MY DOGGY WORLD

Lemme say i'm back again my dear blog n i missed ya a lot baby but something has bothering me and u the only that can hear me out......First of all lemme clarify this.....i'm DOGPHOBIC ( dont even know if the word exists) but i had a peace treaty with doggy kingdom until this morning.......Somebody’s black pit bull was wandering around the neighborhood when I was leaving earlier, and as I walked off the front porch, it stared right at me like it wanted a piece of me! I had to pause for a second and think: Do I stay strong, and stand my ground? Or do I scream like a chick in a horror movie and run down the street for dear life?

I then realized that if I let this dog punk me, he might start thinking I’m that guy in the neighborhood to pick on! I am a MAN, dammit! I’m not going to be buying dog food for someone else’s dog, just to keep him from bullying me. I had to stand my ground! Besides, I can’t let my neighbors see me running up the street screaming like a bitch.

I looked the dog dead in the eye, and said “If you take one more step in this direction, I swear to God I will smack up your ass! Don’t test me! I’ll beat the sh*t out you right here in broad daylight!”
The sad part is, I don’t even think the dog took me seriously. It looked as if she rolled her eyes as she walked in the opposite direction. It really doesn’t matter though. All that matters is she left me alone, and I can continue to walk my neighborhood with my head held high!

This takes me back my childhood dayz( aha i'm already flowing my dear blog) Growing up, I had a friend in the neighborhood named Otieno. His nickname was Otiz so everybody in the neighborhood knew him by that name. Well, Otiz had this dog named Ruler…a big German Shepherd with a mean temper. As a matter of fact, the dog got the name Ruler because he ruled the area with an iron fist.

Well, in Ruler’s case, I guess it was an iron paw, but back to the story.......

Otis and his dad never kept that psycho dog on a leash, and rarely chained him up. The thing about Ruler is, he would attack only when HE felt like fucking with someone, so you never knew what to expect. Otieno tried to sick him on me one day after I beat his ass over one of our many arguements, and Ruler just walked over to me and nuzzled up against me, letting me pet him and shit. Otis was like “GET HIM YOU JINGA(stupid) DOG!” Two weeks later, that dog chased me and my cousins for two streets in a ferocious rage for no reason. I barely escaped. One of my cousins husseini ran head first into a tree branch trying to get away and damn near knocked himself out. He’s lucky Ruler was mainly trailing me, because that would’ve been his ass.

Mogaka, our neighborhood’s version of the Village Idiot, wasn’t so lucky. Ruler bit the shit out of his ass when he was little. I think he still has a scar on his head to this day from where Ruler got him.

Fast forward to about two years later. I’m on my bike, pedalling down the street, when all of the sudden, Ruler comes charging at me full speed like a bat out of hell. I’m not going to lie, Wallahi I was scared shitless. I just started pedalling for dear life, disregarding stop signs and everything else but Satan’s Hound of the Damned that was literally right on my heels. I got about two blocks with that dog still in hot pursuit before I realied that I had no choice but to take desperate measures. I took my left leg off the pedal and kicked the living shit outta Ruler, right in the face. All I heard was a loud “AAAAAARRRRRRFFFFFF!” but I refused to slow down. I did it so quick, that I didn’t even break my stride on the bike. When I did look back, Ruler was way off in the distance walking around. I slowed down a bit, but kept on pedalling just to make sure I was in the clear.

Thankfully later that year, Municipal Control(kenyan version of RSPCA who dont care for the animal the only remedy is they kill) put Ruler’s ass to sleep. I know they say all dogs go to heaven, but I KNOW that bitch is burning in Hell somewhere. Probaby chillin in the Devil’s backyard eating the grass and shitting all over the place like he used to in Oti’s yard.


THANX A LOT MY DEAR BLOG FOR HEARING ME OUT HOPE TO BE SEEING MORE OF YOU BABY!

