It will be easier for Raila to become president than for all those lined up to suck The Potashian dick getting round to doing it. I drink too much so I use my dick mainly for peeing. Nevertheless, I haven’t been laid this decade and I live in a shack sans tap water so my dick has gone sore from all that dry wanking. But I needed a more subliminal orgasm so I decided to write this blog to fuck your brain. And damn, you liked it so you told all your friends about it. Yeah, over Java coffee or whatever yuppie hangout, you told them: ‘Oh, Potash… oh, he write sooo good!’
Meanwhile some deprived sod in France decided to ride on my name to get fame. He started doing lame boy vibe like, oh, Potash… sijui what... I fucked his chick! Yeah, dude, what’s up with that? You know, I thought a guy has to get it up before he can get it in? But now I been wondering, what will the dude be saying when I am really famous and Canal France is kissing my rear canal? … that he fucked me too?
Then the other day I got me some bus fare to the city. I wanted to talk to some Publisher about getting my book out in time for Christmas. Unto us a book child is born! When I walked into their office, they wondered as to how people were calling in asking for me, like I worked there. You know like my stalkers and I should take it some place else. Gee, now, dear ‘imposing fan’ show the hell do I get that publishing deal if you will not let me hang out with my publisher.
In the old neighbourhood, they say The Potash sold out. That he turned himself into a heartless yuppie. Please. I thought you need like a profession to be a yuppie? And I still do nothave one. But it doesn’t mean a brother can’t try. Like, hey, all I wanted to do was write. And I haven’t written much in days. Then again the ultimate question that a mother in law will ask is: ‘Write…mhhh, so who do you write for… ati bloggo, whassat?’
I do not have a brand new hustle now. But I am not packing boxes at the EPZ or getting chilli hued fingers shoved up my presumed-pilferer butt in a muhindi sweatshop. The only reason I am not in the city is known to you. But like I said earlier, I will return anon. I will return now that the heat is down. I mean you know it wouldn’t be easy living in this city when they want you in four police divisions including Buruburu.
I have heard it said that In Buruburu, they do not find you, well at least not before the bullet does. The last time Constable G- from Gigiri was buying me a Napshizzle with a fifty bob he had jacked from me, he told me that in Bururburu they want me for a string of disturbances at the Dandora Bus Stop circa 1997. Can you believe that? And to imagine that until the other day, I thought that Dandora was a rap group and not a neighbourhood… Tafsiri Hiyo, kizee!
All, in all, I am just tired of all this bullshit about Potash this; Potash that. What the fuck people talking when they do not even know the shit I been through? So what if I was seen at The Grand for breakfast and the buffet lunch at the Intercon? What matters is that in my head as I plonked wee morsels of prime food on my plate, my mother’s ubiquitous question kept creeping at me: ‘…hii sukuma itasukuma wiki?’
The more things change the more they remain the same.
And everyday I feel less and less capable of doing this blog. But wasn’t it only natural that it would take a life of its own. A life that I would find impossible to relate to. And man I am tired, not only today- the heck I haven’t had a wink of sleep in more than forty hours- but everyday. I just keep going through life in this daze of Nicotine and Ethanol. I am not the person I was though; I am still fucked up… but I am happy.
And maybe this blog wasn’t about happy, and it is still not about that. But Potash is someone even I no longer understand. Maybe it is time for a rethink. Just a couple more cans of Napshizzle in the hood will hopefully fix all this purported yuppiness.
Yes, it might just be that all I really need is to be your kind of yuppie- Young Urban Poser!