Previously, On My Life

Luck Won't Save Them Tonight

2012-01-06T18:44:00.000Z

And you're not going to take what they've got to give
And you're not gonna let them take your will to live
Because they've taken enough and you've given them all you can give
...And Luck won't save them tonight.
Deadman's Gun - Ashtar Command

Three days ago I wrote the most bitter post of my life.

It was full of rage, frustration and more than a little defeatist. After proofreading it for typos, I hit the 'publish' button. Two things happened. One, I immediately felt regret for giving in to the depression of the moment and writing what I had.

Two; the app crashed and deleted the entire post.

I took a hint and stepped away from the iPad and blogger. Three days later, I'm glad i did.

*

Like everyone else (sane) in this country, I was livid when the announcement of the removal of fuel subsidy hit on the 1st. With the Boko Haram menace still looming over the nation, this couldn't have come at a worse time. But then i saw something that irritated me a lot more; people were joking about this.

I haven't put up a tweet since the year started. Instead I watched a parade of inane proportions fill twitter and bbm statuses as people joked, castigated each other and made cartoons over what to me, was a new era in the government brutalising the people.

It was at that time i felt that this Country was indeed beyond saving, and that we were all contributors to our own doom.

But, I guess when it's time, it's time. In less than a week what started as burning resentment has grown to a global movement with a fully detailed Wikipedia page no less.

So.

This post is a thank you to Nigerians all around the world who have, for the first time in a long time, put aside differences in beliefs, religion and tribe to come together. To show those that treat this country as their personal property that anger has a voice and retribution has a face.

And to anyone on the fence; this fight is for you and your children's future. If there's ever been a time when strength in numbers is needed, that time is now.

And to anyone on the other side of the fence, it's fine. You don't have to join; just get the hell out of the way.

We can win this one, people. We just have to fight for it.

#OccupyNigeria.

Of Random Laziness, Careers & The Apocalypse

2011-11-15T12:42:00.001Z

We are the lazy generation
no more standing out in line
so good at wasting our time
The F Ups - Lazy Generation

I'm on Leave.

Second week just ended with two more weeks to go. I've played so much PS3 that when things go wrong around the house I start looking for a 'reset' button. Everything from Call of Duty to Uncharted have made me the happiest man alive.

I've been considering a career change lately. Looking for something that doesn't involve Law, Writing or Advertising. Something that involves leather jackets, video game breaks and zero interaction with human beings. Salary doesn't have to be astronomical; I'm a reasonable man.

N30m per annum is quite manageable. Send me mail or something.

CaramelD came down as promised for her Grandma's epic burial (I have it on good authority that she fed about three villages and one township) so it was quite nice for her to stop by and spend some bonding time with her godson. Even if half the time he kept laughing at the really yellow lady who talked a bit funny.

Nothing but love, baby.

I've been thinking of starting an amateur photography blog. Strictly cellphone pictures for the first few months, no restrictions on type of phone. I've always loved pictures and I think there's always something fantastic to see, even in a hard place like 9ja. Random idea.

In an inspired moment, I have decided to grow a beard. Adding to the whole 'daddy' vibe, I guess the next logical step is to start wearing native tops, traditional sandals and referring to everyone as 'My Dear'.

I did have other 'image transformation plans' but they stretched into next year...and we all know the world ends next year.

You didn't KNOW? where have you been? Hollywood made a blockbuster about it and everything.

When you think about it, the world ending next year is actually quite convenient. None of all that long-term plan pressure. You don't have to worry about adding weight, promotions or getting married.

Oh and if you're out there and you haven't, you know, eaten of the forbidden fruit, well. I hear that particular tree don't grow in heaven ifyouknowarrimean.

Chomp chomp.

Fine, Freaksho has left the building.

Evolve or die, people.

The Game Changer

2011-11-10T21:25:00.000Z

Call me Dad.

Homer.

Dad.

Homer.

Why, you little - !

Homer Simpson & Bart Simpson

Talk about the game changing.

It’s been what? Almost 3 months? Man, talk about SWITCH!

You know how people always knowingly nod and smile at you when they ask you 'so how's married life?' because they expect you to say something newcouply and sweet just so they can shake their heads at you and say, 'wait until the baby comes'.

You know those people right? Jackasses, i agree.

But. They have a point...the party doesn’t start until the baby comes. And then, oh sweet irony, the party never stops.

