Guy Unchained Vol. 1

You like a girl?

You have pictured her naked?

You still in the friend zone?

Did you know you can’t can fuck her without dating her?

If “girls” were the name of a university course, I would have been that kid who killed himself due to the annual visitation of failure. Girls are EVE-ool, I still firmly believe Eve was the serpent who tempted herself to eat the forbidden fruit. They got no love for nice guys, they never open their heart for them but somehow manage to accommodate them in a place called THE FRIEND ZONE. It was formerly called SLAVE SHIP, still don’t know who changed the name. I suffered in the hands of so many slave masters. I was too naïve and untrained to create a route to freedom. I was so hopeless and game-less , I even once told a girl that I was a ghost and only her kiss could make me human again, isn’t that awesome?

I was that Mr. Nice guy, that Mr. I-Cant-Live-Without-Her-So-I-Don’t-Wanna-Offend-Her kinda guy, I was that non seasonal Santa Claus, always giving free gifts. I was so comfortable in the friend zone that I started paying rent.

EXCERPT 1: HER: hey honey! Could you please send me N̶5000? I wanna buy a present for my mum, its her birthday and I am so broke. I PROMISE TO PAY BACK.

I could have done some calculations and asked my questions like: Is her mother my mother or mother in law? Why should I give her the money to buy a gift? Does her mother know me? Would she mention me to her mother? But she called me “honey,” so I agreed to be a ghost writer for such a wonderful song. Honestly, I thought I would get a “gramophone,” I thought I would get laid.

EXCERPT 1.2: ME: pay back? Oh please! You don’t have to, SEND ME YOUR ACCOUNT NUMBER.

I sent her the cash Just like that. I even called to ask her if she got an alert, see the life?

Shiko Shiko Manzuri; A thousand masturbation sessions later, I was still waiting to get laid. Ever purchased some stuff online and weeks after you are still waiting for the supposed “fast delivery?” That was how I felt, like a true loser. The opportunity came for me to travel out of my city and I grabbed it. Port Harcourt was like a new world to me. I hooked up with new friends, got introduced to weed, coda, LSD among others, the mental trips were funny and scary at the same time. I dined with ‘bad boys and girls’, learnt a lot of new things and fucked a lot of crazy chicks. That was the great metamorphosis, I was finally a MAN. I returned back to my city a changed person. Everything was new, everyone was now grown up including my former slave masters. I played that new old guy for a while, vibed with old pals, it was really fun.

Something extraordinary happened one fateful night, Karma appeared to me in my dream. I couldn’t picture a face but I sure heard a feminine voice say a whole lot, “never allow a debtor go free, the scars should remind you of the offender” were the only words I remembered the next morning. I was a bit confused for a while till it finally hit me, Karma wanted me to avenge the death of my old self, the Mr. Nice guy.

As God would permit, Karma brought one of my former slave masters, Yvonne, to me. We clicked on different occasions, I learnt more about her, she shared cock tales over glasses of cocktails, not like I asked after her past conquests though. Someone was indeed getting comfortable. I saw the IOIs (indicators of interest for you dummies) and had to be verbal about my feelings towards her. Opportunity made her present in my house one very Thursday and I laid down my scheme of work for her.

To be continued…

By Bitchboy Dickfree.


So a good friend of mine sent this in and I just HAD to put it up. Let us know what you think about the write-up and if you’d like to see a sequel.

The Rise and Fall

Hi Guys,

Great to have you here. Yes, Yes, we’ve been as consistent as Olivia Pope’s straight face. we know. If you’ve been an avid reader of this blog, you’d know that every long absence must mean we’re cooking up something. Matter of fact, we are. Our next series is in the works and in no time, we’ll furnish information on that.

For now though, we have a guest here to entertain you guys. Remember, all posts sent in are hardly edited and retain the content as sent (except deemed unfit) So yeah, let him know what you think of his post. Ladies and Gentlemen, @nonyizie

So, first of all, before I start off I must say: This is a story my neighbour’s friend’s fiance told me. I have nothing to do with this, I am not the Key character, i don’t even know this person directly either…

With that said, Let’s move on.

Picture 1

This is a story of how…. pffft…Not even sure what this is about so don’t try looking out for morals and lessons. There probably ain’t any.

Anyways, this dude (the neighbour’s friend’s fiancé) was on a long ‘dry streak.’ *side eye, arsenal fans*. Months upon months of drought… no box, no nudes, nada… Not even a dirty chat. The last he had any was during Christmas and that ended on a bad note. Broad wanted me, sorry, him to look her in the face while brapping and obviously that can’t happen cos she was ugly AF  ok
Picture 2 “ok, she probably wasn’t this bad

so instead he fancied Reverse cowgirl and other means whilst working on a mental picture. She had them in right places though, PBB style, and knows just how to lay them down. Have you ever brapped an Estelle but worked with the mindset she’s a Megan Good? No?  Yes? Yea well, me too.

picture 3

She got mad when she realised and yada yada… You know the rest. *Fast forwards to present day*

So just before he meets another, dude decides to take on the sweet things of the world knowing he aint getting any anytime soon. :(. Chocs, ice cream, drinks… The stuff he had deprived himself of (for obvious reasons). This nigguh was king. Reppin #TeamCoke and shii.. Cancelling as many bottles as possible like eezz nothing.

Picture 4 sigh *

Anyway, somehow the stars align and Jupiter favours his hook with another fish. And YES, she was better than OK this time. He puts on his P setting jacket and goes all out . First date went well: deep flirty comments, little kisses and casual ass brushing. It was sure he was gonna get some the next time they met which wasn’t at the cinemas. *I once watched a horrible movie 3 times (Twilight: New Moon) . All failed attempts to get the box. *sigh* That’s another story*

Moving on… Sexting started, and den the D-day was set, she was gon finally get it!. She got the address, went over to see him and without awkward moments or delay, little small talk ensued, kisses followed and before time could slip their grasp *sorry, still working on my Spartacus lingo*the D was put to purpose.

