated with anyone who cannot eat fufu with both hands. Anyway, I was with Slim T when two area boys wanted to collect the bag of igbo I was carrying so carelessly.

Fi ahon wa ka eyin e oh! Mo ti so fun e” [Use your tongue to count your teeth! I’ve told you!] I told them in fluent Yoruba. They couldn’t believe I just spoke in their agbero tongue, so I added a little more for spice.

Ma je kin pea won baba e lati saare won!” [Don’t let me call your fathers from the grave!]

Apparently, this was the stubborn breed, so they still tried to collect my weed. Wo! I beat them properly. E mi? Son of the soil gan gan! From that day they started respecting me. Eni ti won kin fi sere [He who is not to be messed with]. I even started giving them girls. I should have been collecting tribute.

Yeah, did you guys hear about what happened to that big headed Bonaventure boy at the Headies? He fell while performing one of his hit singles. That was my doing. He fucked up real bad and if he doesn’t come and apologise I will make sure that he will always fall on every stage around the country. I mean, I introduced him to my babes, (the ones I usually have ménage et quartre with) Funke Adekunle, Dolapo and Yetunde and he went ahead to use them to sing?

Imagine Bonaventure actually said: “Funke Adekunle, Dolapo & Yetunde; rain rain go away, me and the gal dem want to play…”

My own Dolapo that I will not even allow mosquito to see because her booty is a ghen ghen that head master wants to play with after rain has gone. Burna, may you continue to fall like the Niagra!

Then I heard that Toto Decay was claiming responsibility for his fall at the Headies. See your life Bona? Abana that awon boys don’t even gbensh anymore because well, the toto eyav decay. Real niggies like myself and I always stop at the blowjobs. She now used that same mouth to insult you. Serves you right! Next time you will not use my girls’ names in any of your songs!

I’m a dirty man people. Again not my fault, blame that on one of the royal maids we had when I was seven. First time I saw pubic hair, it was hers. I was going to ease myself during breakfast one morning when I heard a noise from one of the bathrooms so I went to investigate. I opened the shower curtain and saw Shukura, bathing bowl in hand, stark naked. My eyes went down to her nether region and I saw hair there.


I went to mother and reported that we had a witch living amongst us but she didn’t do anything but scold me. Shukura however had other plans, I mean no man born of woman was to ever see her naked without her gbenshing the nonsense outta the nigga. Every day afterwards for the next 3 years we had sex. Shukky baby taught me all the tricks in the book. It’s not my fault, true. You should pity me. God bless Shukura’s soul though, she added me on Facebook yesterday. 😀

So up BLUES!!!

Yep, I am a Chelsea and Manchester City fan. Not cos I care about football or anything sports related but for the fact that they have money. I mean, I’m talking on some Omo Baba Olowo (O.B.O) P right here. When Baba Olowo Abraham bought Chelsea in 2002 I knew I had found a club which I would support religiously till the next money bag comes along. Then Mansour took over at the noisy end of Manchester… Two things I love.

Noise and money; added to the fact that my family is very much like Mansour’s made me very happy and reaffirmed that blue is the true color of money. Fuck the green American dollar.

Sorry guys, my manners fail me sometimes, I forgot to introduce myself at the beginning of the post. My name is Larry Olokonla Alaininkanse Sushey, & I am immortal.




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Edo Black

There are some things that happen in this mysterious life that we cannot explain *Insert Nollywood Track here* When such things happen, we shake our heads, contort our mouth into an annoying shape and act bewildered. Today, we shall listen to one such tale as told by…Ladies and Gentlemen…



It’s a few minutes past 10 pm and I’m sitting alone in “Kerosene Fridge;” the beer parlor beside my house. I can see you looking at me, judging. Go on, Judge Judy, judge well well. Ah ahn… Small girl like that, only her come beer parlor dey drink big stout. She no get bobo?  Well no, I don’t. Thanks for your concern. My headphones, connected to my cell phone, are blasting sweet music into my ears. That’s all I use my cell phone for anyway; no one calls me on it. The soothing, dulcet tones of fill my ears, his R-factor a comfort to my aching mind.

