I have a younger cousin that frequently calls to ask for advice on matters of the heart. I don’t know when I graduated from Dr Cupid school of relationship psychology and counselling but I can confidently say that I am good at it, if the feedback reports he gives me are anything to go by. That’s probably why he comes back for more. Anyway, someone (I also don’t know his/her name) said that the best relationship advice is from single brats like son of man. Even in my church, the celibate priest gives marriage advice to spouses. That aside, due to public demand, I decided to publish my lecture notes. It is a limited edition go to manual for the green heads. Those who want advanced level lessons can register for it at a little fee. That aside, here is the “shit”

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If you are the type of guy that announces to the squad every encounter you have had, you are still a baby that runs to the mother to snitch on Brayo from next door for calling you a dog. If you smash, she has given you something so special yet private. Don’t go around insulting her, telling others about that intimate session.


It’s one thing to visit the loo for a short call and not wash your hands and another walking around with a dirty boxer, with the latter being sacrilege. Don’t leave the house with remains of last night’s meal in your teeth. If you constantly have bad breath, chew some Orbit. Ladies will definitely appreciate it if you wore some cologne to tackle your bad body odor. Don’t be a clean freak though that you walk with a sanitizer in your pocket to disinfect your hands after greeting people. You will be losing your roots.


After the unfortunate event of a breakup, don’t be the bastard that hold grudges for eternity. Woe unto you if you air her dirty laundry for the whole universe to see for Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will curse your lineage. To those who post statuses alluding to the “happier now than when we were together” persona, you are only confirming to us that you still got feelings. According to Freud, “the instinct of love toward an object demands a mastery to obtain it, and if a person feels they can’t control the object, or feel threatened by it, they act negatively toward it. Like an eighth-grade boy punching a girl.” only that you don’t know how to express them or can’t.


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the internet never forgets

Ok, I am guilty of surviving on my neighbour’s WIFI hence minimal if not zero budget on a data plan. But that doesn’t mean when I go to the WhatsApp statuses or Facebook all I want to see is your lovey dovey pictures and quotes. I would really appreciate if you kept it private (not secret, I hope you get the difference), only occasionally marking your territories e.g on Valentine’s Day and on her birthday. I also don’t expect her in your profile picture throughout. Halafu, the man that posts everything they do ‘AKO NA UMAMA’ and the chic ‘AWACHE UTOTO’. Please keep in mind that the internet never forgets. Your in-laws and job interviewers may access some of them.


You are your own definition of a man. F**k societal norms and expectations. You want to dress like Young Thug, the degenerate artist from Wakanda just because everyone is doing so… remember you are in Africa where voodoo is real. A person will look at your bare chest and pap, your stomach swells. Listen to your guardians, friends etc but also have a reasoning of your own. Most people will only tell you to do what will benefit them not what will make you happy. They hate her, ok, but since when did they become shareholders in your love life?


Remember that you knew your buddies long before she came into your life. It’s to them that you will definitely run after a breakup, the ones you call when you become a guest of the state or the bill at Altona café (where you took her for a date) is beyond your wallet’s upper limit. Bros before whores they say, but remember she is not the whore. She’s your girl. Just try to strike a balance.


To the pathological hyena, go dribble your d**k elsewhere. Her relatives and friends are a NO GO ZONE. Consider them a heavily guarded military installation where any intruder is shot to be killed. If you play here and she finds out, she’ll not only lose her boyfriend but also faith in those close to her.


Be the man. Don’t make her plan and do everything. Initiate a conversation, make the phone calls, buy her ice-cream, pull the chair for her etc. Make her feel special, and she will be your number 1 fan in everything you do.


We all have a past. Don’t peel the scabs that conceal her wounds even when the argument is heated. It probably took years for the pain or shame to fade but with just one word you can bring it all back in a fraction of a second. Try to walk out till both of you calm down


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Know her calendar. I repeat, know her calendar and thank me later. Forget Valentine’s Day and she won’t look you in the eye, forget her birthday and LO! 3 months dry spell for boychild.



We’re in Russia, passively. At least that’s what our social media statuses say. Now everybody except my girlfriend seems to know all about football. My aunt; the nun, she called me the other night lamenting how Messi is making her lose a bet she had challenge the mother superior. I still imagine her, amidst laughter, at the convent with the other sisters before a screen tuned to SuperSports and not the usual Capuchin TV or Waumini tv cheering their teams. Lecturers are avoiding the 7 o’clock classes saying they slept late because of a match. Comrades are “bouncing tests”. Instead of doing last minute downloading of content (layman’s term for cramming), they had been busy disputing if Christiano Ronaldo really deserved that penalty late into the night. Dates are also being cancelled because “timu ndogo ndogo zinachafua betslip“.

