What’s the worst that could happen?

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A Sunday.

First, I would like to apologize to my atheist readers because this post is church related. Also, it’s about God so to the rest of the religions, I pray for tolerance.

So- Newsflash!- This lesbian goes to church.

And I will tell you this for nothing, the church happens to be a good place. That is if you are into sitting at one place transfixed at a certain object for five hours straight. That is totally my thing, I happen to be the most patient person in the history of the world.

 

The above certain object happens to be the cross. Nothing to instill the fear of the Lord in your soul like the good wooden cross.

 

So this particular last Sunday came after the Valentine’s day (you know the day the town is in bloody circus?) that’s me admitting that I’m happy for everyone of you that got red flowers and undies, not. I happen to be sitting next to dad, as I always do. I’m a protestant and that means we carry our own hymns and Bibles because the millions and millions Church offerings get channeled towards our reverend, deacons and deaconesses Per Diem. The church therefore, cannot (and of course I don’t possibly see how) afford to buy the congregation the said books and so I will have to sit next to dad every Sunday so we can share. Why can’t I just buy my Bible you ask? Well, that is a very important question.

 

Most churches (this particular one is quite clear on that) are gay intolerant. Homosexuality arouses very strong passions in people, the devil is also quite clear too that he has a corner specifically set for us at his place. It’s unimaginable EVIL. But that’s beside the point. Despite everything that’s wrong with my life, I am here. The Reverend is giving us a little spiel about love, he is intoxicated by the Valentines love bug me thinks. He is referring to every love verse; this is especially a traumatic ordeal for me because sitting next to father means I get to have the huge task that is to locate for the said verses. Painstakingly, he marks every sermon with his special mark pen. Different one every Sunday, his Bible is now multicolored from years of use, and I automatically love it. You know, rainbows. I love rainbows my gentle readers.

 

What is love? Reverend says it is kind, it does not judge blah blah blah. Right, love does not judge. Now, my eyes are transfixed on the Reverend. I would love to hear him explain this one. And during one of those life’s rare coincidences, our eyes locks for a whole two seconds. My poor attempt at nonchalance ensures that I nod vigorously and together with the faithfuls, chants a big AMEN! I’d like to think it is God’s commanding presence but at that instant where our eyes lock, I think about Messiah’s second coming, I think about the lady I was checking out on our way to church, I think about my web history, I think about the gay people in Nigeria and Uganda, I think about the laptop I left unattended in my bedroom and all its lesbian porn and at the spur of the moment, I do what a good lesbian Christian would do, nothing.  You see, the church has a way of specifically loading on homosexuals’ shoulders, the sins of the rest of humanity. And they are many. But if you want to target my sexual orientation without even mentioning your nightly orgy of masturbation dear Reverend Christian, I’ll need a damnly good reason why.  

 

Love does not judge. The Reverend is unstoppable.

 

The church was built to instill good values in our hearts. Without a doubt, this is true. I don’t even question the credibility of that for one second. I don’t even justify my extreme gayism behaviors, I am a sinner dear gentle reader.  The fact that I will burn in hell is the final piece of the puzzle. But will you at least stop drumming this in my head every one second? I think the intolerance surrounding the hate for homosexuals makes a mockery of the whole Church structure. The blabber in loving your enemy is sickening mendacity and plain bigotry.

 

Why not quit church altogether you ask? I go to church to be alone with my thoughts, and for many other reasons I don’t have to necessarily explain to anybody. The Great God of the universe has not yet struck me with a sword, I WAIT. Also, I think who or who won’t burn in hell is too close to call for any fellow humanoid.

 

What would the Holy Virgin Mary do?

 

She would give unto the Lord what belongs unto the Lord. And so it is offerings time and I raise my note unto the high heavens. Praying to God that could he please remember me in his kingdom? That despite my extreme earlier mentioned behaviors; I paid the good Reverend to spread the gospel. It’s not for me to question what he does at night under his duvet.

 

Unrelatedly, on my way out I run into the lady I was checking out earlier on our way to church. This is definitely a sign. Do you know how to interpret dreams and signs my gentle reader? Neither do I.

 

Go ye in peace.