BACK COZ I HAD TOO! MY FINGERS WERE ITCHY!

whoaHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!............its bein a while since i've been here i think since last year dec 3rd.......long time missed dis joint a lot......so no excuses!....bruv been busy but still in london!....so i don't wanna bore u with what i was doin or where i was past year......all i can missed my blog n its back to business......this my only place to let out so i'mo let it all out!!!

i just opened up my email today n i found one those nigerian con mails i know I’m not the only one getting the e-mails. They start out something like:

Dear Beloved,

Due to the sudden death of my husband Lassana conte the late the head of state of guinea in DEC 16TH 2008, I have been thrown into a state of hopelessness by the present administration.I have lost confidence with anybody within my country.I got your contacts through personal research, and had to reach you through this medium. I will give you more details when you reply. Due to security network placed on my daily affairs I cant visit the embassy so that is why I have contacted you. My husband deposited $12.6million dollars with a security firm abroad whose name is witheld for now till we communicate. I will be happy if you can receive this funds for safe keeping and I assure you a very good percent of this fund I will instruct my son to contact you so please feel free to comunicate with my son. I await your urgent response,

Hajia Mariam.

NOTE:

PLEASE I WOULD WANT YOU TO SEND ME YOUR CONTACT TELEPHONE NUMBER SO THAT MY SON LAMINE CAN CALL AND DISCUSS WITH YOU VERBALLY REGARDING THIS TRANSACTION SO THAT YOU CAN ASK ANY QUESTION THAT YOU FEEL LIKE ASKING REGARDING THIS TRANSACTION.

This leads me to wonder many, many things if it were legit by some stretch of the imagination. Like, what in the Hell kind of research did you do to find my name to handle your money?! You’se a goddamn fool if you think you can give me $12 million dollars and expect me to just hold it for you. I’ll give a Nigerian hit man $200, and a pair of size 12 Timberlands to have him take you and your son out, then keep the rest of the cash for myself. I will pull a Charles Taylor and go into exile while still spending YOUR money. I mean for Christ’s sake, have you not u not done u research about me. Obviously not, because if so, you’d know that I would take advantage of your dumb ass, then write about it on here.

Secondly, since you’re getting your son Lamine to contact me, why can’t you just give the money to him?! What? Is his credit bad? If that’s the case, you might not want to trust me with your money, either. I got a “Don’t let me catch your ass in the street” notice from a bill collector just yesterday. I might not be the financial whiz you need handling the late President's fortune.

Third, you really don’t want my cell phone number or my bank account. You will be a pissed off Nigerian widow if you expect to get any money out of my account. That’s like trying to squeeze water out of a rock. Not happening, hoe. I should kick your ass for getting my hopes up and gettting me to thinking about what it would be like if I actually had some big cash right now for you to steal.

Besides, I don’t answer international calls, unless it starts with 254(ke) or 252(s). Hell, I rarely answer calls from the countries when I don’t recognize the number. You think I’m going to answer some shit with more than 15 digits? Bitch please! .......ooh so sorry i think i gettin' a bit carried away its just a fuckin' scam!......n 4 a minute i actually thought i was talking to her......am getting paranoid this days...right?

That felt gooder i had to let out!!......now i have to find soma giza bomba....veve....khat!!...........have a chewing day!

OWN WORST ENEMY!

I won't say i'm sorry bout not writing 4 a while but i've certainly missed it so today i'll critique myself n write whatever comes to mind......Before you all get worried that I’m going to pull an Owen Wilson, rest assured, I love myself way too much to do anything self-destructive. Today’s entry is not some kind of cry for help. Then again, if you were thinking about giving me money, or pity pu**y, I guess I’ll let you call it whatever you want.

The reason that I feel like I am my own worst enemy sometimes is because I have a bad habit of messing up my follow-through when it comes time to capitalize on opportunities. At first, I used to take it for granted that things would always just work out for me in the end. After being pimp slapped by fate a few times too many, I realized that I have to get out and make things happen, instead of just sliding by on my charm, talent and luck.