*inserts Wizkid* …back to the matter, open and close, touch your toes, baby oya yòdi…’.  Dude flips out ‘Olympus’ and was ready to serve her like a butler. But babe fancies foreplay and shii so decides to blow his mind away first.
And just like that, in seconds, my nigguh enters beastmode.  Ready to beat that cat up. Flips shawty into position and it was time to be great.









And just like that, with 3, just 3 thrusts his Eagle had landed!!! Just like that ‘Olympus’ had fallen!!… Ahh! See gobe!

You know that feeling where you fuck up real bad it surprises even you? Yeah, that’s what happened. After all the mouth, *guys this is where u want to think twice when you talking dirty or sexting, talking about how you gon ‘tear that shii up’, ‘make you scream my name and bite the pillow’ yeah, check yourself before you wreck yourself* dude felt like vanishing. Just disappearing.

He was just standing useless like a burnt building. But as you know, as a guy you gotta comport. Observe calm and control the damage. So he zips up and goes: ‘Damn, that box too tight yo’. Shawty still in shock, gets up, confused AF as to what just happened, packages herself and leaves. I’m just here wandering how she felt that day in the cab, on the way home.
Anyways, dude knows he is screwed real bad and wants a fix before he completely messes himself up cos he has another babe coming from Akoka. *I hear they global, ruthless, greatest P setters in the republic*. Well, I dunno. I heard.  Rumours maybe.

So… this is a passionate cry for help to them experts and serial brappers out there… Let’s help this young champ  restore his  G-card.
I’m sure he will be eternally grateful. Won’t you, mikki? Crap! Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Just drop comments, I’ll take down notes for him.

Peace out!

Wait, PS:: Dude doesn’t fancy all them local shii by the way. Buruntashi, high power, kelebe and shii… Anything other than that would be appreciated. Thanks
This might be fiction or maybe it actually happened or maybe part of it happened.

Later Mortals!!…



Think you have it in you to crack someone up with a post? feel free to send us a mail. Send to or and it just might make it on here.

P.S: if you can’t spell and you abbreviate unnecessarily, please don’t even bother sending. It’s already not funny.

We mean that.

But we love you.

But we still mean that.

Garage Boys: Global Domination

Ssup guys?

So a friend of mine sent me this post a while back and it has been sitting in my drafts since forever. I stumbled on it again today and I thought it would be a crime not to share this with you guys.

There…the best introduction ever.

Don’t forget to comment. We live for feedback…



 *Everywhere seemed calm on a Thursday evening. The lights were turned
off, the tv set illuminated the room ’till it ceded to darkness.*

MAKO: Aaaaargh! Na NEPA?

FAJI: No, na PHCN.

MAKO: *sighs* electricity can never ever be steady in this country. It cant.

FAJI: Never say never bro.

MAKO: You just said “never” twice.

FAJI: Ooh? Since you are counting, you just said it once.

MAKO: *Switches on rechargable lamp* you dey mad? wetin dey worry you?

FAJI: No. Heat.

MAKO: Ehn? Who tell you say heat no dey?

FAJI: Na your question I dey answer. You ask if I dey mad, I say no.
Wetin dey worry me, I say heat.

MAKO: Okay.

FAJI: But na true you talk sha. Electricity can never ever be steady
like ……..W4’s career.

MAKO: Haha. Wait till the guy feature international artiste.

FAJI: Ehen. You are even aware of the silent struggle. It seems like
everybody wanna feature international acts.

MAKO: Yeah. Nowadays, Whenever a Nigerian artiste says or tweets
“Expect something big”, I can’t help but thinking they wanna try the
international route.

FAJI: Blame it all on Dbanj.

MAKO: Was Dbanj the first Nigerian artiste to make that move?

FAJI: I really can’t tell but he is the first to shoot a visual
featuring a main international act.

MAKO: And now everybody is following the trend.

FAJI: Why do I feel like Dbanj is somewhere listening to Nicki Minaj’s

MAKO: Most likely. Gimme a roster of every nigerian artiste that has
featured an international act.

FAJI: Psquare ft Akon, chop my money remix.

MAKO: Akon though. That guy’s career is going down the drain and he
still got cash to spend on some chic?

FAJI: Well. Well. Well. It is well.

MAKO: In God we trust. I think Duncan Mighty has also featured one Angelina.


MAKO: The Angelina is from India.

FAJI: *Sighs* Do you believe that?

MAKO: Well. Well. Well. It is well.

FAJI: In Duncan we trust.

MAKO: Who else?

FAJI: Errrm……. Ice did a thing with Gyptian.

MAKO: Next.

FAJI: Haha. Wizkid and Akon on Don’t Dull remix. Wizkid and Dotstar on
a cover of lil wayne’s No worries. Vector and Mavado on born winner.
Ice got sarkodie and Khuli Chana on Aboki remix, I heard he’s also
working with David Guetta.

MAKO: Sarkodie and Dotstar are nigerian as far as I’m concerned. Khuli
Chana? Forget that guy. David Guetta? I’m sleep.

FAJI: haha. Do you believe in magic? Do you believe in after death?

MAKO: No, why?

FAJI: Olu maintain featured Olivia. The ol’ Olivia from G-unit days.

MAKO: Hmmmm…. Not everybody can be Jesus man.

FAJI: And not everybody is Lazarus. On to the next, heard Samklef and
D black on Suwe remix?

MAKO: nah. I’m really waiting for a dope yankee artiste to feature a
Nigerian artiste.

