30 Days, 30 Essays – Responsibility

If the man were not to be responsible bowel movements wouldn’t be necessary

–  Charles Williams Aborishade

For there in is the greatest lesson of life – no matter the consequence of our actions, we should dispose of it properly, else our community will stink.

You Have The Rights to Surrender Your Balls!

I will go straight to the point; I am not going to treat you with some kind of kid-glove.

Some recent realities have necessitated my early retreat from a long furlough. The battle of the sexes has suffered some irreparable damage—no thanks to some pacifists trying to end a war that began long before they were conceived.

When Eve gave that apple to Adam what do you think was happening? Do you think Adam’s sense of responsibility went on a break? No! It was simply blackmail!

So, here goes the story, Pa Adam did some wrong [perceived on real, depending on her heat status], she sought the company of the sapient got deceived, then blackmailed Pa Adam to eating the apple as a term for reconciliation. And don’t go preachy on me. What does a man do following a lady up and down a garden? Doesn’t your bible say, “…and she gave it to her husband who was with her”?

Well you know the end of the story. The ground was cursed because of man, and we were made to till [I mean till, in the other senses] and sweat and some damned deodorants companies rip us off.

Now, if you are a man reading this, I assume you are proving true to every hair on your moustache… because if you happen to fall into the category of men that buy sanitary pads for some whore, in whatever name you brand her…  you have the rights to surrender your balls, fried and fed to Ogborigbo. [That’s Urhobo name for Iguana]

Come to think of it, what kind of sexual perversity would make a lady fantasize about a guy buying her pads or bra or lingerie? It is like your mother knowing your condom size as a guy.

Let’s face it, some things are and should be no-go-area between the sexes.

What’s The Hitch?

Where Romance Stops

There are a lot of things one may do with a lady albeit not in loosening her hair. Heaven knows the Derica of dandruff some ladies’ heads shed per month.

You risk inhaling them as you loosen her hair. And, you will like to count me out of the game if this has anything to do with physical attraction.

Many times, i wonder how ladies lived with themselves. I mean you get to have that hitch sometimes, how do you cope?

 

The MP

There is so much I want to know about a lady like her Psychotic history and HIV status but not her monthly rounds. My ex- was a lady to the core. It took me months and a breakup to know MP is anything other than malaria Parasite. It was that rare visitor my grandma scared momma with back in the days!

But you as a guy have no business in knowing this business. By the time you share her monthly cramp circle, and it is noticeable in your work, my friend you need to seek help! Like the nearest transgender facility in your neighbourhood.

But, before then you may need to burn your mustache with a candle as a sign of being ashamed of who you are.

Trust

Do you see what I mean?

Contrary to logical expectation I do trust ladies with many things like a safe place to keep my socks, shoelaces and cuff-links; of course, even, my expired ATM cards. 😉 I am that awesome!

However, no matter the level of relations never trust your balls to a lady with long fingernails; same for you ladies, at least not to any man with an irregular dentition.

******

These are no go areas and for as long as day and night rule the earth we should abide by some modicum of privacy between the sexes.

Now, let the battle continue, and if you are not man, enough…tender your balls now and forever remain a Sisi.

 

The Routine Man [Friday Fictioneers]

The Alarm went off with a thud movement on a bed, in a dark room. An outstretched arm tapped a bedside switch, the room was illuminated.

The figure sat up in bed, cupped his head in his hands. He entered the bathroom. He stepped out into the room. He wore his clothes perfunctorily: briefs, singlet, pants, shirt and a tie.

6:30am he went to his front yard to empty his trashcan, a neighbour shouted greetings from across the yard.

“Good morning, Mr Grey!”

“Morning, Maloney”

Maloney is an amateur gymnast who has for 3 year set his regimen by the time Grey wakes up and when he goes to empty his trashcan.

Grey went back inside, sniffed at a hot cup of coffee. Sipped gingerly and looked on at the grandfather’s clock that chimed away above the bookshelf adjacent to the dinner table.

 

This is a contribution to the Household of FridayFictioneers. It’s a joy to be among you folks again. All comments are appreciated. Thanks to rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com for hosting us as usual.