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






































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.

Hian! Some babes can be so possessive!


Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, witches and wizards, mummies and daddies, whores and gigolos, spies, aliens, goblins, predators, snitches, Beystans and organisms that prefer to use water to wipe their asses rather than tissue paper, you are welcome to the Larry Sushey Show.


A tale is about to be told. *insert applause* We ain’t cold outchea!

Now, if you do not belong in any of the categories I mentioned above, sorry.

A thousand apologies to all of you that have given up on my blog, I’m a douche and I know it. This is something I have never done before. This is the first post in a series of posts; more like a collection of cool stories (believe it or not, all my cool stories are non-fiction) that should leave you craving summer and utterly concupiscent of a little more than a bear hug. I shall post the others randomly cos I am foolish like that. 2nd one just might drop later today…Might.

I swear.

You see when I was in secondary school and wanted to have a girlfriend at all cost, certain older people advised me against rushing. They said to wait till I was in University and watch the babes swarm around me like hood-rat bitches around a bottle of champagne.

Those older people lied.

We were six that ‘rolled’ together. Larry, Franky, Johnny, Joey, Danny and Moshood. I mean this was the ultimate crew. Six boys whose only aim in school (socially) was to sleep with other people’s girlfriends. We had tried each to have our own, but these bitches be trippin’. So we decided to go rogue and shared one true girlfriend. The love of our lives, we called her baby.


Our Baby. The love of our lives…

Now, baby originally belonged to Moshood but eventually belonged to all of us, cos we were good friends and all that jazz. Naturally, Moshood’s flat became our Mecca. Every day, we spent all of our time in his room. Playing game after game: ISS Pro Evolution Soccer, Mortal Kombat, Street Fighter, NHL 2000, Tekken, NBA Basketball 2000, etc. We were in love with baby and she was in love with us.

When we were in the 2nd year, Moshood met one STUPID girl. Her name was Bisi. This was the girl that made him break our code. Eventually, they started dating and we didn’t really care. It just meant that baby would have one less a regular player.

Hian! Some babes can be so possessive!  

At first, Bisi was a really cool babe. She would laugh at our jokes, cook for us, and never really used to invade our space. After all, before Eve there was Adam. Then she started showing her true colours…

First of all, we noticed that she was always at Moshood’s place. She changed the colour of his curtains to pink then started leaving her clothing lying seemingly randomly in the bathroom and his wardrobe our wardrobe. I mean, this broad was moving in with my nigga. Then, I noticed that she started frowning anytime we came through (which was pretty much every time anyway) and would leave anytime we were around. Later, she stopped leaving and would just cower into a corner on the bed and start sulking…

We didn’t even send her!

Nobody was going to come between us and our baby. This bitch from hell was hell bent on destroying our friendship but we weren’t gonna take it. Even Moshood had changed; he never wanted to hang out with the boys anymore and suddenly started attending lectures.

Imagine! Lectures?!

This was war. So we decided to make their relationship HELL.


This was gonna be Bisi after we finished with her

  1. We replaced the contents of her favourite Nollywood movie cases with ‘educational’ material from Bang Bros, Brazzers, Naughty America, Adam and Eve, Vivid Entertainment, 21 Sextury et al.
  2. We placed pictures of Hulk Hogan, Chuck Norris, Abacha and George Opong Weah on his walls. No way we were gonna allow Moshood’s house look any more like a cake than it already was.
  3. We would pretty much fart and belch anywhere like the good ol’days.
  4. We faked a burglary and changed the locks to the house. We gave him a key and held all the spares. That bitch wasn’t gonna separate us from baby no more.
  5. Someone (not me) mixed her baby oil with groundnut oil.

These are a few amongst the stuff we did to her and she eventually stopped coming to the house. We thought we had won the war, little did we know it was but a battle.

One sunny Friday afternoon, I went to Moshood’s house as usual to practice some special moves on PES before the rest of the gang got there and the door was locked. As I proceeded to open the lock with my key, the door opened and standing before me was a topless Bisi.


This broad had a plan!

I nefa esperrerrit. I mean, I wasn’t ready.


She had me like…

This bitch had the straightest face on and the following convo ensued.