FAJI: Dbanj was featured on Cruel summer album, on one “the morning”
track. Then Kardinal Offshall featured Wizkid on repping for my city.

MAKO: Dbanj’s vocals were sampled on that track, end of story. I
really like for that repping for my city jam but who’s the blower and
the blowee?

FAJI: haha. Mako you no go kill me. Bruno mars one time said he would
wanna work with Chuddy k. He said his works are beautiful.

MAKO: Chuddy k???

FAJI: We are talking about inner beauty man.

MAKO: OOH! Chuddy kay? I need to hibernate man, I dey go my house.

FAJI: ha. Na so? Bye bye.

Life in the Fart lane

TSC Random Fact: The guy in the “Honeywell Noodles” advert has not known real love and societal acceptance since he appeared on that ad. This is in spite of his dedicated effort to conceal his identity with glasses and a hat. Brethren, Aliens really live amongst us.

We can still recognise you xzewthiys

We can still recognise you xzewthiys

Moving on…

Today’s Post is one of those I-didn’t-mean-to-write-anything typa posts that just hit you randomly. You know those kinda posts that develop while you’re taking a shit or picking beans (as @TheGreyGenesis often experiences). This isn’t my story yeah but I enjoyed it so much, I just had to share.

Don’t be an idiot, ok? Read and enjoy as written by @The_Daywalker_ (Based on real life events)


I have this sudden urge to fart. Not one of those ‘silent but violent’ types, nah son ‘loud and proud’ is the only way I know. Sadly I cannot.


I am currently at the gym bench pressing about 80kg or thereabouts (ask not how I’m typing this shit at this same time, have you not heard of multi-tasking?) and I really had to dig deep and push through the last few reps. Usually I’d have had no problem farting through the pain but there’s a slight problem you see…probably two.

One. I’m the only guy with about 12 women in this gym, there’s no way they’re not gonna figure out that it’s me.

Two, women have no sense of humour when it comes to such things. They’ll be turning away in disgust and shit like their farts aren’t louder than vuvuzela’s.

Ain’t nobody got time for that shit. (pun not exactly intended)

Niggas will laugh at you and move on. They’ll be like “hahaha, na only 80kg dey make u mess…hahaha, ode”. They’ll then hit you so hard on the back and there and then you’ll test how well you’re familiar with Kegel exercises. Fam, at the impact, you’ll feel the fart about to announce itself but as a G, you just gotta clench them butt cheeks tighter than 50 cents wired jaw. You gotta hold that shit in longer than Mandiba’s incarceration…


I’m just tryna get that Insanity effect going on here…


This is one of the reasons I have decided that gyms should be gender exclusive(?). Nigga’s should have their own gyms free of non-farting hotties.  I mean, I grew up believing beauties don’t fart. Stop for a moment and try Imagine Beyonce farting? camman, no such foul stench emanates from her nether regions. Beyonce only releases eco-friendly, bio-aiding scents that causes flowers to blossom and butterflies sing. Now replace Beyonce with Wendy williams (lets ignore the fact that he’s really a man), It is almost impossible for Wendy to fart gas, nah her releases are the sample specimens for Timberland’s beats.

What? You think it’s funny? You think it’s not enough reason to segregate fitness facilities based on gender? Oh shut up. I’ve got more.

Have you ever been concentrating on your run on the treadmill. Trying to ignore the burning in your calves and the pain in your chest when suddenly you look at the beautiful pair of D-cups bouncing joyfully beside and (almost) fall off? No? Well fuck you. You weren’t running fast enough.

These women are evil. They come wearing tights and sports bras and shit and expect us to focus. What the fuck?


Amean, can’t a nigga work out without almost dropping weights on his chest or get hit in the face by the punching bag due to distraction?

I’m tryna just get my six pack so I can go topless at the next TNC pool party not look for reasons to leave my girlfriend.  These women at gyms are just evil. Pure, adulterated, contaminated beings of evil. See, It’s not like I’m not focussed on my goal, It’s just that this oneis here beside me panting and her jugs wanna fly out of her sports bra. I’m racing on my treadmill tryna ensure that if they do fly out, I can rescue them and save her? Isn’t this the dream MLK died for?

The outline of sweat on her even makes it harder, Dear God, is her ass really this taut? Oh what i’ll give to be the sweat drop cascading down that clavicle into the deep, inner crevices beneath thine bra..

I don't care. She's gyming something. idc idc

I don’t care. She’s gyming something. idc idc


Is this a fart coming, or is this the real shit?

Now this imbecile is doing lunges in front of me while I’m tryna type this shit. Well fuck her, I shall not be moved. Oh wait…did she just…? Oh wow? No she didn’t…Dear God…WTF?




Skin Tight

Yes, Yes, it’s been a while we wrote. Go on then take your best shot.

Anyways, be thankful we are here now. lol. Don’t mind us jare. We are cooking up something that is taking lots of offline work, brain storming and all that stuff so yeah, look out for that.

To keep you company today Ladies and Gentlemen, Please welcome @Demi_Carson


The 11th commandment: thou shall have no resemblance to Willie Wonka.
Dressed in shorts, cute brogues and a drop dead gorgeous vintage blouse, I sit at the newest eatery in town waiting for my date to show up. My cousin set me up with one of her supposedly cute friends. I catch my reflection in the mirror a few feet in front of me; my small curly ‘fro is on point. A quick self loving smile. Yup, I’m on point. My date will be blown away. What? Abeg, if I don’t feel good about myself, who will?  Breath check, nails, clean. Babe be looking fly.
A beep from my phone tells me Bode is almost here. Eagerly I look towards the door and in walks a guy with the most ridiculously coloured ‘skinny’ jeans, ‘FAT’ supras, the whole enchilada. Mental head shake. “I pity this one’s girlfriend.” Mchewwwww. Seems bode will be running a little late sha. I continue reading through my Twitter timeline, cackling every now and then, when I hear the somewhat nervous ‘Hello.’ I look up still laughing like a hyena. The sharp change in my expression could have shaved off a 3 day old beard. Who was standing in front of me? Yes you guessed right, Mr. supra Oluwa-jeggins! What does this one want from me now? I wonder, preparing to turn back to my phone.

