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.
And puff puff…
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. .
I mean look at it.
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.
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.
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.
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…]
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”
Peace, love, box and puff puff.