SOS, 911, 999, AHOY MR BEEVER, space needs a home

i hate cats. but in the interest of keeping my friendship with comrade lest he unleash communist thugs on me, i am putting out a plea for someone to take in his cat space! i cant take him or her or whatever, but surely, someone out there will?

Comrade is moving today. Out of his slum. Not to Entebbe, not just yet, he's going somewhere else.
He can't take Space.

So this is a cry for help, can anyone look after her for a month? He'll pay for her food. Space just needs a place to sleep and someone to pat her and whisper sweet nothings to her. You know the pet thing, you ignore them all day, leave some food out and just give them a warm place to sleep at night.

If you can take her or you know someone who would look after her for a month then comment here or email me (address in profile)! Has to be today!!! Or she'll be put down. Dead Space.

Here comes the sinners

In the bloggers’ world I have realized, nothing tastes as sweet as nabbing socks, sockies, firsties, boots, nze nsocks, or whatever else they have revolutionalised into these days. I have heard the word lingerie has come into play even. So in the rush to nab socks, some bloggers I am afraid have mangled the English language or even sometimes swallowed up entire words. Presenting Bad Idea, er, sorry, bloggers that I have painstakingly followed up and busted. And since this is my blog, I will be the defense attorney, the prosecutor, the judge and the jury. And the verdict is; guilty.

Antipop commenting over at Cheri’s: "i dont know whta this post is about yet. i just saw that no one has commented yet, so i just rushed over to say nothing really. sue me"

Antipop at Detamble’s: "i am not going to laugh. much as i am getting constipated tryuing to hold the laughter inside of me. and that is because one day i will marry an african man. and i will not have them fing out about my past life of days when i used to laugh at high butts."

Antipop at B2B’s: "what have i learnt from this post? well, that er, well I was not asked whethet b2b was right"

31337 at cheri’s: "ati mimi ni common sense? ngoja ufike nyumbani, d&*&&^^$#(^#^$%#&@*" (this one’s in the dock just coz I did not understand a word he wrote. Also, because I am fast looking like the only culprit here.)

Antipop at Detamble’s: "And here i was thinking the post was about how fabulous, hot, amazing, extar orinary I am! So amyway, that whole defensive thing you did about you and rev only goes to convince me that i was right afterall :-)"

Okay so I started out this whole post confident that I was going to nab people! But this whole thing has boomeranged on me. So the award for most illiterate blogger goes to, (insert annoyingly long tension filled silence) Antipop!

I accept the award on his behalf. thank you all for voting.

loser was sorry he got caught

He owed me a lot loser you see. Owed me hours and hours of fees in therapy. This here loser had turned me into agony aunt. And for a long time I sat there and took it. Sat there and listened, and nodded and comforted, and hugged (those I enjoyed) and cajoled and advised. All the while hoping that it would end. It made me feel special at first that loser was confiding in me, and I guess I wanted to show him that I would always be there for him.

I did not find it wrong that he laid the ex burden on me the very first time we talked; even before he took my number. Not even wrong that by the end of the first date I knew more dirt about his ex than I would ever need even if I needed to expose her in the ONION for whatever reason. I never thought it wrong that I sat and listened never imagining that one day, this story might be about me, and a different agony aunt would be listening. I never thought it wrong that when he talked about her, he used the word ‘women’. I did not see then that loser was making all 3 billion of us pay for the sins of his ex. As if we were not suffering enough paying for Adam and Eve’s sins as it were. But I just liked how he ‘trusted’ me. I liked to feel wanted. I was trapped.

It started to feel wrong when I realized that I did not have the exclusive rights to this dish. Turns out, loser told anyone that had a moment to listen. That was wrong. It was wrong that his friend had dirt on me that only loser knew. It was wrong that no matter how long we had been going out, I had not stopped being agony aunt. I was still there listening. I started to wonder when it would all end. When we would talk about me. I started to get bored. Of the same stories, and of the storyteller. But I digress. The post is about how loser was sorry he got caught.

Through very reliable sources, I got to learn that loser had infact gone behind my back and you know, messed around. Now, I should have been happy that atleast now there was another person to listen to him rant and whine, but I was not. There was nothing amusing about the fact that she is one of my friends. I felt cheated (but then that was the whole point, no?). Betrayed. Violated. I confronted him with this.

Loser then says how sorry he is, how he had meant to tell me, and how he did what he did because he cared about me. Because he was angry that I had been neglecting him, and acting like I was not interested in him anymore even though he knew better (Yes. he said that. The nerve!) I was hard pressed to figure out how exactly messing around was supposed to show me how he cared about me, so I went on and asked. Turns out he was so mad at me and wanted to pay me back, and the fact that I made him mad enough to do something like that surely showed that he cared about me? And that was the answer he was sticking to.

