Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,

This is not meant to make you feel like you are somehow more important than the rest of the human race. As a matter of fact you might be a grown ass man with no job who spends the year smoking cheap cigarettes when in fact you should be focussing on nursing your bloated liver. In lay parlance, I’m implying that you are a useless retard.

However, this doesn’t mean I don’t wish you were just a straight up motherfucker like everyone else. Apparently people write you letters such as these to give you their wish lists and you deliver. For someone who has no job and no face…you spur interest in the child inside me. More or less because I first heard about your whole setup like two years ago. As a child, we didn’t believe in that shit…my parents never brought up a subject even infinitesimally close to your sorry ass. All my dad did on Christmas was make us dance to Congolese Lingala while he sipped on his well-earned brew and cheered.

For the next few minutes, I’m going to try hard and pretend that you actually do exist. I’ll even try to blot out the giant hedgehog doing a funny dance on my table and imagine that this is not in fact, another dream. Here’s a list of what I want for Christmas;

-          I wanted to put something fancy for my first wish like a ride – er, those Murcielago things or a new kidney or some rich boy crap but I won’t do that. Like wouldn’t it be the baddest thing if I got one of those Samsung Galaxy tabs? I’m not the phone obsessed type because I’m almost making a profession of losing phones. I’m saving up to by my next phone – a phone booth. But honestly after watching that ad, man I’ve to get me one of those babies. Apparently it “understands you.”

-          So like real shit, the very first and only thing I want this Christmas (or don’t want for this matter) is NO DRAMA.

The problem is that, the whole Christmas concept is based on drama. Like, imagine if we were in the Biblical times and your girlfriend, who hasn’t been giving you any and has no intentions of doing so, whatsoever looks you straight in the eye and tells you that she’s pregnant. I would say;

                Me: Well, who’s the father?!

                Her: The Holy Spirit.

                Me: So what are you telling me for? Go find him!

                Her: He said that you should be the father.

                Me: He what?! Some nerve he has!

                Her: He came to me last night –

Me: -- he came to what?! Bitch, you know what? Fuck it, I want to meet this Spirit guy…how long has this been going on?

               

Her: Oh, don’t be like that. He just came to me last night while I slept. One thing led to another and well…next thing you know, I was pregnant! The best part is that he said you should be his father and we can raise him together. Oh dear, isn’t that just adorable?

Me: Jesus Christ!!! (oh, I forgot…Jesus is not yet born). Um, thunder upon a moving mountain! (assuming that’s how they swore), woman you are despicable! I have waited seven seasons, to be handed the admiration of your deflowerment in case your memory is defective. So this guy just shows up from nowhere and you give up the plenteousness?

Her: You don’t understand.

Me: Please, may the gods grant me all the wisdom and patience to do so.

Her: Don’t worry, he will come and enter you too and you will feel at peace.

Me: Okay…so I just have to nurse you through pregnancy, raise the child as my own and we shall all have white clothes and a happy ending? Oh, and he gets to enter me at some point if I’m correct?

Her: Yeah, see it is not that complicated. So, are you okay with it?

Me: Oh, of course I’m okay with it sweet pea, right after I stab myself in the fucking throat! Please uninvite yourself from my presence you forlorn woman!

Her: You don’t understand, the human race depends on this baby. In fact, he said there are chances that we may not have any more children after that because this child is so so special…

Me: What the-- ?? Have you been drinking?

Her: Also, it is likely that very many soldiers are coming to kill us because they all want the baby to die. They’ll be at the front door in say, twenty minutes.

*  *  *

There’s honestly no way, she can convince me to go through with it. And yet dear old Joseph went through with it without causing this unnecessary Drama. I missed last Christmas because I was too busy holding grudges and causing drama for my family. This is a time to hold your little brothers and sisters over the balcony Micheal Jackson style and basically have fun. There’s this kid we used to bully back in the day with my brother. We used to lock him up in the fridge for hours and laugh our arses off. He is visiting this Christmas and he has grown way taller than me and I’m scared he’ll whoop my ass at every turn. But he chooses not to…mostly because he’s stupid but to small extent – because it is the right thing to do. So, in case your girl fucks another nigger today just hand him another pack of condoms because it is a result of some of these mishaps that we get the best blessings. So, dear Santa all I want is no drama this Christmas.

In simple terms you should probably collect your little gifts and stay away. You can come back when your beard-weave no longer looks like a gang of monkeys fornicated in it.

Oops, I think the hedgehog is becoming bigger. This might actually be a dream! It has started talking…I open one red eye and my baby sister is shaking me awake. I slide off the couch and she’s screaming like, “WAKE UP, IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!”

Merry Christmas Everyone!

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Make Me Understand

There was a point in my life when I badly wanted to become like a lecturer or something. You have all these kids’ futures in your hands and you could decide to fuck ‘em up and not lose any sleep over it. All my lecturers have come to accept that I can never hand in shit on time. Most of my course work is handed in at the end of the semester, one hour before the end of the final exam. Because, chances are that I will bolt from that exam room an hour and a half before the recommended time since I don’t have dick to write. If I were my lecturer, I would fuck me up real bad. I mean, who the fuck does this kid think he is? So, for about three days I had fantasies of showing up to lecture with a cigarette and an apple just like in that movie. Oh, actually that movie hasn’t been shot yet, because the script is still on my desktop.

My dad is a lecturer, so is my sister so I got the feeling it runs in the blood. I wanted to be a part of the making of the future gurus and CEOs and whatevers…but that was until I spent time with this Primary Four kid and realized that lecturing or teaching is the most messed up profession in the history of ever. I woke up today morning and he was just standing there by the bedside, staring at me. I was so fucking freaked out! Do you know how scary that is? It is like…waking up and there’s someone at your bedside staring at you.  

