Food Porn – @Cumical

Welcome guys…to what is the last day of the food porn serie…

Wait. That was yesterday. Right?

But hey, you guys weren’t gonna leave me out of the fun, now…were you? Come on. You weren’t gonna get all the entertainment without involving The Dark Skinned Lovegod aka Mr. Birthmark-On-The-Nutsack aka #NoseFam aka #TeamBrokeUglyAndAnonymous aka Goddamn-How-Many-Aliases-Does-This-Nigga-Have aka I’ve Been Reading Way Too Many Big GhostFace Reviews…

So surprise! I’m here.

I should get right to it already but I really have to apologize for delivering late. If Laziness was a human he would appear every time I looked in the mirror just before it shattered but we’re not here to brag.

We shall begin this awesome post with a short poem I wrote in honor of my beloved.

Love…

And puff puff…

Synonyms really.

That was me being poetic. Ladies…

I have a lot of friends who complain that I never leave the house and I’m too introverted, always locked up indoors with my phones and my laptop.

That’s a lie. How else would I get my puff puff?

Granted I was a kid genius. But I still haven’t gotten around to making a puff-puff machine that follows me around and till then, I will always have a reason to come out the crib.

I don’t really know when the obsession started. I might have been 4 months old…no. Not out of the womb, still in.
Mom probably went to some bash and had a little too much small chops and I became addicted.

Sometimes the sound the puff puff guys make wakes me up. And I rupture the sound barrier chasing these guys down. I’m supposed to be the fresh kid in my ghetto of a neighborhood but I leave all my home training where it belongs…at home when I become the hunter and the puff puff becomes the hunted. .

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I mean look at it.

No really…

Just look at it.

Do you not want to sink your teeth in all that goodness? I know you do, yes, you DeLaTerre… you.

Sidebar: At random points in this post I’m just gonna throw in pictures of puff puff just to remind you why you’re here.

There was this day I walked round my entire area looking for puff puff. I didn’t even have earphones in just so I could hear them calling from afar. I searched everywhere. All the stores were closed. All the joints were not open. It was a nightmare.

Then I heard a voice from above saying “weep, young lad. Wear sackcloth and pour ashes upon thy head. For there is no more puff puff in the land.”

I woke up in a pool of my own sweat.

I promptly reached for the nylon by my bed-stand and popped one puff puff in my mouth to remind myself that it was nothing more than a nightmare.

I have the most amazing dreams of puff puff. And the dreams are in black and white. But the puff puff is in colour. How is that not a match made in heaven? Or a bakery…whatever.

There’s this one recurring dream where the Puff Puff Queen, Latifat, is on her throne trying to create a puff puff drought. And then lil’ ninja puff daddies keep throwing frying pans my way.

That shit don’t fly with me.

I weave, duck, and return some of the frying pans. I take out a lot of them tiny ass Sean Combes and get to the giant cauldron of puff puff.

Lemme not bore you.

Too late right? Shit.

Behold the glory. That should keep you going till the end of the post.

Behold the glory. That should keep you going till the end of the post.

A real long time ago, when we had to study to pass and not use work experience to answer questions, I had a study partner called Buffy. But she wasn’t buff and she sure as hell didn’t slay vampires so I never got why she let people call her that.

She was chubby though. So naturally I called her Puffy. She didn’t like that too much. She especially didn’t like when I got her Diddy’s “Press Play” album on her birthday with a card that said “I love your new album”, but who am I to blame for my innocent sense of humour and great taste in gift giving?

Puffy and I used to read a lot before exams. You know, studying together is kind of an essential part of being study partners. Kind of how you need a pool to throw a pool party. Yeah. And guess what another essential component of our time together was? That’s right; Puff Puff.

Naturally, we aced all our papers. Because every one knows that when you puff puff, you pass.

That’s right, I went there.

Uhhhhhh yeah!

Uhhhhhh yeah!

Nah, just look at all those brown skinned goddesses. Look at those curves. How can you not desire to slowly pop one in your mouth and savour that goodness? How can you not want that?

I was once an avid member of fitfam. Getting in shape and all that jazz. Doing 300 pushups at a go like it was baked beans. Then my instructor says you can’t be fully fit without a diet. And one of the things I’m not allowed to eat is puff puff.

Haha…

Totally unrelated, but if anyone wants to buy some weights and a sit up bench, please let me know.

If this post seems a little disjointed, it’s not because I had to take breaks to make love to my brown skinned babies or anything.

We’ll close this ridiculously pointless post with a great song I totally invented all by myself but might be sung to the tune of Jay and Bey’s “Bonnie and Clyde”. Again, totally unrelated though…

[Me] All I need in this life of sin, is me and my puff puff, me and my puff puff.
[Puff Puff] Down to ride ’til the very end, it’s me and my Terdoh, me and my Terdoh.

[Repeat till fade…]

puffpuff

Puff puff pass that shit 

Do remember that you can nominate this blog in the Nigerian Blog Awards (I mean, after reading dumb shit like this, why wouldn’t you?) by clicking here and inserting tscng.wordpress.com in the categories you deem fit, especially the “Best Humour Blog”

Thank you.

Peace, love, box and puff puff.

Food Porn – @TheGreyGenesis

Welcome Guys to what is the last day in the “Food Porn” series. We would love to thank all who participated in making this a reality; All the contributors and those of you have frequented here just to keep up with the posts. Thanks so much. Our apologies to those who sent in content but we were unable to use as a result of the tight schedule. We really do appreciate it.

Do remember that you can nominate this blog in the Nigerian Blog Awards by clicking here and inserting tscng.wordpress.com in the categories you deem fit, especially the “Best Humour Blog”

Thanks.

Now to wrap up the series, Ladies and Gentlemen; @TheGreyGenesis

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As we proceed with this discourse, please let me assure you, everything you read here today are all proven facts. We choose to educate you unless you want to remain ignant. Your choice really. On the last day, we’ll say we told you but you chose to act the fool. And you know that the Good Lord abhors Fools.

So, let’s talk about Indomie.

You’ll never believe the potential Indomie has until you bring down your worldly nose and let certified and experienced people tutor you on how to be great.

Yeah so, on the off chance there’s one amongst our readers who lives in a mango tree somewhere in Bombay and who was raised by wolves and who until now has had no access to other homosapiens, the Internet, or happiness in general, we will explain what Indomie is.

Indomie is a brand of instant noodles made by indonesian manufacturers.

sddsss

Yes, Nigerian readers. Indomie was not created by your country. In fact I want you to read that again so it sinks in well.
Ooh, you little rebel you. See you making as though you want to scroll on. Lol. I like your spirit.

So I’ll retype it.

