Cool Stories

I warned you...

I warned you…

My name is Nwabudi.

I am a celebrity but you do not know me like that. An African man and like many of my kind, I love a woman with a big fat ass. For me, the bigger a woman’s booty, the prettier she is. Even Big Sean, the famous American rapper recognizes my finesse in this area when he mentioned me in this song here. I mean, he said the word ‘ass’ 16 times at the beginning of the song before he went on to honour yours truly.

“Ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass. Stop… make that motherfucker hammer time like… Go stupid; go stupid; go stupid; go stupid… Nwabudi Nwabudi Nwa Nwabu Nwabu, I’m st-stacking my paper my wallet look like a bible…”

What more proof do you need?

What are the odds of him making a song about ass and then go ahead to mistakenly mention my name in the same exact track? Don’t be jealous… Someday you shall be great like me.

So you see there’s this girl that lived on my street. She came from somewhere in the East to spend the holidays with her aunty. Because I am a silly cunt, her name eludes me but I can assure you that I will never forget her. First time I set my eyes on her was last week Tuesday and I knew my grandfather, Afolabi Akunamatata Sushey would not forgive me if I didn’t lie in coitus with her. She had that i-can-see-it-from-the-front type of back. To say the least, she looked ‘fatasstic’. I watched her as she swiveled her ass effortlessly and sat in front of her house on a wooden stool.

From the way she was sat, I could see her hips spill from her sides like a Mercedes Benz 190, extra padded. Getting closer I observed she was peeling oranges. This was gonna be easier than I thought…

Small thing...

Small thing…

So I told her I was going to buy all her oranges if she agreed to hang out with me the following Friday at the neighborhood bar. She went along telling me the oranges would cost me about three thousand bucks. I stuck my hand in my wallet and handed over the cash to her wondering what I was gonna do with a basket of oranges when she went:

“Bros, I no dey sell orange. This orange wey I dey peel na my hobby. Sha-Sha baby, (pausing to adjust her perky yellow breasts in her bra) na for big boys like you.”


Check up!!!

Last card, Check up!!!

I told her to keep the cash nonetheless and use it to fix her hair. She giggled sheepishly and I observed that she had dimples and snow-white teeth. “Oh dear me, this was probably the most beautiful girl in Enugu”, I thought and Patrick (tucked away in my boxers) agreed by nodding excitedly.
We exchanged numbers…


Fast forward to the best Friday of my life thus far, I drove to her house and called her. She came out after about 5 minutes of waiting and damn she looked like a crossbreed of Beyonce Knowles Carter, Jenniffer Lopez and Kim Kadarshian garnished with a little hint of Mila Kunis. She wore a body-hugging, short flowery dress which properly accentuated her curves. Her backside was as outstanding as Gulliver in Lilliput.


No long thing

No long thing

Patrick was struggling so hard to get outta my pants I had to start reciting Psalm 23.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

So I didn’t drive her to the neighbourhood bar. I took her far away to a not so classy joint in the Jersey part of town. Immediately we walked in the joint, my baby’s nyansh became the center of attraction. You know when you walk into a spot with a woman and everybody notices how posteriorly endowed she is before they even notice her face?


Well, I can’t accurately describe the feeling. I felt like a king. People were turning around and I swear even the music from the DJ’s speakers paused for 35 seconds. This was my night and I was shining in the reverie of Nkiru’s (that’s her name!) glorious beauty. I ordered fish pepper-soup for us and had about 18 shots of vodka. She had just two bottles of Smirnoff ice(imagine!) even though I was willing to pop champagne for her. We danced and danced and Patrick choked and gasped in my pants. Nkiru licked my ears; I didn’t know when I started speaking Yoruba. (At this point I don’t even care if you laugh at me. The story continues)

So 5 hours later we are back at my place and we started kissing. Before long, my hands had found their way over her mounds of joy and I was fondling her breasts with reckless abandon. Patrick was going stupid in my jeans.

Then as if suddenly possessed by a sexy demoness, she pushed me to the bed and started to slowly undress me with her teeth. Pausing in between to use the same teeth to bite me in places I never knew could trigger pleasure in my pants. By the time she got to my jeans, I couldn’t take it anymore so I hurriedly assisted her by removing my jeans and boxers and released Patrick who by now was nodding like an agama lizard.

Her mouth was warm. She went up and down and would massage Patrick with her soft hands before licking him like a lollipop. After about ten minutes, she suddenly stopped sucking me off and seductively stripped to her underwear. Spotting matching black lace panties and bra, she strutted majestically nyansh and all, to her bag where she removed a cd and went over to my stereo to play. The music came on and she started dancing. Nkem stood in front of me in her undies and started dancing makossa to this song here …


 see somtin2

Ladies and gentlemen, I took off.

I mean I ran, naked of preek all around the compound shouting“HAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!” It was as if she was in a trance because by the time I got back she was still dancing away, going stupid on the dance floor. She was doing splits and making her yellow butt cheeks do the ever ridiculous Milo clap. I interrupted her mid-dance by approaching her and sliding the thong to the side.

#InsertTongueNonJutsu. (I swear she wasn’t smelling. In fact, she tasted like oranges).

I massaged her clit with my tongue and lapped up all of her juices. She pushed me to the ground and sat on my face. I ate her up like that shit was Sunday rice. She started showing her first real signs of weakness…

She started speaking Igbo.

Nkiru: “Chineke me!!! Ikpu m o!!! Anwo m oooo! ” (I don equalize)

Then she started to vibrate like a Nokia 3310 phone so I stopped. Couldn’t allow her cum so quickly….
So I bent her over the crook of the bed and assumed a position on the floor behind her. Rug burns being the least of my problems I started banging her. (No condom) The 10 -5- 5-10 formula was in place.

10 fast busts, 5 short thrusts, 5 fast and then 10 slow thrusts. The babe was meeting my every move with a vicious wind of her waist. Me too was just giving her the Iyanya twist…

I kukere'd that pussy...

I kukere’d that pussy…

She tightened her pussy walls around my member as she came. The tight grip and the sight of her ass in front of me in all its heavenly glory was just amazing! The solitary waist bead on her waist shone like silver. I could feel my nut coming so I started to think of other stuff. (Can’t cum so quickly…) Stuff like the war in Syria, The Holy Bible, Goodluck Jonathan, Tweet oracle, any damn thing to take my mind off that ass. I was interrupted in my thoughts by Nkiru’s loud moaning.

Nkiru: “Nyem ya! Nyem ya! Mee wee! Mee wee! Mee wee!”

At this point I was the only one moving, she had become lazy. So I started to pull on her solitary waist bead. (Let me teach you guys something. When you’re with a woman in the doggy position and she is wearing a waist bead, it’s kinda like riding a horse. If she gets lazy and stops moving, just tug on the waist beads a bit, like you would do with a rein on a horse. She will suddenly respond by moving her hips back to meet your penetration halfway because she doesn’t want her bead to cut)

She started moving again…

Nkiru: “Ïkpu m o!! Nwa ofe mmanu I nwe ikpu m forever. Amu gi atoka ehhh!! Akwusina! Akwusina!! Akwusinaaaaa…”

She had cum again.




