Grow Up? For What, Exactly?

Growing up, what exactly does it mean? Does it mean that you shred your act like a rattle snake shreds its skin? Do you suddenly start talking smooth and acting nice?  Maybe get rid of the all the cursing and have a firmer hand shake? Do you laugh at length with your mother’s friends and scratch your side burns in the company of your father’s associates? Do you send your girl Mobile Money every once in a while to keep her dreadlocks fly? Do you bail your boy out when his girl needs a fuckin abortion?

I don’t know.

You see, I don’t get this whole growing up thing. If it was science, I would say that I have not as yet stumbled upon the formula of being a fuckin grown up. What, you want to tell me how to act like a grown man? Okay;

Why don’t you please have a seat and tell me all the ways you can go fuck yourself?

Age is a high price to pay for maturity, I know. I mean, who wants to wear a baseball cap (tilted for extra effect), a XXL T Shirt and sagging denim pants with a bandana hanging out the back pocket while waiting for the birth of their first grand daughter?

Er, yes that will be Arthur Wonny.

My granddaughter will come through like;

“Damn momma, you didna tell me that Ali-G was my granpoppa. Look at him kick his leg forward and lean to the side. That swagger is off the shizzzy granpoppa!”

That would be super awesome. Also, it would probably be illegal to look like Snoop Lion then. Our parliament folks are already drawing up fashion bills because they are bored and because our President wants bald heads to be the next in-thing. I have a feeling we shall have actual fashion police like in 2030.

Complete with batons, laser zapping shit and breathalyzers – for detecting stinking feet and armpits. I don’t think it would be called a breathalyzer though. Maybe an eww-stinkalyzer.

I wouldn’t want to be patted down by some goof with a scraggly beard so I pray that it will be a female dominated profession. Imagine walking past City Square and there are all these hot officers with high heels and short pants and cleavages that you can balance a shot-glass on.

Yep, that would probably be illegal too.

Most of my friends and former class mates graduated like a century ago. They are now preoccupied with portraying a grown up image. They wear tailored clothes and plastic smiles. They will decline an offer of a drink or pork at least 2 or 3 times before accepting. Because they want you to think that they aren’t the type that stoops easily to charity.

You might think the guy had a buffet for lunch but nara. That nigger washed down a defender with sugarless chai at 1pm in the fuckin afternoon.

Defender [noun]: A really big, long ban that every campuser chokes on every time (s)he is stone broke because the thing is really cheap and really big and cheap. The bakers of this masterpiece guarantee defense from hunger attacks for at least twelve hours because it is really fuckin big…and really fuckin cheap.  

I don’t know about the girls but the boys leave their folks’ home as soon as the day after graduation. Some don’t even go back home. Three months down the road, you will find them washing down defenders with water.

I visited an old friend. He was sipping chai (with his faithful Defender in one hand) when I walked in. Since he is a drunkard, I thought he had spiked it with like vodka or kuber so I asked for a taste. He handed it over dutifully.

Mehn, the stuff scalded me badly.

I was like, “Dude, it is hotter than a yeti’s nut sack outside. Why in God’s name are you drinking plain hot water and tea leaves?  There’s no sugar in this…stuff. What’s up, hard times?”

I reached for the sugar tin. There was like half a kilo of sugar so I looked at him, baffled.

With concern, I said, “Bro, you didn’t tell me you are diabetic.”

He laughed and said, “No, broke niggers don’t get diabetes. They starve to death. I am just practicing for when the sugar gets over.”

I.have.never.laughed.so.fuckin.hard

Anyway, I am not saying that you shouldn’t try to put out this responsible, grown up appearance because that’s how people entrust you with their jobs and their daughters’ thighs.

All I’m saying is that don’t forget to be exactly who you are. Go out, make mistakes, and act a fool. No one wants to be around a wet blanket. Don’t be a damp squid. Don’t bore me with all your office talk. Drink with me, let’s go to the corner and try to score some drugs and girls because that’s how you became my friend.

I believe that friendships must be built on a solid foundation of sarcasm, alcohol and inappropriateness. Without that, we are just not…I don’t know, meant to be.

Ahem, no homo.

PS: If you combined Awesomeness and Kukussness, what would you get? The Facebook Kukuss Page. Like Me Mehn!