With Alan Kay
There is always a way out, you don’t need to give yourself cardiac arrest over a matter as minor as an ant’s.”
“Kay, you know what? The last time I came here in company with Bala, I bought four bottles and Bala, three. Midway into the merriment, this hawkish babe came and started packing the bottles in piecemeal. While leaving, I paid N4000 covering four bottles, while our friend paid N3000 for three. Now, see the embarrassment; she is saying I didn’t pay for one bottle.”
“You see, Charles, if you can adopt my style, you wouldn’t have any problem as per settling your bill. Now, once you know you want to shell yourself with upwards of three, four bottles, just ask that an empty carton be given you, which must be put near you or under your table. That’s the destination of all your ‘fallen heroes’ from the table. Then, let’s see who will dispute your bill.”
“Ah, thank you my dearly beloved, experienced drunk. You can see now that I’m going to pay for an un-executed project. She has dispossessed me by making me pay for an unconsumed bottle of beer.”
“You will do well to heed my advice and you won’t have to technically dispossess yourself. By the way, are you pushing your case as I heard that many eminent Nigerians are due for ambassadorial appointments?”
“You are a clown; how can I get appointed when I am not a politician, a card-carrying party member or a friend of any top politician? You know this appointment thing is all about getting connected somewhere chummy.”
“Charlse you’ve disappointed me…hic…, let them clean up this wet table…yes, you have disappointed me because, even dead people got political appointments under a past administration in this country. But you, a living being with political sagacity, cannot even secure a part-time membership of any board.”
“Well, remember the dead appointees were well connected before they went up to the hereafter. But Kay, were they contacted by the government before they got the appointments?
“Guess, you are drunk. It is as good as telling you to die first to be able to get political appointment.
“In that case, we are both drunk…yes, let this babe who just swindled me return and serve us with fresh bottles, criminally cold and of mortuary standard. My appetite for beer is sharp today.”
“And to think of it, the lady is not bad o. The truth is that she is a Figure-8 slimmie but has forward-looking facilities in her ‘Upper Volta’, aside from her ‘Shooting Stars’ in the back sector.”
“Oh, you are long lost in reckless statements. Are you trying to campaign for the babe? For me to bid for her contract so that if I consume five bottles, she can multiply them by two?”
“Never mind, there is a price to pay for every good thing. You can start the bidding this way: Call in the drummer over there to dig in for you and then ask the lady -her name is Shola-to come and dance for you.”
“Hmmm, when you associate with a womaniser, you will live well to join in the bandwagon; otherwise, you are demented. Okay, let the native drummer come, and let Baby Shola dance to my pleasure.”
“Good, just reserve some funds for her big bottle of beer, cat fish and necessary arrangement for the ‘other room’, once you leave here.”
“There you come again, Kay. Let them give us steaming hot assorted meat, a plate each, because this beer is criminally cold. That would just be our variant of Ikogosi Ekiti warm spring. This time, it will be where hot pepper-soup meets with cold beer. (Laughs, alone).”
“Please, be serious for once; your babe is dancing. Move up to her and forge a ball dance; she’s going to swirl you up and by the time you are through, she must have fallen flat for you, which is called ‘the jet-speed toasting.”
“Oh, I should have brought in my notebook to learn under your feet in the Course: Womanising 201. Besides, we have not investigated the babe very well, to know if she has a suitor lurking around. I don’t want to end up being reported in the metro section of newspapers with the caption: ‘Jealous lover stabs rival at pub.”
“That’s no news. The real story would have been, ‘Jealous lover stabs rival to death…’”
“Please Kay, I don’t need your chalice poison of advice, to go and dance with a beer parlour girl and get killed by her marijuana-propelled local suitor.”
“That reminds me of the case of the manager of a government-owned company in one of the southwest states many years ago. He was dating a local babe, known in academic circles as ‘bush meat.”
“Oh, you can still recall that terminology, brilliant drunk…”
“But this babe was already betrothed to a local carpenter who toiled day and night to feed his damsel, but our manager was spoiling the babe with wads of naira notes and other things…”
“I understand, continue in your story…”
“So the carpenter accosted our manager friend and said, ‘Sir, kindly leave this babe for me as I have performed dowry for her.”
“Then what happened?”
“Our friend replied the weather-beaten, poor carpenter and said, “Balderdash. I will still come to see Folake; in fact, I am coming to her house this evening and I am coming with a MOPOL.”
“That’s serious o.”
“So, he came to Folake’s house with a riot policeman, did what he wanted to do, came out and started gasping for breath…all of a sudden, he somersaulted…”
“Why? Was it out of exhilaration over the juicy encounter?”
“After somersaulting, discerning elders rushed to arrest him, to prevent any further somersault as he must not do it thrice and remain alive. But his Mopol said, ‘Leave my Oga alone, he is doing Agahowa (Julius Agahowa is a former Nigerian footballer who would somersault many times after each goal).”
“The story is still intriguing, Kay.”
“The MOPOL threatened to shoot anyone who prevents his boss from ‘doing Agahowa’. So the unfortunate man somersaulted three times and landed with a thud, and died.”
“What! What happened?”
“He had contracted deadly ‘magun’, a lethal Yoruba juju that kills any man that mounts a woman to which it is directed!”
“So, you now want me to date Shola from this beer parlour? The project has failed.”