As I emptied the contents of my immortal nuts into her, I swear I saw myself in shiny white robes and a golden crown.

I felt like a deity.

Larry Sushey, Immortal.

Good day ladies and gentlemen. Grab your seats and your blankets. I want to tell you a story.

Once upon a time…

Mother wasn’t proud

He was a retired militant. Retired so on the dying wishes of his late mother, the prison warder had vowed to name his first child after her so he named him Maria. Maria Otambus Otakpolor was born on the 14th of April 1982 to the family of Mr. & Mrs. Fidelis Okoko Onunkete – Otakpolor in Warri, Delta State. Fidelis was a retired militantwho became born again & became a prison warder, with dreams of one day becoming the head prisonwarder in the whole region. The one that collected all the ‘gifts’ from the prisoners’ family members. The onethat got the most complimentary bags of rice at Christmas, the biggest chicken(s) and the most bottles of groundnut oil.

He wanted to be the one.

Young Maria, the inspiration.

Young Maria, the inspiration.

When Maria was three, The Nigerian prisons Commission gave Fidelis a promotion and he was to resume at the Ikoyi prisons in Lagos. Fidelis received the news with great joy, he was going to be a big boy at last. I mean, this was Lagos where all the biggest criminals were caged. He had prayed for this since he joined the prisons service as a young man at the Warri Prisons and intended to grab this opportunity with all gusto. He was going to ‘shine bright like a diemon’ and nobody was gonna stop him.

So Maria grew up in the warders’ barracks Ikoyi. Boy, was growing up in the barracks a whole load of fun! Maria and his friends would play football in the sand immediately he returned from school till the sun set & he had to go help his mother with her business.

From L-R, Suo, Maria, Bobo & Peero (February 1991)

From L-R, Shege, Maria, Bobo & Peero (February 1991)

His mother, Divine Ogbruche Otakpolor a.k.a Bakassi Peninsonata sold akara, fried yam, fried fish and plantain to support her family so naturally, Maria was inclined to help mama. That was where the pilfering habit started. “Borrowing” five naira from mama’s money to buy agbalumo soon became taking 20 naira to buy cigarettes before he graduated to stealing 500 bucks to buy weed from the neighborhood drug dealers. Maria was a popular boy in the Warders barracks. Everybody knew him to be the party starter and boy, did he know how to rock a partayy!.. Tongue in cheek (in the local agbero tout shina rambo kinda way though).

Every fortnight, the prison warders escorted a few prisoners out of the prison and brought them chained into the barracks to do some hard labour before returning them to their cages. Mariana & his friends would gather and pelt stones at them while singing demeaning songs.

“Ole! Ajibole!! Ole! Ajibole!! Ole! Ajibole!!”

“Tiffi Tiffi!!! Tiffi Tiffi!!! Tiffi Tiffi!!!”

This was a constant reminder for him and his friends to forever remain good boys so that they do not end up like the bad men in brown khaki.

Fast forward to the year of our Lord 2009.

At SSS1, Maria decided he was gonna quit school and go learn a trade. I mean, he had barely passed any of his exams anyway. He had repeated so many times and attended so many schools he wasn’t sure he was fast approaching 28 anymore. This was him taking his singular most responsible decision since he was born. He was going to learn a trade, be a carpenter or maybe a bus driver. His best friend Suo, was a danfo drivers’son and he always had money to spend on the babes. Suo’s father owned three buses plying the streets of Lagos and on an average he made about 10,000 Naira every day. So he became an apprentice. First started out as a conductor on the Obalende-Lekki-Ajah route and used the opportunity to learn how to properly maneuver a bus. At night and on Sundays, he would take the bus, go pick his friends and they’ll go have cool funs at Elegushi beach.

Big bucks time. :D

Big bucks time. 😀

Maria was living the life…

The Mc'bannies.

The Mc’bannies.

Timothy Mc’banny was of Scottish descent. Born of an Irish whore lass and a proper lad of a drunkard father, he was quite a good kid. Made good grades all through elementary and high school and even chose to study at the Robert Gordon University Aberdeen. His only vice was that he loved women. Tim would literally give an arm and a leg for some good wench anytime any day. It was almost sure that it would be his love for wenches that would eventually kill him.
After bagging his first degree in mechanical engineering, he got a job with an American company which required him to travel to Nigeria to work on a pipeline construction project for one of its subsidiaries. Tim received the news with great joy as it meant that he would finally have an opportunity to lie in the bosom of the black African woman. He had heard that their booties is the ‘ghen-ghen’ from tales told by his friends who had at one time gone on a field trip to Congo.



Somewhere in Lagos….
Maria: “Suo of life. Happen?”
Suo: “Masha Matas… Biggest boy in the woh arena… We no dey even see your brake light.”
Maria: “How? No be like that o… I loss my fone o! You wey I dey follow you up? I dey follow you up on twitter and I dey follow you up on BBN… sheck your following number nah.”
*Suo hits the buttons of his second hand Curve 2*
Suo: “Wetin be your BB name?”
Maria: “Masha Matas, short for… heminem. The ree slim shady”
Suo: “See you nah, but dem don steal d fone abi?”
Maria: “Yes. When I buy new one I go follow you up. How your babes?”
They went further to talk about how there was gonna be a party at Elegushi on Sunday evening. Maria was going to pick Suo up at the warders barracks after work and then they would proceed to Jakande to pick up babes and the other small chops.

Sweet 16 was going to be live!


Tim had made a new friend in Jonah since he landed Nigeria on Thursday. Jonah was the youngest Naija boy in the office and he seemed to be the party type. It wasn’t long before they hit it off. It was Sunday evening and they decided to walk across the street to grab some chicken from the neighborhood fast food store. As he stepped unto the road, a girl with the hugest tits gestured to Tim to buy some plantain chips. Tim turned towards Jonah…
Tim: “Oi, Jon… That lass has got the biggest titties eh?”
Tim had no idea why Jonah was running…

Maria had picked up Suo at the Warders barracks on Awolowo road. Suo had convinced him to take some Alomo bitters and he was feeling like quite the man. As he sped towards the corner the only thing he saw was a man in red hat running off like he’d seen a ghost!

Not exactly but very similar...

Not exactly but very similar…


A dead white man on black coal tar; hit by a bus at a zebra crossing.
*Insert ironic awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwn here*
Tim Mc’banny’s brain was spluttered all over the road, dead as an Akpos joke.
Anyway, Maria now resides at the Ikoyi Prisons, serving 50 years with hard labour for involuntary man slaughter. His Father never ‘shone bright like a diemon’. The news of Maria’s incarceration killed him.

Now every fortnight, when the warders bring Maria and his mates out to do their manual labour dose… The kids at the warders’ barracks gather and chant mockingly:
“Ole! Ajibole! Ole!! Ajibole!! Ole!! Ajibole!!!”



How have the tables turned. Today, the 21st of December 2012, he wishes the world to end. Will it?
The end.


Many are mad but few are roaming. I’m not just anybody, I am Larry Sushey.

