Heavy Artillery Guys

                                                          

So, we live in times that women, not only know what they want, but they also take that bold step of faith and go for it. Gone are the days that they would give subtle hints and leave men to unravel the rest. Gone are the days when, if she feels you and you so much as don't notice, she would just take the back seat and fantasize what would have been if it had happened. They are no longer the hunted but the hunters. The vigor they put in the chase, baffles even the world known ‘players’.

And when you thought that is all, it gets interesting. They don't get shy of asking what they want. You think you going in with your guns blazing ready to take her down. Fully armed the wild-west style. A veteran of the trade. A marksman. One shot one kill. Boy, will you be surprised?

Just the other day, a friend of mine vowed to always have a box of ammunition hidden somewhere just in case the first shot misses the target, finds the wall and ricochets to hit you smack on the chest.

So, after a really boring day, the clock chimed 6 in the p.m. A minute after Guiness time.

''Guys, lets go to the lake and boost domestic tourism.''

Cool, we hit the road only for us to get to the gate and find that our intel on the charges was way off the track. What's next, hit a couple of boring pubs before we end up on this wow! place. We add a little weight with nyam-chom and due to the fear of becoming obese, we send an agent code named vodoski, after it. I just hope the threat was neutralized.

Back to this buddy of mine. In the full glamor of the wild-west, he spots a fine looking mamasita (oh! By the way, he is a man united fan, no pun intended but you are free to interpret it in your own way) gyrating to the tunes of zilizopendwa (one wonders if they are hated nowadays).

He approaches confidently and drops some really cool moves, lacing it all with some fine lines and bam! spot on, target down. He throws the other pistol and advances to collect the spoils. After all, the winner goes home with it all, right? Wrong.

..........some movement from the damsel. He stops. Evaluates the situation and continues forward. The damsel, gingerly, gets back on her feet and tells him point blank that he was a fine looking guy and they' d go wherever and do whatever, all her throat needed was a seasonal river cascading down to her bowels.

My buddy, not one to let go easily, decided to keep on gyrating a little more and hope the lady would give in sometime later call it a night and it' d be a win to the dude and a loss to the chic. He promises her that she just has to relax and swing to the beats for when the dam got opened, she would beg for them to be closed. That made the swings become more vigorous and sensuous to a point at one time, i thought it would all happen there and then. Guess he was being given a taste of what was to come.

An hour later and not a single drop seemed to be forthcoming. The lady excused herself and went straight to a guy who it seemed as if they had been eye-conversing for sometime and sat on his lap. As if on cue, a waiter comes over with five bottles of standing tall (irony is she was quite short) and opened them all. The lady goes ahead and refreshes her roots which I guess were now choking with thirst.

Dude decided that he wouldn't take it lying down, or rather in his case, standing. He approached the table and demanded for an explanation. The guy whose lap had been converted to a seat, stood tall, literally, and believe me when i tell you this, whoever is responsible for choosing NFL players, would have disqualified the dude for being over-qualified physically.

To the winner goes the spoil, only this time, my buddy was the loser. He backed down from a growling German Shepherd to a yapping chihuahua puppy. Licking his badly hurt ego, he headed for the exit.

Load them ammunition guys. Big guns. Full blown Al Shaabab style. Heavy artillery all the way.