You would think that learning this lesson would be a good thing, but I took it to extremes. I am now somewhat of a dysfunctional perfectionist. I tend to pick apart my work, striving for perfection, but never feeling that it’s quite there. That’s a big reason why I haven’t finished a large-scale business idea in years, and why this site, while very humorous, does not have the right look to truly fit the funny content that I put on here.

Actually, that dysfunctional perfectionist thing has even messed me up with women before, too. I was doing research(for free) a few months back at this bookstore, and while I was taking notes from a book that I had no intention of buying, this FINE lady in a sundress walked past, smiled and said hello. I responded in kind, but I was so caught up in what I was doing, that I let her keep walking. After I finished jotting down the last part, I decided “What the Hell? Why not go make a new sexy friend?”

I went out to the parking lot, and all I saw was her pulling off in an £50,000 Mercedes convertible. I thought to myself “Dammit Leon! You just let the perfect Sugar Momma experience drive away! Some so-called Black Gigolo you are!”

change of topic now.......I can’t stand people who use “Selective English.” By selective English, I mean people who can speak English, but act like they can’t when it comes time to do something that they don’t want to do. Don’t get me wrong, this is not an attack on illegal aliens. They are getting enough bad press and persecution these days. This is an attack on lazy people who hide behind their native languages. Thanks to one of them, my morning commute cost me £15 today.

I stopped by the McDonalds earlier this morning, since I had a craving for some good ol’ fashioned orange juice for some reason. Once I made my purchase, I realized that I did not have any change to catch the bus that would take me right outside of the building that I needed to be at. I then went back over to the lady who took my order and asked her to give me change for a £5 bill.

Mind you, this woman spoke English when she took my order and the three before me. All of the sudden, she didn’t understand what I was talking about. She said “Wait one minute” and tried to stall me. I after the next three customers came and went, I asked her for about the third time, this time standing directly in front of hr with my hands on the countertop next to the register. The woman had the nerve to say “No . You say change?”

then i said " yes i want change"

she then says" wait one minute i no understanding."......with indian accent.

I then replied “Damn just gimme my change! I bet you understood that! You’d understand me if I had on an homeoffice badge or something. Stop faking like you can’t understand the words coming out of my mouth!”
At that point, I looked over and saw the bus pulling off from across the street. I knew that if I waited for the next one, that I would have been late. I also knew that the £5 in change was no longer a relevant issue, because I was going to have to catch a cab just to make it on time. At that point, I just walked out of the place, and hailed a cab(they stopped for me today because I’m dressed like I have a good job or something).
So let’s see…one orange juice and a ride to work cost me about £17 in total, not counting the minutes of my life wasted arguing with a woman who’s rather fake like she can’t speak English than open her cash register and give a paying customer change for a £5 bill. I should be angry, but for some reason, I still feel like it’s going to be a good day today, despite the negative start things got off to. Just please, please, PLEASE remind me to never eat breakfast at the that McDonalds again. They’ll probably put all kinds of “additives” and “preservatives” into my food, now that I cursed out Ms. Selective English-Speaker.

IT'S SWEATING ALL OVER!!!

damn its hot!!.....What have I been up to, you ask? Well, my friends, let me answer your question.

I’ve been sweating like an Alabama field slave.

Sweating like two fat people having sex in a sauna

Sweating like a Eddie Murphy waiting on some paternity test results.

Sweating like a hooker in church service.

Sweating like Michael Jackson when he runs out of white man makeup.

Sweating like a coke bottle sitting on a picnic table at a barbeque.

Sweating like I’ve been running from one side of the equator to the other.

You get the idea. Londonis HOT! I have AC, but still. Every time I’ve gone outside these past few days, I’ve had to ask myself, “Am I still in London, or have I died and officially gone to Hell?”