One life hack I’ve learned this period, should I miss a match, due to unavoidable circumstances, is to go to the timelines of the “novice fans”. They post anything and everything that happens in the 90+ minutes. Theirs’ would be a vivid description of how, when, where and what happened. For instance, the coordinates of the exact spot the referee spat will be given. I mean the coordinates in three dimensions, i.e, (x,y,z) The vectors of the direction, the presumed chemical compounds of the saliva, the quantity in litres, velocity of discharge etc. Sampling three of these and you have a pictorial assumption of exactly what happened that would be at least 98.7% correct.

Woe unto you if you go to that of a nigga that lives FIFA 2019, spends 36 hours debating on who between Ronaldo and Messi is the best, (Messi is on his own level. Second only to Gaucho. I even feel Rooney was better than Roro, au juu mimi ni hater…), get to spend the night in a cell because they were caught by the mean men in blue as they came back from watching a champions league quarter finals 3,578 feet away past curfew hours. These people get orgasms just by watching 22 grown up men chase a leather object as if the map to the secretive Wakanda Kingdom is somehow in it and later kicking it to God knows where. They are not the kind that will have time to pick their gadgets and update their status with updates of a match, unless they are ready to suffer the humiliation of not seeing how player X scored from 56 yards first hand . They somehow have the respect to assume everyone has a TV-set. They also know stations available on the free to air or the cheapest decoder bouquet air the matches live.
The next time you see someone posting the updates of a match in real time, know the moron can’t differentiate between a free kick and a penalty kick.

Not that it’s a bad thing. We can’t all be the same, have same interests and disinterests. For the world’s societies to be complete, there must be different characters. That’s why we have mad men, broke niggas like we, excellent footballers like Messi etc. Honestly, I’m not a die-hard football fan. I have a few teams that I casually support here and there, depending on the leagues and who they are playing against. However, I can’t name the full squad of any single team. I only know of wanyama in Harambee Stars. Shift the attention to rugby. I can name the whole national 7s team plus the subs (however this team is always dynamic. There’s always a new appearance and some disappearance that may make a comeback later on). I can tell you that Khayange retired from national duty with more authority than confirm if it’s really De Gea that was the goal man the day Spain played Portugal.

My friends always think I’m less of a man because of my disinterest in soccer. I care less. As long as I have the third leg; my mighty umkhonto we sizwe, and it’s functional (I mean I can pee when standing…hehe), I need no medical examinations to determine if I have a Y-chromosome.
All that aside, I wish you a painful FIFA world cup 2018 season as your teams get *********. Kama Leicester ilipata EPL, mbona underdogs wasipate?? (Tafakari ya babu)

*with hate from Croatia via Argentina.

Reply from the serpent herself (Ex)

Reply from the serpent herself (Ex)

She owed me one. So I reached out to her ( for an article the other day. She crafted one, that which an ex may compose as a reply to Epistle to my Ex which I wrote a couple of days ago. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the small bodied Hagines’ (Agnes’s) work which I now somehow own after a lil bit of blackmail.

Hey_low Mister,

I received your mail. Believe me when I say that I tried to feel your pain. I really did. I even tried to convince myself to give you another chance but the truth of the matter is that I feel no remorse for dumping you because you deserved it…..and so much more. Our love was like a bipolar patient, swinging like a pendulum, from one extreme end of emotions to the other. You always called me a drama queen, well newsflash honey! Drama drives the damn point home! How many times did I have to throw tantrums for you to act? How many? Remember when I told you that I never liked your ‘friend’ Rosy? Huh? How I long suspected that she had feelings for you and that you kinda liked her? All you had to do was respect our love when around Rosy! But no! No babe! You should have seen your face when I showed you the photo of Rosy and you engaged in a passionate lip lock! The photo, which I obtained courtesy of my CID team i.e. ride or die girlfriends, hurt me! Actually hurt is a huge understatement! I was shattered! That is why I slapped both of you and provided a free drama scene for the passersby on that fateful Saturday morning. That is why I dumped you in front of all and sundry at that very moment. They say that there is nothing as embarrassing as woman busted cheating but I wanted you to be the most embarrassed thing under the sun!

