I remembered that i had a blog today. Nope, i didn’t have any difficulty remembering the password to my ‘funkie4life’ email address, an email i haven’t opened in years.

I’m grateful WordPress hasn’t shut it down yet. My life has changed & i’m not sure i love it. Having said that, i’m definitely sure i don’t hate it either. I’m in a stage of my life that cannot be described. There’s no words for it. It’s like i have everything but i want more. Sometimes it feels like i have nothing and want nothing.

So when someone asks how i am and i reply; “just there” it’s not just words.

Arsenal will not kill me! I know i am immortal but Arsenal will not kill me o!!! I have grown from that fellow that used to smash his phones and bash the car whenever Arsenal lost to this guy that just doesn’t really watch football anymore. Sometimes, i make attempts to deceive myself by declaring that i am done with the football club but whenever they win my liver and pancreas exchange fist bumps. And when they lose, *sigh* I sha don’t break anything anymore.

December is that month of the year i used to be most reckless. Well, reckless in the sense that i used to PARTY like parties were running out of fashion. Haven’t done that in the last 2 years now. I am always on leave in December but this year i have been forced to work till now because of hard pressing work deadlines & goals i set for next year.

bla bla bala bla bala bla

Invite me to all your parties from tomorrow! That is my final answer.

I have also deliberately left my family out of this post. I will now proceed to post this before i lose the ongoing battle to go back and edit.

Don’t forget to invite me to parties; i just want to dance.


A long loooong time ago, In a land far faaaaar away, when baby men were baby boys and fornication and adultery was just adults having fun there lived a Sushey. His name? You already know now…


In that land awash with maidens fair and fine, all things could be described as bright and beautiful. All creatures, lepa and orobo alike. Almost every corner you turned, there was a daughter of Eve looking yellow and ‘fine’ as MTN Nigeria. Life was supposed to be easy yet it was harder than a Dorthraki on Viagra.

It was hard because in that time also, was many a man. Many a man that wished death upon me… Imagine a city with almost every relevant son of Adam looking like Leonidas. Competition with these men for these damsels was expert level difficult!

Unless of course, we were relegated to the lower echelons of  society. You know, the bad lands where there could be a diamond in the rough. However, Larry Sushey wasn’t ready for all that hard work. I wanted to be in the upper echelon and rub shoulders with the high and mighty. We had small money so we could form mighty and then we would smoke Igbo* to get high.

High and Mighty noni.

So there were certain places frequented by pretty babes that I would go hang at and immediately I sighted a karishika step into the building I would suck belleh so that my shirt can fine.

After a while, I didn’t have to suck the belleh anymore, the belleh would suck itself immediately I saw a Domitilla. This thing is a prime example of progressive elaboration because as time went by, I didn’t even have to see before the belleh would suck. The moment a fine girl is in the vicinity my stomach muscles would just tighten and this had nothing to do with butterflies.



Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls that’s how I suck belleh for three years o (and I couldn’t even swim). Even when babe is not there I could not breathe out again. I just permanently resembled this guy:

held breath

Breathe out and die

If you like say I had low self of steam. I’d say you’re far too kind. What I had was almajiri-hole-in-dunlop-bathroom-slippers self of steam. At the time, it worked cos me and my guys dem were pressing different bress everyday like say we be pressing iron. So me nuh really care you know? As long as belleh is sucked, self of steam was on a 100.

Gangnam Styling

Then one sweet day in November. We went to go and press the wrong bress. This babe was a Meagan Good look alike, We met her at a bar and we hit it off straight away. She was in a hurry until we walked into the room peacocking like the Artist “formerly-known” as Prince (R.I.P). We convinced her to stay even though she said she had an urgent meeting. While we held her attention with massive golden brown dodo chronicles, her mobile phone kept ringing but she ignored it and kept laughing. She eventually turned the little bugger off.

To cut the long story short, we took her home and we pressed her bress.


She left the next morning smiling. Gators looking sharp like a pair of properly pressed chinos trousers. Then she wouldn’t stop calling. So we stopped taking her calls and promptly changed her name on our phone to “Thou Shalt Not Pick.” She sent us messages saying we owed her 2 million Naira as we made her miss the meeting with the Alhaji that was going to settle her house rent.

See ehn, we thought she was rich. I mean, she looked Good like Meagan. She smelt nice and spoke well too… Little did we know she was just another climber up the social ladder.

