The DJ at Barrels has really good hair

“Don’t  you call this a regular jam/ I’m gonna rock this land/ I’m gonna take this itty bitty world by storm/ and I’m just gettin warm/” – LL Cool J

Huh, I bet the 80’s babies are nodding their heads as soon as they’ve read that. If not, let me refresh your memory. The lyrics are from the smash comeback single, Mama said knock you out. That joint was fierce, it was a monster. As soon as L spits, “Don’t call it a comeback/ I been here for years”, it’s a wrap for all the suckers. I remembered this song because of what two of my friends told me as we were getting sipped the other day. They told me that I had fallen off, that I wasn’t writing enough, that I had become a lovesick wuss who couldn’t get them to laugh at my stories but rather at me. So this post is my mama said knock you out post but don’t call it a comeback, I been here for months!

This morning something interesting happened, I was busy sending some people urgent emails, no actually I was sending messages to these hot broads on facebook when my stomach began to rumble. I badly needed to take a dump but I kept holding it in because I wanted to finish hitting on these girls before the mack wore off. Trust me as you get older the mack does not stay with you 24/ 7 as it did when you were younger. Anyway I held on to it till I could no longer and headed to the gents. Every loo I went to in the building was occupied and I needed to go like yesterday! Finally found one that was vacant and did the do. This brought to mind one of the most embarrassing moments in my life.

I was 12 I believe and my stomach was giving me serious warnings of a downpour from my rear end. It was during math remedial class that was taught by this maniacal alcoholic mathematical genius, Mrs.L. I tell you Mrs.L was such a drunk married to a soldier who would beat her and in turn she would beat us. It was a vicious cycle. The bitch even used to duck class to have a bottle then get back and woe unto you if you were a noisemaker; you would catch a whipping like never before.  On this particular day she was in one of her “Captain Superbitch” moods and when I asked her if I could get permission to leave school early, because I would rather die than use the toilets at that school, she shut me down. I kept holding it in but I felt like my sphincter muscles (no wait, those are for when you pee), whatever they call the anal muscles were about to give!

I went back to Mrs.L with a look of despair in my face and I let one fart rip. She immediately gave me permission and off I headed with my big ass backpack headed for the gates to jump on the first mathree when it happened. The feeling was terrible, I felt powerless, I had absolutely no control over what was happening to me. It was an odd feeling, at first I felt a sense of freedom, a sick sense of relief kind of like when you bust that first nut (first ejaculation during sex). This was followed by shame kind of like that guy that they busted the other day humping his neighbor goat then the village elders forced him to marry it and pay dowry. Okay, maybe not that much shame but shame indeed.

I now had to be strategic; my home was a stone’s throw away from the school so a matatu would take no more than five minutes to get there so that meant I would not be suspected of the awful smell till I got off and that would be too late. The other thing was the cover up. As it were we wore shorts to school and thanks to the briefs the tight briefs my mother used to buy me (my ding a ling used to feel awful) the spillage didn’t trickle down. It felt just like hot pad filled with dengu (green grams for the foreigners). I therefore tied my pullover across my waist with it neatly wrapping my big ass like some foul smelling early Christmas gift.

I boarded the mathree and got these looks and stares from the passengers who were on to me so I did what every kid would do in that situation, I cried. The tears rolling down my chubby cheeks got the softer side of these adults to the point that the tout did not charge me any fare. I got home with the same puppy dog look and after my mom reading me the riot act, I went and got cleaned.

The funny thing about this is that I lied to my mom, something I rarely do to this day for the mere fact that she somehow always uncovers the truth just looking at you. I told her that I must have got the runs because of something they served at school while the truth is I bought this bootleg samosa from some dirty kid in the slum because they were tasty than a motha! I enjoyed them while they lasted in my belly. I must now quote The Simpsons:

Homer: I wonder how stories of degradation and humiliation make you popular.

Moe: I  don’t know they just do. 



2 Responses to “The DJ at Barrels has really good hair”

  1. dreddlocked1 Says:

    just a quick note…a day late but still imp.

    You were right in calling the muscle in your @$$ a sphincter. Sphincters are any of the ‘circular’ muscles that allow or impede ‘traffic’…

  2. bellasbiz Says:

    @cool…a science lesson….cheers…

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