Indomie is a brand of instant noodles by indonesian manufacturers. Yes, Nigerian readers. Indomie was not created by your country.

See? Mi Goreng or something..

See? Mi Goreng or something..

Indomie is very similar to the female human as its natural physiognomy without makeup is neither remarkable nor exciting. But the potential is unbelievable.

It’s ok to quickly go look up the meaning of “physiognomy” We won’t judge you. We try to educate you as much as we can here on TSC.

Where were we? Yeah…

There is also a striking resemblance with the common crackers biscuit; It’s dry and unappealing when you open the pack, but should you happen to put it in a cup with milk and sugar and maybe a little mayonnaise (if you’re damaged like that)… It (the crackers biscuits) becomes sexy.

But I digress. 🙂

Since I was born, and even now that I’m still young, I have never loved another the way I have grown to love Indomie. I have seen several, and can confidently tell you, the following means and mediums by and with which Indomie can be ingested.

-By biting.
-By nibbling
-by chewing
-by slurping
-by drinking
-with chopsticks
-with forks
-with spoons
-with knives (true story)
-with forks & knives
-with spoons & forks
-with fingers
-from plates
-from cups
– with straw (I’m not playing)
-from navels

indexw

Moving on, I can also veritably attest to the fact that there is no food item easier to learn and cook than Indomie.

3 simple steps:

1. Put Indomie and spices into container with water
2. Add neatly rinsed egg
3. Add heat source.

Voilà! When it’s done you’ll know.

Meanwhile, if you don’t like the taste of poisonous dysentery and inescapable and agonizing death, your brain might want to tell you to remove the wrapper before putting the stuff into container with water. Also, in some countries, eggs don’t come in the Indomie packs but people buy them separately. Can you imagine that type of resentful struggle? Hian.

Now that we’ve established what Indomie is, how to cook it, and methods of ingestion, let us discuss the things Indomie has been engineered to comfortably substitute, as well as its benefits as a substitute.

Firstly, Indomie can substitute biscuits.

You can give your kids to take with to school. Break time when other kids are opening shortbread biscuits and haribos and stoffs, your kids can open their packs of Indomie and chew in synergy. Very good for healthy jaw and cheek exercises. (unless you’re a wicked parent and you don’t want your kids to have dimples)

Never in short supply. These kids are going to be GREAT

Never in short supply. These kids are going to be GREAT

You were looking at that girl’s pant abi? And you say our nation has problems. Can you evaluate yourself and rate on a scale of 0 to Yerima how much of a perv you are?

Moving on, even you, as a real G. You can take it to the office. It’s economical. Almost 300 strands in one pack. Tell me what earthly biscuit has that many constituents in one carton even. Just tell me.

Also, as a biscuit substitute, it has low calories (that is, if you don’t add butter, mayonnaise or jam before chewing).

sdsdsfsa

Secondly, It goes without saying that with Indomie, you don’t need the stress of making Spaghetti or rice ever again. Indomie is like the summarization of spaghetti, rice and  macaroni all in one concise and easily accessible, 3 step cook-able by and for everyone pack.

In fact, had I known then what I know now, I would have written on ‘Indomie as a panacea’ as my project topic back in School. So many benefits and proven remedial properties in that wonderful pack.

Indomie has been known to cure heartbreak, heartburn, body pains and  even stopping mild heart attacks.

Now, in case you suffer cases of pathological laziness and  even the simple 3 step method of cooking the noodles proves too herculean a task? There are Indomie vendors EVERYWHERE!

Those gentlemen most Nigerians refer to as ‘Mai-Shai’? Yeah. They will hook you up with the best Indomie your money can buy.  Just come down from your car, sit back and kick up in one of their roadside offices, listen to the latest news from their ever present tiny transistor radios and before you know it, the magic will happen.

This is a non-deceitful image of what you MIGHT get

This is a non-deceitful image of what you MIGHT get

Now, although Indomie by itself (with the requisite egg) is orgasmic awesomeness? Remember we were talking about makeup and transformation earlier? Well, eating Indomie without garnishing or accompaniments is like traveling with a car that has fuel but no brake fluid and/or engine oil. Take what you will from this point, regardless of where you intend to go, you’ll not like the outcome of that journey.

Again, the following combinations are things we have witnessed as generally accepted accompaniments or otherwise experimental procedures:

-Indomie with sardines.
-With ham.
-With sausages.
– With duvet eggs.

Indomie Blankate...An Italian masterpiece

Indomie Blanket…An Italian masterpiece

-Indomie with animals (beef, goat meat, suya, fish, bushmeat, lamb etc)…
– Indomie cooked with vodka
– Indomie and beans
– Indomie and shawarma.
Etc.

Yeah, so there you have it. An expository post on why you cannot help but love Indomie.

In conclusion, here are some things that are neither here nor there but worthy of note all the same regarding indomie:

*Indomie can be an aphrodisiac. It all depends on the ‘how’ of the preparation.

*The “Mama she do good o! -She do good!” Indomie advert song has the same upbeat tempo as the song “in the club” by 50cents. I’ve performed it on Karaoke night before.

*ignore that rubbish myth that says Indomie can be cooked in 2 minutes. That’s chaff you’re eating bruv. CHAFF.

*I learned how to boil eggs when I started cooking Indomie.

My first boiled egg & Indomie meal. Had to keep the picture, sorry for the quality. It's old.

My first boiled egg & Indomie meal. Had to keep the picture, sorry for the quality. It’s old.

*The word ‘Indomie’ was mentioned 37 times in this post.

*Indomie could be, but was not intended as a snack during its creation. For all those who use Indomie to hold the stomach in between meals, in the words of the wise Philosopher, Tupac Amaru Shakur, “Only God can save you now”

IT MAY ALSO INTEREST YOU TO NOTE THAT BY DECIDING OF YOUR OWN ACCORD TO ATTEMPT THE COOKING OR INGESTION OF INDOMIE IN ANY OF THE WAYS MENTIONED IN THE POST , YOU HAVE HEREBY AGREED TO BE THE SOLE PERSON LIABLE TO BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THE RESULTS THEREOF AND HOW THEY AFFECT THE REST OF YOUR LIFE AND/OR PROBABLE CONSEQUENT MUTATION(S).

Grey out.

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Remember to nominate this blog in the Nigerian Blog Awards by clicking here and inserting tscng.wordpress.com in the categories you deem fit, especially the “Best Humour Blog”

Thanks.

Food Porn – @mimiakuse

Dodo.

Dodo.

And again I say, Dodo.

Yes, Dodo deserves to be spelt with with a capital D.

You may refer to it as the English word ‘plantain’ but it doesn’t quite roll off your tongue like Dodo.

Dodo is perfect in all its ways.

