Let’s Smoke a Joint II

With Betty Kyalo showing her seductive thighs ubiquitously, Prezzo running like a guy with a little pink head to scratch them and Njoki Chege still aggressively looking for an orgasm, I think it is time I told ‘Let’s Smoke a Joint Part II”. In 1881, Mark Twain used the word orgasm to illustrate mental peace. And I define spiritual peace as the ability to let fat women be driven in blue Subarus as they attend Kiuna’s church and later smoke a pot of Shisha.

Just let’s be Njoki Chege, we are just who we are and at some point, we like it this way. Kenyans have slipups, but you need to drop your early childhood issues and connect with the beautiful souls that walk our streets. When I see a fat woman, I see Rebel Wilson- She featured in Pitch Perfect as Fat Amy, which is one of the 17 Movies she has featured. Rebel is also an enthusiastic writer, a poet, and a Tv personality with 14 shows and counting. She is an Icon. If my son looks at such a woman and saw only her fat, round body, I would call for a DNA test because a son that sees the world in two dimensions is most probably not mine.

City girl, every writer chooses a style- an entry style. Blogging is frantic, tiring, and disappointing- especially when you try to give people something that is not in your house. When you drive fancy cars in your blog but you’re a disappointed victim of rush hour in real time. But the contemporary literature is changing that my sister. We no longer have to write for the upper class and choke class to the lower society.

People no longer live other people life. We no longer have pictures of icons we want to be when we grow up. We want to be ourselves. The current generation is fat and happy, broke and partying, prayerful but drunk and sick and singing. We don’t need benchmarks of how much our wigs must cost and what color our Subarus’ must be. Some of us have suffered so much that having a full plate on our table and a fake thick hair is a success we must count. We aren’t you, and if you only tried our world, maybe you would forget the miserable lives and the sex escapades at Masaku sevens which torment you every time you hold a pen to write.

Out here Njoki Chege, there are guys like, with an Internet connection and an old laptop- He is Jackson- we call themselves bloggers. But every time Jackson make a humane call, we only see Blue Subaru’s, Fat Women, Broke and Talented Youths, people in midlife crisis and other groups you so much expose to social stigma. Every time we tell people to sacrifice a Pizza and visit a children’s home I never saw the guys you want us to become. I have never seen a girl with a sugar daddy eat with the orphans. Nor have I seen a second wife donate through her husband’s account.

The last time I organized a burial for a friend, hookers gave us more than your rich, classy types. If you win Njoki Chege, and all girls run to our mothers strangling them to death and sleeping with our fathers, we will lose a battle in our war to a better humanity. If one day and God forbid, the society turns to victimize fat women just because it is not classy, and fat is ugly, we will sip on our whiskey and bury our heads in our fat wives who can no longer go to work and weep- You will have won, and we will fight no more.

I will tell you a story- A story for a tormented woman with powers she can’t control. You classy people call it an anecdote, but my mom will think that is a drug, so, it is just a story. Last week I was having a drink at Mwaura’s as I celebrated Valentine day and watched Arsenal use the last bullet. The air was not as you would have liked it if you were there but it was all right for me. Past the pool table, and past that hooker who found my phone last year, girls were smoking Shisha.

A guy walked in and took one of the girls who had taken so much for the day. He led her to his car waiting in the parking and stashed her in the back seat. Inside, he spread out her legs and took off her panties. He gathered his erected manhood and without a condom prepared to sail in the gates of her belly. Luckily, the watchman saw it and called the cops, so nothing happened. That is the only time a security guard was around. To daily Nation, “with great power, comes great responsibility”.

When I said Let’s Smoke a Joint, I forgot to tell everyone to handle his shit afterwards. I didn’t think much of the story after my father asked if indeed I smoke a joint. My younger sister also asked about Jacinta. The heat from that story made me avoid further confrontation. I let it go. I decided not to tell everyone what happened because I didn’t want people asking for Jacinta’s number and other hating Sophie for blowing a cop right in the streets. I stayed silent and for that, no one can say I didn’t protect my sanity.

My sanity went out the window when I watched Prezzo, who intended to rap for Betty Kyalo but ended up wrapping her bottoms and almost raping her. You all now know I don’t watch the news because I better read fake content than see someone choke me with lies while hiding behind a thick make-up. But on this day, when the self-proclaimed gangster arguably scratched Betty’s bum, I was at my sister’s place and watching the news is mandatory. I love visiting my sister just because she polishes my shoes before I leave. I don’t know who created my sister, but if it is God, some girls with crooked hearts ought to complain.

With everyone getting drunk and climbing on mainstream media like a horse and Alai maintaining that his wife is more beautiful than Margret Kenyatta we need to see what happens when you take a joint with Jacinta. After I did that pot (read let’s smoke a Joint I) and attempted to have sex with Jacinta, I learnt a lot of things. The sex went south, and Jacinta remained calm. And that is probably all I remember of the night.