*Interlude: Why is it that when you tell most Nigerians you want to ease yourself in their bathrooms they automatically assume you want to pee? Isn’t to shit to ease one’s self?


Then came the threats from their Society of Abanas. They knew my black car and my plate number and threatened to make my life a living hell in the land far, faaaaar away. We were threatened by cultists and police alike. Our office was inundated with calls and our parents were involved. It was as if we had killed person. Ordinary small small pressing of bress that we press o… So we arranged a meeting.


We went there knowing there was a possibility we were gonna die that day. We met with the cultist that was given the contract to eliminate us via our contacts in the confraternity world. We were told that no harm would befall us and that we should be more careful with Karishikas. After smoking some Igbo* and drinking some alcohol (which we paid for), we were asked to go and as exit was made I felt a feeling of relief like I had never felt before.

I breathed out for the first time in over 3 years.


Now that we are baby – men (Cos there’s always the baby life in there somewhere), we don’t bother about sucking belleh anymore. Me and my guys dem still dey live long and still dey sing song. Everything cool now no pressure and Oh…

We still dey press BRESS.



Larry Sushey.

Everything is lit.

What is wrong with you people?

You have made me hate the word so much fleek is acceptable and we all know fleek is absolute rubbish.

A man will wake up in the morning from his lit bed, say his lit prayers and proceed to the loo to take a lit shit.

Man: “Mehnn! This shit is lit.”


You’d think he was excreting crystals

Jamie Vardy hardly puts a foot wrong but he should have said “Chat lit, get banged.” You people know how to abuse anything.

Just now now that I travelled you people have lit up everywhere and everything. By now, I would’ve expected Nigeria to be well lit up but no, It is your stupid every-thing-else. Your eye brows are lit but I don’t see no fire. Your cat is lit, your car is lit, your party is lit, your food is lit, everything in your life is lit. You be fire? Even urban dictionary, the BESTESTEST dictionary in the whole wide world’s top definition defines it thus:

The state of being so intoxicated (regardless of the intoxicating agent) that all the person can do is smile, so that they look lit up like a light.
He’s so lit he can’t even talk. Pee.


In fact the only things that are not lit in this life are the things that are supposed to be. Your room, your stove and your smokes.

Seriously though I can understand a party being “lit” but you people just light anything these days. Somebody will wear new shoe and describe it as being lit. We see picture of said shoes and there are no lights in the destiny of ’em shoes. In fact, it seems like the cobbler who made the pair did so in the dark.

So much disrespect.




You ask someone how the night was and they tell you it was lit. This is someone that spent the whole night sleeping!

Sleeping alone.

In darkness.

Because NEPA.

“Man I was at my friend’s crib last night and it was so lit.” You’d think he was referring to this…

lit house

Lit crib

But no. They were at the balcony having suya and beer.

2nd shortest thing I ever wrote but I beg of you, let this lit go with 2015. You can do it… Remember you let bae and fleek go. This shouldn’t be too hard.

If not, chat lit get banged!

Larry Sushey.


P.S. Happiness party comes up on the 23rd of Deecember in Lagos and i cannot promise that it will be “lit”but there will be plenty an opportunity for you to get LIT.

I promise.


dance forever





































*Smashes tambourine against palms*

Kpash Kpash! Kpash kpash! Kpash Kpash! Kpash Kpash…


We have come again, we have come again! Bros we have come again, sistehs we have come again… Oh yes (x2)

Hi guys, to be specific I mean short guys. Don’t let anybody intimidate you. You can do whatever or whoever you like if you put your mind to it. Don’t let anybody tell you you can’t do it. Or have you forgotten the story of David and Goliath? The Bible says:

“There is a way that seemeth right in the eyes of men, but the end thereof is destruction.” (for them)

I see it everywhere:

“Eww, he is so short.”

“I can never date a short guy.”

“Ha! But, why are you so short?”





I have painstakingly taken time out of my tight schedule to teach you how to overcome such obstacles as height and climb the mountain that is before you. You might need to fave this post.