Bisi: “Hey Larry, long time… Come in now.”

Me: “JESUS!”

Bisi: “What’s the matter?” She looked around looking innocent as fuck (even though she was gasconading in her mind).

Me: Whe, Whe, Whe… Whe, Where is Moshood?!

Bisi: “He’s in the bathroom. Come inside and wait for him now”.

I considered it, but the bro code said NO. So i told her I just came to say hi and took my leave, without as much as a backward glance. I heard her chuckle…

The moment I got outside the gate, I activated the Usain Bolt mode! I ran mudafuckas! I ran faster than the fucking roadrunner…

10 minutes later I was back at Moshood’s front door with Franky, Joey, Danny and Johnny. The moment she opened the door, topless again… My niggas whipped out their camera phones and started taking pictures. I mean, we didn’t need any invitations to enter the room as she ran into the kitchen and shut herself in.


Haha! Who’s laughing now beeeech?!

She eventually left the flat crying profusely with Moshood in tow, while the rest of us were playing PES.

We didn’t even send her!

That was the last of that relationship. The war was over and there was only one winner…

Gosh, I’m too mussh.

Larry Sushey.

NB: Turns out poor Bisi just wanted time to have sex/cuddle/do shit with her boyfriend but we were always there. Imagine? Why didn’t she just say? She lacked communication skills.

Like we would’ve minded watching them bang anyway… LOL!


Jennifer was born in 1990. Her parents held a naming ceremony and even danced at her arrival.

If only they knew…


Jennifer was born to the family of Bartimaeus and Theresa Talia of Langtang local government, Plateau state. Bart was a corporal in the military and spent most of his time with prostitutes while her mum was the God fearing local type that survived on subsistence farming.

Jennie, the seventh of eight children was one of a kind. She was born blond.


Jennifer Talia at 4

Yup. Jennifer had full naturally bleached hair. She looked like a Hausa baby Amber Rose. Still, Bart and Theresa loved her with all of their heart(s). Theresa liked to play a lot! Always out there playing in the sand with boys her age and older. By the time she was in primary one, she couldn’t speak a word of English. In short, Jenny was the BOEL. (Baddest Olodo Ever Liveth)

Mathematics = 0.

English = 0.

Social studies = 0.




Food = 100%.

In short, the girl was useless. Keyword = “was”.

Nine years after her birth, she was far from useless. At least, she was useful to a certain Bala Awuren.

By the time she was 10 in primary 2, she already knew what sexual relations entailed. In fact, when she was 6 (in primary 1), she had watched her elder brothers participate in various sexual acts and had seen almost every sex style from the pornographic flicks they frequently watched.


Bala Awuren

So it was no surprise when Bala, the neighborhood tout became her first boyfriend and took her virginity in June, the year of our Lord 2000. Bala was proud and always wanted to show everyone his Jennie Talia. He took her everywhere he went… The beer parlours; the clubs; the drug spots. In fact a couple of times, she had been arrested alongside her boo. Those two were the Tarok* Bonnie and Clyde. She was his ride or die bitch.

Between then and 2006 when she was 16, she had dropped out of primary school at the age of 15 and had become a full time prostitute. I mean, she had blossomed into a full time ashawo*. It wasn’t long before she became very popular in Jos. Her unique blond hair made her easily identifiable and attractive to those who thought she was the nearest they could get to being with a Caucasian woman.

First, it started out as a hobby. Bala had been killed in an okada* accident and she sought succor with his friends. Before long, they passed her round like a half lit blunt.


They passed Jenny Talia around.

She just couldn’t reject sexual offers from unending male solicitors. Every Shadrack, Meshack and Abednego in Langtang had got a taste of Jennifer’s genitals. Her father was poor and didn’t care as long as she brought money home. He saw her as a ‘hustler’ who was very industrious and used what she had to get what she wanted.

Along the line, Jen had started using drugs. Codeine, marijuana, gum, rohyphnol, ketamine. Then she graduated to the more expensive brands: crack cocaine, Indian hemp, opium et al. This lifestyle made her feel invincible. Then, there still was competition. There were hot girls springing up in town and Jennie would have none of that. So she fell back on black magic.