When it is sliced into those juicy chunks, slighty spiced before being placed into that deathly hot oil…

Soon after, the golden goodness that emerges can be compared to not one single thing on the surface of this earth.

Picture

Dodo + a rich salad will open you up to a deeper understanding of life

Dodo is caring.

When you are walking down the street, and all is not well, the unsupressable aroma of Mama Bashirat’s roasted plaintain makes it okay. As it wafts up, over, and under you, it wraps you around and you let out that satisfied sigh.

She hands you the slightly charred bolé on a torn piece of newspaper and your eye catches part of the headlines on embezzlement of funds by the government  and the bolé seems to pat you on the back, taking away your frustrations with each bite you take.

Dodo enlivens

Like a human portrait without colour in the eyes, so is food without dodo.

Be it yam pottage or moin moin, the inclusion of dodo is like the breath of life to these meals. The texture that your tongue encounters accompanied by the surprise sweetness that slides ever so gently down your throat as you swallow is an encounter you won’t be quick to forget

Dodo does not judge.

Whichever way you decide to swing,

Be it intercontinental with crisp French fries and garlic mayo or you want to jiggy with it traditionally with a peppery asun and kidney sauce, dodo is open minded at all times.

 VLUU L200  / Samsung L200

Dodo + asun has been known to cause an increase in level of endorphins

Dodo is good to you

Dodo doesn’t ask questions

Dodo knows you may stray sometimes

You may even leave and say you’ll never be back

But Dodo will be there waiting for you, not if, but when you crawl back.

Because Dodo is faithful.

 Pictureaada

Dodo of life and destiny

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Please, do remember that you can nominate this blog in the Nigerian Blog Awards by clicking here , following the instructions and inserting tscng.wordpress.com in the categories you deem fit, especially the “Best Humour Blog” Thanks so much

Food Porn – @TheTemitope

“I like food. I like eating. And I don’t want to deprive myself of good food.” – Sarah Michelle Gellar.

“You are what you eat.” – Ludwig Andreas Feuerbach.

“Man shall not live by bread alone.” – Jesus, before the existence of Pounded Yam and efo riro.

“A man who bites shaki with his eyes open fears no man” – Anonymous tweet.

“Pounded Yam isn’t the secret to fulfilling happiness. Happiness is the secret to fulfilling pounded yam.” – @TheTemitope

“The hand that poorly garnishes efo riro is a compliment of 99 problems.” – @TheTemitope

***

I felt like opening with a couple of food for thoughts. *silence* … POW! I’m sorry, that was probably unprofessional. I don’t know why I feed my mind with this junk. *side eye*

You never really forget those who were there for you during your dark days. If you have ever been desperate about something and you see a means to take you out of that desperation, you never forget the means.

Today, I shall give honour to whom it is due: Pounded Yam; or if you will, Iyan and efo riro. Let me bore you with a flash back that made my bond with pounded yam quite unbreakable.

I'm just sayin'

I’m just sayin’

I go back a couple of years, Sunday morning, and I can see myself partaking in children’s deliverance in my church (Name of church withheld). Now, the pastor has given specifics on what the deliverance entails – NO FOOD, NO WATER TILL 6:00PM, FOR TWO DAYS. Alakoba. Couple of hours into the deliverance, I’m home and I can’t wrap my head around why I can’t just swallow few seeds of chin-chin and wash it down with Caprisonne. My parents have guarded the kitchen with a lock and my mum has given the maid, Maggi (the spicy name wasn’t much help), strict instructions not to let me into the passage where little food is stored. My dad puts a bible in my hand and keeps hammering on ‘Man shall not live by bread alone’ but my mind can’t leave the agege bread in the passage alone.

As routine demands, mother has to prepare Sunday lunch (rice) but for some wicked reason, father decides he wants to try a different dish for lunch: Iyan and efo riro. Ika eniyan. Lunch is served at 1:30pm. Remember, my fast lasts till 6:00pm. I have to endure aroma, smacks of lips and sucking of teeth. The devil is a liar. I find every devious means to secure a little portion of mother’s Iyan for myself so I can run to one corner and gulp a few morsels. I even try to be extra nice to Maggi but no, Maggi didn’t budge. Then it hit me! “Daddy, remember the doctor said that I should finish using my malaria drugs before Monday?” “Don’t worry, God will protect you.” Drat! “Honey, let him use his drugs. He can continue his fasting on Monday, when there’s summer coaching”.

Ope o!!! Mother served my lunch like a professional. The pounded yam gave way in the middle; there was enough space for the efo riro to rest comfortably, coating the Iyan with luster and crowning the dish like the king of morsel food. Two pieces of meat – one shaki, one bokotor – jutted out from the surface of the plate, staring at me, beckoning me to prove my worth if I was man enough to take them all in. Imagine a dramatic moment of Enya’s Adiemus playing in my stomach as I broke my fast. The song welcoming the food, swallow by swallow, into a cave of famished innards. No, just imagine. That day marked the inception of me claiming my Ekiti origin with pride.

Now, get me wrong if you like but I am not saying other morsel food like Amala, Eba, Semo or the likes of Rice, Beans or some white man delicacy isn’t equally as good. I’m just saying Pounded Yam is nowhere near their class as it is utterly superior and God has crowned its existence with success and royalty. Iyan lo’ba.

The compliment a well garnished vegetable plays on an ample mound of Pounded yam is appealing. With an aware sense of my heritage, I always approach a bowl of Iyan with caution. I know the right areas to pinch and puncture to watch out for cancerous lumps that may hinder the pleasure that gives way to my satisfaction. There is always a tender moment between fingering my Iyan and putting it in my mouth. Just at the interim of oral pleasure, I tend to smile, knowing that nothing in life is really worth the hassle. I let my tongue rove around the hot but damp cocktail of organic delicacy. Swirling in mouth at that time is usually the secret of lasting happiness; I ignore my gag reflexes because I don’t need it to take the substance all in. I actually swallow. Just then, I know that process is going to happen again and I look forward to it. It doesn’t matter the stream of sweat dripping all over my body because it is at this point I take my clothes off for optimal effect of the pleasure that lurks within my organs.

Everything a relationship with a gold digging whore can give me, Iyan can give me far better. Is it breasts you want to quave and check for lumps? Iyan is far more succulent to feel, the lumps of a good Iyan are hardly existent and even if they are, they don’t take split seconds to be discovered. Can you finger your girl’s breast and bite out the lumps? OHO!

If your girl threatens to let you sleep on the couch alone or threatens to leave your ass, let her go. There’s somebody that will never threaten to leave you and will pleasure your oral cavity, down to your stomach and might even give you little stiffs of erection depending on how deep you are in the mood. Who’s that person? *points mic to the crowd* “IYAN!