  1. Be smart, witty and or sarcastic: If you are physically short, please I beg you in the name of God, do not be mentally abbreviated now, haba! You know you are already at a disadvantage with these fine- tall -ass women and you have to be able to compensate in other areas. You go around claiming that you’re just a baby boy but please don’t be a bastard baby boy. Improve yourself by knowing about every topic there is to know about. Make jokes godammit and for gossake when they say you are short, embrace it. Use it to your advantage. Don’t be a bastard baby boy… As you are small like that, you can be a teddy bear at least. Just check out Kevin Hart…

Kevin baby boy Hart

There is a high possibility that that tall babe that has been rejecting you will happily shag this dude. She will not even essperrerit… The guy will just comic his way into her kunchas. Now if you cannot be funny to save your life, let us try another tactic, shall we?

  2.     Be innovative and deceitful: You are already short yeah, you cannot be funny or smart or witty yeah, so why not try to get a pair of HHP slippers. Just in case you were wondering, HHP stands for “high heeled pam” slippers or you can buy high heeled shoes. Invest in some nice ones bruh…  Do you want them to look down on you forever? By the time the babe finds out you are not who you seem you are, it will already be too late. She would have already fallen in love with your personality and yeah… Once again, they never esperrerited it!


Advancements in footwear technology


Can you see the magnificent lift in those shoes? Your role model in this department would have to be the late Kim Jong Il.

Swagoo Drippin'

Swagoo Drippin’


Just take style zoom my guy shoe abeg. You will never esperrerit it.

3.     Be tall in life: So once in secondary school, I had an argument with Deji Adewole and I called him a short man. His response was:

“Yes I might be short, but I am taller than you in life.”

        I was like:


That escalated quickly...

That escalated quickly…


Why you have to place a curse on me son? I was only playing with you, you short bastard! You have to be successful… Let your lack of height inspire you to be the best at whatever you do. Trust me, when you have a 9 zero digit account balance, you automatically gain inches. That’s when they will start describing you as small but mighty. Nicolas Sarkozy, Silvio Berlusconi and Dmitry Medvedev are all under 5’6”” tall but our role model in this case, our Holywood superstar… Tom Cruise.

If he can do it, so can you!

If he can do it, so can you!


4.      Just be wicked: See, if any of the above styles doesn’t work just bone all of them and be wicked! Make sure you spread chest like cobra and walk with a manly gait. When anybody tries to do anyhow attack them before they attack you. They will say you have SMS (short man syndrome) but don’t mind them. Just do your thing mate. Yes, they have even made it a disease to be short. Imagine the Short man disease is an actual ailment… Let me cull this from a telegraph.co.uk article.

Short man syndrome really does exist, Oxford University academics have found, after a study showed feeling smaller makes people paranoid, distrustful and scared of others.

Scientists used virtual reality technology to reduce the height of volunteers travelling on a computer-simulated Tube train by 10in (25cm).

The experience of being shorter increased reports of negative feelings, such as being incompetent, dislikeable or inferior.

It also heightened levels of mistrust, fear and paranoia. Height-reduced participants were more likely to think someone else in the virtual train carriage was deliberately staring, thinking badly about them, or trying to cause distress.

Researchers believe the findings demonstrate the psychologically detrimental effect of experiencing social situations from a position closer to the ground.


Just look at that. No, just negodu!

Now it is a crime to be brief. See, if they say you are sick just slap them and take whatever tall women you want. They will respect you whether they like it or not. When they say you have SMS just tell them it is swag. Role model in this department has to be the Great Napoleon Bonaparte!


See the way he 'spread chest'?

See the way he ‘spread chest’?


So short niggas, go ye into the world and don’t let their words bring you down. Afterall, you are already down… Don’t allow it! Do not! I also hear you can get your knees done in China…

Just saying.

Larry Sushey





There is no wealth like knowledge, and no poverty like ignorance – Buddha 400/500BC


Class is now in session.

Today we are taking a detour from the letter from Soweto collection of cryogenic stories to educate ourselves. It’s been a while I taught a lesson and i miss it. This class will be brief…

Today we talk about what a lot of people in these parts know as the ‘jerry coil.’

Ever wondered where that term came from?

First a bit of history; the correct spelling is actually “Jheri curl” and was very popular among the Black American, Black Canadian and Black British populace in the 1970s and 1980s. Of course, as Nigeria no dey carry last, we caught the bug and so did Jamaica and other black nations world over.

Now, here is what you didn’t know. The Jheri curl was invented by this guy.

Yes, a white guy.

Yes, a white guy.