“Are you omotola?” Cabo asks, and I stagger in my mind.
No lord, it can’t be!
‘Yes I am’. I say reluctantly and he smiles and takes a seat.
Abi they’re using this one’s destiny to play ten-ten ni?
‘Sorry, I’m waiting for my date’. I say petulantly.
“Well Hi, my name is Bode. Your cousin, Bimbo… ‘ My life flashes before my eyes. It can’t be. In my head I’m rolling in ashes, sack cloth and all. Why me? I force a smile and say a tentative “Hello’.
Bright V-neck tee, matching g-shocks. Seriously? Matching g shocks? are u like 12 or something? I could see the date going downhill from here. *sigh* yet again, another one..*

The story above is true. Very true. And I can assure you I almost burst into tears at different moments during the date. Nothing puts me off more than Adult men dressed like they just discovered their pubic hair. Because of my experience, which happened to be the last straw, I decided to tackle and write about this huge problem; skinny jeans on men.

 Skinny jeans: a brief history
Not leaving out its Nigerian ‘sector’, the fashion industry has undergone an impressive growth in the last decade, with the emergence of a greater range of fashion choices for fashionistas of both sexes. Over the years there have been resurgences of ‘vintage’ cuts and styles into the market. Among these are the skinny jeans, skinny pants, slim cut pants et al for men and women.

With every fashion trend comes a lot of questions as to how to wear them. Putting in mind that a lot of men out here in our society are not so ‘fashion conscious’, I will TRY to shed more light on the skinny jeans/pants that our boyfriends and potential ‘p-setters’ in my case have decided to embrace.

In the 50s and 60s, jeans became the symbol of rebellion and passionate youth worn by the sex symbols of the day. James dean, Marlon Brando and Elvis wore their jeans straight and slim. My late idol, Michael wore slim pants in his days too. Fast forward to 2006, the skinny jean is all the buzz! Its here it’s there, it’s everywhere! It had resurfaced on the run way around 2003 but mainstream ‘citizens’ were slow to catch on. Its 2012 now, I look around me, and its hard to imagine there exist any other apart from skinny jeans. That’s good news right? Well, not exactly. The streets are littered with young men of all shapes and sizes, everyone squeezing into a pair of skinnies. News flash! Fellow Nigerians, it is not by force! A few rules and tips to help guide your choice of denim;


Know/have the right body type.
You don’t have to be super skinny or androgynous to wear skinnies. You just have to be proportioned well. That’s a delicate way of saying you can’t afford to be built like a pregnant woman. No pot bellies please. Thanks and God bless you. As long as you’re reasonably shaped and you have mostly straight lines, you can rock the look.


Make sure they fit properly
Skinny jeans should not look like denim pantyhose! Hear hear people! We don’t need our men looking like they have sausage casings on. Leave the skin tight jeans for your girlfriends and sisters please. They should sit just below your waist and have enough room in the legs, butt and crotch area. Think less skinny, more ‘slim’. Just a little taper at the ankles.  From this point, ill refer to the clothing item in review as slim jeans.

Accessorize properly
If you are manly enough to wear slim jeans/ pants you can wear accessories. A fitted slim shirt is good as long as its not too tight or an obnoxious colour or pattern. Slim, flat shoes or sneakers work well. Don’t choose something too chunky or you’ll look like you have Mickey Mouse feet. Converses, plimsolls, loafers and the likes are good options. And personally, I love a man in loafers. Tie yourself up nicely with a broad belt but don’t go for an embossed, big buckled, supposed-to-be trendy one or there’ll be a smell of desperation off you all day. Its all about your personal style, but keep the basic rules in mind. Experiment but don’t be stupid.

This Works…@Terdoh looking good

Know your environment
Imagine walking into a family meeting in bright yellow sausage casing jeans, blue and red supras and a tight tee. Won’t your family members conclude that the witches from your village have finally caught up with you? Get this wrong and end up looking like willie wonka’s evil twin. Do not for any reason wear bright coloured slim jeans except you’re Cabo snoop. Ok, wait, seriously. If you were a girl and Cabo snoop walked up to ‘toast’ you, would you listen? I didn’t think so too. Look around you, what is accepted? Answer then proceed to buy your jeans. Whatever you do, avoid looking like you’re in costume!

Tips and warnings.
Buy your jeans a size larger and wash them a few times to get a good fit
Do not wear your skinny jeans below your butt. It’s not sexy; it makes you look like toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube..


BUAHAHAHAHAHAHA..I’m sorry. carry on.

Invest in a pair of high quality jeans if that’s all you can afford. Nothing says tacky more than cheap ‘denim’. Remember you don’t have to go for known names as long as what you can afford is of good quality! Some brands come with a little bit of spandex which helps the fit. Levis, urban outfitters have good jeans. Try them out.
Now, ll tell you where bode got it wrong. He was cute quite alright but then..
1) G-shocks; major no no for me. Too childish. My 14 year old brother doesn’t wear them anymore. And this dude is a fully grown Adult. why should he?

Maybe because Beiber’s Usher thinks it’s ok? no?

2) Ridiculously coloured Supras; same as number 1 except my brother still wears them.  If you’re going for some silly party, fine. You might be pardoned. Just don’t expect someone like me to ‘give you face’

3)Muscle tees: do I even need to talk about this?