Peace! (^.^)y

I had an English breakfast yesterday morning. I really shouldn’t have. I’d have rather had Iya Basira’s jollof rice of champions of champions. Intermixed with Iya Basira’s special intergalactic moi-moi and some superfluous fried fish/meat. I stare at my breakfast this morning and I immediately know that if I add a bottle of Fanta to this mix, I will die of sheer ecstasy. Then resurrect of course because I can’t die. I’ll be right back… Let me attend to the pressing issue below.

*loosens tie*

Iya Basira’s jollof rice of champions of champions and Intergala…

*adjusts tie*

If I could go back 24 hours in time, I wouldn’t have called Peter (the mechanic) to come fix my car henceforth referred to as “The night rider.” This is because the mechanic ended up collecting all of my money to fix the supposed problem and on my way to work this morning the same problem occurred again. Had I known I’d have just kept the money and spent it at the pool party last night. Am I the only one out there that experiences this shit? Anytime the salary hits the account the automobile just develops one problem or the other. The month before last it was the damn battery that needed be changed. Last month ‘twas one of the tyres, now it’s the damn radiator… Daddy be my Range Rover Evoque.

2012 Range Rover Evoque

If I could go back 24 hours, I wouldn’t have been tweeting at work when I should have been working. Now the MD called me at 6:30 this morning and was asking me for the NNPC proposal. I was like nigger chill man, (In my mind o!) I’m still sleeping yo! I had to lie to him that it was almost ready and that he’d get it within an hour of my resuming this morning. Daddy be my super duper fast typewriter. Finally got to the office only to find out that the nigga wasn’t even in town and isn’t expected to return till tomorrow.

Hence, I should have gone to that pool party last night and spent the damn money I gave the mechanic on getting wasted. If only I could go back 20 fuckin’ 4 hours. You see when Frankie Sushey  called me last night and told me about the pool party, I immediately got sexcited and quickly changed to my tee-shirt and special super sexy pool shorts. Grabbed the keys to my car (that I had presumably just fixed) and dashed out of the crib. With just a little cash in hand, I shouldn’t have done that. It was not until after I got three quarters of the way to our rendezvous spot did I realize my mistake. I had no fackin’ I.D with me. I left my drivers’ license at home and was gonna be out for the whole night. Coupled with that, my phone battery went out on me. So I couldn’t be contacted nor identified in case of an emergency. I got to the chill spot, hung for a while and eventually just had to go back home. That I eventually did but shouldn’t have done (should’ve taken a cab) because on my way back to the crib, sad that I was gonna miss flirting with half naked girls at the pool, Night-rider decided to overheat in the middle of nowhere and I knew my goose was done cooked.


I had to use my shayo money to take a taxi to go look for water to pour into the car to start the mo’fuckah so I could get home to prepare for work today. Meanwhile, the rest of the Susheys were getting their groove on at the party. I couldn’t even call for help.

Oh if I could go back 24 hours, I wouldn’t have taken that step. GOD punish the person that defecated on the road to that mallam’s place where I went to look for water. I stepped on another nigga poo poo guys and It stunk real bad. I have already banished my super sexy pool slippers to an eternity in the bin. We are nothing but pencil, HE who provided the former will produce another.

We are nothing…

Fast forward till this morning, 6:30 am. Chairman called and damn I shouldn’t have picked his call. Now I am under enormous pressure to complete the damn proposal before the fat lady sings. Alternatively, this is how my day should’ve gone:

a)      Should’ve eaten Iya Basira’s jollof rice of champions of champions and intergalactic moi-moi coupled with superfluous fried fish/meat.

b)      Should’ve worked real hard and shouldn’t have been tweeting at work. (@AdaCampbell even called me reckless)

c)       Should have kept the plenty money I gave to Peter the mechanic for my personal consumption of expensive liquor.

d)      Should’ve taken my I.D  card/drivers’ license with me and still gone ahead to the damn party and gone to work with a hangover.

e)      Shouldn’t have picked Chairman’s call this morning.

It’s 9 am now and I sit at this desk scribbling this post. I will post it when I’m done with a substantial amount of today’s work.

So help me Jah.

(Now 4:49 pm: One mumu client just called me to schedule a business meeting in an hour’s time. I’m definitely not closing before 9pm today again. I need a very strong drink, VERY VERY STRONG.)

Larry Sush.

In case you missed the part letter I of this post, you can read it here.

Cool Story Bro Hand Rocket

Never trust a girl that wears any other colour jeans apart from blue. Let me rephrase, i have met very few chicks/guys that can pull off wearing red, green, orange, yellow or even black jeans without coming off as ‘dirty’. In fact at the moment, i know only one guy that has a pair of black jean pants. Most people with black jeans don’t wash them. Now that is my ultimate belief so you can imagine the shock i felt when we came down from the car and i noticed that both Dupe and Bola had red and black jeans on respectively.

This is a no!

You see, when we picked them up at Aguda, there was no power so i didn’t notice their jeans. As we alighted from the car and i saw those jeans, i pulled Fizzle to the side.

Me:        “Fizzle baba! Shebi u talk say those girls no be ashawo?”

Fizzle:   “Ahn ahn! Dem no be ashawo now dem be student! Why u say dem be ashawo?”

Me:       “Oya which school?”

Fizzle:    “I no know o… E be like say na Unilag or Laspo.” (Laspo = Lagos State Polytechnic)

By this time, the two girls had flanked A.K on both sides and they were making an entrance for the club. A.K looked so helpless i pitied him. At the end of the day sha, the bouncer bounced the girls because they weren’t properly dressed. So we had to go to another joint. For some funny reason, A.K was keen on ‘washing’ the vehicle that night with or without the girls. There was some talk about going to a place called ‘Rita Lori’ and immediately i heard that name i objected. I know for a fact that a Rita Lori hotel in Abuja is famed for the ladies of easy virtue and touts. I couldn’t be found in such a place.

However, Fizzle and even A.K said that the Surulere Rita Lori wasn’t as notorious as that in Abuja and that it wasn’t a bad place to ‘manage’. Bola muttered something about Rita Lori being the only place all the girls in her area went to and that a lot of them were prostitutes. At that singular moment, i knew we weren’t gonna set foot there. Imagine hanging at a place with hundreds of Dupe and Bola!

To be honest, i was quite relieved we didn’t go there. A few minutes later we ended up at another joint Fizzle wanted to avoid all along because he thought it was expensive. Little did he know that we didn’t mind as long as it was ‘standard’.

I was the first to alight from the vehicle and i started walking very fast towards the entrance so that nobody will know that i came with those girls. Before i could say discombobulate, Dupe and Bola were at my side and had even managed to hook the crook of their elbows with mine. I felt like i was under arrest. I stopped walking abruptly.

Me:        “Ahn ahn!!! What is it?!”

Dupe:   “Why are you walking fast like dis?”

Bola:      “He dinor want us to enter the club together. You must enter inside with us today.”

In my mind i was thinking: “Mogbe!!! Abi make i run?” The combo of their smelling hair was slowly ebbing life from me.

Me:        “Oya, I’m not entering again, I want to buy a recharge card.”

Dupe/Bola: “Ehn we will follow you!!!’

Me :       “Oy… Oy… Oya now!!!” I stuttered with so much anger that A.K practically started rolling.