Jennifer’s first attempt to “bring more boys to the yard” – 2009

Jennifer’s mother, ‘Resa Talia repeatedly advised her against this lifestyle and took her case to every prophet north of the Niger, all to no avail. Jennifer was a done deal. Her soul was the devil’s to keep.

By the time she clocked 21, Ratchet Jennie Talia had become a nationwide phenomenon. Business had boomed due to the juju* and she had become a full time pimp. With harems scattered across the country, she had become a cornucopia of ratchetness. Jennie Talia had become so popular that she had become a thing of reference. Her pictures showed up in every soft sell/porn magazine and she had become the poster girl for the Nigerian adult movie industry. Parents/guardians referred to Jen when they wanted to advise their daughters on what not to be.

Yesterday, the 28th of January 2014, Jennifer was in Lagos to oversee the launch of her latest business conquest. It was a new spot in the Oke-Aro area of Agege. She came downstairs from the hotel room she had shared with her client to get a pack of cigarettes from the kiosk across the road.


Jenny’s new spot. Colabo Hotel, Oke-Aro.

It all happened in a flash, a commercial motor cycle operator who had been on top speed sped into the road just as she set foot to cross it. The rider, late to see her, swerved swiftly but lost control of the bike and swept Jennifer 12 feet into the air. She landed 30 feet away head first into the concrete curb. Grey matter, blood and her yellow hair all mixed to form a dull orange colour on the black coal tar.

The great Jenny Talia, like Bala Awuren had died in an okada* accident.

She never got arrested.

She never had an abortion.

She never even had a fucking STD.

“All die na die” I guess…

The bike and rider were later burnt by an irate Oke-Aro crowd and still burn as i speak. You don’t believe me?

Go and check.





Tarok* = Tribe from Northern Langtang, town in Plateau state, central Nigeria

okada* = commercial motorcycle

ashawo* = prostitute


All pictures sourced from Google.


                                                       GOD DEALT WITH IT

For the first time in many years (maybe even forever), I didn’t herald in 2013 screaming at a church service. I partied into it. In fact, I practically gate crashed that party as I didn’t know who the celebrant was. I played tag along with a friend of a friend…

I do not have a few words to describe this year so this will be a post of many words. So, you make your deductions.

I have been a lot more spiritual even though I can count the number of times on both hands, I stepped foot in church premises this year. I prayed a lot more and became a lot more responsible for my actions too in 2013.

Considering the events of late last year, I DECIDED in my heart that 2013 was going to be awesome.

My plans in no particular order:

  1. Visit 10 countries
  2. Strike 5 items off my bucket list
  3. Get a girlfriend
  4. Get a new car
  5. Learn at least 3 new professional skills
  6. Career development
  7. Get closer to God ( I have this on my list every year)
  8. Improve on this blog
  9. Tinini tanana biko biko mariana somtin somtin 

In March, I was put on a project which required me to work from The Hague office for 3 months. So between March and May, there hardly was a weekend/holiday I didn’t spend discovering Europe. The Netherlands is a really small country with not a lot to see so it was easy seeing all they had to offer. Asides Amsterdam’s museums, red light district, beautiful canals and this wonderful flower garden called Keukenhof (not in Amsterdam), not a lot of things caught my fancy. I shouldn’t also forget Rotterdam and its highly cosmopolitan nature (Maybe because of the number of higher institutions there), the night life was live!

I also saw the Mercedes Benz manufacturing/assembly plant in Dusseldorf Germany, spent a night at a friend of a friend’s place in Antwerp, Belgium and almost died in Paris.

It was in France, that I managed to strike 2 items off my bucket list. I went to the top of the Eiffel tower and was at The Louvré where I saw the Mona Lisa. (Seeing the Mona Lisa was on my bucket list because of “famzing”). That painting looked as ordinary as a brown paper bag. To me, there were far more interesting things to see at the museum. The Hieroglyphics of the ancient Egyptians, Napoleon’s palace, and some really weird paintings by Artists I cannot remember. There were a gazillion things to see in Paris and I saw almost everything historical (Disneyland is not historical please); Champs Élysées, The Arc de Triomphe, the Opera, there was some ancient church and some Obelisk as well.