“I may or may not be Igbo, ignore the gold chain” – @TheGreyGenesis

4) He carved his hair. if u carve your hair and dye it, we can never be friends. End of story.

This rules out 99% of Unilag boys 😦

I agree no one is perfect. I make fashion blunders once in a while too. Many of you flaunt smart phones, your browsers lay idle. Use google. Learn the rules. Read fashion blogs (this screams gay I know, but trust me, it helps build a more fashion conscious you). Yup, ask @TheToolsman So go out there, have fun and win the ladies! By the way, I was nice but firm in the ‘lecture’ I gave bode a few days later. He’s still not talking to me anymore but haayyyyy …


That was Demi sharing some rare fashion tips with all you Boy Alinco wannabes. Here’s hoping you learned a thing or two. Feel free to let us know your thoughts on this topic and all..Remember you can send in your articles and if we find them good enough, they’ll go up. Stay tuned for our upcoming ‘event’ and follow us on Twitter @TheSarcasticCtr.

The Plant

Before we dive into our post for today, It’s Blog Award season again. On behalf of Terdoh and Dammy, Allow me say Thanks for your nominations and Votes last year, As a result, We emerged the “Most Humorous Blog of 2011”  It’s a new year and We Know that we can repeat this feat. We aren’t priding, We are soliciting. (Please) Do nominate us by clicking here  In the boxes, just type in our web link (www .tscng. wordpress. com) in any category you consider us worthy of. (Do not put us in all, as that warrants a void vote)  Thanks




There is this plant that grows in superfluous amounts in the Caribbean. This plant has been said to make your hair grow longer, your brain cells work faster, your senses much sharper, your jokes a lot funnier (to you, and other people who consume the plant) and will probably be the reason there will ever be peace in the Middle East.

This post is an Ode to this plant. To the millions of plant cells that have been cut up, mashed, processed, and set on fire for the greater good, this post is a dedication.


So I recently sat in the comfort of my personal space and burned one of these plants. A few minutes later and I saw Buddha and he revealed to me some secrets all ye earthlings have no idea of.

No really guys, I saw Buddha. I took a picture.

You know how Kid Cudi is the new Neil Armstrong (RIP) and Lil’  Wayne is a Marsian, well that’s what it does. You leave earth. And you’re in space. Anyway there I got to see a giant size Buddha. He’s big y’all, mighty big. Apparently he is too heavy to defy gravity and he resides in the heavens.

That’s cos i float like a buddhafly and sting like a bitch

We got talking about the weather; we drank tea and ate crumpets like them Brits. We chatted for long. Talked about the Olympics, politics and girls. I mean the guy is a fucking genius. The only thing he wouldn’t talk about was music, cos that YOLO stuff has been everywhere, fucking with his beliefs. You know Buddhists live many times.

When night fell, we went to a dark alley to go burn unwanted plants. It was some real good weed.

Burned plants in my high. High within a high. Inception.

So we got to smoking some real weed from Jamaica, the same thing Bolt and Blake takes. It’s exclusive to people whose name starts with ‘B’. True story.

If you think I’m lying then why is it that Buddha (the enlightened one) changed his name from Siddhartha? Also why do Usain and Yohan prefer to go by their ‘B’ names: Bolt (the fast one) and Blake (the famzing one)? I believe you have realized the truth.

I didn’t get to smoke the weed under my legal name so for the purpose of this story my name will be Bill.

So I took about 2 long and deep smokes before I got inebriated. Buddha went on to finish the 3meter roll; he took 5 and got madly stoned cos he was like a statue and what not. He began to tell me deep stuff about his past. How he was so awesome Kanye used to send him fanmail.

I’m all stoned and what not buddy…

Yeah, Buddha old and dead now. Hip back in the day.

Don’t be asking me questions of how I can talk to him because ‘em questions teeter on the verge of fatuity and injudiciousness, they are preposterous, contemptible and out of sheer jealousy. They end up being cumbersome and raid the mind of sanity, deserting you with poppycock thoughts and these things are not salubrious for your health.

Now that I have said a full load of jargon to evade the question, we can move on.

So he began to tell me about the bitch niggars of our present time but the one that shocked me the most was Santi Ho, Buddha preferred we call him a cunt  most of you know this cunt as Santa Claus and real Gs know him as Fada Krismas cos we ghetto.

I will be revealing this truth to you as Buddha did. This is the actual recording of what happened (the words of Buddha in italics. For obvious reasons, won’t be in red.)

Buddha: Bill do you believe in Santa?

Me: Ermm.. No, why are you asking?

Buddha: You know that guy is a fucking pedophile, bloody cunt.

I’m initially shocked at Buddha’s fluency in French but I’m like what the hell, so I ask “How so?”

Buddha: Think of these things:

First off, who the fuck keeps a naughty list? I mean it’s just bizarre for him to want to know the naughty kids. Some legends say he keeps a ‘Nice kids’ list but see that’s so he can weed them out. It’s almost like something out of ‘em adult films. The kid be shouting “I’m naughty” and he be asking “who’s your daddy” as he kpanshes them and the kid be like “You are the FATHHERR Christmas!” By the time he through with them, they be so knocked that they forgot what happened the previous night.

Who’s your daddy beeeeyyyich???

I still maintain my irked mien but this time it is splattered with puzzlement. My expression is almost as if I have a running stomach at an all you can eat buffet. I scrutinize Buddha from head to toe and listen some more.

Also, why does he sneak into houses via the chimney? I mean, THE CHIMNEY! For fucksake. Symbolic for, “I like to get on top and slide in”. He don’t want nobody tryna alert the popo by trying to break through the front entrance. So he got himself some red LED and pasted it on Rudolph’s nose.

