Have you watched the
University Hall sex tape? It is the real
deal. After watching that thing, I felt like I’d slept with all campus girls. All
of them? Yes, all of them. That dude took one for entire male species of
Makerere University, even the kaloolis.
You want to watch it too?
Like the KukussFacebook Page, I’ll inbox you a link.
There’s this guy. I seriously want to shag his babe. Kinda like Lil’ Wayne and Mrs. Chris Bosh but without the basketballs, foul language and publicity. Get this; I have nothing against the brother. I just want to do it and check it off that campus bucket list. It would be really magical to be the one they cheat with for a change. I intimated my intentions to my homeboy, adding that “life is too short y’know.”
He said, “No, you are too short y’know.”
So, what makes me so sure she will?
The thrill that comes with sexing me is akin to the one a guy gets when sexing an underage high school girl.
Not my words, FYI.
When she blows me, I’ll make sure she’s under the covers so that she doesn’t realize that I’m too busy browsing through cat pics on my phone. I’ll insist on kissing her even when my mouth stinks like a hobo’s taint.
I’ll basically be the King of Douche bags with a specialty in mortification.
Then she’ll see that her greed and forlon-ity cost her a really nice guy. You can’t have your cake and eat it too babe.
One of my friends told me;
“You are not a fuckin writer. You are a skinny douche with an irresponsible lifestyle who cusses almost as often as he takes a breath. It just so happens that you are also really fast at typing.”
Point
I manage about 70 words per minute and I hate to see that skill go to waste. That’s why I write. I don’t take myself as a natural at writing. All I know is that if I don’t have the reader in my grip within the first 15 seconds then my shit will suck balls. I guess the above ramblings did the trick.
That doesn’t however mean I won’t have designer sex with that nigger’s girl. You see, there are Louis Vuitton condoms these days. So don’t just have sex fwaaa. Get your dick in style yo.
I have nothing to write about this weekend so this is going to be one of those keyboard-to-dashboard posts. Plus, I am a little drunk right now so…
No Ctrl+S in this bitch.
Wait, I could tell you the one about the big ghoulish woman that my lecturer is shagging. Mmm-huh, you like? Apparently, her conjugal obligations include filling in for him in class. I hear she wants to lecture also.
Woman, this is not How-to-Ride-a-Dick class. This is Year III Mechanical Engineering class.
You remember that Primary Three teacher who always told you to sit boy-girl-boy-girl? The one who told you to stand in front when you talked in class? The one who took roll-call twice in a lesson? The one who stalked around the room like King Kong daring you to speak while at the same time asking a question? The one who always gave 50 Grammar questions for homework? The one who told the class monitor to teach the class while she sat at the back sexting? The one you hated?
Yeah? You remember her?
Well, give her a monotone fake-accented voice, bigger lips, a feeble, annoying laugh (she tilts her head to one side while executing it like a little girl) and a fat ass. There, you have my new Product Design and Development “lecturer”.
Oh, add a few pounds of fat to her stomach too. Her entire trunk is like being held captive by this huge “tyre” of fat that runs along her waistline.
Urggh, turn off. Big time.
When I look at her, two things come to my mind.
Like the KukussFacebook Page, I’ll inbox you a link.
There’s this guy. I seriously want to shag his babe. Kinda like Lil’ Wayne and Mrs. Chris Bosh but without the basketballs, foul language and publicity. Get this; I have nothing against the brother. I just want to do it and check it off that campus bucket list. It would be really magical to be the one they cheat with for a change. I intimated my intentions to my homeboy, adding that “life is too short y’know.”
He said, “No, you are too short y’know.”
So, what makes me so sure she will?
The thrill that comes with sexing me is akin to the one a guy gets when sexing an underage high school girl.
Not my words, FYI.
When she blows me, I’ll make sure she’s under the covers so that she doesn’t realize that I’m too busy browsing through cat pics on my phone. I’ll insist on kissing her even when my mouth stinks like a hobo’s taint.
I’ll basically be the King of Douche bags with a specialty in mortification.
Then she’ll see that her greed and forlon-ity cost her a really nice guy. You can’t have your cake and eat it too babe.
One of my friends told me;
“You are not a fuckin writer. You are a skinny douche with an irresponsible lifestyle who cusses almost as often as he takes a breath. It just so happens that you are also really fast at typing.”
Point
I manage about 70 words per minute and I hate to see that skill go to waste. That’s why I write. I don’t take myself as a natural at writing. All I know is that if I don’t have the reader in my grip within the first 15 seconds then my shit will suck balls. I guess the above ramblings did the trick.