This conversation ended with; “all I can say is that I am sorry you found out”

And that is the story of how i was once agony aunt

everlasting love threatened

this means that you can not say to me again, "antipop, i will love you until lake victoria dries up..." Now there is evidence it is a lie.

on my to kill list today,

Here are some of the songs that make my intestines grind against each other and threaten to expel all that bread, rice and sugar that I binge on everyday. These songs make me get so constipated, that when I go to the loo, all I expel is air. They make my head hurt so bad that I want to commit suicide. These songs, they suck the cellulite out of my thighs- that’s a good thing actually- these songs, I hate.

Umbrella (Rihanna)- Yea. I know I am going to take heat on this one coz in the video she has on that cute penguin costume that exposes her round bottom. But man, I hate that song. I hate it especially coz it has corny, cheesy RnB lyrics that are also suggestive if you pay attention and that ella, ella, chorus thing that sounds like it was churned out for the Blu three in Steve Jean’s shack

No one (Alicia Keys)- I love Alicia. But what a joke! What a mockery to her person! How dare she put her reputation at stake? And for what? For those amateurish lyrics? And that bridge! ‘Oh oh oh oh oh (repeat till you cry)…’ I forgive you Alicia, because of that song “you don’t know my name,” but please if you ever come up with anything like this garbage again, we shall part ways for real.

Say what you need to say (John Meyer)- Actually, those are the only words he says in the whole song. Why is it important that you remind us to say what we need to say like a million times? Dude, we heard it the first time. Don’t try to force your blood into our veins!

Blue Magic (Jay Z)- This guy says sometimes he composes a song in like 25 minutes. Here. Sample some of the lyrics to this song… “No pain, no profit!”(You just found that out Einstein?) …. “Chef, guess what I cooked”(genius connecting chef and food! Who would have thunk?)…. “Rockstar, look”(something had to rhyme with cook). The video has a good picture. And colors.

Cindy’s new song. Anyone heard it? No? Don’t.

Gimme More (Britney spears)- That song is a mess. The video, a complete mess. No more of that song, please.

Four minutes (Madonna)- Now grandma Madonna has got to take a break. Go and breast feed baby Banda or something. Wait. There is no milk in there. Right. Go milk the goat then, but whatever you do, stop twisting ever so painfully like that, always putting me on tension wondering at what point you shall break that hip. And for fucksake stop hanging around the young boys. It only makes you look older. And put on some clothes while you are at it.

Teacher (Master Blaster)- For just

walls have ears. so do I

I am nosy. I listen in to conversations I have no business listening in to. But I do it for you my dear bloggren. so I can have stories for you. Now this story is going to have a lot of gaps. I am going to have to reconstruct some of the scenes that happened when I had not yet met John and Mary.

I met John and Mary at a taxi stage late sarturday morning. From where i was standing, they looked like they were bickering. So I inched closer to try and tap in on their conversation. Nothing like good ol' gossip to kick start a lame saturday. So I shove some guy out of the way and stand right next to this arguing pair.

Yay! It was an argument about sex. I was in business! so anyway, I will reconstruct the events that i missed, until where I join in the conversation.

John and Mary love each other. Or lust after each other. Whatever. For that reason therefore, they ended up in a lodge together.Either because John is a married man and will not take mary to his place, or John stays with his parents, or they were just too tired to go back to their place and decided to shack up in a lodge. So yea. they go to a lodge, and John fails to score with Mary. This mary sure looked like a mean girl. The kind that will not unleash until oba you put a ring on her finger or atleast introduce her to the parents. So anyway, John was mad at Mary for withholding valuable goods, and mary was trying to explain to John why she had denied him sex. But John, was at this point only reasoning with his frustrated wee wee. so anyway, here is the line that this whole post is basically based upon

John: Next time I want to us hook up, remind me to book us into a monastry or something

And then the taxi arrived

Taking the leap

I had been putting it off for about 5 months now, but I knew I needed to do it. No matter how may times you have done it before, it never gets easier with the next time. I was terrified but I had to do it. The dreaded HIV test. For all of the 45 minutes I waited, I began to think about the losers…

I thought about the one that stole my money
The one that hit on all my friends
The one that did not shower regularly
The one nightstand that got clingier than rat glue
The one that had a crush on Straka (I mean, dang!)
The one with the chipped tooth
The one that started it all
The one that never was
The one that thought was doing me a favor being with me
The one that I regret
The on that, that that

(insert paragraph where I try to explain to anyone who cares that the number is way less than all above…)

Then I thought about where I would buy a gun
Which one I would finish off first
Would I go about them in the order they had come in?
How would I pull off the perfect crime?