You might not understand the full extent of his crimes in this part of the world ‘cause y’all don’t have fucking chimneys. Y’all have backyards, and if you had fine children you would be afraid of this shit too.

At this point in time I begin to see Buddha’s logic and I’m simply amazed by his sheer astute perspicuity of reality and then he continues.

Buddha: What’s the cunt’s favorite phrase?

I hesitate a bit before I say “Ho ho ho.” As soon as the words leave my mouth understanding dawned upon me then I uttered a realizing “Ooh.”

Oh, Oh, Oh…Shit.

Buddha: I see that you are beginning to reason with me. Even though sometimes I think he was referring to the Kardashians, it’s so annoying that people have no idea of his practices despite the subliminal.

Whenever he sees the little children he has kpanshed over and over again and just because he don’t remember their names he be calling them hoes, hopefully they answer and come for more of the shrivelled koboko. He gets them to give him lap time like premature strippers. Fucking pedophile. And when he eventually gets hard, the many layers of clothing he wears helps to cover the erection.

I think imma cum early…next year

He pauses for a moment, hits a blunt, releases smoke through his ears and says a bunch of expletives I’m not allowed to say, meanwhile I’m still awed by his inspiring wisdom and then he continues.

Buddha: What is so annoying is that adults have no idea about this and funny enough they were once kpanshed by this monster.

Me: How does he do it?

Buddha: Well, it’s simple. He has a brainwashing mechanism. When children begin to enter their teenage years their parents begin to acquaint them with reality telling them that Santa and all the other fairy tales are fictitious. The children find it hard to believe that all the nasty things that Santa did to them was just an imagination and they become a pain in the ass of the parent.

And that right there son, explains the rebellious character of adolescent children.  

Dafuq is this Buddha dude?

I was now in an overwhelming shock that my mouth was slightly ajar before I muttered “Double ingenuity.” He didn’t seem to hear what I said and then he said.


It annoys me to bits that you guys will be using the greatest subliminal of all time on yourselves. I mean the old faggot has infected y’all that you utter the words ‘Have a merry Christmas’ inconsequentially whereas it simply means ‘Have a gay Christmas.’

As at that moment I begin to clap ebulliently at the same time rheum came out from all my facial orifices. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because of his pure ingenuity or maybe it was the weed. He is an absolute titan in every right and definitely not a man of his time. Despite being stoned I see why it is that he has his own religion. Out of absolute euphoria, I ask him the most rhetoric question ever.

“Who gave birth to you?” And Buddha being his logical self responded, “My mother of course.”

We shared a few more laughs before we departed. I managed to get his BB pin, it was engraved on his leg. It read: 483BCE01. But now that I am all clear headed, I think it was the time of his death.

Presently, I have doubts of the authenticity and originality of our meeting. The conversation seems rather incoherent and outlandish. I’m beginning to think that it was the weed that made this conversation brilliant as at that time but then again, Buddha is a non-lying smart-ass so maybe my memory of how this conversation ensued is a tad distorted.

I need you to clarify these things.

1.    I’m not under the influence of any volatile narcotic.

2.    I’m not a liar.

3.    My sanity is still intact. I hope.

4.    I actually met, talked and smoked withBuddha.

5.    Santa is just a warped ho.

Lastly, Bill wrote this shit. Take it up with him.



DISCLAIMER: The post you are about to read contains images of Violence, Nudity and Strong Language (fucking ignore that I know strong language is not an image but you did see what I did here, didn’t you? aha!)..Oh wait! You’ve read the post already? Ok.

*coughs* The TSC crew would like to apologise for the Graphic Images displayed in this post. We would also like to state that the views here are those of the writer and not the beliefs of the TSC Team, We also might or might not have edited some more volatile shit out of this post.  (You should sha be careful of the red cloaked, bearded nigga tho). However, do direct your concerns , reservations and what not to the Comment box where we may or may not respond.

Editing of this post was not done by @Terdoh and the pictures are definitely not @Sirkastiq’s or @TheGreyGenesis’ doing. ShoutOut to @yemijohnson for a great piece.

If you have a TSC worthy story, post, whatever, you know where to find us. atink…

And yeah,you can and should (please) nominate us in befitting categories for the Blog Awards here   Pls remember to confirm your vote by clicking the mail…in your mail…box.

Merry Christmas in advance.

Shitty Business

I must say growing up was fun. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t entirely fun back then but now, when you sit back relaxed with a hot cup of molten choco milo and reflect on the past, you actually realise it was fun – sometimes, I’m even honest to myself to admit i miss it.

Whenever I’m struck with such memories, its the ones with me in nursery and primary school that get me laughing a lot. Come on, you can’t tell me you never covered your ass with ur hand, farted and used the same hand to cover ur classmates nose. Or stuck pencils on a friend’s chair and waited for ‘her’ to sit down. Or eaten your meal so early in the morning before your friends come, so you can lie to them that you forgot it at home so they can share theirs. Or…………. Should I go on?

Hey, don’t give me that look.


Other things I often remember are the things we were taught in nursery class. I’m talking about the rules we had to follow, etiquettes, we were taught to show courtesy at all times, to pray before eating, to sleep when told to, never to tell lies even if it meant us getting into trouble, to always trust our elders;

“Tobe, did you do your assignment today?”


“Come on tell me, you know I won’t beat you”

“I didn’t do it”

I still have the scars.


But come to think of it, these things they were actually trying to teach us back then, while we thought they were just being mean to us, were quite helpful. I remember specifically how we used to stand up and recite this ‘welcome greeting’ in nursery class every time a parent/teacher/headmistress came in.