Fizzle looked at me with a stern *side eye* that seemed to say: “What kind of fuck up boy is this one?” It was a two Way Street so we crossed over to the middle curb. All of a sudden, without warning, Dupe freed me and ran as fast as Ben Johnson to meet A.K and Fizzle as they were already on their way to the entrance.

Bola:      “Ha! My friend deseef me ni sha! See me i tink we are entering togeda o!”

Me:        (._.)

We crossed to the other side and i had already formulated an idea. I bought an Airtel recharge card (I use MTN) and…

Me:       “Take this card and go and give it to my friend before he enters.”

Bola:      “Ehen! I should go and give eem?”

Me:        “Yes. Be fast o! Before they enter….”

Bola:      “Hoekay.” And off she went! Almost as fast as Dupe did…

Once again i was alone. Now i waited a good 5 minutes after they had entered before i joined them. Finding them wasn’t so difficult. I knew A.K well; they were seated at the darkest corner of the V.I.P section. We ordered a bottle of Jack Daniels and a few cokes. I brought out my BlackBerry to charge at a nearby socket when my peripheral vision caught Bola putting ice in all our cups. She had opened the bottle and was serving everybody copious amounts of Scotch and coke. So much so, that our glasses were filled to the brim.

A.K and Fizzle didn’t utter a word. They just kept staring in awe… The d.j started playing a Bracket song- ‘Yori Yori’…

Dupe:    “I din like P square. They like spoken(ing) too much ibo.”

Me:        “That’s Bracket. What school are you?”

Dupe:    “Ajileye.”

Me:        “WHATTT??? You people are still in secondary school?!”

Dupe:    “No o! Ajileye Yoruba acting group school. You dinor know Ajileye ni?”

At this point, A.K stood up feigning that he had to make a phone call. I pressed on.

Me:        “You mean you’re in an acting troupe like Ogunde and Wale Adenuga’s?”

Bola:      “Ees nor troop o! School! School!! School!!! Like lecturer.”

Me:        “Okay.”  (._.)

As the night wore on the girls got freer and freer. Fizzle was so happy and made several comments about how much he liked the girls and the fact that they didn’t ‘form’ at all. Now there were two stripper poles at our corner of the lounge. Those girls did injustice to those poles. Have u ever seen someone ‘romancing’ a pole before? Like seriously, you’d think the poles were men. There was some serious ‘komole-ing’ and ‘alanta-ing’ and ‘galala-ing’ and ‘flex-ing’ and ‘butterfly-ing’ in front of those metal poles. They were even backing they’re asses up into the poles. They dragged us to dance but we refused at every attempt. There was this one time i had to run to the bathroom for about 15 minutes. By the time i got back, Fizzle was sandwiched in between the two girls and he looked like…


Apparently, someone in the premises was celebrating his birthday that night and then decided that everybody who bought something be given the exact same thing on his tab. Thus, the birth of another bottle of Jack Daniels. Mid way through the 2nd bottle, i noticed that there many girls clustered around our table and they were even sending Dupe and Bola to fetch them some drinks. They had already started dancing and touching themselves and our corner of the joint was cynosure of all eyes when we decided it was time to call it a night. By this time i won’t lie, i was quite high and was grinning from ear to ear!

Fizzle:    “Sir Larry!!!”

Me:        “Baba mi. What occur?”

Fizzle:    “E be like say Bola like you o!”

Me:           “I no want joh! Give A.K.”

Fizzle:    “No o, I sabi A.K since. Carry Bola make i carry Dupe now! Na because of you Bola come o!”

Me:        “Fizzle, i can’t do it man. She dey smell…”

Fizzle:    “Lai lai e no dey smell!!! You don high abi? HAHAHAHAWHAWHAHEHEHE!!! U no even hard.”

He gave me an idea then. I pretended to stagger to the car and got in the passenger’s side lazily. Hafiz and the girls laughed at me all through the drive back thinking i was wasted. However A.K knew and was quiet. We dropped Fizzle off at his place with the girls knowing that he could handle them both with ease. After all, he looked like triple H with a slight pot belly. Remember?

Myself and A.K laughed throughout the entire trip home and i promised to blog about it. So there it is, my story. I passed on a one night stand. I mean, who wouldn’t?

The end.

Larry Sushey.


I should tell 'em at parties

I want to tell you guys a story. If you are a follower of this here piece of crap i call a blog you would know by now that I was in Lagos late last year and caught a lot of “cool funs” as evidenced in this post right here. Well this is a story of me, A.K the bad guy and Hafiz the Fizzle Fizz…

You see, I have lived in Abuja for the past 11 years even though i was born and bred in Lagos. I however do not see myself as a ‘Lagos boy’ by any means. This is because every time i visit that place i always have a jaw dropping experience which inadvertently seems normal to the average Lagosian. Like this one time i was in transit on the third mainland bridge to V.I and something caught my eye. Someone sat on the bridge railing and was dropping lumps of shit into the lagoon below. Nobody in the damn BRT batted an eyelid… It was like the norm. I could’ve even sworn that he waved at someone inside the bus!

I mean, this nigga was butt naked with his full ‘naked of prick o!’ at about 9:15 a.m and there was a slight traffic hold up. People barely gave him a sideward glance like he was part of the construction. Anyway i digress…

So I was in Lag with my Abuja friend, A.K. I decided to bunk at his pad somewhere off Adeniran Ogunsanya road Surulere. It was in Lere that i met Hafiz the Fizzle Fizz…

Now this guy is a confirmed full grown matured old adult MAN. He’s about 7 feet tall and has the physique of Humongousaur (refer to Ben10). I mean, imagine a very black Triple H with a slight pot belly and you’ve got Fizzle. The kind of guy you wanna have fighting on your side. I asked A.K how he knew him and he said he was one of the area boys that used to help his mum carry heavy machinery and stuff like that. Fizzle was in a good mood that day, something about him being the new guy to collect all the ‘agbero’ money from the okada riders. Need i say more?

In short Fizzle>>>> Humongusaur x Triple H

So A.K had just taken delivery of a brand new vehicle and we were gonna celebrate. It was a Sunday night and Fizzle insisted on ‘arranging’ babes to spice it up. He made a lot of phone calls before finally getting hold of someone and i heard him telling her to come with her friends. The phone was loud and i heard her say something about her being a “one woman mopol”. Fizzle convinced her and she finally agreed that we should come pick her up somewhere in Aguda, Surulere.

A.K was driving, i was in the passenger’s seat and Fizzle was at the back. The following conversation ensued on our way there.

A.K: “Hafiz this place wey we dey go far o, abeg try direct me because i’ve never been there o!”

Fizzle: HAHAHAHA!!! I go direct you now worry, e no far.”

Me:Fizzle you sure say these girls no be ashawo?”

Fizzle: “HEHEHEHEHE!!! No oooo, dem be student now! Dem be bad girls you go like dem. Baba say dem be ashawo….HAWHAWHAWHEHEHE!!!”