First off, let me tell you the question i hated the most:

'How does it feel to be a dad?'

Ugh. Why? Don’t ask that question. Why are you asking that question? This is not a Disney movie! I have no answer for you!

Becoming a dad isn’t like becoming a husband. For the latter you’re mostly the same; barring your sparkly wedding band and the fact that you’re now the ~~property~~ partner of someone else for life.

Becoming a dad is all about confusion, baby.

The confusion is hilarious. This is me who can modify software on 3 devices at the same time, create and execute complex ideas without writing them down and churn out copy in my sleep.

A baby starts crying next to me and i turn to jelly.

See, it's funny cos i had read, you know? I’d read blogs, books, consulted apps and queried a few doctors. Problem is, all that’s theory. Reality is when someone says, 'he's crying. Please bring him from the basket for me.'

I’d freeze in panic and look at the soft, delicate dude and ask…'how the hell do i pick him up?'

Parenting is like dancing while seriously drunk. Clumsy, but fun.

Well, don’t count the sleep you miss (and you will miss it - i mean that both ways), the way your macho apartment gets transformed from Cool Monotone to Baby Palace, your immediate and unconditional demotion to 2nd class citizen and the hazardous scenario that are diaper changes.

You're probably sitting there thinking this all sounds like a lot, abi? Don’t be fooled. It all happens in a flurry.

But the payoff...ah.

Let me tell you.

About sixteen years ago, i noticed a stupid thing. Late evenings, when my brother and i would be talking about school that day, i would doze off sometimes for a few seconds...and jerk awake knowing that i had just been smiling like an idiot. I dunno why i did it, but it happened a few times and i noticed and forgot about it.

Two months ago i was rocking The Little Guy to sleep and as he dozed, i saw him smile.

And you see, that’s the whole point. He isn’t a project, or a task, or a test you have to survive and then get scored on. Your kid is a person all on his own. The little changes drive that home. Like the first time i walked across the room and i saw his eyes tracking me, letting me know he could finally see. Or how he’d fart in his sleep and startle himself with the sound and start crying. Or how, halfway through a breastfeeding session he would heave a sigh of relief when the milk hits the spot.

You care, you really do. You want to protect him, teach him stuff, keep making him laugh. And then one day you're kneeling down watching him sleep in ridiculous teddy bear pyjamas and it hits you.

You love him. Not because you want him to love you back, but because he has touched a part of you that you haven’t felt since you were a kid.

Go ahead and go Awww. I won’t judge you.

So now, I’m finally beginning to understand some things. Like how people end up with 300 pictures of their babies on their phones. Or sleep on a hospital couch for 5 nights without grumbling when your baby is ill. Or how all the left shoulders on your T-Shirts are a funny puke colour (I’ve dubbed it the Badge Of Honour) or true multitasking (I’ve perfected the art of rocking the baby and holding the Playstation control pad at the same time). Sure, the seasoned vets out there might smirk at me and mutter phrases like ‘You’re just starting’. But the truth remains.

I’m doing it.

And Dad’s all that counts. Heh heh.

Evolve or Die, People.

There Will Be Blog

2011-10-30T17:50:00.001Z

Yup. I'm still alive!

A post will be up very soon and the lights will be switched back on in this joint in a few days.

I can assure you I have an earful (eyeful?) for you once I get on these pages...plus, I do believe there's the small business of an unfinished story.

Patience. Freaksho always delivers. Even if it takes a year.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to rock a baby to sleep.

Evolve or Die, fam.

Try, Mister: 28.8.11

2011-08-31T19:04:00.000Z

(You people...are insatiable.)
*
The Bloody Show
When I saw the red tissue, everything kicked into auto. You read something long enough and when time comes to act, you're halfway through doing what you should be doing before you realize you're doing it.

Hospital bag. Change t-shirt. Grab ATM card. BlackBerry charger.

Get the fuck out the door now.

The drive back to the hospital was a blur. I remember trying to keep below the speed limit. I think we stopped to load up on cash first.

The story I had heard that morning beat in my head like a drum and soured my mouth.
*
If You Can, Scan
The methodical calmness in Hospitals...Jesus.
Naturally, the doctor on duty wasn't going to commit to anything till he knew why exactly we were bleeding. So we talked. He jotted. He used big medical words and Sirius characteristically forced him to break them down. I sat there, a picture of calm and composure while explosions went off in my brain.
Long story short, three things had to happen. One, we had to do a scan to be sure there wasn't a rupture. Two, we were going to be admitted. Three, in the eventuality that anything was amiss, well.

