(Of Weed, Whiskey, Jabba, A Silly Boy and his Goons; Now that’s one hell of a title, anyway….)

A silly boy falls in love with a woman. Pardon me. A silly boy named Jack, is in love with a woman named Kendi. Then do you know what happens next? Of course you know. Kendi demands of Jack her rightful place.

Women are funny that way. Reaches a point when they realize that they want to take over the world. They start noticing that there is need for a big change. She doesn’t want Jack to spend time with his Goons, she calls it time wasting. She wants to be the Queen, the mother of all dragons. Women, they grow fast, it’s hard to keep up, and boys sometimes don’t see it. Don’t expect it. Untill a man comes back home and the woman slams on his face, a stop sign labelled, “baibe, things are not working. I need some time off” You maybe lucky if she calls you babe, usually their weasel voice be like, “Jack, I’m leaving, I need a break.”

To me it’s a mumbo jumbo drama. Acting out and stuff. I don’t know how the story will end but you gotta give a man his space and time for growth, right? Becoming a man is a hard task, and there’s no manual. Being a man in a feminine world requires perfection. But guess what Jack does.

Nothing.

He does Completely nothing. For one, he has his reasons for doing things, two, he doesn’t like being controlled, manipulated and shit. Like I said Jack has his own reasons for doing things and no one is privy to them. Not even his Goons.

The woman though, she got a happy ending, with someone else, I might add. Someone who was always in the picture. Why is it always like that though? You screw up with a good woman (a woman who btw there’s never a way of telling whether she’s good or below average), and she ends up leaving you for a buffoon whom she has always claimed that he is just a friend Or maybe her distant cousin. Red alert! But Jack doesn’t give a cunt. For all he knows all these peeps are replaceable. I mean, he’s hurting and stuff but no one knows it. I only know it, not because he told me, but because of the way his eyes waters when his tongue holds a pint of whiskey. And the way he lights up the wrong butt of a blunt is enough to judge.

So there’s the silly boy Jack, whiskey and some couple of blunts. No woman named Kendi. No weeping and shit. The woman is gone. It’s hard to believe but she’s gone. Gone like a hatchling in a hawk’s claws gone. Jack is alone but not lonely, at least he has his Goons with him. Yet he still feels the utmost unquenchable absence of a woman – warm touch, moist kisses and all that. He’s just a man. No one is perfect. So he buys Aramis, but it’s not for a strangling monkey business, or for what you think. Actually, the thought crosses his mind, but he jerks it off.

He gets up, and pays for it, sex I mean. He finds a woman to drown his sorrows and to shed off his skin, and perhaps to shave his testicles, but for a pay. Everyone gotta have someone, right? It’s not in my position to judge. It’s biology and stuff that I can’t get into right now. It’s complicated, and you won’t understand.

So the silly boy needs no strings and figures out that a sex worker is the best option. Indeed. Indeed. I would do the same thing if I was in his shoes, but that’s it, I’m not. Over time, the sex worker realizes the difference in the taste of the silly boy’s sex, but she cannot place it where or rate it. Women know these things. They can give you a complete binomial nomenclature of the things they have housed in their mouth, and wrapped their tongue around. Ask them, they’ll tell you.

Okay forgive me if I’m revealing too much. Some stories gotta be told, especially when no one got the guts to tell them. I ain’t saying that I got guts but we all have our moments.

Remember me telling you that women know the different taste of food in their mouth? Well, forget everything I just said for now, that’s not the real story.

This is the real story….

Jack, after a while suddenly feels like he has a connection with the sex worker. Some sort of a mutual beneficial feeling. I mean some of his deepest stuff he doesn’t share with his Goons anymore, but the sex worker who is more of his therapist now. The silly boy feels mushy mellowed up. So he summons his Goons, and we meet at the rooftop, where we often wis away time smoking. There and then he breaks the news to us, that he wants to confess to the sex worker.

I absolutely have no clue what the confession is all about. Jack tells us, his goons about his grand plan for confession, and we truly listen in. He decides to write a letter and lace it with a yellow ribbon, the sex worker’s favourite. In the letter, which I assure you beyond reasonable doubt, that I, Phill Ibsen, Master of Descriptions, explicitly had nothing and played no part in it. Take me to the DCI and I shall plead my fifth or the tenth if I have to, but I didn’t do shit.

Writing in absolute honesty, Jack writes of his deepest fears. Things only known to him. He writes of his recovery and how she made him feel better and his heart, a half eaten pie is now succulent for another bite. This is how a guy can be real crazy when you give it to him real good. A guy can literally go insane.

The sex worker, Ida, her name is Ida by the way. Can you imagine that? Ida of all the names, what a cool name. Let the record state, that I have nothing with, for or against Ida’s. It’s nothing personal. I’m not saying that the girl who used to bully me in primary school was named Ida, but it is what it is. Some species of women you don’t mess with. Anyway, she receives the letter when she’s having a drink and chewing these vegetables we call jabba, together with her two colleagues, Kemunto and Kabibi.

Now Kemunto and kabibi are beasts, if you know what I mean. And I ain’t gonna confess that sometimes when I accompany the silly boy for engine service, I always find a room with the two. Now that would make me an oxymoron, but who wouldn’t want to have a three some with Kemunto and kabibi? Kemunto is a light skin, and has some round soft sweet lips. She is good with her tongue too. Kabibi on the other side, a girl of the soil, black beauty, a woman you’d want to sire generation with. She is flexible, and if you let her be on top of anything, you are bound to be successful.

The first time I saw these two chewing the vegetables, I was like, “Damn, watoto wazuri wanaotafuna matawi, lazima niwalambe leo…” You know those kind of people, down the memory lane you think about them, and wonder, what was I really thinking? That’s Kemunto Kabibi and I. But I didn’t say shit. Don’t let that get to the record. Matter of fact, I even got alibis, nothing will place me on the crime scene. This is the kind of thing that may get me killed, or elected as the chairman of the Goons. I ain’t ready for that. Too much responsibility.

Now, the three women reads out the letter, analyzes it, and begins laughing. Ida, forgive my lack of physical description. I heard rumours that women hate to be quantified. Whatever that means. But hey, just between you and I, Ida has a shiny succulent juicy cleavage.

Ida amidst her laughter, says in mockery.

“Sasa huyu anadhani ananiweza?”

Then Kemunto, you remember her right? She begins her satirical response with,

“Hata yule Beste yake…..” You can guess what she said next, but I assure you whatever they said finished with the following words, “sisi ni pesa tu tunatafuta…”

But here’s one take…….

You and I are old enough to know that the best way to avoid a heartbreak is by staying away from that which may hurt, and I already done telling you in the beginning, I ain’t got guts for some shit, But patience…. Patience to heal old wounds. Jack is in recovery. Kemunto keeps calling, and I got an I tried calling you from Kabibi. I think they miss me. Or they’re broke. Ida, had

Phill Ibsen, Master of Descriptions