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.

The Heart Never Learns

.............i can' t hold my breathe........can' t seem to get my bearing right........I'm exhausted, i can' t fight anymore..........where am i?.......where am i?.......the effort to remember is just so much and i pass out again............

I come again and its so cold. Up ahead i see a withered ref rose. My head is filled with so many memories that i just wish i' d forget. Pity, there is no delete button in the human system.

She had gone. She who, at one time, i thought she was responsible for the very survival of my heart beat. Someone said,''the heart is not so smart'', wish i would have believed him or was it her(pardon my disorientation).......what was that?.......a small voice in my brain just said,''i told you so''. One would think that it was not a part of me.

Years spent on teaching my heart to do two tasks at a time, just went up in smoke. Though hard, it had learn t to ensure that my veins never run dry and at the same time, beat to the tune of love. Now, it came close to ensuring that i became non-existent as it over flooded my veins with a liquid that is vital for your presence in this universe. It had bee sacked from one of its tasks and thought that the energy should be directed to pumping more blood through my veins and that if necessary, my system would construct a dam to reserve the excess blood. Talk about it being dumb. Stupidity to a whole new level.

In the sea of emotions, i was lost. My fear of water exceeding the bucket capacity, is unrivaled. The waves carried my tired being and threw me in parts unknown. Nearly 12 hours of my life never to be recovered and not a single memory of what had transpired in that period. I get up, dust myself, or maybe in this case, mud and grass or is it weed myself? Got lots of that combination all over me. I vow not to trust my heart and give my brain the power to dictate all that takes place from now on. After the little stint of my veins wanting to open up, i' m taking no more chances with my heart.

As my brain dances in triumph, and my heart is a little bored for it only has one task to perform, i come across a clearing and there before me is the full definition of beauty. She turns and smile makes the sun shy away. As i go towards her, i think my brain just went bananas. Its seething with anger trying to remind me of a vow i made not so long ago. I have no idea why its throwing tantrums while my heart starts getting excited as a smile starts to form at the corner of my mouth...............

Let us be thankful For Murder And Not Yet Slaughter

Let us be thankful for murder not yet slaughter,
For the pressure of something controlled, however slight,

That keeps their blood from turning quite to water;
Let us be thankful for dusk that is not yet night,

For half-felt meanings that render their acts impure

For the random pause

And the knife...

That is not quite sure

Remembering, it is wrong to dream of other days
And wrong no less to conjure a perfect land,

Let all of us give thanks,

And pray for the hate that will

Steady the knife in our own sure hand.

MUAMMAR GADHAFI; A Hero, A Mentor, A Champion. A Saint

The death of Colonel Muammar Gadhafi, a hero, a pace-setter, a determinant.

If only he could be eulogized as thus. A visionary leader, un-bowed, smart and eccentric. But the world, the Western-idolizing world, celebrates his death with wild cries of rugged coyotes and pitiful pats on their backs. An achievement worth of champagne, important-looking faces of glee, indefatigable salutes of importance speeches, rush to acclaim the glory by the western regimes. The miscreants of noble gangs!

I mourn Muammar's death, and rightly so. He dreamt dreams and was ready to make them come true. He visioned the conglomeration of African States in an attempt to subdue the pathetic asperity the westerners had on Africa.And he, single-handedly, funded African's highest union, the African Union. he was the African savior.

But the African countries, despite all these, have proofed to be moribund. Under the aegis of asinine avarice from African leaders, and petty promises of international funds that will swell their personal coffers, it's no wonder that no one from AU raised a finger on Muammar's augurical woes that commenced in mid-February. Whereas Gadhafi cared for each and everyone's ass in Africa, the vice-versa cannot be averred.

It is a case of pure and brutal betrayal.

So pure, so bile-filled than his purported death, which amazingly, has varied versions and ego-induced balder-dash poised to fortify the rebel's greatness. So great is the word 'rebels' to many an ears, that will soon bring a different acceptance to the title 'pirate'. It is no longer the antagonist's name but the champions of right and democracy!!