 

 

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The elusive Gaydar

 

Walks into a coffee house, spots beautiful unchaperoned woman, stares at woman, fiddles fingers, scratches head, sips coffee, pours scolding hot coffee on self’s tits, makes a hot mess, looks up to stare at woman, woman is leaving now, holy crap she is coming over to your table….

That is Hollywood for you. Now back to Kenya. You are screwed and nobody gives two hoots.

It’s like the writer’s muse. Writers will go batshit crazy looking for it at the insides of their cigars, they will run naked in the middle of the night and come back with all of two sentences if they are lucky, or in most cases they will end up writing one book in two decades. Physical and emotional miseries.

I was having a conversation with a programmer who told me that he might be in the process of building a particular application but there is this line of code that just won’t work. Then it will appear to him like a dream in the dead of the night and it doesn’t matter whether he was making sweet love to his dear wife, he will hit the sheets like a demented creature and make a run for his laptop.  Else, he won’t remember it for months on end. What a life to live. Also, poor wife!

Gaydar is far much worse. I mean, we are talking about a heart and a homophobic population. I can’t remember which site this was but someone left a comment and said that if their kid was gay, he would skin off their manhood and spray pepper spray on them. I don’t know about you but getting sent to hell with hot flaming balls isn’t my idea of dying. Especially now that I am a woman and I don’t have balls so I am thinking that maybe this particular reader would have chopped off my breasts. It’s dreadfully scary what hitting on a straight woman/man can turn into. You don’t know whether what you have is an abnormal attraction masquerading as gaydar. Many of us were denied this God-how-much-we-all-need-it skill.

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memecentre.com

 

 

It is a fundamental law of nature that our lesbian hormones are always on a 24 hour clock shift. We will stop at nothing. Seriously, you just can’t stop us. How else do you explain flirting with a married heterosexual woman who even the devil knows you will never have. How do even explain to her how you get erotic dreams of you giving her earth shattering cunnilingus. How do you know she won’t tell on you to the authorities. When in the midst of all these emotions do you know what’s gaydar even if it were to hit you smack dead on your face. BUT we will hit on these married heterosexual women anyway, because that’s what winning means.     

 

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My gaydar is generally not so bad. I can call it neutral, occasionally edging toward bad. I will stare at a woman and two seconds into it I know she is lesbian. I will however practice the same with another woman and tumble head-first into the whale-belly of scoring an E. You can never tell with the dress code here. The old-age plaid shirt giveaway for instance does not apply on our streets. Lesbians have mastered the art of camouflaging in the crowds. Yours truly included.  Stereotypes or no stereotypes, gaydar is your best friend. I will be speaking for many lesbian women when I say that sometime you just want to hug a random beautiful woman on the streets, in a matatu..she look so divine, she looks like a lesbian, oh God you just wanna kiss her.

Gaydar entails confidence. It entails learning how to hold a stare; it also entails having a third eye. It is all about having killer conversation starters, and keeping the conversation going. If you are homosexually stunted, you will need to be laid hands on. There is no way you will survive in this hot and dry season in Kenya if you are the type to wait for a gay angel to rise from hell and cure your dry spell. Forget about snuggling in cold winter, there is something in this hot February sun that turns on all your horny hormones. I happen to know because I am speaking for myself. Pick cues from everything and everybody in her life. Compliment her and study her body language. There must be something there. Also, lesbians are generally friendly people. Take this to your advantage and study her keenly. You know, I am just giving you my two cents worth, this ain’t the gospel yo. Somebody needs to explain to me in writing how you spot a lesbian say 500 metres away and all your gaydar bells goes off. I mean, there are effeminate men for instance who can get you all so confused. But they happen to be as straight as a round-about. Same case applies to our tomboys and butch sisters. I think it is constitutionally wrong to judge people’s sexuality by their dress code.

So where to from here?

I suggest you work with intuition. It is pretty much the straight twin sister to gaydar. If it feels right, then it is right.

 

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Ever been in a police cell?

I bet you haven’t. You are a law-abiding citizen, yes?
So was I, until I wasn’t. That was last Sunday morning.

Life can be depressing. More so when I get a call in the frigging hour of 6.00am on a Sunday morning the only day I get to sleep like a normal human being. The call goes something like; come to the office now!! Run or hire a jet (with my two shillings salary) but be here ASAP!