We went on to talk about Chelsea defeating Manchester City earlier in the week and some other stuff I’m not going to tell you about. Thirty minutes later, we were parked at a filling station somewhere in Aguda. The girls were on a bike coming to meet us so Fizzle took a stroll to meet them at the junction while i waited with AK in the car. A few moments later, i saw Fizzle approaching us with two girls, one obviously more attractive than the other. A.K and I caught each other in a side eye glance. I was already thinking of how to intrebolate the finer one when they got to the car and entered the backseat. That’s when it hit me like a heat wave.

The smell.

The trash heap has spoken.... RISE!

Those girls had on their heads, wigs/weaves from hell. I’m not exaggerating, those things smelt so bad it was as if someone farted in the car.

WARNING: This goes out to all you girls who carry weaves on your head till lice and fleas and all those other smell inducing elements build sky scrapers on your head. STOP IT! The fact that you smooch your hair with ‘pink oil’ every morning and then comb it into another style doesn’t change the weave. We don’t care if it’s Indian, Peruvian or Vietnamese hair. STOP IT. As you read this, i don’t care if you’re in the office or not, put your hand in your hair and start loosening that shit right away! Who do you think you’re deceiving? It’s not sexy. I dont like having to hold my breath everytime i hug you.

Back to the story.

A.K was frowning and didn’t utter a word. If not for the area we were in, I’m sure he would’ve taken  the windows all the way down.

Fizzle: “Guys na the babes be this o.”

A.K: “Hi. Fizzle na your town be this, where we dey go?” (Still frowning)

I turned around and introduced myself to the babes. Their names were Bola and Dupe.

A.K had started driving out and Fizzle and his babes were talking in the back seat. I brought out my phone to tweet when it happened.

Dupe:    “I have a eddik o!”

Bola:      “Mi o de wa ni panadol o! I din haff panadol at all.”

I hear a zip open and turn in time to see Dupe reach for something in her bag. I’m not sure if it was the smell that hit me first or the sight of a dark green plastic bottle with a yellow cap. Alomo bitters!

Kasapreko Alomo Bitters

This bitch was using Alomo to abate her headache! (In case you don’t know Alomo bitters, it’s a very vile tasting ‘ointmentish’ drink with Ghanaian origins and has 43% alcohol). Bola brought out her phone and shuffled through it. She starts to play a song from her phone and next thing i hear the girls scream out of excitement…


Bola: “It’s Hollllaaarr baby!!! Holllaaaaarrrrr!..”

Dupe/Bola: “ENI DURO!!!! Horrlamidey is yeah, just like the first day of the year.”

*They kept miming the song, some gibberish i couldn’t quite make out*

Dupe/Bola: “Hoekay. Holrite! Hall dia? He dey dere….

(I found the song they were listening to on the internet. You can download it here)

By the time they were mid way through the song, A.K had taken down the windows because the smell had become unbearable. He ordered them to put off the music as we approached a police checkpoint. I sat there tweeting still, using every bit of my energy to keep a straight face. I managed to look into the rear view mirror and saw Fizzle mildly suppress a grin. Trust Lagos policemen, they flagged us down.

Policeman: “Inner light, park.”

A.K:  “Officer, well done. How work?”

Policeman: “Ha oga na you? This your motor na tear rubber. Who is the owner of this vehicle?”

A.K: “It’s my car.”

Policeman: “You mean you buy this brand new motor by yourself?”

A.K: “Yes.  Any problem?”

He seemed to ponder over the question before he responded.

Policeman: “No chairman. That means you have to ‘wash’ it for us nah. You know we are here to protect you people. Make we sef follow enjoy from your happiness baba!…”

A.K handed him a couple thousand naira notes and he and his colleagues waved us on, smiling and waving like we were part of the state governor’s convoy.

I couldn’t help but mutter something about the irony of A.K having a convo with A.K (In Nigeria, policemen are sometimes refered to as ‘A.K’)

Dupe: “Hoe GOD! I ate police!!!”


The girl, now smiling that she had finally gotten me to say something continued…

Dupe: “Hassin I ate police with a passions! I can never marry a police!! Das how dey use to do in dis


Me: “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!” BUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

A.K for the first time that night was laughing hysterically as was I. We look at each other and simultaneously chorused, Boondocks style, “HOODRATS! HOOODRAAAAAATTSS!!!”

The girls thought we were laughing at the policemen and joined in the laughter. We arrived at a lounge somewhere on Adeniran Ogunsanya and what those girls did ehn…

That will be a story for another day. This post is too long already. To be continued next week…

In case you haven’t noticed

I am Immortal Larry Sushey. #ITellCoolStories!

Forget the previous post.

It’s been a while i came here and i have the perfect excuse. Being that this excuse has  somewhat been trending in blogsville i’m gonna jump on the bandwagon. I haven’t posted anything in about a month because, err.. well, i’ve been in camp.

Camp was literally life changing for me. I was one of those that had the rare opportunity to have served in two different camps. It was a special feeling in both places… I mean, at the Redeemed camp there were uncountable miracles. The power of God was just everywhere. I was touched by an angel. (story for another day) After 5 days there, i moved at another camp. Bonny camp. The guard rooms in that one are very small and uncomfortable though, but nothing a Sushey couldn’t handle.

You see my very stubborn Lagos friends Ak 47 and Hafiz the fizzle Fizz decided to get into a fight with an okada man in front of Bonny camp, Victoria Island Lagos. Funny thing is the motorcyclist had offended them way before we got to the barracks but they decided to go wait for him at his home turf just to form Jack Bauer. Happens the okada man was a soldier. Let’s just say after many hours in the guard room, My life will never be the same. These ‘camping’ experiences no Harold have been life changing for me on two separate levels.  What they both have in common however is that i henceforth eschew violence. I WILL NEVER LOOK FOR TROUBLE AGAIN.


Moving on, it’s xmas season and this is what this post is really about. well not exactly but yeah 2011 has been quite the year on “the Nigerian twitter”. Sushey records decided to do a remix of the 12 days of Christmas song and remind you of some of those moments that made Nigerian twitter fun this year. I might have missed some of the drama but here are the top twelve for me.


*Clears throat*

On the first day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Toxic virgins up in blogsville”

The Toxic Virgin

On the second day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Super Chupa Chups, toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Remember, remember the blogger awards?

On the third day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups, toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Who wants to sleep with Okoya?

On the fourth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups, toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

His name should be Teet(h)eelayo

On the fifth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Nutricious Ugu leaves

On the sixth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Send me a DM. Can i "thrust" you?

On the seventh day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Oracle’s a-fooling, legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Auracool. He sure is well above 30...

On the eighth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Bed wetting in Lekki, Oracle’s a-fooling, legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Na sin to piss?

On the ninth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Chinnydiva’s outfit, bed wetting in Lekki, Oracle’s a-fooling, legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

I think she's gorgeous...

On the tenth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Hermes purse expensive, Chinnydiva’s outfit, bed wetting in Lekki, Oracle’s a-fooling, legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

I'd set 'P' for a Hermes purse too...