I tried not to think about that.

I had to wait three hours before driving to get the scan done. Then another forty minutes to get the scan done. During that time I made the video we'd always said we'd make, told jokes and tried not to think.

The scan showed everything was okay.

As night took hold on Lagos, I drove back to the hospital. I was wearing the same dull tee shirt, jeans and palms from the morning. I was unwashed, unrested and slightly jumpy.

I was also brewing a good case of Typhoid. But naturally, I wouldn't get to know that little nugget of information till later.
*
The doctor looked over the result, nodded satisfactorily and told us we'd be monitored overnight. If nothing happened, fine. By morning, we'd reach a decision.
As I settled on the small chair for the night and she waddled into bed, we laughed with relief about how the day had gone and both tried to sleep. I felt curiously feverish and attributed it to stress. We both tried to sleep.

Nothing would prepare us for how the next day would go.
*
This Pain Is Alive
The head doctor came in the morning, took a good look at the Blogger named Sirius, pressed down on her belly and broke her water with a pair of forceps ten minutes later.

We had talked about being Induced many months ago. Basically, in very crude terms, being induced is like pressing fast forward on your labour. It speeds everything up, ripens the cervix and dilated you at a faster clip than regular labour would. It's used when the body is already in gear to give birth...but still kind of sluggish.

The tradeoff is the Pain. It crashes a slow buildup

Back when we were dating, my then wife-to-be had told me how important it was for whoever she married to stand by her when the time came. She had been serious about it and I had been idealistic enough to say I could do it. My imagination had built a million scenarios and worst case scenarios and I didn't see how seeing my wife through labour would be a problem.

Not once did I imagine a scenario with me battling a mounting fever.

The first hour wasn't bad. We were still talking, watching the Oxytocin drip into her system. My kid sister arrived, and I was grateful for the company as we backed her up. The Nurses were...phenomenal.

The second hour, the pain ratcheted up. Third, it spiked.

By the forth hour, the room had gone surreal and the edge was beginning to bleed off reality.
*
You Must Focus
Sirius wasn't talking anymore. Hot short breaths through her mouth punctuated the contractions that racked her system.

I remember taking off my wedding band the second time she squeezed my hand because she almost crushed my fingers.

By the end of the day, my left hand would be numb.

When she started throwing up, I moved to stand. The nurse held out a hand and smiled calmly to me.

'it's okay. Don't worry. Just leave me and her.'

I sat back down.

Once I dozed off. Other times I found myself head to head with her panting in time with hers. She had told me not to talk, or say 'sorry'.

'just keep telling me to breathe'.

It was the last fully coherent sentence she would make in a while.
*
I'm trying not to drag this story.

My wife has never had a high threshold for pain. Sure, she's a tough bird, but pain? Naa. We'd made a deal before she went in - she didn't want to embarrass herself, so when she started screaming, I had to whisper and tell her to stop.

Hm.

She never screamed. She never shouted. The induction went on for seven mind bending hours. In the last hour she broke down and wept, shaking her head from side to side and begging for the pain to stop.

But she never screamed.
*
This Is It
We moved to the delivery room at the peak of the 7th hour. I knew this was where it would all end, one way or the other. As her legs went up and my head came down down, I tried to remember how to pray.

I won't go into details. Delivery is...hard to explain. If you've never seen it before, it can be a little jarring. But it's certainly not mind-wracking if you steele yourself.

I did. She did. But then, the baby was too big.

I can't explain a vacuum machine to you well. It's a device that goes in, is hand-pumped on one end while the other end is used to forcefully pull the baby out.

Fear my friends...is seeing your baby's head emerging from your wife, being viscously twisted and yanked to gain clearance.

It was the only time in the hour I was there, that I closed my eyes and turned away.

At 6pm on the dot, my baby was pulled out, full, big, and covered in grime. Before I could voice the words screaming in my head, my wife's weak, confused voice spoke up.

'why...why isn't he breathing?'
*
it took oxygen. A suction pipe and thirty seconds of eternity before I heard that cry. I had died a million deaths by then and gone numb.

As the nurses set on cleaning him and my wife's head dropped back to the pillow, I finally, finally felt myself smile.