Some citizens decided to help themselves with some money in the office, yours truly and the entire crew of other aspiring pensioners in the workplace had officially signed their ticket to doing woodwork and carpentry in prison. We were all fucking suspects!

Seriously, do people still break into an office and steal money in 2013?
Like hell they do. Especially the dumb ones.

I dragged my sleepy ass to the office, mumbling incoherent things to myself because I was either half awake or oh yes I remembered, I went partying last night and now it would take me a whole year to recover..
I got to the boardroom and found like three dozen employees already gathered, a dead calm space, all eyes cast on the ground. I thought to myself, it’s a Sunday, they must be memorizing their chapters and verses from whatever religious book they have gathering dust under their cabinets, then three policemen walk in, and I knew the shit just got serious.

Here is the thing, if you work in a place where money change hand and the money in question disappears mysteriously, you can go to prison, if you have ever come into contact with the office safe, you can go to prison, if you have ever come to as near as to looking at the said safe, you law-abiding citizen can say goodbye to your porn collection. You don’t have those? Okay, me neither.

You will start praying but before you remember where we start the Lord’s Prayer, the said three policemen will have whisked your ass in their van, all sirens blazing.
And so it happened that we had to record police statements and go through gazillion hours of interrogation, ten hours to be precise. While this was happening, we were locked in a police cell, waiting in turns for our questioning.
Some fellow employees were not amused at all; they wear these imported designer clothes and walk around with grand air of importance.

Now, I don’t suppose you are the President’s daughter, so just save your breath and sit your ass with the rest of the commoners. Else, you will receive the beating of your lifetime from the said three policemen, as soon as words like I know my rights and Kenya is a diplomatic country are out of your mouth, a whole parade of officers will have put you in your right place, which could be anything from smashing your balls or biting off your nipples.
You-just-got-served

What I am trying to get at is, you are better off keeping your mouth shut because the more you try to prove your level of high education, the more you are intimidating the men in blue and naturally, I believe you like your balls and nipples. So keep taking notes.

Inside the police cell, you will find other Kenyans who being a weekend are mostly the call girls and your usual drunk and disorderly Raias. One look at you and they will know that you are not one of them. They have a street code or something.

Being regulars, they know the nitty gritties of how the police force works. They will want to know what brought you here and give you advice more than your lawyer could and they will predict a verdict right there.
Some will shout their indignation, roaring in arguments which will resound in the corridors. This might irritate the police officer on duty who might come inside the cell to show you who is the boss. The said call girls will get into heated argument with the police officer saying they are Mother Earth themselves and they have every intention of outliving every court in this godforsaken country and being the wise one, he will haul insults at them and walk away.

There was this girl of about twenty-one lying semi consciously on the floor; once she woke up, she stood suddenly to reach for her pockets; checking whether her tools of trade were still intact. There is this powder they use to drag their customers; I don’t know what it’s called. She had three packets of those. Being the curious one, I asked her to show me how it looked like which she did and then hid them inside her panties. She had also smuggled a phone inside the cell, which she used to call someone, yowling erratically at them to come and bail her out.
Meanwhile, the rest of my colleagues were discussing in hush tones what could have transpired, others were crying their hearts out praying to the Lord of Daniel.

Our relatives came in turns to check on us, bringing tea and cake with them. They were devoured by our fellow cell mates because we were too shocked to eat anything. Besides, we were taught to wash our hands before we eat and no water was in sight, such was the air of importance we carried around with us..

Ten long hours later, we walked to our freedom.

A traumatic experience for me indeed. So traumatic that I’ve been getting the shakes on an off for a whole week. But I will survive.

As of the theft, it was an ‘organized’ plan between one employee and a hired gang. The case is still in court but by the look of things, the buffoon will be spending a several years prison.

And such are the days of our lives.

Holy Shitballs! Homophobes!!!

Hey kittens 😀

There is this certain god fearing humanoid that sent me an email recently. Mr. Man wanted to know who gave birth to me because I am such a disgrace to the society. Sinful, wrath of God, lightening, Sodom and Gomorrah, just to name a few were some of the words used in that email. In case like me, English is not your first language and you need more clarification, I am talking about the homophobes. You know those peeps that hate the gay people oh so much they would chop off your balls and hang them in their study rooms? Yep.