Then, I see some half-naked woman with a nice body walk by, and I remember that I’m still alive. I would not be treated to such visual delights if Lucifer were my landlord.

You know it’s bad when it’s too hot to do all of the things that I like to do. Like eating khat outside with my friends. F*cking. Talking sh*t. When it’s so hot, that you let disrespectful actions slide for the simple fact that you don’t want to exert too much energy and end up sweating, then you know it’s serious.

Everybody be safe, and remember to stay hydrated if ou have to be out in the sun. Also, to all my fellow brown/black-skinned people, remember that sunburn is not REAL! but it HURTS!
another thing yeah yesterday was hot it was the type of heat that makes you discriminate against big people. Nobody wants a big body pressed up against you when you're already hot sitting by yourself. When the train hit a station with a lot of people waiting to get on, it was like Russian Roulette. I watched each passenger come on the train, the whole time thinking "Come on skinny person! COME ON, SKINNY PERSON...DAMN IT! PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FAT B*TCH SIT NEXT TO ME...WHEEEEEEEW. She kept it moving. Thank God! Come on, skinny person!"

It was my lucky day. Some slim fellow who did not stink sat next to me for the next couple of stops. I had enough elbow room, so things worked out. Had someone big person sat next to me, you might not be reading this right now. You'd be like "I heard that dude Feisal died of a heat stroke. They had to peel his body off this big girl named Gladys' arm! The man was stuck like velcro!"

What made it worse was when I finally got to my destination. I felt the weather outside, and realized that it was way too nice out there for it to be so damned hot inside the train! If I get on another hot ass death trap of a tube train again, I'm going to walk all the way up to the front, and slap the driver repeatedly until he or she either cuts on the AC, or passes out. Hopefully, the driver will just cut on the AC, because I do not know how to drive a tube train. If I'm driving, everyone on the train will be cool, but eventually we're all gonna probably die when I cause some kind of crash! London underground, get your act together so that it does not have to come to this!

Dry Humped On The bakerloo Line

Its been long while can't believe i haven't been bloggin'.......yaani basically the whole of july have not blogged .......was so busy at the hospital.........tellin u guyz about it gets me depressed.......so lemme right somethin lively tha'll get my writing juices up n going.........aight!!...Not sure if I told this story before, and I'm even more unsure if the world really needs to know this...



Hell, you all know enough crazy things about me by now to know that I don't embarass easily. That said, I shall tell the story of my adventure one morning going to work taking the underground Line.



It was a nice summer day in july. I was running a tad bit behind my usual time arriving at work, but was in no rush at all. The only drawback of my arrival time at the underground station was that at that point every day it got realy crowded on the bakerloo Line. Since I lived right near a station at the time, it didn't make sense to travel to another station to avoid the rush...Plus traffic was a bitch everyday out there.



So the train arrives, and as I anticipated, it was really crowded. I ended up standing between a wall on the rail car and between this lady with a red dress on. I smiled at her as I got on and said something along the lines of "This is what I get for oversleeping" or something to that effect. She smiled and said one of the standard responses from the hoodrat handbook, "I know that's right."



I can't lie..the red dress lady was kinda cute. She was a couple hamburgers across the thick/fat line, but she wasn't too far gone. Plus, her booty made up for the little bit of excesses everywhere else.



Initially, I was just in a zone, thinking about nothing but work. So as the train gets more and more crowded, she backs up on me more and more. Eventually, she backs that thang up on me, and I realize that she's begun swaying side to side gently. At first I thought "What the fuck?!? This chick is dry humping me on the bakerloo Line!?!?"



Then, I started feeling a little...tingly. That shit started to feel gooder than a motherfucker.* abdalla Jr. jr was wide the fuck awake...To the point that I had to cover my shit with my work portfolio when I got off the train so as not to draw attention to the boner. I really wish I didn't have to switch lines at Baker street, because I bet if I had stayed on there and actually talked to her, she would have broken me off something TERRIBLE. I'm sure if random gropage felt that good, she probably has incredible tang. I'm talking Snatch of Legend. I might be writing about toe curling, fantastic sex right now as opposed to getting groped by a stranger in public and actually kinda liking it.