It was now 9:45 pm. At this time, Calton had left an hour ago, and Jacinta and her friends had been comparing their tits for hours. They had trouble understanding why the left boobs are bigger. I was just a disoriented guy with three hotty kitties to take to town. Calm down, I didn’t disappoint. At that day, I had already done a story about Uber as the team entered Kenya and Alfred had called me and topped my Uber account with 30K so that the guy with an internet connection could roll easily in town. I have never looked cooler all my campus life. I guy who can summon cabs by a tap on his phone. Cool.

Tony was the guy around armed with a brand new Vitz- I ain’t judging, but Vitz are kind of small for bearded men. Thank God Tony had no beards, or I could have rated him Zero. At Uber you rate the drivers, if they don’t allow you to kiss in the car, you give them a detailed Zero and a pound of apologies.

Inside Tony’s car, we sat quietly as Jacinta and Sophie hummed to a fantastic song, they were awful, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying it.

‘I think God brought us together for a reason Ambrose.’

‘Definitely, to drive each other crazy.’

‘ I admire your sense of humor.’

I stayed quiet

‘It is a compliment’ Sophie cleared the air

‘I admire your… Your… Don’t rush, me I will think of something.’

Okey, I couldn’t pick anything, and the thick smoke of weed harboring in my mind made lying impossible. Sophie had a romantic walking style and a mouth that run before her mind. Jacinta, on the other hand, was a girl one could screw on the balcony and serve popcorns on the kitchen slab, just not perfect for a virgin boy.

‘Okey, maybe I don’t admire anything about you guys, but you have a whole night to give me something’ It was the most honest statement in my life, and nobody seemed concerned. A blunt will make you swallow bitter truths without a flicker of emotions.

‘I wish my Mum was like Bill’ Tony said as he took Uhuru round about to Join University way

‘Why? Is your Mum is single?’. Because Bill is single’ I teased

‘Nope, because Bill knows I am not dating and doesn’t spend half of dinner’s time asking me about it.’

‘I feel you. We all hope our mothers are like Bill. Ambrose! Are we there yet?’ It was Jacinta


‘Where are we going?’

‘Nowhere is safe Jacinta, I am not okey.’

My head was spinning. Lights were too bright and the sounds amplified. I was starved and weak. The joint was taking its toll on me and fixated me in Tony’s car, the thought of stepping out into the Nairobi’s anarchy made my balls tighter.

‘We should Grab a Mzinga and head back to campus; I need to finish my book.’

I was so curious to dive into literature when high and see what happens. On the other hand, I had to buy a Mzinga for Jacinta and her crew for the next time’s sake.

We went straight to Koja and deep in the streets for the cheap shit, which we did hard shots in the car.

And now we need Jacinta to complete this story. The news reaching my table is that Jacinta became a high-class hooker in one of the hotels in can’t be allowed in, which is why I am seriously considering the possibility of hiring Biko to get the interview. An interview between Biko and a hooker can never go wrong.

I found myself alone in my room eleven hours later with a sticky mouth and a giant forehead. My eyesight was worse than that of my nephew. I couldn’t tell whether I was sick or just tired. I confirmed my balls were still there and made a vow never to take a joint again.

After summoning the last Newtons in my enervated body staggered to the washroom, and behold, there was Jacinta. Her ass partially covered in Paul’s towel. Paul was an Engineering student pirating in Hall 9. He was also a certified #TeamMafisi.

‘Morning Ambrose’

‘I am fine. What went down yesterday? Did someone sit on me the whole night?’

‘I am not sure Ambrose, you should ask your girlfriend.’

‘What girlfriend? You nuts.’

‘The girl you traded us with. The girl with a sizable behind and no brains, tell me you remember.’

‘Hehehe yeah I do, it was crazy though, but she left’ I lied

I rushed back to my room and tried to find evidence of this mysterious girl. There was none.

Before I judge harshly on Prezzo, I need to find Jacinta and have an interview of what happened. Once I lay my hands on her, I will have several questions. Did we have sex? Did the other girl offer me the cookie? What happened to my money? And who used my card to drain my helb account? And if I had one unidentified catch, why did I pay for three cabs? What happened to Sophie? Did a new Nigga also wrap her after I did all the work?

Maybe, and just perhaps, the interview will help us decipher what Prezzo saw on Betty’s ass. But I learnt a lesson if such a thing ever happens again, and God forbid, I will never attend a live interview, and I will not tell people that my father ought to be the president. Even to date, I still don’t know whether that was the night I lost my virginity. Jacinta holds all the answers and the answers she will give to us. Someone give me Biko’s Email.

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