Wanted:Trillionaire. Octogenarians with faulty hearts/chronic illnesses/terminal illnesses preferred. Penchant for Viagra a must. Debonair good looks not a requirement. Numerous offspring essential (as this womb is not for hire). Own transportation required, wheelchair or hoist will do, as long as both are motorised.
It’s official – I am past my prime. You know you’re well past your sell by date when you intentionally leave the house with a book in your handbag as you head out to a club. The book being the back up plan to staving off boredeom an hour or so into proceedings because either…
Talk of music from back in the day made me realise that my spring chicken status is fast becoming an off layer status (without having laid; being laid doesn’t count). I have eaten many Christmases. This prompted a quick trip down the memory lane of my misspent youth. Don’t regret a minute of it though.
I want to come home. And I don’t say this lightly. 4 odd years of wandering around in the wilderness more commonly known as the diaspora has brought home the reality that really, there is no place like home.
So I am currently in the process of selling my soul to the devil, whose present physical form is the credit card companies. The price of souls is overrated anyway, what with trying to keep mind and body together, souls are just excess baggage. And hey, if the Messianic head is valued at 30 pieces of silver, I could do a lot worse.
So, in one of my (rare but) more lucid moments, I got to thinking, how many is too many? Knocking boots partners I mean.
Being this far away from the motherland has not significantly altered my M.O with men, namely, love ’em (read f**k ’em) and leave ’em. I know this makes me kind of a slut.
If any were under the mistaken notion that Zimbabwean cricket had gone to the dogs, fear not. The coach has this to say: “I always…
Bangladesh vs South Africa. Pompey vs ManUre. What more can one say.
My continued absence might have escaped most of your attention, but it is with a certain amount of trepidation that I assert that I am still in the land of the living.
So, didnt I almost find myself in a body bag Friday evening. You know how I have a versus with white people and Japs (fecking Japs, but I’m trying to be polite) and I jump at anything that is brown skinned. Anyway, I met this guy from Ghana a few days ago, and he seemed decent enough. Although the writing was definitely on the wall when he told me that he loved me less than 24 hours after we had met. That is never a good sign. On any day of the week!
I have a friend from work who is a real party animal, so I decided to join her in her escapades, and maybe pick up a slutty trick or two (the Aefro repertoire is becoming rapidly threadbare).