It was in May, now back in Lagos that I bought my new car having successfully sold off the old one. Inspired by the Dusseldorf trip, I got me a Benz. I even nicknamed her YOLO and she has proven to me that you really can’t live but once. That is one decision I regretted taking this year and trust me, that doesn’t happen all the time.

June was that month. An old senior colleague had been contacted for a consultancy position. It was supposed to be a short 5 day job involving international travel. Pay was generous and he recommended me for the job. This time I was billed to travel to a few west African/Central African countries. I ended up working from 3 countries in 5 days… Benin Republic; Gabon and Congo Democratic Republic. The whole experience was exhausting but the experience was worth every bit of the time because it exposed me to new terrains. In my line of work, diversity of experience is very important and I was moving upwards at a very steep slope.

And then there was darkness.

On the morning of Saturday June 15th, I woke up to a dead phone. Turned it on to see a message from a number I didn’t recognize. It was short and straight to the point.

                                “Your father passed away yesterday at about X:30 pm.”

I screamed, threw the phone on the floor and ran off. My friend who was at mine at the time and flat mate ran after me and caught me. I managed to tell them what had happened and asked to be left alone. I couldn’t cry as memories flashed through my mind like a cinematic reel.

So I contacted mother and my siblings and they were distraught. In fact, distraught is putting it mildly because I cannot think of a better word right now. Hearing the pain in their voices destroyed me but I couldn’t cry. I had to be strong. (Family is in Abuja) Daddy had died in a hospital in Lagos so I, being in Lagos and being first son had to make arrangements. Till date, my friends still say I am a very strong guy because of the way I handled it and didn’t show emotion.

I could hardly sleep at night. Now I have only said this to one person prior now, there was a night I woke up in the middle of the night and cried profusely. All the pain and hurt I had shouldered through different degrees of family meetings, memories, and thoughts of what could have been had crescendoed into a cascade of tears which I willingly let flow that night. I got up ‘happy’ the next morning.

July was all about making burial arrangements and work was taking its toll. The Congo project side of things had heated up too so I practically had to juggle 3 balls at the same time. Saturdays and Sundays weren’t spared either but God was with me all the way.

We buried daddy on the 8th of August, 2 days to his 66th birthday. During the past two months, I had met a brother and sister I never knew I had and I love them. I returned to work and somehow managed to complete the Congo side-gig. Oh did I mention that amid all the pressure I had become a full blown smoker too?

September was uneventful apart from the fact that I quit the cancer sticks on the 25th of that month. I just wasn’t feeling it no more.

As per relationships, I could be described as a ‘fool’ in this department.  Could have started at least 3 different relationships with awesome women (well some more awesome than the others) but I didn’t because I was in love with an idea. An idea which i am slowly, but reluctantly letting go of.

If I am not 100% sure I wanna be with someone I will not do it. There are no midpoints in this matter, just extremes.

I am sorry.

I understand that relationships are really strong friendships and there was only one person I wanted to build that with this year. I am one of those idiots who stay loyal to a fault. I mean, you cannot question the loyalty of a dude who’s both an Arsenal fan and a loyal MTN subscriber at the same time (Only ever had one MTN phone line since 2002 so imagine the number of heartbreaks I have endured).

Cry for me Argentina!

So being the special kind of eejit I am, It is understandable that I be loyal to my idea.

I now realize that life isn’t just about black and white else you miss a lot in the grays in between. In fact, I realize now that life really is lived in the grays.

Anyway, We still outchea. Que sera sera. 😉

I have never liked Octobers. Every year, this month presents a challenge to me. This year it was the Mercedes. The car was involved in an ‘accident’. (Note that there was no bodily harm to this vehicle) I wasn’t driving but was riding shotgun and thankfully no one got hurt. The car just lived up to it’s name; YOLO. Long story short, I don’t wanna drive a Mercedes anymore. At least, not for now.

Still in October, I started a project that I intend to complete within the next three years. God has been good to me and I really should’ve started this a long time ago but I have been procrastinating. Not anymore tiger!