Now, to all of you impressionable readers, I do not, repeat, DO NOT recommend that you try this. That's an easy way to catch a case, or get the shit beat outta you. Besides, it's rather...trampish. The only time groping strangers is acceptable these days is on the dancefloor, preferably after both parties have been drinking.



* note: I know that "gooder" is not a word, but felt so tingly and sparkly and magnificent that I had to use a word that does not exist to describe how horny I got...I was such a hebitchmanslutwhore that day......yep!.....i had to let that out!!!.........so i'm back now here to blog as kawaida..........baadhen basi wote!

ONE ASS 4 ONE SIT!!!!!

Once again, I must write a story about the people that I encounter on london Underground. This time, it happened to someone else, but I was there to witness it. It’s right after 5PM, and the train is crowded after work. For those unfamiliar with how London underground seats are configured, they are in sets of two facing eachoer. There were only three seats available on the train when I got on, and I happened to be next to one, along with two older ladies. The lady that was closest to me slid into one of the seats, and I sat down next to her. The lady who was a little further away stood next to the other available seat, which was covered by some woman sprawed out across both of the seats n her row.

The older lady asked the one in two seats if she could sit down, and the two-seat lady had the nerve to get an attitude! She grunted, picked up her bag, stood up, looked at the other lady, sucked her teeth, and then slid over. I just sat in my seat and shook my head in disgust.

You only have one ass, so you’re only really entitled to one seat on the train. That punk assed £3.50 does not ensure comfort. If you wanted a comfortable ride, hire a chauffeur and ride to work in the back of a limo. If you want a cheap, fast ride, you take Underground. By taking Underground, you understand that you run the risk of sitting next to someone big, smelly or hideously unattractive. That’s what Underground fare gets you. One seat for two ass cheeks.

I think the only reason it botherd me was because it was an old lady who wanted to sit down and had to deal with that foolishness. I don’t like seeing people who have no respect for their elders when it comes to little things like that. I hope that stingy seat lady catches some kind of Biblical plague on her backside that keeps her from ever being able to sit on the train again. Yeah…If there’s a such thing as karma, that woman will lose an ass cheek as a result of her becoming a butt leper. It might sound harsh, but it would serve her right. That’ll teach her to hog the seat on a crowded train!

i've got a lot stuff to write this time having not blogged for the passed 20days or so.......but this time its the underground i'm letting it off on......ok lemme go on with my ranting coz this is the angry somali man rant's time so today I took a Underground train, it’s been hot, humid and stuffy inside the car, all at the same time. The station wasn’t hot. The weather outside wasn’t hot. Only the stuffy train was hot. It’s obvious that either the air conditioner was broken, or underground was just being cheap and keeping it off to save gas and money. I really hope that the trains I got on just happened to have mechanical issues. If I find out that underground was being cheap and keeping the AC off, then I’m going to raise Hell!

I won’t have to raise very far by the way, because the underground(bakerloo) train that I was on this evening had a temperature that was slightly about 10 degrees below “Hell” on the farenheit scale. It reminded me of a trip to northern part of kenya(lokichoggio) i went when i was standard8...damn that place was hot!!!.....so back to the story. I think I saw Satan in the back of the train drinking ice water and fanning himself off......thats how hot it was!!!

It was the type of heat that makes you discriminate against big people. Nobody wants a big body pressed up against you when you’re already hot sitting by yourself. When the train hit a station with a lot of people waiting to get on, it was like Russian Roulette. I watched each passenger come on the train, the whole time thinking “Come on skinny person! COME ON, SKINNY PERSON…DAMN IT! PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FAT B*TCH SIT NEXT TO ME…WHEEEEEEEW. She kept it moving. Thank God! Come on, skinny person!”