Born as Robert William Redding (a.k.a Jheri Redding) in Rantoul, Illinois in 1907, Redding’s interest in the beauty industry began during the Great Depression, sometime between 1920 and 1945 when he realized that hair stylists and makeup artists had the best paying jobs. Now imagine these folks, there was hunger and a great economic meltdown in the USA and people were paying so much to hairdressers and make up artistes that they were the highest paid individuals in the country. What do you know about priorities? I was chilling in Rome at the time just observing like:




As a young man, he taught chemistry and worked as a hair stylist eventually becoming one of the first men to get a cosmetology license.  When the products he was using did not meet his expectations, he began experimenting with chemicals and mixed them with household items like mayonnaise and vinegar to create his own shampoos. I mean, this guy was the damn Walter White of the hair cosmetic industry! Just imagine this white guy, destroying young black people’s hairs and cashing out on their ignorance. Now prior to this time, permanent waving of hair was performed only on clients with straight hair. Jheri was the first to tap into the market of waving excessively curly hair and every black household in the USA felt the impact.

What is peppering my soul is that this style was not cheap at all. At a time when he black man was largely marginalised economically, niggas was spending cash. To maintain the look of the jheri curl, users were required to apply activator and heavy moisturizers daily and to sleep with a plastic cap on their heads to keep the hairstyle from drying out. What you know about niggas wearing hairnets? What you know about wearing shower cap to bed because you want to do fine boy? These products were expensive (a typical bottle of activator was small, retailed anywhere from $3 to $6, and was quickly depleted.) The activator in particular had the undesirable side effect of being very greasy; this would often stain clothing and anything that came into contact with it. On top of all this ‘sufferness’, this stuff was damaging to the hair. Washing the hair cleansed it of all the chemicals and shii but also exposed the damage done to your scalp. Then to add insult to injury, the user would have to return to the salon for a touch up adding to the already bloated expenses for a good hairdo.

What brand of mumuness is this? How much is it to barb gorimapa?

Two for five Naira...

Two for five Naira…


Black celebrities at the time like Michael Jackson, Rick James, Samuel L. Jackson (wig), Eriq Lasalle and even much later Easy-E and Ice cube were highly instrumental to the spread of the fad. Going round looking like wet mops. It was the soul movement of the 70s and 80s…


I'm just here franking my face like Samuel L. Jackson

I’m just here franking my face like Samuel L. Jackson

For the record, in all my years of immortal existence, I have never and will never be caught in a jheri curl. It’s not even hard… All it takes to put me off is the idea of going to bed with a plastic bag when they did not swear for me, (Not that if you did it’ll mean anything cos I am immortal and shii and can do whatever the fuck I want)  but NO.

Then you have to watch where you rest your head so as not to soil head rests with oils dripping from your shampoos/moisturisers/conditioners. By the mid 80s, the fad was outta fashion even though the likes of Ice cube and Easy- E, members of the defunct rap group N.W.A wore it well into the mid 90s. Nowadays though, the curl is kinda sorta back for the ladies in the forms of synthetic wigs. However, these aren’t anything like the original jheri curls with oils dripping everywhere like Didier Drogba.


Anyway, I rep team Natural. Let me see who will come and perm my gorimapa.



Class is over.

Larry Sushey.


This is my story. I write this with love from Mmabatho. It was written by me: Larry, son of Sushey. Any semblances to real live characters is intended. Yes, i am talking about you or that person you know. Don’t be deceived by the fake names… I should totally be held responsible for your interpretation of this here post. Don’t try me…

A Big’Nwa.

He gave her three hot slaps.


The first was a fore arm swing, and it landed gingerly on her left cheek. The force was strong with the strike because it was sending her down until he returned her to a vertical position with an equally ferocious left smack.


He then finished off with a right back hand to her right cheek, sending her into a heap on the laterite Earth.  As she reeled in pain not sure of what had hit her, Thola had swiftly removed his belt and was giving her the lashing of her life. Whip after whip connected with flesh, she closed her eyes and pretended to have collapsed. Thola picked her up and threw her in the back seat of the vehicle he had just alighted from.

He dashed upstairs and from where she was in the backseat, she heard the two men fight.


Buhle was (is) beautiful.




This Zulu girl had met Thola in the fish market and they had struck it off on a whim. Thola’s mother was Zulu like her but he had grown up with his Xhosa father. At first he was a nice sweet Xhosa man, the type that knew all the right things to say; the one that always was in charge, her type of man.