You know, it’s funny how you were always insecure. You always suspected me of cheating, kumbe all along you were scared that I could be doing what you were doing with Rosy? Shameless! Maybe now you are wondering whether I got booed up for real. Yes I did. I dumped your sorry ass for someone else, the guy I introduced to you as my cousin hohoho! And he treats me better. Most importantly, he is faithful, say it with me F.A.I.T.H.F.U.L.! Yes this brother man be loyal, you may not understand this concept but I don’t blame you. If the photos of bae and I on social are suffocating your unfaithful ass, then stop stalking me! You lost me! Get that through your cheating skull! We would have been a power couple if you had treated me right, but screwing up was one of your specialties aye?

Here are two little facts about millennial relationships; women can smell bullshit from miles and they are not afraid to walk away from it! And behind every rocky relationship there is a guy masquerading in the friend zone, eagerly waiting for the lady’s boyfriend/husband to screw up, so that he can swing in like Tarzan and take the lady with him. Thank me later. I hear nowadays you are anti-pizza, ati it has something to do with me. Let me laugh hahaha! You should try standup comedy hun. You? Avoid pizza? Chezoz! Let me laugh again hahaha! I hope you get the joke dear.

As for my family, it doesn’t matter how much you hate them because the love we have for each other is more than enough. Please tell your caring sisters that I don’t give a gosh dorn, I don’t give a zebra’s balls, I don’t give a hippo’s butt crack and I don’t give a bat’s eye lashes of what they think about me. Basically, I have no fucks to give! I don’t care if they are baying for my blood! Who invited them to meddle into our affairs anyway? Si it was you? That’s the problem of dating a guy who is always involving his entire clan in his personal affairs. Thank God I dumped you! I also hope your petty sisters know my brothers because I would hate to have their faces disfigured. I am all about peace you know. Also kindly, and this is a humble request, please tell Rosy to stop spewing hate on my social media pages. It is not my fault that my photos and insta stories are always fab just like me. I didn’t beg God to create me like this. Actually, I almost blocked her bitter ass online but I realized that I had no time for such pettiness. Plus you can assure her that I left you for her completely. She can have you all she wants, in the morning, in the evening…. As in, nilimwachia kabisa! I am not interested in sharing!

Ama things are not that rosy with Rosy? (Pun intended).

So unless she is also interested in me (of which I have zero interest in her), she should leave me alone.

You said that love felt like a heart attack when I dumped you, for me it felt like an endless epileptic seizure when I came across photographic evidence of your cheating (read photo of you and Rosy kissing). I was even more infuriated when you blamed your precarious act on enemies of progress using Photoshop! My God! The nerve!

All I am saying is that I moved on, so should you. By the way, I think you and Rosy deserve each other. Both of you are confused and that’s the kind of confusion which you can’t subject any other innocent creature of God to. It would be very unfair, honestly. As for bae and I, we will continue to enjoy our love.

PS: Jazmine is still my favorite scent and you are never getting my new number. I thought that I should be honest.

Yours happily,
Your happy, elated, jubilated, madly in love, corybantic, beatific, fine and ever gorgeous, Ex-Girlfriend


To those who may want to know more of her, just go to her blog or The Blackmail where I did some description of her.

The Blackmail

I had to blackmail her to do it. You see, the world runs on two things; favours and exploitations. Voters are exploited by politicians to give the politicians a job. The politician favors his bloodline and all his relations are in the government payroll.

I wanted her to help me out but she always “has a busy schedule”. Having threatened to …(it’s our little secret. Now that she already delivered, I don’t have to say it.), she sent me the harsh letter in a couple of minutes. To those who don’t know her well may think she had all along had it somewhere in the drafts just waiting to type the email address and click send. As for me, the writing maestro she is, I’m well aware. So I wasn’t at all surprised at how fast she delivered. But I still got dirt on you Aggy, you typed this stupidity using the company desktop, sent it using the company wifi, and it was also working hours…get where I’m heading? COMPANY TIME! So next time I want something and you refuse, your HR manager will be notified.

Anyway guys, after writing Epistle to my ex , I tried writing a reply but it wasn’t forthcoming. It lacked something that only we in the literary world may understand. So I reached out to one of my numerous sisters (some vocabularies like cousins etc don’t exist in African societies) Aggy to help me out. After she impersonated my ex, I got something so vile that I was left wondering how all along we’ve been under the same roof yet she’s just a can of gasoline and a matchstick away from burning me, ALIVE. After reasoning out, I came to understand that I had just given her the opportunity to cry her heart out over the bastard that broke her heart. Yaani siste, umekuwa ukiumia huu muda wote?