Fuck it. That's my son.
*
we just got home yesterday and the news has gone round the world already. CaramelD is probably still crying at the thought of being a Godmother after all the shopping Sirius made her do(...see her post on being a Baby shopping expert). Sirius is booty hopping in front of the mirror and I'm finally allowed to fall sick and get better. Soon. I hope.

There was a note CaramelD's mom sent in the baby swag cargo we ordered a few weeks back. Remember what I mentioned about that holiday?

The note said 'with love...from the house where it all started.'

Lol.

Oh, and The Boy? Well. I'll let you tell it.

Evolve and Live, people.

"All that I have, all that I've learned, everything I feel, all this and more... I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you, all the days of your life. You will make my strength your own. See my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father and the father, the son. This is all all I can send you, Kal-El."

- Marlon Brando, Superman I

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Try, Mister.

2011-08-31T10:46:00.000Z

girl i'm in love with you baby
and i want you to know
that i'm hooked on your body
and i'm trying to be yours

The Dream - Rockin' That Sh*t

i'm burning up with a fever as i type this, but i still have a wild grin on my face anyway. if you see typos, allow. this man is high as a facking kite.

my blog has been dead for months. projects half abandoned, stories unceremoniously left hanging and cobwebs all over the place. yeah, i'm lazy, but i swear, there's been a reason.

transformation usually doesn't shock when it happens over time. usually. this one socked me in the gut. first off, it's trying to cope with the little things over time. sleep patterns. looks. appetite changes. each one's absurdity topping the last till i simply admitted that this wasn't change; this was one hundred per cent replacement.

oh, this isn't about me. i'm trying to tell you about how Sirius became Fiona from Shrek.

*
i could tell you about the waddling, the hurling, the snoring or the scary as a sonovabitch musclepull that woke you up in the night with screams bouncing off the walls. no need. lets skip a bit. i have a lot of ground to cover. if you still haven't figured out where this is headed, you probably haven't had your vitamins this morning.

*
Show Some Class
i hate Pre Natal classes.
i hate it more than i hated Marriage Counselling - and i hated those something fierce. Pre Natal was annoying on so many grounds. first it took place in a hospital. bad. second, pregnant women always look so morose and temperamental. yeah we know you didnt do this to yourselves but COME ON! you enjoyed it too!

third. the waiting. interminable. it's like the world hit pause.
fourth and final reason?
those videos.
those goddamned, morale draining hypnotic horror videos.
by my fifth visit i was ready to scream when pregnancy for dummies came on. i just wanted to curl into a ball and sob. Pre Natal, like every other experience thats actually good for you, was not a high point in my life.
*
A Google Generation
many years ago, even though she denies it, i taught Sirius the beauty of googling reviews for gadgets before purchase. never read manufacturer reviews, go to forums, paysites and trawl through comments to determine the fidelity of products. hell, once, when we were particularly optimistic, we even googled up some car reviews.