It was my lucky day. Some slim fellow who did not stink sat next to me for the next couple of stops. I had enough elbow room, so things worked out. Had someone big person sat next to me, you might not be reading this right now. You’d be like “I heard that dude Feisal died of a heat stroke. They had to peel his body off this big girl named Gladys’ arm! The man was stuck like velcro!”

What made it worse was when I finally got to my destination. I felt the weather outside, and realized that it was way too nice out there for it to be so damned hot inside the train! If I get on another hot ass death trap of a london train again, I’m going to walk all the way up to the front, and slap the driver repeatedly until he or she either cuts on the AC, or passes out. Hopefully, the driver will just cut on the AC, because I do not know how to drive a Underground train. If I’m driving, everyone on the train will be cool, but eventually we’re all gonna probably die when I cause some kind of crash! london underground, get your act together so that it does not have to come to this!..........sawaz!!!

OK. I Get It. You're Muscular!!.

Why do people with big muscles feel the need to constantly remind the world that they…have big muscles?

I’m all about physical fitness. No doubt about it. People who work out generally enjoy a higher quality of life. Everybody should try to incorporate some sort of excercise into their lifestyle activities. I can’t stress the importance of this enough.

Now that I got that first paragraph out of the way, I have to ask this question: Why do people with big muscles feel the need to constantly remind the world that they do, in fact, have big muscles? Usually, it’s quite evident. Either you have big muscles, or a bunch of radioactive mosquitos out of a Godzilla movie whipped your ass and bit you all over your body. Let me tell you all what happened on Wednesday to give you some insight on how this question came to mind.

I went to an event at work, and after it was over, I was walking out with the lady who sat next to me during the event. We were talking while heading towards the door, and this muscle-bound man in a Shaquille O’Neal jersey stomped in with an angry look on his face. He was the type of guy that looked like he ate a box of Wheaties for breakfast, sprinkled with steroids and infants. The man’s shoulders looked like bowling balls, like some kind of Negro Mutant Ninja Turtle. He was storming forward pretty fast at a pace that was not quite running, but a step faster than that “power walking” stuff that old people do for excercise.

I saw him, but the lady walking with me did not. As soon as I said ”Watch out!” Shaq jersey man’s shoulder hit her and damn near spun her around. The worst part is that the guy just kept on going as if nothing happened. I honestly think if he had knocked her down, he would have walked back, stood over her and yelled out “AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH” like martin keown once did van nistelrooy(arsenal vs man u 2004) ya remember?!!. Not do what a normal person would do: apologize for being a big, angry, possibly creatine mood swing suffering man who just gave a shoulder block to a woman.

Of course, I said something, but luckily he didn’t hear me. I would have had to have done something crazy, like stab him in the eyeball or set his nuts on fire to win that fight. I would imagine someone that big can take a punch or twelve. I think I subconsciously waited until he was out of earshot to call him a jackass. You can call me all kinds of things, but ”suicidal” is not one of them.

That event made me wonder why muscle-bound people do some of the things that they do. Like wearing little-ass clothes.

I know you can find a shirt that fits, and Stevie Wonder can see that you have muscles, so the extra-smedium shirt is not necessary. Stop cutting off your circulation and give your little nephew his shirt back! If I can see your heart beating, then something is terribly wrong. That’s the real reason this guy’s veins are bulging out…HE CAN’T BREATHE! The model above was rumored to have been found dead of nipple asphyxiation mere hours after the photo shoot. R.I.P., you tight titty t-shirt wearing ass clown......JINGA TYPE!!

On a closing note, I would like to tell all of the people out there with big muscles reading this that my intention is not to make fun of you. My intention is to help keep you all from playing yourselves. Continue to do what you do, just buy some clothes that fit, and stop trying to show off so much. We know you’re proud. We know you worked hard. That said, you need to know that the type of behavior that I wrote about is considered obnoxious by just about everybody. ....au sio?