Pounded yam

You can’t put a price on good taste. A girl will come, take your money and pleasure another man. Iyan will take your money quite alright but will never pleasure another man. The eventual feeling of being fulfilled is when that vegetable escorts that mashed yam down your throat. Now, efo riro can come in Afang or Edikaikong, don’t fret. It’s just almost as glorifying. Just make sure you know where your loyalty lies – Pounded Yam.

Now it would be wrong to talk about Pounded Yam and not mention its next of kin, Fufu. I’ll give honour to whom honour is due. Though, fufu’s achievement isn’t as epic as Iyan’s, I will admit that she’s an occasional hot dish of excitement, too. It’s just, no matter what; you can never forget your first love. You can cheat, you can keep a concubine but in the end, you will always come home to where your heart lies.

The kind of fufu to take you off the streets and into the sheets fam...

The kind of fufu to take you off the streets and into the sheets fam…

The activities I engage in with Iyan however, are unrivalled.

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Please, do remember that you can nominate this blog in the Nigerian Blog Awards by clicking here , following the instructions and inserting https://tscng.wordpress.com in the categories you deem fit, especially the “Best Humour Blog” Thanks so much

Food Porn – @McBethThePoet & @Slayaar

Hi Guys,

Today, we have a double header; a poem and of course a normal post. We know we requested for entry posts but we must state that we have exceeded our capacity as we have all the entries we can ‘afford’. As a result, we cannot take any more entries.

We do want to thank everyone for participating (reading and writing) We at TSC appreciate you.

We must also inform our dear readers that it is Award season again in Blogsville and this means it’s time to give honour to whom it is due. We are hoping that ‘honour’ this year includes some monetary value but yeah…Please nominate this blog in the Nigerian Blog Awards by clicking here , following the instructions and inserting https://tscng.wordpress.com in the categories you deem fit, especially the “Best Humour Blog” Thanks so much

On to Today’s posts, Please welcome @McBethThePoet and @Slayaar

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Black Manna

Today was a good day

I had a dream, I woke swimming in a pool of cold sweat

“Oh, boy! The heat for this restaurant na wa.”

My wrists near the edge, about to take that leap of faith

Dive in, dive in

Anxiety, rushing up my chest as I shred the shirt I had on

Here I go, numb to the applause of the crowd

“Did I just hear that lad order five pieces of goat meat?”

Must be a dream within a dream

Leonardo DiCaprio sat before me screaming Rock-Paper-Scissors

What should get washed first?

The body of Dom Cobb or the hands I possess

“Sir, I can’t. I’ll drown.”

Splash of water entangles my elbows

“Jump, son!”

The faces of the crowd redden in excitement

Wanton remarks and a few moulds of spittle awake me

“Iya Risi, e funmi ni Iyan marun-un atewedu. Eefi edo meta si.”

“Iyan to fine.”

Rotund, she was

Five wraps of pounded yam, three chopped liver, all she wanted for Christmas, she spoke of Santa stood behind the counter in a smoke stained apron

I’m wide awake

No, young man, you’re going down at noon

What? What?

Deep, I was in the muddy water of Ewedu and crushed bean

“Gbegiri?”

Breaststroke through this meal, as the oil casts battle scars on my underwear

“Chei! See spots on my singlet?”

Sun Tzu had this act of valor in mind

Because this is the Art of War

I strangle a couple foes in the bowl of cooked yam flour

One by one, they succumb

By the neck I leave them for Heaven’s gate

At Peter’s feet, reading to villians the Ibadan anthem for foodies Snap, their souls depart their elastic covering

To be locked in the dungeon of the soup bowl

Forever, rest in my belly

Two million Chinese soldiers fight for safety whileI lay nukes and booby traps at the fortress of 555 branded plates

“You mean these plates are made in China?”

This is war, people

Wait, am I still dreaming?

Pastor Philo warned us about eating in our dreams ooo!

You need a beautiful woman for spoil?

Black, was the color of her soft skin, which I lusted over

Curvy, her hips swayed to the melodies of her steps

Smirk, as she turns for the revelation of hourglass figure

My hands do the talking because actions speak louder than words

I grab her by the waist

“Hey, don’t spill my drink, son.”

I’m meditating on this chilled bottle of Coke

Done feasting on those bunch of conscripts and chicken hearts

In generosity, I exempt some from capture

Weak, old and spent ones

I mark their fore heads with the inscription:

“Leftovers”

Rub the belly of a centurion

“Live long, the royal throne of Amala and the people of Gbegiri,” captives cry

@McBethThePoet

=======================

@Slayaar

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The tears roll down my left cheek. My right eye never failed me,never! Shame the same couldn’t be said about her alter ego. I looked straight at the work of art standing in from of me. Those curves, Oh my… I couldn’t help but stare. I stared long and hard. This was probably the last time I was gonna set my teary eyes on her. This was not how we planned it. Why would she do this to me? Why would she do this to us? Yet again… It wasn’t entirely her fault. The Coca~Cola company had shut down. That was the end of my precious elixir of life, Coke. Again I starred at her. She was the last out of the fridge, the winner of the pageant. The last woman standing. Omo to dun. Eyi to rewa ju ninu gbogbo awon to rewa. All the plans I had for you. Ah! You are a gem.
I do not blame you if you do not understand my misery. I will take you a few years back…I stepped into Aunty Iyabo’s canteen dejected. I was having the worst day ever. My boss was being more of a pest today than she had ever been. Job after job she gave me, deadline after deadline I came through. My salary was an apology compared to the amount of work I was made to do. Who was I to complain though? I had graduated with a third class. I was lucky I even had a job. My boss however took full advantage of the miserable condition I found myself in. Time after time she threatened to sack me. My one hour lunch break was when I usually let everything go and drown myself in a plate of Eba and egusi. Each time I ate, I had this feeling. This feeling I could only describe as close to perfection. Like when you get so close to having an orgasm but you never get there. Try as you might, pound as you might, lick as you might, suck as you might, the orgasm never comes leaving you more frustrated than you were at the start. Despite all these I never stopped ordering my usual. I hoped one day I would experience this strange feeling mounting inside of me. One day, I would have my orgasm.I sat at the far end of the canteen and smiled at Aunty Iyabo. She greeted me like she did every lunch time and a few minutes later Iyabo was serving me my usual. “Ermmm uncle, awon oni pure water o wa leni o, minera wo lema mu? A ni coke ati fanta ati sprite. ” I was hardly a fan of soft drinks. I had never had a soft drink with my usual. I always had water. I sighed “mu coke wa.” She noticed the demoralized look on my face and smiled “e ma worry, e kan kan naa lema mu sugar. Oko yin si ma sise dada.” I was stunned. Just look at this filthy teenager talking about my manhood. Who was I to be angry though? She was probably having more sex than I was. Wait! Did I have a sex life?
Halfway through my meal with my mouthful, I picked up the ice cold bottle of coke with my left hand and raised it to my lips. The moment the liquid came in contact with my tongue, I came…I had found her. I had found the missing piece I had craved for all my life. I had multiple orgasms as the liquid caressed the insides and hidden corners of my mouth and went down my throat. My eyes rolled back, my toes curled, my muscles stiffened. A wet patch appeared on the area around my fly.I settled down and placed my last bottle of coke beside my well moulded bowl of Eba adjacent my well garnished plate of Egusi soup. This was the last time I would enjoy this feeling. After today, I would go back to being miserable. I picked up the bowl of water from the floor and washed my hands.