“Kini ojo oghi e? O gbo? How old aghe you? (I’m just 21.) O da be, emi 54… tele mi lo ile, ka lo gun gun gun.”


Familiar words. I was 21 when I went to interview as Chief Fakunrodo’s assistant. Chief was as wealthy as the entire Kardashian clan and twice as daft. I was young, broke as any other fresh graduate in Naija. Obviously, I was desperate for work. How could I know that chief was hiring me for the double D grades I had on my chest and not the A’s on my transcript? Chief threatened to fire me if I didn’t give him some, so I did. Then a little extra. He didn’t know about my gangster curse. Oh, let me explain:

See, I was born a child of circumstance, Daddy wasn’t around much and Mama was a rolling stone aka Pepper grinder. Infact, daddy was never around except when he wanted to come and collect pepper from Mama and by pepper here, I mean money. It’s safe to say that Mama was the Bread winner although pepper was her main source of income. I hope you’re following closely. Anyway, Mama regarded daddy as a complete waste of dust, flesh and bones. She used to tell me that God should have used his flesh to create more chickens for world consumption, quick to add how her pepper would taste good with such. Yes, she hated him so but she never told me why.

All she did say is “No one would ever take you for granted my daughter, I have taken care of that”

I’ve never done anything to hurt anyone. On purpose. People that offend me just tend to… well, die. Or get hurt. Or go mad. And I’m talking walking-on-the-road-with-dada-wearing-rag-and-eating-from-dustbin-while-singing-Tonto-Dike-Hayi kind of mad. Anyway, didn’t take very long for karma to catch up with chief. His wife left him for a reggae artist and just after he fired me, he went bankrupt. Last I heard, he caught some urinary infection from one of his suzies and now lives in the leper’s colony along Benin-Ore expressway.


“O baje, o baje, wa wo bo shey ghe idi, o baje…

Orobo ueeee!!! Orobo ueeee! She just dey roll her waist like gorodom…” slowly dissolves into Sound Sultan’s rich melodious notes. The Sultan’s voice transports me to another time. I’m in the club and I’m staring at a girl shaking her nyash. Normally, it would mean nothing to me except for one little detail. She was shaking that nyash all over my man. MY man. And she was supposed to be my best friend. Chinwe knew how I felt about Tolu. I poured my heart to her like it was perfume in a broken Alabaster box since I was too scared to pour it out to Tolu himself. Chinwe knew how his voice made me turn to jelly, yet there she was rolling her waist on top of him like some Yvonne Nelson chick on Iyanya medication. “I’m leaving!!!” I shouted to Chinwe over the music, she didn’t even hear me because she was too busy using her waist like a faulty centrifuge. As I lay on my bed that night, I wept like Nkiru Sylvanus.

At about 4 am…

Ring ring* Hi, my name is Doctor Blah blah. Your friend Chinwe was in a ghastly car accident…”

Well, that was years ago. Tolu died and Chinwe now eats through an IV and pees through a catheter.

“Heeys!Hygienus, bring another big Stout!” I yell as the song switches.Ah yes, Danny Young…

“Eni wo ankara lo ma je semo.”

Folake didn’t want me to eat semo. She didn’t think I was good enough for her ankara. Since high school, Folake made it her business to remind me that I was not good enough. Not good enough for her clique, for her parties, for whatever else she was involved with. When she was getting married, she refused to sell me asoebi. At her wedding, they refused to give me plastic bowl souvenir. Or food. Or a chair. Folake was a real bitch. When she threw the bouquet, she also made sure I didn’t catch it by throwing it too close to the stage. As I turned to leave, I caught her husband wink at me…Ah! bobo yii ti jasi. Free pussy abi? He invited me to his office days later and fucked shege si mi lara...Of course, I recorded it and sent it to NTA when he was running for senator.  I didn’t have to do much editing because he had me bent over like his bitch while his face contoured in various expressions of pleasure. Anyway, Folake had a heart attack and has moved to Eyenkorin in Kwara state, where she teaches the little children by day, and is the village whore by night.