And the African leaders, their wrinkled balls emanating from their heavily lined fore-heads, continue with their devotion to protect their country men with high inflation, un-affordable food and fuel prices, internal self-extinction in the name of tribalism and plain, raw poverty. They have no time for someone who has tried to induce an environment of self-respect and recognition, donors instead of beggars, credibility instead of arrant stances.

Libyan's celebration is not Libyan's celebrations, it is the rebels celebrations. And i know some of the rebels, deep inside them, know that something has gone terribly awry. Here are some facts the Western-idolizing hard-hitting fourth estate has failed to highlight;

Libyans have never ever in Gadhafi's rule experienced anything called poverty! And in their country, there has never been a recorded terror-incidence since his reign. he may have been a dictator, yes and all that, for no man is a saint, but he was the most rewarding dictator in the world ever recorded. His lavish style with the use of the country's coffers is acceptable, for he gave much...too much for the citizens, too much for any country leader to invest in his people. Gadhafi was a saint.

1. There was no electricity bill in Libya; electricity is free for all its citizens.
2. There was no interest on loans, banks in Libya are state-owned and loans given to all its citizens at 0% interest by law.
3. Home considered a human right in Libya – Gadhafi vowed that his parents would not get a house until everyone in Libya had a home. Gadhafi’s father has died while him, his wife and his mother are still living in a tent.
4. All newlyweds in Libya receive $60,000 Dinar (US$50,000) by the government to buy their first apartment so to help start up the family.
5. Education and medical treatments are free in Libya. Before Gaddafi only 25% of Libyans are literate. Today the figure is 83%.
6. Should Libyans want to take up farming career, they would receive farming land, a farming house, equipments, seeds and livestock to kick-start their farms – all for free.
7. If Libyans cannot find the education or medical facilities they need in Libya, the government funds them to go abroad for it – not only free but they get US$2,300 per month accommodation and car allowance.
8. In Libyan, if a Libyan buys a car, the government subsidized 50% of the price.
9. The price of petrol in Libya is $0.14 per liter.
10. Libya has no external debt and its reserves amount to $150 billion – now frozen globally.
11. If a Libyan is unable to get employment after graduation the state would pay the average salary of the profession as if he or she is employed until employment is found.
12. A portion of Libyan oil sale is, credited directly to the bank accounts of all Libyan citizens.
13. A mother who gave birth to a child receive US$5,000
14. 40 loaves of bread in Libya costs $ 0.15
15. 25% of Libyans have a university degree
16. Gaddafi carried out the world’s largest irrigation project, known as the Great Man-Made River project, to make water readily available throughout the desert country.
Prior to the international sanction placed on Gaddafi & Libya in the 1980s, it was one of the richest in the world by GDP per capita – with a living standard higher than Japan. It was the richest in Africa before the revolution.The living standard – GDP per capita is $11,314 for Libya, you cannot claim they are poor if they live better than your country. Gaddafi might have spent or carried out personal investment ventures using the country`s money but he did what most dictators don`t do, give back to the people, look after the average Libyan.
17.. Under Gaddafi’s oil-revenue-sharing program, each Libyan gets $500 (DOLLARS) dumped into his or her bank account, each month
18. Women in Libya have equal rights, not only as a philosophy, but also in practice.
19. Libyans have a direct participatory democracy based on People’s Conferences that puts other “democracies” to shame

I again reiterate, Libyans have done what Africans are adept at, digging their own graves in the name of Sarkozy and his cronies. When gnashing of teeth and painful nostalgia will starting hitting them hard, it will be too late. Let us give them the grace period for celebration before they embroil themselves in abject abyss too deep to be saved from. And then, probably then, they can unanimously proclaim Ken saro-Wiwa's lamentation:

AFRICA HAS KILLED HER SUN!