That doesn’t however mean I won’t have designer sex with that nigger’s girl. You see, there are Louis Vuitton condoms these days. So don’t just have sex fwaaa. Get your dick in style yo.
I have nothing to write about this weekend so this is going to be one of those keyboard-to-dashboard posts. Plus, I am a little drunk right now so…
No Ctrl+S in this bitch.
Wait, I could tell you the one about the big ghoulish woman that my lecturer is shagging. Mmm-huh, you like? Apparently, her conjugal obligations include filling in for him in class. I hear she wants to lecture also.
Woman, this is not How-to-Ride-a-Dick class. This is Year III Mechanical Engineering class.
You remember that Primary Three teacher who always told you to sit boy-girl-boy-girl? The one who told you to stand in front when you talked in class? The one who took roll-call twice in a lesson? The one who stalked around the room like King Kong daring you to speak while at the same time asking a question? The one who always gave 50 Grammar questions for homework? The one who told the class monitor to teach the class while she sat at the back sexting? The one you hated?
Yeah? You remember her?
Well, give her a monotone fake-accented voice, bigger lips, a feeble, annoying laugh (she tilts her head to one side while executing it like a little girl) and a fat ass. There, you have my new Product Design and Development “lecturer”.
Oh, add a few pounds of fat to her stomach too. Her entire trunk is like being held captive by this huge “tyre” of fat that runs along her waistline.
Urggh, turn off. Big time.
When I look at her, two things come to my mind.
1. God this woman is so fuckin fat.
2. Umm…just that first one actually, she's fat.
I know it is wrong to
call people fat. So I try to do it as often as possible. A friend of mine
visited me a few weeks back. She had this…thing. She had this thing on her
stomach that suspiciously looked like fat but I couldn’t tell her that. That’s
just mean! So I asked her;
“Hey, when are they due?”
She’s like, “whaaat?”
“The twins, when are they due?”
We.are.no.longer.on.speaking.terms
It is like when you post, shout out to all my bad bitches on your facebook and a babe inboxes you asking, am I also one of your bad bitches? You tell her, no you’re not a bad bitch and she goes wasps about the whole thing. It is clear my intentions were good when I called you preggers instead of fat. The same intentions I had when I told this other one that she’s not a bad bitch – at all.
Like wait, you wanted to be my bad bitch?
Kudos!
I get the feeling I’m treading the fine line that divides relevance and bullshit. Someone remind me, what’s the title of this post again?
Oh, that’s right, nothing. The title of this post is nothing.
*thinks***
That bastard Judas Iscariot sold The Lord for silver last night. I suspect he spent it in a bar and woke up wondering, “Did I or did I not sell Jesus to the fuckin Jews?”
“You did motherfucker,” the whore lying next to him says. He looks at her and says ‘shit’ in nine different languages.
Happy Easter y’all!
I’m going to Mbale to drink with this one who uses a computer mouse like a TV remote when she gets drunk. You, on the other hand, should make it a point to have sex in a bunny costume before Monday.
Now if you don’t mind, I am a very busy boy. Please leave, I need to get back to doing nothing.
Adios!
“Hey, when are they due?”
She’s like, “whaaat?”
“The twins, when are they due?”
We.are.no.longer.on.speaking.terms
It is like when you post, shout out to all my bad bitches on your facebook and a babe inboxes you asking, am I also one of your bad bitches? You tell her, no you’re not a bad bitch and she goes wasps about the whole thing. It is clear my intentions were good when I called you preggers instead of fat. The same intentions I had when I told this other one that she’s not a bad bitch – at all.
Like wait, you wanted to be my bad bitch?
Kudos!
I get the feeling I’m treading the fine line that divides relevance and bullshit. Someone remind me, what’s the title of this post again?
Oh, that’s right, nothing. The title of this post is nothing.
*thinks***
That bastard Judas Iscariot sold The Lord for silver last night. I suspect he spent it in a bar and woke up wondering, “Did I or did I not sell Jesus to the fuckin Jews?”
“You did motherfucker,” the whore lying next to him says. He looks at her and says ‘shit’ in nine different languages.
Happy Easter y’all!
I’m going to Mbale to drink with this one who uses a computer mouse like a TV remote when she gets drunk. You, on the other hand, should make it a point to have sex in a bunny costume before Monday.
Now if you don’t mind, I am a very busy boy. Please leave, I need to get back to doing nothing.
Adios!
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