On the eleventh day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “Darlington beefs Vic’O, Hermes purse expensive, , Chinnydiva’s outfit, bed wetting in Lekki, Oracle’s a-fooling, legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

I hope it turns physical.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Majela said to me: “I’m a winsh for Jesus, Hermes purse expensive, Darlington beefs Vic’O, Chinnydiva’s outfit, bed wetting in Lekki, Oracle’s a-fooling, legend of the ‘thruster’, Fine ugu leaves… Peju’s large teeth, Babcock girls fight, super Chupa Chups , toxic virgins up in blogsville.”

Holy slap, no?

I might have missed out on some of those moments that made you go :O !

Sue me. Use the comment box to state which was your favorite scandal of the year… It’s gonna be interesting to here your views. If you aren’ t on twitter, i suggest you get an account.

Shii is cray on those streets mehn, cray cray…

Larry Sushey wishes you a merry Christmas and a happy new year.

I remain immortal.

Bignuts Ironbender

Bignuts Ironbender

The man above is my friend, Bignuts Ironbender and I know it’s no longer mid-summer. Today i shall be telling you a story. First let me put up a ‘claimer’ as it seems like it has started trending in blogsville.

This is a true cool story. All characters are non-fictional and all names and resemblances to people dead or alive is intentional. In fact, they are spot on. I will be held liable for any brouhaha that emanates from reading this here post and I will not regret it. If you do not believe this story… Err… Okay.
About a year ago, I was going to wrestle a bunch of chicks and snakes in some bar when this guy named Ironbender Bignuts walked in. When the bartender asked us what we were having, we both said “Old Fashioned” at the same time. We gave each other the nod, got back to back and proceeded to beat the shit out of every man, woman and child in the bar—in super slow motion. It was like we were in the Matrix movie. There were lots of kids in the bar and we beat them all up! Do not send me hate mail or comments like some spastic know-it-all dipshit, I don’t care what you know about which laws. We were in err… Sao tome and Principé, so your limp-dicked laws don’t apply. Kids drink in Sao tome.

One day, Iron Bignuts and I were setting off fireworks on a battleship. My battleship, when we got the idea to make a TV show for this Media coy called Dust TV. Now DTV (situated in Calabar) is a TV station owned by the ever vivacious political Igodomigodo himself, Mr. Patrick Agbariogbon. Popular for his audacious use of the Queens English Language, all their programmes followed his supreme pattern. We needed to dumb it down a little, but Pat would have none of it.

However after I threatened to verbally emasculate his political career by issuing disparaging statements of calumny, exposing the precocious handling of his bed wetting tendencies, (which he attributed assiduously to his new born offspring) he obliged. I know that Pat jr.’s genitals could not produce such voluminous quantities of saline human by- products. I ascribed to my knowledge of certain discrepancies within his mental faculty as he was @Terdoh’s floor mate on the leftside.
His real mannerisms were now being gradually exposed, for alas he had endeavoured to conceal such short-comings using verbal aristocracy and lingual xenophobia. Cool story, his goose was cooked and non- conformity would see me applying rodo and iru to the mix. I spoke to him like a boss. We are equals.

He was immediately convinced that they needed something badass to fill that gaping hole in their late night programming womb. Imagine a show like ‘Tyra’ or ‘Mo hits with Mo’ that men would watch. You can’t?


We wanted to make a show that banged your face with the dicks of our ideas! There are no celebrities, fashion designers and models to be seen on our show. Just hard working guys earning a honest living with a story to tell, like this badass guy I read about who makes less than a dollar a week and sold his kidney so that he could take care of his 6 wives and 26 and a half children (No 13 is a midget). Also, this harlot I used to know who was a medical student in one of the Nigerian universities and took to prostitution so that she could feed her aged mother and her 9 siblings. (Well, really because she liked dick but shh… Don’t loud it)

… Back to the cool story…

We set out to save modern television from going down as one of the womanliest epochs in history. Notice how apart from sports these days every other thing is so womanly? Death to all the reality shows and the like. Our treatment literally had the line:
“So you think you can dance? Fuck you.” IronBender actually preferred the opening line to be in Zulu even though he was Ugandan. He thought the language represented true African pride. Anyway, Patrick finally loved it. Two high-fives and six months later, shit started happening:


Literally, shit = nothing. Unless of course it is accompanied by a scent from hell or somewhere close by like @sheriphskills bowels, shit is nothing.
Here’s what happened: Ironbender died. Apparently, he was involved in a planking accident. I warned him not to plank at the top of the wooden electric pole on Tuesdays because it was a taboo in Sao tomé but he didn’t listen. The termites come out on Tuesdays and well let’s just say he was involved in an accident that involved a horde of soldier termites and scrotum balls.

I was distraught. Heck I still am but hey… Life goes on. I am thinking of starting this program again and I need a female co-presenter. That female must however bow to the supremacy and awesomeness of Man. I doubt I’ll find an educated female that’ll fit my bill anyway so maybe I’ll just settle for Bruno Mars.
Still thinking though…

Cool story bruv, cool story. 😐

Larry Sushey.

The greatest man in the world.

My man of men without an iota of doubt is Aron Ralston. If you’re asking yourself “who the hell Aron Ralston is,” you’d better step back and re-evaluate your life right now. Ralston, the living legend, is a mechanical engineer by training and had a very comfortable job with Intel before he resigned to pursue his dream of mountain climbing.

In April 2003, he was hiking up a cliff in southern Utah (probably to do something manly like take a leak off of it), when a giant boulder fell on him, pinning his arm against the ground. Most people would have just died, but did he surrender his life to a mere giant life-threatening boulder? Hell no. He just kept getting angrier and angrier until he finally CUT OFF HIS ARM WITH A DULL KNIFE.


Yes, you read that correctly, he cut off his own arm with a dull pocket knife.

Imagine. This is HEART

Imagine that he literally chiseled away at the bone so he could snap his arm off and free himself from underneath the rock. I say shame on you useless dimwits who plead the blood of Jesus whenever the doctor schedules them for ordinary injection.

Now, there have been two previous attempts to tell the story of what happened afterwards but none of them is true. The first is a book released in 2004 titled “Between a rock and a hard place” and the second is a 2010 movie release titled “127 hours”. The good news is that I have the true story and I will be educating you soon enough. Aron said to me that he told the stenographers who wrote the book the story I’m about to tell you but the morons decided to edit it for reasons best known to them. The movie is based on the book so it can best be likened to an Aba made pair of Made in China ‘Abibas’ trainers.

Here’s the true story…

After he cut off his arm, he jumped off the cliff and broke his fall with his face, just because he’s that tough. Then he got ambushed by a tribe of 127 angry Indians, caught an arrow in his heart, pulled it out and killed all the warriors with it.

On his way back a buffalo crossed his path so what did Ralston do? He head-butt it to death, then he found its 127 offspring and broke their ribs just for pissing him off. Then, he chopped down a tree with his undoubtedly large penis, built a raft out of it and rafted down the green river. When he got to the river bank, he took a long walk to a little dirt road where he intended to hitch hike a vehicle to the nearest hospital.

However, after standing on the road for exactly 127.127 minutes without any forthcoming help, he decided to jog down to the hospital which coincidentally was just 127 miles away.

He survived all the while by drinking blood from his ‘finely’ severed right arm.

Talk about recycling. Blood cannot weist.


Very Bad Bad Guy.