@slayaar

Food Porn – @CeceNoStockings

I remember the first day I saw you, in your plain Jane goodness – skin so smooth and fair. Nothing really stood out, I mean, I’d seen you around from time to time and I’d never really given a second look. But something about the way you approached me that hot afternoon. Maybe I was just intrigued because you made the first move and came to me instead. I watched cautiously as you stood in front of me, waiting, your skin glistening under the sunlight. Needless to say, I was powerless to resist. I mean, there was something about you, something about you, something about you girl

I knew I shouldn’t have, and my mother had warned me about strangers, but you radiated love. My mind told me you’re no good for me, but my body said “damn, I want you.” Love at first sight kind of things. So I reached out and touched you. We gravitated towards each other naturally, the first kiss…  Boy was it electric. I closed my eyes and was transported to a whole other universe where the rivers flowed pink and the white clouds were softer than cotton. At that moment, I realised I’d been locked out of heaven for too long. You would be mine forever.

Of course, mother was furious when she heard. Gave my poor little behind a whooping and forbade me to see you ever again. Momma warned me what I should know: “Too much candy’s gonna rot yo soul. If you love her, let her go cuz she’ll only get you down”. Doe-eyed, eager to please, I obliged and suffered in silence while person after person enjoyed your delicious goodness. I tried to steal some time with you, but somehow, I always got caught. So I let you go and sowed my wild seeds in other gardens. They did the job for a bit, but it was never really the same as it was with you. It would be a quarter after one, and I’d be a little drunk, and I’d need you right there and then. Still it was better to stay away than to have to lie about us.

Fast forward a couple years, I’m all grown and shit. Miss independent in my own sort of way. More like my own boss, but not really. Either way, it’s raining and I duck into a store for shelter. I’ve never had much faith in love or miracles, but there you were. Right there in front of me, in all your glory. Struggling to contain my excitement, i wove through the small group of people around you and made my way to the front. Words failed me and all I could do was stare and lust. Willing my heart to be brave, I called your name. a whisper at first, but then louder when you didn’t come to me. I couldn’t believe it when I had you in my arms again. You hadn’t changed a bit – still as soft and pretty and delicate as the first time.

You were far from plastic, and I couldn’t let it get past me. Our unhealthy turbulent affair grew over the years, and you showed me several sides to your once calm, predictable, safe nature. I got a bad girl, I must admit it. You got my heart and I don’t know how you did it. Babe, I don’t care who sees it. Lord knows I don’t wanna hide the way I feel when I’m with you. No one gets me the way you do and I’m beyond glad you’re my beau.

They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said “No! No!! No!!”. Everyone keeps saying how you’ll be the death of me, but I don’t care. “How can it feel so good and hurt so bad?”, they’d ask on those rare occasions where we’d have to take a break.  How do I explain a love like this to people who have never felt anything so powerful? How do I tell them you make it easier when life gets hard? How lucky I am to be in love with my best friend. They don’t know how long it takes waiting for a love like this.

I hate when you go away. Emptiness overwhelms me and I feel so alone. When you go, you take the light with you and I’m forced to constantly remind myself that big girls don’t cry. All I do is miss you, the way you make me walk, the way you make me talk. I miss you by your scent, your curvaceous body. The way you feel beneath my fingertips, on my tongue. Sometimes I go places with the prettiest of views – it’s got mountains and it’s got rivers, and it’s got sights that’ll give you shivers – but all I can think is how much prettier it’ll be with you.

Today, I stand to re-affirm my love for you and only you; the apple of my eye, the only sugar in my tea, the only pastry that fills me with so much joy and hope and life.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

I love the you I fell in love with

Plain and simple, fluffy and cute

You showed me the light I’d been missing out on

I love it when you’re moist and mushy

Making me giggle and moan in ecstasy

I love it when you get dark

You lead me to the edge and leave me high

Helpless, dangling precariously

I love it when you get angry

Red really suits you

And there’s that extra zing when we kiss

I love you when you get a little boozy

You’ve got an infectious kinda high

I love you with attitude and spice

Pretty little devil with a smile

I love you like a love song

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Don’t ever leave me, my cupcake lover.

 

Food Porn – @Monsieur_RJ

Niggas always say stuff like “Life is just a pot of beans“. They say it to sound funny, to express how bad a situation is or whatever the hell it is. Bottom-line is, they equate beans to bad events. Truth is, those niggas ain’t know shit & it breaks my heart when I hear the great beans being ridiculed like that. A little story about my love for beans.

People ask me “Yo RJ, what’s your favorite meal?” (and by people I mean bitch ass niggas, cos real niggas ain’t gon ask shit about another nigga’s favorite meal). Normally I would ignore them but as the humble nigga I am with proper upbringing & all that attractive husband-material shit, I simply answer “a plate of beans with plantain”. Why? NYSC.

For the average Nigerian, NYSC year is known as the “sex year”. It’s that year where you get to have all the meaningless sex you’d ever dreamed of with- and here’s the best part- no strings attached. You’d smash all you want & after service year errbody returns to his/her/it’s state & don’t holla at the person you smashed. That shii right there is one of the best things Nigeria has ever done for the youths. If you weren’t getting some during NYSC then you were just a miserable virgin who’d end up alone. In other words, you were RJ. Yup, 11 months into NYSC & I hadn’t gotten some. I was smiling on the inside, acting normal but inside, I was depressed. Woah there! See how I digressed from food to my non-existent sex life. Aii, let’s try & link it up. I was in the Sports CDS group (surprise surprise) & there was this one chic I’d been making moves on but she had a man so I slowed down cos’ that nigga was twice my size. She was mad pretty with curves, pink lips, boobs, ok ass & she was light skinned. I ain’t gon’ lie to y’all & call her a 10. She was a very solid 8. Thursday morning, September 23rd 2011, (yup, I ain’t never forgetting that date) after football practice I decided to holla at homegirl. She played volleyball just in case anybody was wondering.