“Owo mbe lapo mi o, dide ko ba mi jo…”


Look at that useless Adamu. I trusted him. I mean, why not? He was good looking, dark skinned with that slight Fulani accent that hit all the right spots on my tympanic membrane. He worked in my office and we had sex a few times. So when he came to me, with the great business opportunity that was too big to pass up, I couldn’t say no looking at those eyes. And that’s how Adamu disappeared. With my #600k. I was too shocked to cry. A few weeks after Adamu absconded with my money, he was struck by a sudden illness. Last I heard, he had left his former residence at Yaba and taken up new accommodation at Yaba left. I didn’t even get my money back. Mscheww.

I’m tired of drinking and I bet you’re tired of seeing me here. I’ll be back tomorrow night. As usual. I stand and drop a wad of cash on my table. I’m staggering a little but it’s still a sexy strut, Thanks to my favourite streetlight or your car headlights, You’ll probably see me standing in the corner sadly with no Dolce & Gabbana. I didn’t choose this life, Na condition make crayfish bend. I pull up my little black dress, similar in colour to my black Edo heart.

“Some people no wan make I grow, some people no wan make I blow, Olorun maje o…”*skips*

All I do is get hi, Wave my handz in the Skyy, When you see me passing by, Don’t forget to say Hi, Hoi, hayiii…”

Have you voted for us at The Nigerian Blog Awards, Please click here to cast your vote for The Sarcastic Center in “Best Humor blog” and “Best Collaborative/Group Blog” Thanks

Fox River Pink

Welcome Guys, Today we shall all be happy, hold hands, put flowers in our hair and sing Kumbaya because we are awesome like that. Feel free to wear your Skinny jeans and cry like Drake if you feel all emotional. It’s

Talking about sexual decisions, preferences and what not, Please welcome…



I’d First read about them in the papers. A community for men who only loved men! Then a friend confirmed their existence and I soon got the address.


My mother is open-minded and extremely well read. She is more ‘with the times’ than I am. Social media, TV, movies, pop culture references. You name it. To be honest, it’s slightly worrying at times. You do NOT want a mother who talks about her sex life freely. Trust me, you’ve seen it on TV and Americans can make that seem ‘cool’ but two words you don’t ever want your very hot, single mother uttering in a conversation with your friends in attendance are: “violent” and “orgasm”… especially when those words come in that order and are accompanied by her closing her eyes and shaking her body as if to dramatize your pain for the world to see.

“Uggh. You prude,” she’d chided me once after she had expressed some similarly embarrassing sentiment in the presence of many. “How do you think you were conceived?” she asked incredulously.

“I was thinking stork? Maybe I was adopted? Alien spaceship dropped me off because I was too smart for their civilization? Or maybe I was a pimp in my past life and kinda got reincarnated into this age as your son as punishment for making millions of denarii off Roman hos? I have theories mom.”

She laughed. A long and throaty laugh. The friends in attendance laughed too. She reached up and kissed my forehead. We were cool. As always. Then she ruined it all by adding: “Before he became an ‘a’ hole and left us to go bang that underage, buck-toothed, karma sutra encyclopaedia that was his secretary, your Dad and I had a pretty good thing going. His name was actually Benjamin but I used to call him Big Richard. You figure out why, son?”

Yup, my mom is that cool. Which is why I can’t figure out why she has refused to accept the fact that I’m gay. Gay and proud and gay again.

When I first tried to come out of the closet, she turned her nose up and told me it was probably a phase that I would soon snap out of. I didn’t and a few months later – on my 24th birthday – I told her again after she’d prayed for me to marry a good wife. Once the guests had gone, I said:

“Mom, you know I like boys though,”

“Then how come I’ve never seen you with one?”

“I can’t bring them home!”

“Who would complain? It’s just you and I…”


“For a gay dude, you got no game son. Bring home a lover or I’m setting you up with Mrs. Akudike’s daughter.”

“Who? Clarissa? I once walked into our gest toilet AFTER her. And I can confirm that hell is real Ma!”

“Oh shush. Bring boy or I bring her…”

And therein lay the problem: I couldn’t get a steady lover. My woes are well documented.

The first problem I had with picking up men was that I inherited the ‘wrongest’ of traits from my Dad. I was sixteen when my Mom accidentally walked in on me changing. For the next year, she secretly called me “Really Big Richard.” Back then, I thought she was just missing my old man. Now I know exactly why. If I was straight, it would have been a thing of pride. Turns out Nigerian dudes can’t take it like they give it.