That’s the damn truth more or less. Aron Ralston is a real man and one tough son of a bitch. He deserves utmost respect for being such a badass. This is the reason why he is my man of men.

I met Aron in 2009 in Tanzania where myself, @sheriphskills and about twelve pretty ladies plus Aron climbed to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. We quickly became friends and he told us this story. Aron also said not to tell anyone what I just told you but, Wurrahell… I am Larry Sushey and  the whole world deserves to know the truth.

Sorry Aron, i know you’re modest but f**k the Stenographers mehn!

*Say what?! Thought so.*

Aron has gone ahead to become the first man to climb all of Colorado’s 53 mountains over 14,000 feet in elevation and he did it all alone in winter. Albeit with one arm.

Use the comment box to express who your own greatest man to have walked the earth is. Don’t come here to start writing your father or fake guys like Nelson Mandela, Ghandi or Martin Luther-King.

We don’t do that here.

Larry Sushey.

The more you know the more you know not

Today’s post is written by @Griffinstreaks. I no dey there o!


My fingers keep on tapping the arm of my seat nervously. I don’t really know why I’m trying to do this but by all indications it seems like it’s the only way.

It’s been months since I consciously allowed myself let go like I am about to do right now.

For more than one reason I’ve kept him hidden and locked up in the recesses of my mind, merely tapping from his loose moral wit on the rare
occasion. But today I have reached a threshold, a point where I know I need tofully harness him. This means I must learn to tame him, to do so I must first learn the most difficult part of it all; how to access him.

I talk about a part of me rarely seen, heard or read about in recent months. Some people call it an alter ego, others say its multiple
personality disorder. I honestly don’t know what to call it.

I was inspired by @banxman & @slimsiren’s post about ‘The Darkness’ (not sure if I got that right).

In order to stop me from going on a harmful rampage, I have decided, obviously to perform this first exercise supervised, I won’t be the
person typing away at the keyboard, but whatever you read here will definitely be my words or rather ‘his’ words.

I am Griffin.


I’ve already carried out the necessary rituals I believe will most likely force him out of the dark recesses which I have forcefully confined him to. It’s a simple process actually I’m listening to his favorite song, (Breath & Stop: Q-Tip) and I just finished reading one of  his best novels (How almost every Top secret was discovered). Google the author, I forget.

So now I wait. I’m sitting on a chair in a dimly lit room, its 8:00AM; my usual cup of coffee is right beside me. I look across the room and I observe my supervisor, he’s trying so hard to hide his amusement. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe in my exercise, simply indulging me due to lack of more amusing activity.

I’m trying to focus. I sit there quietly, the room is eerily quiet except for aslight hum in my ear…

I wait.

Try to empty my thoughts…

I wait a while, I begin to hear a mocking voice from within, as if someone is strutting around in my head, a voice laced with the thickest sarcasm hums a tune to Notorious B.I.G’s ‘f*&king you tonight’. All the while my fingers double their speed as I keep on tapping the armrest. In seconds it all feels  blurry…
I zone out.

Exit right, Enter LEFT...

Cheeky bastard decides to let me out after 9 months and 24 days right, what nonsense!

To imagine he hasn’t gained or learned any improved lessons in self grooming or dressing is putting the matter slightly, who ever told him getting a hair cut was a good idea should be shot. Five times for lying and another 5 times for being blind, shot in the arse just because i think it’ s awesome.

Then there’s this terrible looking cup of coffee he has by the chair. What on earth does this man want to do with this body of mine? Caffeinate me to death?!

I’m definitely not going back to that damp squib of a mind of his, I’m back for good…

Oh My God! What is this I’m wearing?

Whatever his plans were from the beginning I’m sure glad I’m out to correct all of this, excuse me for a few

*leaves the room for a few minutes and returns wearing a cravat and silk pajamas holding a glass of merlot*

He looks disgustingly at the supervisor who is beside himself.

Wonder why this gnat is still here. I’d prefer to be alone thank you.


Supervisor sits there, motionless. His eyes barely blinking, he conveys the perfect illustration of comical shock.

Oh well, since he’s got blown fuses for brains I might as well see how well they function.

Just in case you’re dumb enough not to have realised. Griffin ain’ t here no more. 

*lights cigarette*

Who am I? You might wonder. Well I’m far from your worst night mare, but I’ve been known to assist not a handful of people question
their sanity.

Here are some clues; I use similar words as that mad excuse for a blogger you all keep on cooing and whelping about.

What?! Not the @thetoolsman! No way! Any time Griffin reads that blog it leaves his brain in a soggy state, quite despicable state I tell you.

I’m talking about Larry you idiots! *sigh*

University, I fear, was a mis-education for some of you and no, I cannot help you.

Mingy Maggots.


My entertainment value might be substantially appreciated but staring at me for free is downright perverted. Where does Griffin get these people from?

So while I’ve been gone, the only thing griffin’s been able to do is… *looks around* Nothing! Dude has been as useless as expired rice, Abakaliki rice for that matter.

So I wonder why he locked me away in the first place. The things I saw *sigh*. Things I wished I had been there for. Like the day he
met @novacrossqueen. He just kept staring, whereas If it was me, I’d have made sure she gave birth to my first set of triplets.

*sips Merlot*

Look at what he managed to do to all my runs! Ending them or not keeping in touch with the rest of them, now I’ve been reduced to a bout of chronic monogamy. Or did anything happen to my McFly

*grabs member, feels member*

The gods are surely with him on this one, because if I had seen anything out of place then there would have
been Armageddon up in this binsh.

Yeah, I call my member Mcfly, got a better name for yours?

I remember the day this entire BS started; Griffin had picked up a copy of Uncle Wole’s ‘The man died’…. Let’s just say that by the time he had gone past 6 chapters, the last meaningful thing I could do was hide the book somewhere. The clueless fruit has no idea where I kept it till today.

How a normal human being would decide to read such a book while nursing a chronic hangover leaves me wondering if there’s anything suicidal about Griffin’s nature, no doubt I have my suspicions, considering his many attempts at fashion suicide I won’t be surprised if he manages to kill himself someday. I hope the suicide is awesome though. I have a substitute mind to possess already.

I intend to feature much more prominently in these spheres as from now on, since Griffin himself already asked for my help.

*rubbing palms together gleefully*

 I still have not set ‘P’ with any one of you chicks up on twitter or blogville. I hope griffin has a Certification in damage control though.

*gulps remaining merlot*

*Slum Village’s ‘Selfish’ humming in the background*

I’m sure we’ll run into each other sooner than y’all expect. Till then… My name is Johnny.




I open my eyes and I have a strange feeling about me. I am still sitting in the same position I was a while ago, in
the same room. But my clothes are different.

I smell tobacco and I look at the side table beside me, instead of my usual cup of coffee, I find a glass of Merlot and a pack of B
& H with about 6 cigarette butts in an ash tray.