To those who don’t know her, yeye ndio aliniingiza WordPress. she’s a small-bodied lass, the size of an adolescent ant (if there’s such a thing), with a forehead the shape of an aeroplane’s nose. Her weird behaviours such as singing along to South African hip-hop in Zulu and Xhosa with her ugly voice aside, she has a good heart. Get this from a person who always sees the ugly part of people first. I think this is what makes her a favorite with the kids back home. As for the letter, watch this space. I’m still recovering from her punchlines before I put it up for public consumption.

To get more of the adolescent ant, you can follow her at Unlike the lazy me, she’s consistent, having something for her avid readers every Tuesday without delay.

Epistle to my Ex.

Dear Ex,

How have you been? I’m doing just alright these sides. It has been long since we last talked. How do you expect me to bring myself up after that painful, shameful and heartless rejection? You broke my dreams of us being together. Until then, I believed in happy thereafter. Not anymore. You shattered my heart. There’s no way possible to fix that. Not after you told the whole universe that I was no longer your type and that you had upgraded. You dumped me in the most inhumane way possible. You thought of yourself as the “independent millennium lady” and so causing a little drama on your way out to “freedom” was just part of your job description. The painful adjectives, pronouns and adverbs you specifically used on me that fateful Saturday morning are in the public’s domain. Now everybody describes me as “the dude who got dropped by the alpha lady”. Not kind choice of words if you ask me.

Moving on hasn’t been easy, more so after seeing my replacement within hours of our breakup, thanks to social media. It’s like you always had a contingency plan all along. I drowned in liquor, but my hangover hallucinations were filled with your face and so I stopped. Anything that would bring your memory, I avoided. I’ve convinced myself that the scent of the Jasmin perfume your aunt bought you smells like fart, the “silencer” release type of blow-air, so I dumped all my sister’s jasmine scented cosmetics because they “smell bad”. You should also know that nowadays I’m anti-Pizza? They remind me of that Tuesday you had one too many till you puked on my vintage shirt. And because you like Fanta Blackcurrant, I had to abandon my favorite Coca-Cola soda brand for the crispy Stoney with an excuse that it has medicinal benefits especially to the throat. Endlessly, I have tried to convince myself that you were worthless in my life. I even created a list of why I was better off minus you. But after putting my pen down, that hollow feeling crept back into my heart.

Till now, I’m not even sure if at all I’m making any progress. I still fantasize of what a power couple we would have made. The numerous pics of us people would post with #GOALS captions in their WhatsApp story or Instagram and Facebook timeline. The endless memes that would be created from them would make us get social media personality of the year awards year in year out. If githeriman got it for standing holding a NEMA contraband, read plastic paper bag, what of us? With the huge Twitter following, maybe next time the WorldCup trophy lands in the republic, we will be the ones to unveil it to the masses, just like Betty Kyalo. But I’m a beggar, and wishes were never horses because of my kind.

I now hate the people in your life. The friends, brothers and sisters. Not because they wronged me. Its just that I see you happy with them. You may call it jealousy, but in matters of the heart, I’m sure the big Boss up there will understand. Isn’t he the one who admitted, “I’m a jealous God…” ? However, I’m still surprised I was replaced by your “cousin”, or does your family condone incest? When I first saw his pictures in your gallery you said he was your cousin. If only I knew.

‘…Never knew love felt like a heart attack…’, TreySongz sung that. A couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have believed this, back when I thought what we watch in soap operas aren’t realistic. The times when I would scold a poor soul for crying after a breakup. Now I know better, I’ve been there. Maybe not long enough, but I know how it feels. The next time I would be stronger and handle it better. The next time, I’ll be more tolerant. The next time, it would be different, hopefully. I wish you the best in life.

PS. I think you should know that if at all I get your new number (if and only if I get over this hatred and muscle up the courage to talk to you again), I would save you as “The one that got away”.

And please avoid my sisters. They are baying for your blood. You did hurt their brother and they want revenge. However, they are too soft for Langata women’s prison.

Yours truly,


Cracked Glass

Cracked Glass

A beauty she is. I met her last Saturday somewhere classified for security reasons. She confided in me that she’s a poet. I sampled a couple of her ‘stuffs’ in the ‘kasmall‘ notebook that from her own confession , she carries it everywhere…(even to the bathroom, so plagiarists that think of stealing her unpublished stuff know you have to get better strategies), it never leaves her sight. Behind that beauty and shyness, lies an aggressive writer, the kind that recognizes no boundaries. She goes beyond limits and expectations to get her point home. After some persuasions, I managed to get one of her piece of art. This is Bloatedpapers’ Cracked Glass.