November was another travel month. 5 days of doing sport and fun in Dubai with selected  office colleagues was a free holiday I’d gladly take every year if given the opportunity. My birthday was on the 13th of the month and I had a party for the first time in many years. I’m glad people had fun.

  • So this year I visited 8 countries (I planned for 10).
  • Struck 2 items off my bucket list (I planned for 5).
  • Got a new car (lost the damn car).
  • Learnt more than 3 professional skills!
  • My career growth was outstandingly, positively steep.
  • Still single.
  • And I’m sure you’re not surprised this blog suffered. I was too busy.


  • Sister got a job immediately after NYSC
  • Elder sister having a fantastic career as well.
  • Brother (he’s in the military) has been protected despite a lot of insecurity problems in Nigeria.
  • Mother? LOL! Despite everything, that one looks like a 35 year old… What more can I say?
  • I made AWESOME friends this year. I can’t even thank God enough for these people.

I am just so sad that daddy had to leave us this year.

Anyway, looking backward is not an option. Sideways, maybe the occasional side glance but nothing more; looking forward is mainstream, I mean don’t we all have to do that at some point?

So, I can only look upwards.

Thank you SIR.

Let me go compile my list for next year.

Larry Sushey.

This post is not rated 18. In fact it contains no reference to sex, violence, nudity or strong language whatsoever but I had to figure a way to get you perverted lot to read. Now that you’re here, you might as well just read the whole bit.




I am here to talk about pets. In particular, chickens and cats.

Okay, cocks and pussies.

Before I proceed, let us get something clear. I hate pussies. Like, I literally cannot stand those feline bastards. Put me within 100 meters of one and I begin to feel nauseated. This is why I feel gobsmacked whenever I hear that humans eat pussy.

Why the hell would you wanna do that to yourself? I cannot even begin to imagine how that shit would taste. Some dude was describing to me how they kill pussies. They take the cat, put it in a sack, and then use sticks to beat the pussy up. In fact, they beat the pussy till all it’s nine lives are gone.

Then they cook and eat it. Yuck.

As for cock, I love cock.

Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten cock before. When I was younger I loved going to grandma’s house because she would tell Uncle Dayo to always get the biggest of her cocks, kill it and she would cook it for us. Chicken is sweet.

I am not responsible for your thoughts on the matter.

Now to today’s post…


We start with the penis.

Why the FUCK would you call a penis, cock?

Do they look alike?

I just took a look at my preek now and I swear to god my own doesn’t look like a chicken. Maybe yours does and you wonder why you don’t ever get laid? There is a reason why the penis is the ultimate symbol of manhood and that reason is PREEK. These days even women have the beard so that is main stream as far as I am concerned.


I don’t see any resemblance

Be the judge but as far as I am concerned, my own looks like a torpedo. A torpedo with balls.

Do they smell alike?

How do I know? The only cock I have ever smelt in my life was already doused with curry and other seasoning and I am in the office now so it is impossible to do that bit of comparison. One thing I am sure of though is that I don’t smell chicken when I take my bath in the mornings…

Do they taste alike?


See I have eaten cock many times but I cannot compare as I have never tasted penis. Again, I am in the office but even if I were somewhere private I doubt that I will ever put PREEK in my mouth so over to you ladies…

Do they feel alike?

*Grabs crotch*


When I am not Hagrid. Why should I have so much hair around my penis? I have grabbed cock many times in grandmas backyard and well I just grabbed my penis too so yeah I can compare. If you’re one of those men who don’t keep the grass cut, I suggest you change.

Jesus is coming soon… Unless of course you dey barb Mohawk for that Zanga.

I have done some research and a school of thought argues that the penis is called a cock because it always nods like the avian. So I say, why not call it the lizard? At least that nods as well… Others say it’s because the cock arises in the morning.

Awusubilahi! Awusubilahi!!

Then the vagina. (I don’t know why I am smiling like a fool right now)

I hate that I have to compare the vagina to a pussy. However, what is good for the gander is good for the goose so here goes…

Do they look alike?

The right question should be is the vagina ugly? To be honest, even though I don’t like pussies some cats are really cute. It’s those black pussies that piss me the hell off. Those ones that serve as harbingers for evil spirits… Those ones that don’t even have red tongues.



No resemblance whatsoever.