For example, third year in university. I was indulging in some rough play with this guy called Labi. He was pretty butch. All leather and hair gel. He was a bully too. Cultism came with boldness and he’d approached me one evening when I was gliding back to my hostel. It is true what they say about gay guys being able to spot each other. I never knew Labi could fake Princess Njideka Okeke’s (aka nchawa) accent with such proficiency until that fateful night in his room when we were ready to rumble and I pulled my boxers down:


“What?” I asked. Honestly confused.

“You no want make I take yansh siddon again abi?” he wailed,

“Why you no go take yansh siddon?” I could mix my accented pidgin with the best of them.

“Abeg oh… I no do. Small boy like you dey carry dis kind implement waka?” I sensed my hopes of getting some boy-loving slipping away. I had to do something fast. A raunchy uncle taught me a trick he used for getting gullible girls in the sac. I’d never tried it on girls – obviously – but it wouldn’t hurt to try it out now. I uttered three words:

“Just the tip…”

Labi agreed.

But I was lying.

A week later, I went to see Labi again. I knew there’d be trouble when I saw a sticker on his door: “Bruised and battered but not defeated.” Safe to say I had no further luck with him and his influence meant that word went round in the school’s un-straight community that I was bad news for sphincters nationwide.


I got off the bus and started walking. Address in hand, I started trying to locate my destination. It proved to be easy. I stood in front of the gate now.

Mick Shagger’s HOME FOR BOYS…


You know your gay tushy is unsexy when you can’t get laid in prison. I mean…


Walking around computer village without a receipt for my laptop had initially seemed a mistake once the plain clothes officer had halted me and asked for it. I stuttered that I’d bought the laptop abroad but he would have none of it. Especially since my demeanour instantly told him that I was lying my supple butt off. I didn’t have any cash with which to sort myself out. Thirty odd minutes later, I was behind the counter at their station. I looked back and saw the cell. Angry-looking, buff males were snarling at those of us behind the counter.  I was standing with four other males who had been nabbed receipt-less like me. One of the police officers now threatened us: “If you boys don’t behave in the next one hour, we will lock you up till tomorrow because we will soon change shift!”

I heard gasps of fear all around.

But my spirit soared with delight. Finally, I’d be getting some action.

I stuck my hands in my back pockets feeling myself up in anticipation. Then I felt a piece of paper: it was my receipt!

No way. I crumpled it and stuffed it in my mouth.

“Wetin you dey chew?” One of the officers suddenly barked at me.

I swallowed hard. If I was lucky, there’d be more gag-reflex activity before the night was out. “Sir, I wan enter jail,” I coughed.

“Jail? You this softie! When dem press you inside cell finish ehn, your yansh go dey leak water o…”

I hope!

Somehow this officer thought he was doing me a favour by letting me stay outside. He liked my face, I guess. He also probably hoped I’d call someone soon. No sir. No cash for you today.

“Sir, I think you’re a bastard,” I spat, “You hopeless people will just be threatening innocent…”

A few slaps and a push later, the cell gate was locking with me on the other side … smiling.

“Ajebutter, come here,” I walked gleefully to the burliest of them all. He was sitting in a corner of the cell eating beans and bread. He was obviously the top dawg “I go make sure say nobody toush you inside this cell but this night, na me go sample you first. You hear?!” he growled at me like his ‘sampling’ would be the worst thing in the world.

“I hear,” I smiled. Another hour later, I was sitting quietly beside him waiting for nightfall when I heard the cell gates swing open.

“Randy Ekong… RANDY EKONG!” Why was the officer shouting my name?

“Yes sir,” I got up and approached.

“Somebody don come bail you out.”

I have never been more unhappy to see my mother!

So here I was, boyfriend-less and this close to a date with Clarissa. Soon after, I heard about the home for boys. I gotta get laid Ma.


I knocked, and smiling, waited for the door to open.

“Come in,” I was ushered in by a very well-dressed, effeminate man. I wiggled my bottom expectantly. This should be fun. 


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