Cracked Glass

Am a cracked glass,
Cracking yet not leaking.

Am a cracked glass,
Solid as I am yet shattered from within.

Am a cracked glass,
Searching for someone to value my worth.

Am a cracked glass,
Present but not seen.

Am a cracked glass,
Still holding onto what’s within.

Am a cracked glass,
Cracking was my sin.

Am a cracked glass,
Forever cracking from within.

Who am I?
Am a cracked glass.


N/B: On Wednesday was her birthday and we’re still debating in our DMs why her parents refused giving her the name Valentine. And she’s also mad at me for not doing anything special, like posting this poem on the said date. My defence is and will still remain I was busy as a totomisa aka an alterboy on the AshWednesday mass services. Valid reason for my being off-air. Moreover, had I over-celebrated her on such an auspicious love day, the very day I had ‘unwillingly’ (heavens know it was willingly) abdicated my duties to jaber, the 1st lady would have imagined some coup had taken place. In retaliation, let’s just say our poet would be under the witness-protection program under an assumed name, waiting to testify in court about her near murder…that’s if she would still be alive.

Anyway Salsa, please receive my belated birthday wishes 🎂🎂.

Miss me?

They call it writer’s block or something like that. Yea, I know I’ve been missing for quite some time, but only due to reasons beyond son of man’s control. And if you think is lack of something to write about, then you are mistaken. Ask those who’ve met me in person. I’m the kind of bastard who never lacks a story. Story writing is part of me, same way bad odour is to the country bus makangas. I pick my stories from literally anywhere, and with a witty brain that enables me to spice things up, I have something for my audience. I at times look at national geographic and start analyzing how the animals are mating. From that alone, I can write something X-rated, though I won’t publish it. Ezekiel Mutua is overworking to ensure our children won’t know nothing about cortus until they hit 25 years. If he cracks the whip on me I’ll be used as an example to all misfits. I can’t imagine newspaper headlines the following day reading “BOYCHILD PROBED FOR FROG PORN”. Needless to say, I’ll be a hero to my male friends (shujaa mara pap) who should get the presidential Moran of the burning spear. The females however will treat me as a lost cause, a bad omen to be avoided at all costs. My dad won’t be a problem since he had given up on me a long time ago. My mother and grandmother are the ones who will give me an headache. In an attempt to cast the evil spirits away, my shosh will drag me to a japolo (those bearded Legio Maria priests) for divine intervention. My mother on the other hand as always will have a radical solution; drag me to all her friends who have daughters she persives beautiful and well brought up so that I divert my hormones from animals to God’s creations whom I’m of the same species with. Point of correction, I won’t be dragged, but willingly follow her to each and every of her friends with daughters. I guess all Adams are fisis.

And by the way guys(and ladies of course…but since you shout gender equality all the time, there is no problem if I generalize all of us to guys…or is there?) I recently joined kilimani mums n dads Facebook page/group. There are quite many of them, so I liked and joined those that had highest number of members and followers. All those who think I should now be in the market buying bras, lingeries (whatever on earth this means. I only know it sounds feminine, just like champagne) and on my way back home pass through a supermarket to pick sanitary pads (yaani ati umama imeniingia) , this is one place you can’t fail to get a tale. Apart from the usual nuisance in the name of advertisements and ‘religious do this or you won’t be able to raise your transformer’ kind of threats we will always have in any social media groups, the udaku in this space is of another caliber. However, I fear being an active shareholder here because some people will always tear you down, even if a comment to a post by a slay Queen in her bed sitter is as innocent as “that mattress looks old and tattered for Runda estate.” A good number of my friends are with me in this chama, though they are willing to lie under oath in the presence of Maraga that they are oblivious of such (Bro Mike na Gessy sikuona likes zenu kwa ile pic ya “Samantha ule mhot”).

To be honest, I just felt guilty I haven’t wasted your five minutes in weeks. You can put that blame on my gadgets and spectacles. I also felt like cheering some sisters who are going through a rough patch. Hope this makes you have a 3 seconds smile, it goes a long way. May you find comfort. In the meantime, let me dash kidogo to twira and see who were the unlucky victims of @MigunaMiguna knockout punches. If you have a Twitter account and still not following this guy, just know you are part of the problem to the dwindling raw local talents.

PS. The pic above is “stolen” from Collins Koyo’s Facebook page.