“Hey, Ify. When are you gonna let me take you out or at least come and visit me. I can risk Kunle beating me up if you’d agree to hang out with me.” I said, expecting the normal curve.

“Kunle passed 3 months ago” she said as she wiped the sweat off her face with her lil lemon towel.

“Christ! He died? How? When? My God!” I said, not giving an entire fuck in all sincerity.

“What? No? I mean he passed out 3 months ago. He’s not in our Batch, remember?”

“Oh! Thank God. How come you never told me? Seems like we wasted months” I said as I turned on my flirt-game.

“What kinda girl tells a guy she likes that her boyfriend is gone & they can now hook up without sounding desperate & cheap?”. To be honest, all I heard after “…she likes…” was blabber. She liked me. SHE LIKED ME. All I had to do now was play my game right & she’d be mine. And trust that nigga RJ to bring his A-game. 10 mins later I had convinced her to come to my crib & we could have lunch. We agreed she would do the cooking. She would cook beans. She went to her place to ‘shower’ & go buy some stuff. I went to my place to clean up, buy fuel for the gen (trust PHCN to try & fuck shit up). At 12:08pm she called & said she was at my junction. I went out, met her there & walked her to my place. All the while I had that David Moyes na-me-be-this-HAAAY-I-don-hammer type smile he puts on in his Man Utd press conferences. I really couldn’t believe my luck. She entered my crib, commended me for how tidy it was & we got to talk a little bit. As we talked I hit the play button on the deck remote & Drake’s album started playing. Let me just say this; we might insult Drake for being the human serviette, I do too, but NEVER EVER slander his first album. There’s a reason it’s called “Thank Me Later”. That album can charm the panties off a nun. I played that Aubery album & then shit got serious. I started picking her beans. Since we were in Minna I had lowered my expectations on the beans’ cleanliness but her beans was mad clean. I stuck 2 of my fingers into the beans… She took a deep breath & leaned back… She looked at me like “I love a nigga that can pick beans”. I spread the beans with a lil flick, leaned forward & blew lil air across it. That shit was mad mild b. She looked at me & smiled. Drake’s was really setting the mood right through the speakers too.

“How did I end up right here with you?/ After all the things that I been through.

It’s been one of those days, you tryin’ forget about/ take a shot and let it out. Let’s get right now that I’m here baby…

Show me a good time (oh yeah oh yeah) … Show me a good time”

I was through with the beans… for now. We had to put it on fire & all that stuff. The plantain needed to be worked on, though. I led her to the kitchen & pulled out the plantain I had been saving. Ok, wasn’t saving it, nobody just wanted to eat it prior to that moment. She picked up the plantain, knelt down & began to peel it open. Mahn, Ify’s head game was… Ma bad, I mean, Ify’s plantain peeling game was on a whole ‘nother level. She peeled it like no other. She stood up- all this while maintaining an immense eye-contact with the nigga RJ- and whispered “I need to add oil to the beans, to make it go down right”. I had no idea what that meant but I was down for whatever. Moments later everything was ready. Beans, plantain. All ready. We went to the sitting room (mehn, my NYSC crib was mad tho, no jokes, ain’t no set of corpers in Minna balled like Zeem & I did back then) & it was time to eat. The plantain was one side. Not mixed with the beans. Pay attention. I started eating her beans, slowly. It wasn’t hot or cold, it was perfect, smelled nice, tasted even better. Ify’s beans yo. Damn. Normally, when you’re eating ‘watery’ beans it becomes a lil bit dried after a while as you eat cos it’s exposed to air & all that gay science shit, right? The reverse was the case here. Ify’s beans started out a lil bit dry but as I slowly ate it, it became wet. (“Watery” seemed wrong to use there.) I ate it & she scratched the back of my neck & tugged on my afro as I did. THEN it was time for my plantain. I took the lovely looking plantain from where it was lying, placed it on (in?) the beans, smiled to myself & we had the best lunch ever. For me sha. When we were done, we laid on the couch, trying to catch our breath when, through the speakers, Aubery was rapping on “Thank Me Now”, the outro of the album.

“You could thank me now. Uh, go ‘head,

‘Thank Me Later’ yeah I know what I said,

but later doesn’t always come so instead it’s okay,

You could thank me now, uhh, yeah, well alright, here I go”

Thanks, Drake. Your next two albums were trash, though.

Food Porn – @Sirkastiq

My Topic is beans.

Here’s a clue: I’m a rebel.

Keep that in mind, You’ll need it.

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How do I start this shit?

It’s not beans.

I mean this literally, figuratively and any other-ly you can possibly think of.

This is by far one of the hardest things to do; I mean come out of my usually comfortable shell to share on a topic like this. This might take quite some time (although this varies on the speed of your comprehension and assimilation) so we might as well proceed.

I had always wondered what the connection between indigenes of Edo state and the country called Italy was but I never got to find out until recently. You see, I schooled at the prestigious University of Benin and we know it’s way better than your school so hush, let’s not start an argument here. By the time you take away the red sand, the cultists, the language, the tradition, the ancient buildings, the women with sharp tongues, the old women baring breasts, the bats at the Oba’s palace, the red and yellow official fashion colours and the jazz , then Benin can match any of the world’s top countries; The closest being Italy.

Oh! You don’t know Italy is close to Edo state? Where were you during Geography class?

So yeah, where was I?

Oh yeah…

It therefore was no surprise that I met her there. I was a fresh boy (still am by the way), staying alone in my apartment (shut up, a one room room is still an apartment) and It was one of those lonely days, you know. Those days when the clouds decide to release their pent up emotions and the earth receives it with such warmth that you feel it wherever you are. Literally chilling in my bachelor pad (shut up), a sensation passed from one part of my body to my brain. I could easily have chosen to ignore it but even my bible warns against such. I therefore decided to give in.

She wasn’t located far from me, so I just strolled in, Yes I didn’t knock because I wanted to pass a message that no one is the boss of me. I don’t need permission and such shit, Bosses don’t knock, we do stuff that isn’t knocking. I walk in and there she was, lying there, wrapped up in so much awesomeness. I’m at a loss on how to proceed.

Red light.

I stare for a bit, the blood flow to my feet ceases or maybe that was my brain losing signal, I’m not too sure. After a bit, network is restored and the blur is wiped from my face.

Amber.

I trudge on until I’m standing over her neatly arranged features. Dear God, How wonderful thou art. My hand stretches out to make contact, I’m not scared, this is dizziness, my fingers brush across her wrapper and she doesn’t as much as flinch.

Green light.