That isn’t the most amusing thing in the room though, right in front of me is my supervisor, bound hand and foot with ropes behind his back,
gagged with a single sock and a pink post-it note pasted over his fore-head with
the words

‘Get rid of this hapless fruit will you…’

Shit! Johnny was here…

She shivers in the wind like the last leaf on a dying tree. I let her hear my footsteps. She only goes stiff for a moment.Larry: Care for a smoke?
Abana: Sure. I’ll take one. Are you as bored about that crowd as I am?
Larry: I didn’t come here for the party. I came here for you. I’ve watched you for days. You’re everything a man could ever want. It’s not just your face or your eyes or your voice. It’s your ass, your breasts. All the things I could do with them.
Abana: What is it about my body?
Larry: I see a crazy call. You’re tired of waiting. You’re ready to fuck who you have to fuck. But you know you can’t do it alone.
Abana: No. I can’t do it alone.


The wind rises electric. She’s soft and warm and almost weightless. Her perfume is a sweet promise that brings tears to my eyes. I tell her that everything will be all right. That I’ll save her from whatever she is scared of and take her far, far away. I even tell her, I love her…



Here’s how it really happened.


She stands alone on an eerily cold night, scantily clad, one arm akimbo. The other hand holds a cigarette she intermittently, desperately puffs on. She watches me as I a approach, eyeing me like a mother deer watches a stumbling fawn as he takes his first steps…

Larry: evening


 Abana: Hey wassup now?


 Larry: I’m fine. You are looking very beautiful tonight.


 Abana: Na today… Hafana? (How far now) Fine boy…


 Larry: Uhnn? I want to erm…


 Abana: You wan fuck abi? I wee give u nice style… just gimme three thousand!


 Larry: For wetin now? How many years?



You see I was sixteen, a virgin and was in my final year of high school. Having heard different stories about how sweet sex was and how the girls always screamed out of ecstasy and pure joy when a man inserts a penis in them. I wanted to try it at all cost.


 Debo was a pro in this department. Below is a brief description.

Name: Debo Onigbinde

 Age: 56

Sex: Male

 Height: 5ft 2 inches

 Hobbies: Drinking, sex and ‘gisting’

My mentor- Debo Oningbinde

 Actually, despite the fact that he is old enough to be my father, he would never allow anyone call him “uncle” or “bros”. He was down to earth like that… Short man!

I know you are wondering what a 56 year old man is doing in high school. I don’t know myself. That’s what you get when you attend a boarding school in Ogbomosho.

You know the school bros who knew the A-Z of sex and had probably been fucking for ages. That was Debo. He was so experienced that anytime the rest of us smallies, went into the classroom at night to fondle our girlfriend’s breasts he was out there in town, “gbenshing” his life away.

Personally, he was my hero second only to “Nakson a.k.a Dauda the sexy guy” (of the Lolly magazine fame) and the amount of carbon cockprint I was emitting at the time would have made greenhouse green with envy. Not with all the Debo sex stories and breast smooching after dark…

 So we decided on that fateful 23rd of May. I was going to become a man that night. I was going to follow Debo to ‘town’. Have me some good ol’sex! I was kinda scared at the thought of sticking my member into someone.

Will they bleed? Wouldn’t it pain them? What if they die?

Debo had almost shit his pants laughing and when I think about it now, I probably, definitely, most certainly would have shit mine if I was in his shoes.


Abana:  Oya come now no vex. Short time na one thousand.


Larry: No, five hundred last. (Debo had given me heads up)

*Abana tosses her cigarette into a nearby gutter, opens a chewing gum wrapper and throws the gum it in her buccal cavity*. All the while she didn’t take her eyes away from me o!..


Abana: Oya lezzgo.


As she led me to her room, I passed quite a number of rooms and I could hear different pitches of  “Oooohs and Aaaahhs”.

I could have sworn I even heard someone speaking in tongues sef. In my mind I’m like WTFDTPD?! (What The Fuck Did The People Drink)

My client had a room mate who was busy inside and so we had to wait outside for a bit. I reached to squeeze her breasts and she quickly rebuked me. I had to pay an extra 200 quid for that…

And then I saw it, from the corner of my eye. I saw my role model. My beloved Debo ‘nodding’ one light skinned girl like that! His head was buried in between her thighs, his tongue deep in her crotch. She had both her hands on his head and seemed to be the one speaking in a foreign language too. I was so disgusted. In my mind…OMG!

Isn’t that where she pees from?

Why Debo?

I wonder how much he paid her!

 Here’s a pic of the ashawo Debo was giving head. (I stole this from his wallet afterwards) Apparently she took his virginity too.

Speak in tongue lady..


Anyway, room mate finally finishes and walks out chewing gum as loud as a fucking prostitute. Wait a minute… She is a fucking prostitute! :O .

The man walked out too adjusting his trousers, grinning from ear to ear like spongebob squarepants after successfully jellyfishing with his friend Patrick.

So we got in and I began to fumble with my trousers. The damn thing didn’t just wanna come off!


Abana: Off ya trossis nah!

Larry: I’m trying. Oya help me nah…abi I go pay for dat one again?

 Abana: Mscheeuw

Sha sha, after fondling for a few minutes or so I managed to remove the damn pants.

Meanwhile, the stupid ashawo just lay there on the bed like a thanksgiving turkey, legs ajar waiting for me to insert my ‘sim’ card. The idiot didn’t even bother to remove her top sef. Well, no breast for me that day.

 She was kind enough though to help me wear a condom because I swear if she didn’t, I would’ve spent 30 minutes trying to figure out which way to go.

So I started. Went down on her missionary style and so as not to waste her time, she inserted my ‘sim’ in the right hole. In my mind I was thinking…

“What would Nakson do?”

First thrust. Second thrust. Shraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! OOOPSIEDAISY….

I saw the sun, the moon

The mountains and the rivers

I saw heaven when I made sweet love to youuuu


I could have sworn I heard her laughing but she wasn’t. Only chewing gum really loudly. Funny I didn’t notice how loud she chewed all the while.


Abana: You don finish?

Larry:  Nooo! How now?

 Abana: Abeg stand up joh! Smallie

 She pushed me away…

Larry: You used juju for me abi? Now now, I want my change o!

 Abana: If I tear u slap! U go face front.  Ashawo like you.

 Larry:  Ah who are u calling an ashawo? Oya let me press breast.

 Abana: I go beat u oh!!!

 Larry: Please now…. I promise to bring all my friends to your place. 😦

 Abana: Your fada!, carry dem go ya mama house!

 Larry: Please now, I will not do it again.. 😦 😦 😦

She seems to consider for a while and then surprisingly she said the six most amazing words I had ever heard at the time.

 Removing her shiny top to reveal semi- flaccid breasts, she said

 “Oya, come and press ya hand…”

The lady who took my innocence - Patience


 So that’s it. That’s how i lost my virginity. I will never forget that cos yeah well, i kept the receipt!!!

Some of y’all are like ewww, hmmmn, *smh*…etc. Kings College boys, (y-not crew) i see you. Don’t be forming holier than thou here o! Christ the King college Gwagwalada… All the boys only schools out there. I see you too. I just hope you have stopped that very bad habit. AIDS is real and these days condoms will not even help you.

I suggest you just start “selling-a-bait” like me. Celibacy is the way forward.

SP. The first part of this post was modified from  dialogue in the first scene of Sincity. A Robert Rodriguez flick i love so much.


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