“Goodmooooooooooorning Ma/Sir….. You are welcome to nursery 2A. God bless you Ma/Sir, Amen. Thank You.”

It was compulsory that any time someone much older than you walked in, you were to show your full respect by standing up and warming the person into the room, with your charm of course. Even if the person was so hideously looking and all you could think of was a crucifix and some garlic to chase the person away, you still had to pray for them. (That’s where the ‘God Bless You’ part comes in)

What our nursery school teachers failed to do, was to tell us this particular courtesy doesn’t apply in all cases – there are some instances you can’t just stand up and say hi… Fuck the rules!

What you are going to read happened in a small village called Nkwerre, in Nigeria of course…way back in the 1990s. 1994 to be precise.

On the fateful year, my parents decided that I should spend some time with my maternal uncle’s family back in the village who was a popular trader. My uncle and my aunt considered me as that ‘City Boy’ who needed a lot of help to adjust to life in Nkwerre and they tried their very best to make my 15day stay comfortable. Unfortunately, they couldn’t help me with one thing… Back then, houses in Nkwerre didn’t have toilets.


You read it right…

They didn’t have toilets. The folks in Nkwerre were so busy working that they found allocating space to toilets, an unnecessary wastage.

So as a result, my uncle’s house also didn’t have a toilet.

Within 30 minutes of landing in their house, I asked: “Uncle, toilet?”

“Number one or number two?” He enquired.

“Please Uncle, tell me,” I replied embarrassed.

“Son, it depends. Tell me…number one or number two?”

“”Hmm…number one.”

“Just head out to that little shed down there, wait for it to be empty. The best times for this is between 2pm to 4 pm”

“Whattttt?” I just couldn’t believe my ears, and eyes, at what he was pointing at.

My uncle smiled.

“Don’t worry, we have a better arrangement for number two.”

I could see that he was confident that his solution for number two was better than that for number one.

“And what if it were number two?”

“Hmm…in that case, here take this ₦5 note and head straight for the Anthony Road, the very next street…they have a public toilet there. Tell the guy sitting outside that its number two and give him this ₦5 and he will allow you inside.”

“Whattttt?” Again, I just couldn’t believe my ears.

Fate had struck twice within the span of 30 seconds. And struck at my genitals…it wasn’t going to be easy getting up.

With a heavy heart, I walked out of the house, onto the next shed and waited for it to be empty (it was a long wait)…and then emptied my bladder. The moment I was back, my uncle, aunt and their three children were waiting to ask me how it went. To add insult to injury, they were smiling.

That day, I didn’t drink too much water …but still had to rush out at 7pm. It was a little easier. At around 8pm, it struck me that I should also be worried about the next day morning. What about number two? So, I had a very light dinner…it surprised my aunt that a boy my age had such bad appetite. But I wasn’t willing to risk emptying my bowels in my trouser.

At 11 pm, I managed to sleep off the fear. But it was back again when I got up at 7am. I moved around the house slowly…lest I trigger some bowel movements. I refused the tea my aunt gave me saying I wasn’t into drinking tea. She couldn’t believe it…but I was adamant.

At 6.30 am, my uncle said I could accompany him to the public toilet. The whole distance I tried to maintain a balanced walk, lest I triggered any intestinal movements. I tried not to laugh at my uncle’s jokes, which tend to upset him a bit…but I didn’t care. Honour before anything else.

My first public toilet experience was a huge success. I was in and out in less than two minutes. The man who collected money smiled when he saw me return and asked me to come back the next day – and why not, after all it is the two-minute customers like me whom he would prefer for a bountiful business.

The next day my uncle didn’t accompany me. I would ask my uncle for ₦5 and walk out of the house on my daily chore….it was that simple. The next three days went well…in fact I had started to enjoy the new experience. It was all fine, I told myself. Or at least that is what I thought.

But on the fourth day tragedy struck…the moment I came out of the toilet after spending my ₦5, my stomach started mumbling again and I had this urge to go back immediately.

“Hi Sir, I just paid you ₦5 and came out early. Can I go again please?”

“No! For ₦5 there is only one entry. To enter again, you need to pay me another ₦5.”

I wouldn’t say I walked back with a heavy heart…it was in fact heavy bowels that I walked back home with, asked my uncle for another ₦5 and walked all the way back to the public toilet to relieve myself. I came back to my uncle’s house a dejected boy…and also, a boy who had understood the importance of ₦5.

This went on for a few days (I had started going there with ₦10, just in case). During a casual chat with my uncle, I asked him:

“Is this the only place one can go to?”

“No…there are couple of other options as well. But I thought you might not be so adventurous.”

This pricked my ego so I replied: “You haven’t tried me yet, uncle.”

He continued looking into his papers and said: “OK then, be ready at 6am. I would suggest you eat a light dinner.”

The next day we took off at about 6.15 am for an adventurous dump taking. Once I started asking questions, I came to know that we were going to a almost dried up lake in the outskirts of the village. We were to take a dump in the lake, wash up in the yet-to-dry parts of the lake and come back home.

As luck would have it, this lake was 3kms away and I was tired by the time we reached. But when we reached, it was heavenly….a wide expanse of dried up land with little bushes sprinkled all around. Once we were almost in the middle of the dried up lake, my uncle advised me to take a spot behind one of the bushes and relieve myself. The very next moment, he vanished…. probably behind some bushes.

I looked around, found a thickset bush, went behind it and squatted. The next two minutes were very peaceful…nobody in sight, just the chirruping of the birds. Just when I was about to get up I heard some women talking and the voices grew louder with time. I tried to place where they were coming from….and it was from right behind me.

I had two choices – stay put and pretend nothing happened or get up and stand right in the middle of nowhere, greet them while I pretend I was doing something else. I could have easily said I was Weeding the bushes. Or looking for my aunty’s lost earring. Or following the trails left by an animal, probably a mammoth.