Actually they would rather milk your balls dry and leave you to go to hell. Nothing says Satan faster than a homophobe on a suicidal mission.

Necessary side note: balls are those sensitive babies. Keep them under warm temperatures in this cold season. That is for the men wearing those teenie weenie shorts dimwit.

I must clarify here that I know all this stuff about balls because I have brothers, as in real life siblings of the male sex who teach me these stuff. Not like they let me touch them or anything. People in my family tree are creeps and we talk about all manner of stuff, like fapping, boobies and writing anonymous blogs. I would burn my wigs (all fifty of them) if I discovered that someone else in my family owns some anonymous blog though!

Coming to think of it, maybe that brother of mine who kill mosquitoes and skin them is a serial killer blogger. Or a Jehovah witness follower. Holy lamb! I prefer the latter. I wouldn’t mind his company in hell.

I preferred to answer Mr. Man here. Because I know he will be back and to answer all future others like him. Free internet will be the death of the cradle of mankind. Forget Viagra and Vagina tightening pills.

So here goes:

First things first yo Mr. Man, why were you reading this blog? What search words led you to a queer blog? I am totally amused because you can only find this blog if you are looking for adult content. Explain to me like a small child because, shouldn’t you be reciting your songs of Solomon?

Another necessary side note: my next post will be about lesbian sex. That content will be explicit, and that’s a cue to close this tab if you are a minor.

So if you are still with me Mr. Man, I have heard Sodom and Gomorrah and homosexual thunderstorms and lightening like a gazillion times. Be a little creative with your words next time you are attacking me. Use words like strap-on or double dongs. Those things aren’t cheap and who knows, maybe next time I am in an adult shop I might marry the male cashier and buy wedding rings instead.

Thirdly, you mentioned that I just hate men in general and given a chance you would show me what a real man is made of. Now this is where you totally got my attention. What is the meaning of that statement exactly? No, don’t you dare reply. Because I know without a single shade of doubt you are a rapist or something worse.  

Do you know how many lesbians are raped day in day out because of fucktards like you who have childhood issues and are for lack of a better place, the right permanent hell occupants? Dude, Satan would reject your ass.

I don’t owe you any explanation but guess what? Almost all my close friends are men. As in, people with penis between their legs. Mature responsible dudes. Men are cool.

Soft boobies cool.

Seriously, I would bang my head on the floor to death if I was to live one day with a world full of women.

You guise, women are awesome. Just try handling a thousand of them at the same time. You will die man. Ask the doctors, some things in life work perfectly under the right dosage.

Men do good stuff to me, except my woman anatomy regions. I feel nothing there. Nada. Zero. Naetsing! You get it Mr. Man? It is the sole reason I am a lesbian dude. Because when it is going down, it goes down with ‘em girls. And best believe, they are so good at it. I am not here to explain to you what goes where or who sleeps where. The least you know the better.  

So Mr. Man, I hope you read this, once you do, go climb the Everest alone and dislocate all your limbs while at it because trust me, next time it will be awful. I mean coming after your ass with vengeance together with an army of angry lesbians. Yep. That is a threat.

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from thejigglybits.com

The only thing you said that came close to being true is about me going to hell. Wait, aren’t we all?

I could go on and on. But I am tired and I have other better things to do tonight too (who said I have no life). Today I am celebrating my fifth President, Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta. That’s right. That also confirms one other thing; remember that post I made about Margaret Kenyatta? She is now the First Lady of Kenya bitches. No fucks
will be given tonight.

Contact me for a round of free drinks 😀

 

 

The look

 

More like a passing glance

A short conversation that lasted five minutes ups

A moment worth writing, of what memories are made of

The hot lawyer.

She gave me that look.

The look that told me she knows and she understands

The look that made me forget the presence of the male co-worker who introduced her to me.

The look that said we might never meet soon but I have really liked you

The look that made her nod to my every sentence

The look that touched me places

 

She left me smiling

Her business outfit

Her handshake

Her perfume

Her smile

Everything

In her allure I sank deep

The very short encounter

That took my breath away.