I began to construct an alibi…

That is when a hand tapped me on the shoulder…. “Excuse me, your results are ready, now if you will follow me please”

I looked at his somber poker face, and it hit me.
It was not about the losers. I was never worried about any of them. I had not done the test because it was free (might be lying there), or because my friend was holding my hand. I had done it for him. I had wanted to know because of him. I wanted everything to be perfect between us. I looked at the counselor and hoped. Hoped that he would not be the one that broke my heart. Because whatever happened, I was going to have to tell him. Then I panicked. I did not want it to end. It was too soon. I did not want to go back to the dark, dark days… then he showed me my test results. And I texted him.

Loser promised

Every little girl dreams of what her first kiss will be like. They practice in the mirror, on Barbie, whatever (while their counterparts practice on the maid). It has got to be perfect. Because that first kiss might very well determine the course of world peace. Well, I had those dreams. Of the perfect first kiss

You see, I always thought Kevin (neighborhood hunk) would be my first kiss. All the girls were crazy about him, but Kevin, he was crazy about me.

But that is not how it all played out

Conniving shithead loser had other ideas. This loser was my cousin. He was 8 years older than me. He was 19, I was 11. Well, shithead liked to say nice sweet nothings to me. And I loved to hear them. Once he told me I had the best shoulders he had ever seen. Up to now, I still don’t know wtf that means. Anyway, so he said sweet things, and liked to put his arm around my shoulders, sometimes even rub my shoulders.

One certain rainy afternoon, I am taking a nap like all self-respecting 11 year olds who have very harsh, cruel, tyrants for house helps do when shithead walks into my room. He wakes me up, gives me this whole speech about how I am the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and how one day he would marry me.

11yroldtrustingantipop: really shithead? You mean that?
Shithead: ofcourse. But you will have to do something for me in return
11yroldtrustingantipop: yes? What?
Shithead: let me have one tiny kiss

I tell you this my brothers and sisters, it is easier for a camel to go through…than describe the grossness of that kiss. Shithead planted his lips on mine, stuck his fat sticky tongue down my throat and proceeded to suck like he was sucking the seeds out of a bad orange. It was gross. It was my first kiss.

And he never married me

indiscriminate(only because i dont want to say random)

I broke the rules and listened to evening radio. That is because he had nominated me for the impossible task of listening into a show, and calling in to send greetings to him(although i don't know why he would think i would want to send my shoutsout to this individual. word around is that he is off the shelf) Anyway, so i tuned in to Hot 100, and here are some excerpts of what lady bizzle was going on about

on the topic she was discussing; "gimme your take ABOUT the situation"
on a certain request "this one came in from you cheri from grrayaza..."
on who loves her show "i got a call from you arrrba and you said you love..."
on who sung the next song 'this one's coming in from seanah kingstonah...'

Have not combed my hair for two days running. I am doing it for world peace. The problem is, no body has said anything yet. Dont people notice these things anymore? Wait. Let me just ask around real quick

"yo harriet(she's gangsta), how come you have not picked up on the fact that my hair's not been combed for two days now?"
"well antipop, its really hard to tell. Your hair looks like rubbish a lot of the time. Cant know when you are doing it on purpose"

i guess i should devise other means of getting attention.Like take off my top or something. I am really committed to this whole world peace thing.

Some bloggers are blocking posts. Here's my message to them "sharing's caring"

Not that i am skeptical or anything, but i really find it hard to believe when a group called "the killers" is singing and assuring me that "everything will be alright"

Why he did not get into her pants...

The moment was right. The intensity too strong. They could not hold it any longer.It had to happen any moment now. Then he bent down to slide off her underwear. when she looked down, he was hastily putting his pants back on. “I had never seen anyone dress so fast” she says

Turns out, he is afraid of guns...

the date..the end

I have decided to put the matter of that date to rest once and for all. After this, I have no more answers to your nagging questions. And for those of you that will not be satisfied by the answers about to follow, you can go make up your own fairytale ending that you can do with as you please. Like tell it to someone who cares for example,maybe make great poetry out of it or turn it into a beer hall song. It’s your choice really.

Scenario 1
I walk over to where the date’s seated, I politely tell the waiter to get out of the way, which he does and I arrive at his table without any major hitch. I am not sure what to do at the time, so I just plonk in the chair opposite him. I extend my hand for a handshake as does he and then he squeezes it hard, hard, hard. I wake up screaming. Bad dream.

Scenario 2
…waiter out of the way, am at the table. He (date, not the waiter) looks up and smiles, stands up and embraces me in a warm hug. I am thinking I could get used to this. Anyway, a conversation ensues. Broke bloke (his coinage) and I are getting along like Paris Hilton and the paparazzi. At the end of the date, I ignored every principle my mum ever taught me about the first date vs. taking off my pants. I let him take me back to his place and we burned a hole in the mattress.

The end

crack is wack

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