I wrap my hands around her even tighter like my life depended on that grasp and in that split second of contact, I swear something in me rose in pleasure, I’m sure you can guess what that was. Definitely, things were going to go down and it was necessary I retreated to prepare myself for what promised to be an encounter that changed my life.

A wash was necessary. Water just hot enough for me, laced with oriental spices and surrounded by heat from the fireplace nearby. Just perfect.  I started slow, breaking that awkward moment that occurs when you’re wondering how she’ll respond to your advances, she was in my arms and with the gait of a gazelle strutting defiantly, I dared her to rebuff my advances. Too late. With fervour matched only by kids unwrapping Christmas gifts, I was all over her features, parting , touching, Temperatures rose and the water was in agreement. The stiffness that is a usual characteristic of her breed was broken down as she melted with my every touch.

God, it was beautiful.

I had seen on TV how such liaisons are made even sweeter with the addition of certain ‘stimulants’ and lubricating oils. I spiced things up and raised the heat up a notch, I could sense the pleasure rising, it was time. I pressed my lips against her and allowed the coolness engulf her (just enough for my brain to depict her taste), then I sucked, yes sucked. She also loved being bitten and with each mouth contact and suck, I pleased her (and myself) with gentle nibbles essentially tasting the oils and spices.

I think it’s necessary I help you understand this situation.

I’m really not the type of guy that believes perfection should be rushed. I stand for complete pleasure and thus try to ensure that satisfaction is guaranteed whenever I get to work. I watch as she’s spread out before me, seemingly tired from the suck session, what is left of her staring at me, urging me to dare continue. I feel a sensation in my insides signifying I can still go on. Before that though…

Hesitation…

Consideration…

Sweet persuasion…

I move closer… take a quick swig of my drink to sweeten the taste of my tongue

The entire better to liquor with

Impression…she’s going to get the full extent of this work

Kendrick Lamar has nothing on me…

Control… fail

I take her into my mouth, dripping wet and all

The time is right. Fork it.

I dive in pasta inhibitions and barricades.

 

Told you this wasn’t beans.

Food Porn – @NickFish3r

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ssasa

 

I have always considered myself a very logical person. Love however is illogical, hence this entrapment in which I find myself. Let me paint a picture of how illogical love is. It was love that didn’t make Jack kick Rose the hell off that solitary plank in the North of the ice cold Atlantic when the RMS Titanic sank in 1912. It was love that made Jesus die for all y’all sins. Sincerely can any one of you reading this shit die for a stranger? (Jack met Rose on that ship. That they gbenshed doesn’t mean she’s no stranger).

It was love that made me do this to this guy. The love of animal.

sSQ
He argued with me, How can bread be greater than goat meat?

It’s not my fault. Growing up I only ate chicken on special occasions. Special occasions being Christmas and other people’s birthdays (the ones I successfully gate crashed). No, my birthday was not an occasion; it was just like any other pangolo day. Even at the birthdays I got invited to I didn’t have the liver (chuckles) to eat any piece of meat larger than a maggi cube. That’s because that is what I was used to at home. In my house, it was considered an abomination for your meat/fish to be larger than a maggi cube. Only daddy and mummy were allowed to eat bigger sizes. So you see, all it took from the mother was ‘THE LOOK’ for you to know that that piece of meat would be your last if you as much as looked at it lustfully. Big meat is for adults.

“Ibaje niyen! Yah 7 yess old. Dat meat is too big for you”, I remember her coo.

Even at that, it was forbidden to touch the ‘animal’ until after you had finished eating. The maggi sized piece of condiment was made to seem like some sort of trophy you got for successfully finishing your eba/fufu or amala. Yup! Those were the only meals that entitled you to a trophy. You had a trophy on your rice on Sundays only. You guys don’t know anything o, I started eating eba when I was 6 months old. What do you know about that uhn? What do you know about reserving one morsel of eba, packing okro soup inside it and assuming it was beef? God born a nigga well that morsel be larger than a maggi cube.

Hmmn.

So when I grew up, by ‘grew up’ I mean when I hit puberty I earned my freedom. It was while in boarding school that my LOVE for animal blossomed. I would readily do a trade by barter with my eba or whatever the hell we got served at the dining hall for a few pieces of meat/fish. I had to catch up on the animal I had missed while growing up.
There are different types of animal: chicken, turkey, beef, squab, duck, fish, pomo, pork, sea pork, crab, shrimps, snail, crayfish, air pork, porcupine, bush fish, rick ross, lobster, locust, eggs, etc.

SSSSS

Haba! Just Habatically see HEAVEN…

Yup! Egg is an animal, dog is not. Please argue with me.

Mama used to fry 4 eggs for 8 people every 3rd Sunday of the month. You think it’s today I started doing #fitfam? I was born into a fit fam! In our house we weren’t having any of that cholesterol nonsense. Up until I knew how to spell Snuffaluffugus (which was very recently), any time I wanna fry eggs I cut loads of onion and tomatoes in it so that the egg would be plenty. After breaking the egg, you gotta rinse the inside of that egg shell with small water mate! It’s not good to waste animal. What do you know about that?
I love animal guys, you can lure me to death with the smell of fried meat. Just make sure the smell of the frying animal is strong enough to follow. You don’t really understand do you?

Alright you! You reading this right now… If they cook and garnish you very well then serve you on a platter I would have finished grinding your biscuit bone before I realise that I am now Hannibal Lecter’s protégé. I still won’t feel bad unless of course you were not sweet. This post is not enough to acquaint you with what I have been through so please don’t judge me and I won’t George of the jungle you.
Really. I don’t care. I will eat you.

SSSAas
Sha don’t finish all the grass…

Hi vegetarians! How is hell? That medical condition you’ve got is worse than cancer and AIDS and encephalitis lethargica put together. But I like you because the sicker you are the more animal for me. Hence I say thank you. God, who gave us authority over all other animals bless you deeply.

Genesis 1v28: “And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”

Even God is on my side. Animals make everything better. All other foods in the world ain’t shit without ‘em. Here are a few illustrations: Rice and “insert animal of choice stew”. Yum! Pounded yam and “insert animal of choice soup”. Yum!! Yam and egg; bread and egg; chicken and chips; Yes even almighty dodo and “fried eggs; beef/chicken/fish sauce”. Let’s take it up a notch now shall we… Rice and dodo and “insert animal of choice”. Rice and moi-moi and “insert animal of choice”. Heck if I’m having just chicken I eat it with boiled egg for effects. Beans is nothing if it ain’t cooked with shrimps, shredded beef and shii. Animal makes all other foods more beautiful. It is like the side chic while any other is the main chic. You know that beautiful “accessory” that makes you the cynosure of all eyes at events? Yup

Okay since I am a very religious person, let’s go Biblical again. Solo, wisest man ever liveth (chuckles) had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines. Now tell me what a man would need three hundred concubines for if he has twice the number of wives. They must have added VALUE. More value than the wives. Meat is greater than Eba. Are you wiser than King Solomon?

sssdSDADA

Please argue…
Mtchew.