Me: Whoa! Kid what the f--? What are you doing?!

Him: Nothing, I’m just standing here, looking at you.

Me: Well, don’t you have something to do? Go play Excalibur or something…

Him: I hate Excalibur

Me: That’s not my problem, GO AWAY!

Him: That’s not polite.

Me: What the --?! Look, just leave me alone!

Him: Ask me politely.

Me: Go the fuck away kid.

Him: They don’t speak to kids like that.

Me: Okay, please take your little ass away so I can get some sleep.

Him: You’re always sleeping, don’t you get bored?

 Me: Are you bored?

Him: Yes.

Me: Do you know what a modem is?

Him: Of course, I’m not 7!

Me: : Okay, I lost my modem. Could you look for it?

Him: What do you do on the internet?

Me: I write.

Him: You write about what?

Me: I write stories.

Him: How come you never write me any stories?

Me: Because I use big words and you are just a kid.

Him: Can’t you just use ‘Once upon a time’?

Me: Nope, that’s cliché.

Him: What?!

Me: The big words I was talking about.

Him: So, how do you start your stories?

Me: Um, like ‘Whats up? Blab la blab..”

Him: That’s facebook. You don’t write stories, you just facebook.

Me: Yes, I do facebook. Now go away!

Him: But I’m still bored!

Me: Look at your little brother, he’s not bored.

Him: He’s playing with his weenie!

Me: Exactly.

Him: You want me to play with his weenie?

Me: Jesus, no! That’s your brother, play with your own.

* * *

Honestly, if I’m not the only choice for best uncle of the year award then no one is. On a slightly more serious note, I would like to thank all of you for reading and sharing these Kukuss posts. My blog traffic has increased like threefold and it’s all because of you. Keep sharing! I was told that there’s a babe who shares almost all my posts. She just sent me a “plus one” on Google +. +clare canary Thanks love, you are such a sweetheart.

Adios!

BLACK GIRLS ROCK

Before you get ahead of yourself, this post might have nothing to do with girls or rock. I’m sorry if that disappoints the insecure black girl who has been waiting 17 years for someone to tell her she’s indeed adorable. Or as urban music lovers often put it – that she’s the shit. I don’t know why a girl should go around trying to overcome this insecurity by acting like the sun revolves around her ass. I mean, the sun actually shines out of your ass babe. So you should feel great about yourself because sincerely, you are the ish – you rock!

Wait, I thought I said this has nothing to do black girls or --- Arrgh, whatever.

It’s holiday time and since my posts normally reflect what’s happening in mi vida, I’ll be writing a lot about ma familia. I’m currently crushing at my sister’s. There are like three boys there. One is like 8, the others are 2 and 1 respectively. The 8 year old talks too much, plays lots of video games and finds a hard time sitting down. If he isn’t busy dealing with first world problems like fixing his (toy) rides and throwing tantrums, the 2 year old spends most of his time with his girlfriend from next door, who’s like 3. The 1yr old is probably going to be a comic because he’s such a jolly fellow – he’s always in such a good mood.

All this is supposed to be bliss. For girls of course, not that I don’t adore kids but the thing is, I’ve been looking forward to pushing PlayStation these holidays. It so happens that most of the games at crib are rated 18 and above. Besides, I have to convince the 8yr old that we are going to play together in turns. I’m game since well, at some point or another he’ll turn 18 and learn how to cuss anyway. I dig Scarface but this game is so violent and Al Pacino is always cussing like, “FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU WANNA TAKE ME YOU FUCKING COCKROACHES? YOU HAVE COJONES (BALLS)? YOU SONOFABITCHES!!”

And on it goes. The kid actually imitates what the guy is saying and my sister walks into the room and throws me this “what the fuck?” look. I shrug since I don’t want to shoulder the blame.

-         

•  Isn’t there anything better you can play? This game is too violent!

• Ok, let me play GTA or God of War or Godfather –

• All those games are 18 and over, turn it off.

• But please –

• Turn it off! Watch tv or something…

Watching TV is a whole other dilemma since the kids want to watch cartoons, the maid wants to watch soaps and me, well I can’t watch the same station for more than 5 minutes tops. In the end, there’s some shit on the telly with no one watching but as soon as you touch it, someone springs up claiming they were watching the crap. 

Last night, my sister tried to make a sort of family TV night. Her husband wanted to watch discovery. I wanted to watch MSNBC. My sister insisted we watch BET. The kids were on their mum’s side. And as long as we’re in her home, everyone is her bitch so we had to settle for making disgruntled noises while she wore a satisfied smile.

There’s a new show on BET called Black Girls Rock. I think they’re actually awards where they like award Female Black Americans who have done some shit that deserves recognition.

Wait, did I just say they are like awards where they award?

I think I’m hanging with a lot of dumb people of recent.

Anyway, there was an interesting argument when Ciara came on stage to perform. My brother-in-law tried to claim that she was faded. I didn’t want to inform him of Ciara’s new songs so I just said;

Me: You’re old dude, just watch.

Him: Oh she hasn’t done shit since that song with Missy Elliot

Sis: Watch your language around the kids honey.

Me: I actually like Ciara

Him: Look at her, with that same old crappy dance move.

Sis: What dance move?

Wherein he stood up and basically did the same thing a dog does when it’s trying to dry itself.

Sis: Which one?

Him: This one (*does it again*), she always does it.

Me: Nope, I’ve never seen Ciara, or anyone for that matter doing that “move” before.

Sis: *laughs* yeah me neither! That one is yours - if it qualifies as a “move” anyway.

Me: Guess you have dibbs on that one bro.

Him: Fuck off, both of you.

I think it is going to be a very Merry Christmas.