Or just claim to be picking beans.

“Where’s is the beans?”

I planted them some days ago but not everyone can see them because they were magic beans an old woman gave me.

I chose the first option.

Now the voices were really close…and that’s when I heard: “Why won’t he get up? He is still sitting there. Has he no respect?”

They were talking about me!

But I stubbornly held my ground…now they were probably 15meters behind me.

Within seconds I could see them from the corner of my right eye. My nursery school teacher hadn’t advised me on the appropriate behaviour in such instances. The stench coming from beneath me was suicidal. But I held my ground…I continued to sit. For psychological comfort, I even closed my eyes.

I heard one woman ask the other: “Do you think he is blind?”

The other replied: “Even if he was blind, I am sure he can hear us. Or is he is both blind and deaf?”

Now I didn’t need to look through the corner of my eye – I could see them through the bushes. But I continued to hold my ground.

Before they disappeared, the first woman told the second: “Children of now a days have no respect…can’t they get up when they see women approaching? Nonsense! If he were my child I would have beaten his destiny out of him.”

Now I knew why the women were upset…but it was too late to get up.

I think it was a mini heart attack or a nervous breakdown, all I remember was gravity taking over and something warm and uncomfortable welcoming me.


Things That Keep Me Up At Night

As we all know, Terdoh is a sick, perverted, gay dude. And I don’t mean the happy kind. See, he wanted me to write about incest. Like, brothers and sisters playing mummy and daddy and such. Can you imagine? *sigh* But really. What is incest? I mean, doesn’t it depend on how we look at it? I could spend hours online looking for irrefutable evidence that everyone is related to everyone else (seeing as we all started with Adam and Eve), thus we are all guilty of incest. No? Well, I don’t rally have that much mental strength. We will not be discussing incest like the fellow wants. We will be discussing something more important than that. Things that keep me up at night. Lemme start by saying: I’m not an insomniac. WTF do you think an insomniac is? An insomniac is someone who has SERIOUS difficulty going to sleep and/or staying asleep AT ANY FRIGGING TIME OF THE DAY. Shit is ridiculous. The fact that I happen to be awake between the hours of 12am and 5am doesn’t make me an insomniac. No, it doesn’t. It means I have better shit to do than sleep. But you know what? Even that makes me more of an insomniac than most of you illiterates out there.

You can’t go to sleep at 10pm, manage to wake up before the sun rises, and then come on twitter to tweet ignorant shit like #TeamInsomnia. Ugh! The worst kind are the ones that even pretend they’ve been awake watching movies or reading (as if!) all the time they’ve been absent from the interwebs. I mean, come on! Really? If that isn’t stupid, I don’t know what is. If you are one of these people and you’re reading this now, you have been educated. Insomnia is not a condition you kid about, or turn into a characteristic of a coo keed. You’re welcome, dumbass.


Things that keep me up at night. How much space do I have to write? I mean, what’s my word limit? Meh. I’ll stop when I’m tired. I’ve been obsessed with nursery rhymes lately. I loved them so much when I was little, I had like a dozen tapes of rhymes and sing-a-longs and I had A LOT of books (even though they all contained most of the same content). But when we moved away, I lost it all (˘̩̩_˘̩̩̩ƪ) I didn’t know how to deal, so I forced myself to move on. It’s why my childhood was so incomplete 😦 Or is it?

Recently, on my blog I discussed nursery rhymes and how nursery-friendly they really are. The first post was really a spur of the moment thing, so, since then, I’ve tried to spend more time looking into it. I have failed on account of laziness ( -.- ) But fret not! I’m gonna throw another haphazard thought process your way. Because I love you, and I know how crushed you’ll be if I don’t give you something to read. Yeah. I’m awesome like that. Now. Who here doesn’t know ‘Rock-A-Bye Baby’? I refuse to believe there’s anyone who doesn’t. Still, for the sole purpose of chopping space, I’m gonna go ahead and put it here for all to see:

“Rock a bye baby on the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock, When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, And down will come baby, cradle and all.“

You’ve known this as a lullaby for as long as you’ve known it, right? By now, you have to have asked yourself “da fuq kinda lullaby is this?”. If you haven’t, I suggest you re-evaluate your mental condition. Is this shit supposed to soothe a baby? Lull the defenceless creature to sleep? You’re basically telling the baby “Look, if you sleep, you will fall and die”. Am I right?! Or am I right? Who thought up this bright idea, anyway? I have to wonder if it started as some sort of joke. I mean, why would you even consider putting a baby’s cradle on top of A TREE. And then he/she didn’t stop there. Some wind has to come along and rock the cradle resting on the tree. Of course, the branch has to break, sending the innocent child crashing to his/her death 😦 I fail to understand how this is comforting. And it’s hard for me to think that parents who read this to their kids really have that child’s best interest at heart.

It’s true.

Think about it.

How possible is it that no parent has detected the violent undertone in this “lullaby”? They may be old, but they aren’t stupid. You probably pissed your dad off, and he just wanted to kill you. But he knew he couldn’t. So, he picked you up, held you in his arms, and started singing this shit to you and rocking.

Dude will be smiling being comforted by the thought of you falling from a tree, and you’ll be there thinking he loves you. *sigh* This life.


Terdoh wanted me to read some sort of sexual meaning into this, and I probably could have. But I didn’t. Why? Because I love you, even though we’ve never met, and I want you to know the truth. Here it is: If anyone, especially your parents, ever read or sang ‘Rock-A-Bye Baby’ to you as a child, you were unloved. Probably because you’re adopted. You should find out. You have a right to know.

Again, you’re welcome.