However, no sooner had she begun to bed him did she realize that he wasn’t quite everything she’d been led to believe. He was a dirty brute. He had the temper of a raging bull and was easily provoked. She knew from the first time he hit her that the relationship wasn’t going to lead anywhere.

She remembers the first time he hit her… What was it he had hit her over?

Aha! Something as trivial as a broken plate it was. She plotted on how to leave the relationship without him causing her grievous bodily harm. She couldn’t just walk away for fear that he would hurt her so she bided time.

Thola had a flat mate in Mpilo, who doubled as his best friend cum confidante.


Thola and Mpilo

When he had first brought her to the flat they shared, he had introduced Pilo (as he was fondly called) to her as his brother. Such was the bond which these two shared. So, it was a surprise when she had come visiting one Sunday evening and was told that Mpilo had moved out of the flat. When she enquired, Thola told her that Pilo had decided to move to an accommodation provided for him by the company he was just employed at.

Turns out Pilo had the hots for Buhle all the while and they had become close all the time she had run to him for succor after she and Thola had had a fight. After Mpilo moved out, her relationship with her boyfriend deteriorated and they hardly ever communicated. Over time, she had stopped visiting Thola as often as she used to and had started visiting Pilo’s new company flat.

On that fateful Sunday afternoon, she was on her way from Mpilo’s when she heard a familiar voice scream her name.

Thola: “BHULE!”

He had been waiting outside the flat in the car and she didn’t even notice his car as she tried to make her way home.


Bhule stood there confused and rooted to the spot. She watched him as he approached her, fire raging in his eyes but she was too paralyzed by fear to move. The moment he got near her, he gave her three hot slaps.


The first was a fore arm swing, and it landed gingerly on her left cheek. The force was strong with the strike because it was sending her down until he returned her to a vertical position with an equally ferocious left smack.


He then finished off with a right back hand to her right cheek, sending her into a heap on the laterite Earth.


She experrerit and she gorrit

As she reeled in pain not sure of what had hit her, Thola had swiftly removed his belt and was giving her the lashing of her life. Whip after whip connected with flesh, she closed her eyes and pretended to have collapsed. Thola picked her up and threw her in the back seat of the vehicle he had just alighted from.

He dashed upstairs and from where she was in the backseat, she heard the two men fight.


5 minutes later, he got back in the vehicle and started driving. She lay there still, pretending to have fainted. Rather than take her to a hospital, he took her to his house. He stripped her of her mobile phone, threw her into one of the rooms and locked the door shut.

Bhule was in trouble and she knew it.



For 7 hours, Thola was drinking and smoking. It was almost like he was trying to decide what to do with her. At about 9 pm, he unlocked the door and walked in to meet Bhule seated on the bed, battered and bruised.

She begged him to let her go but he just ignored her. He just sat in a chair across her and stared at her with disgust as she cried and begged to go home. Then he spoke:

Thola: “Why?”

Bhule: I am sorry”, she said tearily.

Thola: “What does Pilo have that I do nat?”


Bhule burst into tears but he didn’t stop shouting.

Thola: “Is it mani (money)? Is it looks? Is it masools (muscles)? Is it sex? Is it class and charisma? WHAT IS IT?!.. I know that bastard likes to rape young gals. Is that what you want? You like it ruff, don’t you?”

At that moment, she looked up and saw the fire in his eyes glisten. He stood up and slapped her again then he violently tore her blouse. Bule screamed and he pushed her to the wall and started laughing loud.

Bhule: Thola please don’t do this, I beg you. Please…

Thola: “Hahahahaha! You are screaming for help? I own this house, let me scream and see who will come to my rescue.”

Then he let out the loudest of screams as he could muster, intermittently so for 5 minutes.



After doing the scream ritual and nobody came to his rescue, Bhule kept quiet and waited for the worst.

He slammed her against the wall and violently rid her of the rest of her clothing. Then he raped her. As he forcefully took her, Bhule bit her lips and the tears flowed down her eyes. In that instant, she swore to herself that this man was going to die by her hands.

Three days later, Thola finally let her go.

Today they are married and she still swears that she is going to take his life.


Larry Sushey.

NB. Photo credits to disco-bar.blogspot.com, http://all-free-download.com, forharriet.com, google.com

I told you i could drop anything anytime right? 

You people should stop trying me o… This is another first on this here blog.


NB: Today’s post is not my work. This is courtesy themetapicture.com.


Larry Sushey.