Over to you ladies, I really cannot tell.

Do they smell alike?

Na wa o…

Q: A train left Port Harcourt at 8 am for Lagos a distance of 984 km travelling at a speed of 90km/per hour. 30 minutes later, another train departed Lagos for Port Harcourt travelling at a speed of 120km per hour.

A)     When did they meet each other?

B)      Where did they meet each other?

My response: How do you want me to know the answer? WAS I THERE??

I have heard rumours of fish though. Do cats smell like fish? I don’t think so but hey, what do I know?

Do they taste alike?

Let us get one thing clear, I, Larry Sushey will NEVER eat pussy. Not in this life, nor in the after life.

Having said that, I cannot once again compare… So I will tell you what I am cock sure of.  Vagina does taste good. At least I still remember from the Nkem story two blog posts ago. She tasted like oranges… ^_^ In fact, vagina tastes very very good.

My guess is that cats cannot be that sweet.

Do they feel alike?

I am just here looking for a female crotch to grab. I could approach a female colleague and ask them to oblige me for research purposes but I doubt Nigerians in their stuck up ways would understand.

Any way, I can postulate.

Pussy cats are hairy and vagina isn’t necessarily so. I cannot tell if cats are soft and all that but I guess there are some hulk hogan vaginas out there that are harder than Olumo rock too.

What can I say?

Research from Yahoo answers says, as far back as 1853 pussy referred to the vulva and not the entire vagina. Originally the word was probably “puss” another word for “pouch”, referring to the shape. Back then it was a nicer and less vulgar way of saying vulva. In 1852 the term was also used as a term of endearment. So it wasn’t specifically vulgar at that time. A husband could lovingly call his wife “pussy”.

The real question is why do some people think the word is vulgar or degrading when it was a nicer way of saying it to begin with?

Wiki answers says, In the 19th century the term “pussy” came to refer to anything soft and furry (“pussy willow” and “pussycat”, for example.) Since women’s vulvas are typically soft and furry the term spread (unlike many thighs…) rapidly. Later someone noticed the hairy patch resembled a beaver’s tail (and thus the term “beaver” came about to describe the same thing.



Larry Sushey.

All pictures thanks to google…

Intro tune: *They say Hola’ Hovito; That’s what they sayin’ when I roll up with my people…*

Ehen, don’t lie. Kim Kadarshian is finer than your girlfriend.


After you Mr. West

I lied in the title. This post is not R21, it’s rated 18. That’s a 3 year difference so don’t be carrying nose like it’s the same thing. It’s been a while yeah? I know… I have been uber busy. I’ve been so busy I barely even have time for real girls to do my runs. Now I have 3 imaginary babes on my case. Two Molato women and an Aztec bitch. I’m still forming for the Aztec though, she likes to chew tobacco. I don’t like that shit.

Anyway, I have missed y’all. I used to think I didn’t care much about this blog but #Iswerrugad I do! Like seriously, I fell sick during this long break from thinking about when next I’d have time to put my fingers to keyboard. I will try not to abandon y’all again. I also have a feeling that some of you will not like this post so I’ll just go ahead and make a few things clear.


This post was written by me. Any references/subs to persons living or dead are not a coincidence, I mean am. I take full responsibility for whatever the outcome of this post is. Parent axing, transformer hugging, Maggi cube chewing, soak away drinking and salad tossing can be indulged in, I don’t give a shit. This post wasn’t written under the influence of any legal substances, If you think you have too much sense, i suggest you stop reading now. If you do choose to read this post, (as I guess you would) you have a right to remain silent as anything you say/type in the comment section can and will be used against you in future posts.

*sips shawarma*


HOld up!!! I wan yarn..

I really want to smack the person who coined the phrase “ashawo no be work” upside the head! What is it then? Na hobby?