I’m pretty sure I’ve made my point with this post. Animals rule the world and my love for them is unrivalled. Like, it’s so deep and true, With what can I equate this love? Oh yes! Oh yes!!! Have I told you guys about my girlfriend?

Larry Sushey. (@NickFish3r)

Food Porn – @BoukkieO

*Insert Trumpet Sound*

Since y’all are still here, we might as well conclude that y’all are going to hell.

Let’s carry on then shall we? Welcome, Ladies, Gentlemen and all of you that think it’s cool to go out of your houses without brushing your teeth. Welcome to Food Porn. So yeah, yesterday, I introduced you to the new series that we have running on the site and just in case you were away looking for an illegal download link of Drake’s album and thus missed that, I shall do a quick recap.

On “Food Porn”, we shall be sharing on our favourite ‘meals’ in quite creative ways. This can be either as a story or some kick-them-off-the-scent-what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about type post. We shall also be accepting ‘entries’ from you our dear reader within the duration of the series (which is one week). So yeah, you can send in your post and if it matches our criteria, we’ll put it up. The e-mail address remains thesarcasticctr@yahoo.com

Today however, we welcome to TSC the delectable @BoukkieO as she shares a really cool story…

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Ladies and Gentlemen, Voldemort-type creatures, and all you lovely females who commute via broomstick, I’m about to tell you how I found the love of my life, or rather, how love found me.

There are days in life when you wake up and think it’s going to be business as usual or business as planned, but the universe cures you of your audacious thinking by slapping you in the face with its own plans. This is a story of one of such days I think. But then, now that I think of it, I’m not really sure.

So, on this ‘fateful’ day, I went out with my cousins and my life changed forever.  The details of where we went are hazy but that’s not even important. On our way home, they decided to stop and get Magic Crackers (I think that’s what they were called. They’re little pieces of gum that make sparking sounds as soon as you put them in your mouth).  I quite enjoyed those, but then they got some other thing that I didn’t recognize; it looked like body cream on wafer cones.  They seemed to like it a lot, but as a sharp girl, I decided to see if any of them developed a swollen stomach by the next morning before I tried it. And when they didn’t, that was my green light; we went out again the next day and I was the first to run to the ‘body cream’ shop.

When I finally had a taste, I understood what happened to Eve after she ate the fruit; it felt like someone hit the ‘increase volume’ button on all my five senses .  I was glad for this new magic and I wanted to go out and get it every day, but my aunt, killjoy that she is, didn’t let me go out and squander all my money and wordly possessions on it.  Soon, I had to move to a remote area of the country (It’s not even on the map. The expressway that runs through it is on Googlemaps, but the town isn’t) and was cut off from my newly found love for a long time. One day, someone in the village (yes that’s where I moved to) woke up and said they had Ice cream for sale. I ran out there the way Yemi in “Yemi My Lover” ran after Moji , basically like a ridiculously thirsty lover only to get there and find diluted Fanta on ice in small nylon bags. Needless to say, my heart was broken, but I took the diluted Fanta like a real G.

Another time, my heart was raised in hope but alas, it was only FanYogo. I had started to think I would not find my love again when one day, one fateful day, it happened.

You know those days when you just sit and wonder what life is about? Yes, I was having one of those. What is this life? I thought. Is it a pot of beans or a cold meat pie like people say? Or is it a pot of Iru flavoured Ogi slowly cooking over the fire? I turned these questions and more over in my mind, but I couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. My dad  had gone out and he returned with a bowl of magic. People, I’m telling you, the moment I licked the cream off that spoon, all my questions ceased.

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See, life is hard. Life can be very challenging. Life will bring you ups, downs, highs and lows. Life will give you curve balls and sometimes even kick you when you’re down. Things change, people change and people leave, but you know one thing that is constant?  It is the goodness of Ice cream. Ice cream is there when you’re celebrating and when you’re howling in tears, singing along to Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’.   Ice cream picks up the shattered pieces of your heart and holds it together in its creamy preciousness.  Ice cream will never forsake you, thick or thin. Did you know, that Ice cream makes the world go round? That it is the lubricant that prevents friction on this spherical, terrestrial ball? That it is the glue that holds this earth together? You didn’t? Well, now you do.  See, the thought of never having Ice cream anymore causes even mother earth to slow her roll sometimes;  anytime she’s about to get her Hulk on, she remembers that if she smashes everything and everyone, this means no more Ice cream, so she just chills. Ice Cream is the answer to all life’s questions. The solution to all life’s problems: algebra, trigonometry, quadratic equations, world peace, global warming, Kim-Jong-What’s-his-face, Tonto Dike, Afro candy, Beverly, GEJ, you just name it. There is nothing a bowl of Ice Cream cannot solve.

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And then I found out that I could have it in different flavours; Rum, and Baileys, oh dear Lord, Baileys.  When Baileys Chocolate Ice cream spreads over your tongue, it feels like a slow, sensual body rub;  all your nerve endings will abandon other duties and pay attention to the mind-alteringly delicious sensation that is spreading through them. You’ll still be grinning several hours later and you’ll just calm down and never get upset at what anyone does. And the toppings! Kuli Kuli sprinkles is my new favourite kind (I kid. Or not). The other day when I was ill, someone went out and got me Ice Cream; let’s just say my mumu button is not the only thing with an unstated return date.

I have to warn you though, much like the evil person who sold me diluted Fanta as Ice cream, there are others out there who try to sell you rubbish in the name of Ice cream. For example, if you want to know what affliction tastes like frozen, or if you want to get a feel  for the unrest in the Middle East, go out and buy a bowl of Supreme Ice Cream.  Others will try to sell you cups of substances (I can only call them substances) that are more Ice than cream. I suffered and kissed a lot of frogs, but I finally found my love again.

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So, are you happy? Celebrate with Ice Cream. Are you sad? Eat Ice Cream. Depressed or angry? Ice Cream is the answer. Having a rough day or boss giving you a hard time? Ice Cream is the messenger of peace. Do you have questions plaguing your mind? Eat some more Ice Cream. Are you afraid the world will end soon? Ice Cream will assure you. Are you now fat and unable to move from all the Ice cream you’ve had? Very good; eat more Ice Cream. Never, ever let go of your cream. Never.

Oh! And forget all that FitFam rubbish…a tub of Ice Cream never killed anybody

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