Unarmed Combat
01
February
I pity the fool who’s unaware of his surroundings
My timing is impeccable. When it comes to things that do not matter in the least at any rate. Otherwise my timing stinks. I tend to appear at the most inopportune moments. Like the time in my usual erratic fashion effected an entry into an office like a tornado.
I found the sales manager’s sheepish explanation of removing something from the marketing manager’s eye unconvincing. Unless the marketing manager had swallowed his eye and the sales manager was trying to retrieve it with her arms tied behind her back.
But I digress.
I was not in the least bit surprised when I ended up in another tense situation. I swaggered into the establishment, loudly inquired after the health of my mates Bob and Jane, hailed a waiter and sat down heavily.
Within seconds I realized all was not right.
Bob had a vein, about as thick as a hose pipe pulsing steadily at his right temple. His teeth were gritted so tight and his face was twisted into the grimace of a man that has had something very large and very jagged introduced into his person.
Jane’s bleached face, a result of months of Fair And Lovely, and possibly a few litres of bleach, was redder than Moody Awori’s shirt.
What, Jane demanded to know, did Bob mean by that?
Bob sought to know if he had stuttered, and then proceeded to reassure her that he meant exactly what he had said, Bob reassured her grimly.
Feeling like a man who has absently wandered onto the middle of a battle field just as Nelson and Napoleon charged at each other, I stood suddenly and begged to take my leave.
Jane’s fingers dug into my arm like an MP into the CDF fund. Just where, she demanded, did I think I was going?
My excuse was dismissed on several technicalities
- Motorbikes do not generally have doors, questioning the possibility of my forgetting to lock the doors
- I do not own any form of transportation of any kind
- The keys I was holding pointedly to reinforce my subterfuge were clearly branded tri-circle therefore could not possibly be for anything other than a padlock
And so I sat just in time for things to explode. The eloquence of my friends was dazzling. The air turned blue for miles as the rich English language was given a good workout.
Bob’s, Jane suspected, was a gentleman conceived outside the legal and social framework of the institution of marriage. Furthermore, she continued, the identity of Bob’s father was something that only God and a few alley cats could be sure of.
Bob’s rising eyebrows expressed his surprise, informing her she was a fine one to talk, due to her close kinship with characters bearing names like ‘Fido’, ‘Goofy’ and ‘Spot’.
Jane hastened to quote the Good Book, drawing his attention to the section where one was requested to attend to the toothpick in one’s eyes before attacking the forest in another’s. Didn’t Bob, as a matter of principle, attempt to fuse his DNA with any organism that had a pulse?
Bob again expressed shocked amusement at Jane’s myopia. Was she not both famous and infamous for the difficult exercise of scaling the corporate ladder of success while simultaneously remaining on her back?
Stung, Jane cast aspersions about his relationship with his mother, alluding that it was not entirely filial.
Sigmund Freud would have nodded his pleased approval at the exoneration of one of his hypotheses. Bob stumbled backwards, at least as much as someone seated on a bar stool could. Rallying his forces, Bob loudly questioned Jane’s commitment to the heterosexual movement, referring to her by the name of a landmark generally associated with the Netherlands.
Jane naturally objected, voicing that she was of the opinion that he was the type of gentleman with an acute disinclination to work, and culminated her analysis in concluding that he was a creature of the variety that Jesus rode at some point during his ministry.
Bob let out an outraged “Ha!”, and wondered where she had left her hat and her preferred method of transportation, a broomstick.
Jane’s face twisted into a scowl and she assured Bob that she was a full blooded woman, which is more than he, an alley cat in a pin striped suit, could say.
Bob could not fault her assertion, and agreed heartily. Indeed, he conceded, she was a full blooded female, the blood being of the variety of type ho.
Simultaneously hissing and whispering, Jane wondered why she was actually conversing with him, an individual lacking wit, intelligence or indeed any attribute of human interaction to such an extent that his own right hand regularly turned him down.
Bob retorted that she was hardly in a position to talk, seeing as even her shadow refused to be on the same premises as her.
Things would have deteriorated still further were it not for the tactful appearance of a trio of bouncers who gently but firmly BanKiMooned the warring factions and by force brought about a truce.
PIC OF THE DAY
While wasting 40 minutes of my life trying to convince Safaricom to take my money so I can settle my bill, I found myself seated next to this chap, who I could have sworn I heard mentioning a weakness for a certain Kenyan Chick. After much manoeuvering I captured him on film
PIC OF THE DAY EXTRA
Step up o ye clothes horses!
AOB
I’ve been using the same template for 2 years. Something’s gotta change!
Koffi Olomide - Si Si Si