 Last weekend, I was at BeerBarn a very nice hangout spot on Aminu Kano Crescent, Wuse2 Abuja and after slurping some good liquor I ran out of cash. I decided to take a short walk to the nearest ATM to get  cash for some more shayo. On the way back, there were about 4 hos standing on the curb. As I walked past them, they began to beckon thus: “sweeeeeet boy”; “hans boy”; “come now, let me be your val tonight.” In my mind I was like, “who the fuck are these niggaz calling sweet? Do I look like ice cream?” Like seriously, is that even how to pick up men? What kinds of man ‘fork’ this species of woman anyway? I have nothing against hos. I mean to each his/her own but please what is worth doing is worth doing well.So without further ado, I present to you Larry Susheys hand book for the modern ashaw(h)os. I will print this and go back to distribute it to those prostitutes. Zeus help me.


1.       Be tech savvy: You know this is 2012 right? You know this is the fucking 21st century right? Businesses have e-volved yo! You have to be able to eliminate competition. Sit down there when there are already robot prostitutes in New Zealand. The least you can do is open a social media site account. You are there on the road screaming “sweeeeet guy”, your mates are on Badoo® running things. There’s Facebook® and there’s Twitter® and there’s even 2go ®. All those babes that have usernames such as sexy ass chick, pweety berry, cutie_horny, Ogochukwu_mwah, pweety baby-boo, sexy2love, coco pie, sugar_berry, cherrypieeeeee, pink Barbie, babybop4luv,  etc… Yup, hos! Niggaz go check on your girlfriends, if they have at any point in time or currently go by any of such monikers, you know nah… She’s a slut. 🙂



Do you know what the pic above is What? Calculator?! Mobile phone?! “walking-talking?” *sigh*

It’s a mobile POS machine. Sit down there and be dulling. Nigeria is soon going cashless and clients are gonna wanna pay with their debit/credit cards. All they need to do is to swipe their cards and your money is electronically wired to your “business account.” Think ahead of the game, this is 2012. You can even issue receipts this way and balance your account at the end of a f(w)orking period. The difference between Kimberley Kardashian and Kimoratu Kardashina is packaging. Repackage today.


Spot the difference? (I just had to put Kim up again)

2.  Be Adventurous: By adventurous I don’t mean you should go and carry hiking materials and go into the bush or go mountain climbing o! You will just die for nada… Have you ever tried fisting? Don’t just lie down and spread your legs like a thanksgiving turkey ho! A nigga’s gonna get bored. Twist and turn like an hybrid of Shakira and Beyonce. Some people from this part of the world like to overdo things so let me warn you now, by twisting and turning don’t go and be wiggling your body like a worm dipped in salt! Niggaz will just think you want to turn into a snake and will just behead you straight. Some people will now say they used you for rituals. Do some tea-bagging, give complimentary blowjobs, do the swastika, summersault, levitate if you fucking have to! Just be extra’ho’rdinary. Be bad, be very bad like the biblical whore of Babylon. 


YIMU! Treat me like a king first…

3       Watch Spartacus.

4.       Don’t cuddle: Like seriously, is your grandfather a camel?! When you finish doing the do, don’t be famzing yo! You have no business asking for a nigga phone number and shit… If he asks you, you have scored, but DO NOT attempt to even think of attempting to think of asking for his digits. In your line of business, no matter how good the “d” is, you cannot afford to fall in love. It’s too risky yo! Love leads to pregnancy and that’ll only make u an expired ho like Mariah Carey. Did you see that w’ho’man after she birthed? This is a “Ho no!”  If the money is good or you feel you have seen maga and you want to open office on a nigga head, caress and treat the head like a king first okay? In short, refer to number 2 above.



5.   Dress well: I keep saying it, don’t ever be caught dead wearing red/green/purple jeans. Only a few hos can pull this off. If you’re not in the ivy league of pr’ho’fessionals don’t try it. You’ll only come off looking skanky. When you get home, go into your wardrobe and set fire on your rainbow coloured jeans. All of you that wear dirty bum shorts on the road and in the clubs, God is watching you. 



That’s all you get for free guys. You aren’t paying me for consultancy. If you want some extra advice you can DM me on twitter or something. Before I go though, one more thing… Watch Spartacus again. All three seasons, cram it; act it; live it. If not, what she said—–>


You’re a stupid ho! Stupid, stupid!

Ho bizness is serious bizness, don’t joke with me. By the way, the word ‘ho’ appears 37 times in this post.

My name is Larry Sushey, you know the rest.

Next Page »