flash forward a few years and i'm seeing googles for breast pumps, collapsible baby baths and moses baskets.
it's all very funny really, once you snap out of the shock. women have a whole community online where they share the most...startling things. i learnt more than i had ever wanted to and added new words to my vocabulary. trimester. cervix. fondal.
google became a scary blank slate of possibilities.
*
Tales, Tails and Pales
you may not know this. but there are videos of women giving birth on youtube.
between you and i, i blame hollywood. we've grown to believe in lies. water breaks. she has to be rushed to the hospital already in labour, huffing and puffing, she sweats a little, some comical screaming and boom! theres the baby, all cleaned up by God himself and wailing that cute baby cry.
thats what i grew up seeing.
so what. in the name. of sweet baby Jesus. was wrong. with the women on youtube?
screaming. mass hysteria. sweat pouring in buckets. geysers of mysterious bodily fluids exploding once the baby was yanked out.
and dear God, the babies. they looked like aliens. why was there so much BLOOD?
being made to watch those videos, i cursed the movies for their lies. their shameless, hopeless, lies.
*
Coincidences Don't Exist
i had bookmarks, i had subscriptions. i had books that gave helpful info like they were talking to misguided ignorant malefolk. in essence, me.
then, like any self respecting father of this generation, i had apps. iPad apps, Mobile apps, apps that counted down, showed me what to expect and never stopped reminding me that we were in the third trimester, with an expected showing of September 3rd, 2011. (smart cookies reading this can calculate roughly back to the date of ah, inception. chances are you'd come up with a certain vacation...but more on that later)
on saturday the 27th (a few days ago now) she asked that i take her to what we figured would be the last Pre Natal class. now here's the important part. originally, we had registered at this one hospital. pretty far from the house, at the other end of the state. now while they were good and all, i was really bothered about having to drive long distances in the AM (babies and their bad habit of coming at night). Lagos is still Lagos, and i wanted to minimize risk.
so, we registered at a second hospital closer home to act as a back up. she had been doing classes at both on alternating days and the backup hospital seemed very cautious...so she wanted to clarify from our first choice. so, saturday morning, right after environmental, we drove across the state to go ask the nice doctors some questions.
*
in the lobby she met a couple she knew from...somewhere. i was busy reading Punisher Max comics on my iPad to block out the sickly sweet voices of Pregnancy For Dummies. when she saud hi to the lady and mumbled something to me, i didn't really pay attention. but i did notice, in a forgetful kind of way, that her friend's husband had tried to get my attention. i had nodded politely and gone back to my comic book.
life. always funny.
*
as we prepared to see the doctor after a wait, i saw the couple emerging were the couple we had met downstairs. the husband looked at me, seized me by the arm and steered me away.
'sir, i dont know you. but i've seen your wife at ****** hospital when i took my wife there.'
it took me a minute to realize he was talking about our backup hospital. the one close to my house.
his eyes burned with something i couldn't recognize immediately.
'i'm begging you. don't take your wife back to that hospital again. please.'
i shook my head in confusion and started to speak when he interrupted.
'my wife went into labour two weeks ago. those people killed our baby.'
*
Blood & Loss
i dont want to talk about their loss too much.
it shook me to the core, standing there hearing him speak. his wife went into labour, the doctor was inexperienced, he could only get the baby half out and had to call another doctor for advice.
from the labour room.
for 45 minutes.
9 months down the drain. all that effort. all that discomfort.
when my wife and i got home a few hours later and i slumped on the bed, all i could think of was how i couldnt even understand how such a thing would affect a couple.
and my wife walked out of the bathroom holding a wad of tissue with blood on it.
and life, as i knew it, changed for ever.
*
im sorry.
i thought i would be able to tell this all in one. but this fever has me burning up bad. i have to take something for it... hopefully i'll be back to finish this up.
hang in there.
to be concluded

WET & WILD

2011-07-15T18:14:00.003Z

I feel it in my fingers...I feel it in my toes
Wet Wet Wet - Love Is All Around Me

Hey guys! Was that rain last Sunday EPIC or what?

Oh, I'm talking to my Lagos peoples here. You crazy wet bunch you.

I mean, twelve hours of rain! That was biblical. On a Sunday? Come on. You just know there was some smiting going down right there.

Me, I was in my house, feet up, watching the disaster unfold via pictures on twitter. Social networking is actually quite awesome, let me tell you. Give a man half the chance and he'll tweet while he drowns. It'd be like;

Car not moving. Water everywhere. Wizkid CD just floated outside the window. :( must climb out and swim to pavement. #dontdull.

However, I would like to take a moment to sympathize with all the people in Lekki who suffered flooded houses and discomfort. I can only imagine how difficult it must've been for you.

That being said...

...did you guys just DIE laughing over those Lekki pictures like I did or WHAT???

How do you handle that though? One minute you're asleep in your bed, the next minute you and your bed are floating through the toll gate, screaming at the people on the roof of Get Arena for help.

I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. It wouldn't hurt to sleep in an inflatable raft ON the bed, y'know? Or maybe, or use something as an anchor in your house and chain it to your leg. Or elbow. There is the small risk of drowning then, but it beats the embarrassment of morosely drifting down the highway in boxers and singlet.

A friend of mine said he was in his house watching the water rise and when he saw, uh, it wasn't stopping, he decided to make a run for it and escape the compound in his car. But then the water got the car and he couldn't go anywhere.

He told me this over the phone. I haven't laughed so hard in months. I laughed so hard tears came out of my eyes and I doubled over making mewling noises. I mean, yeah, he deleted me off his blackberry list and all, but am I the only one that sees how humorous that whole scene is?

Okay. I'm going to go now and do something constructive. The forecast shows at least another seven days of rain.

To anyone that gets stuck in it this time, I want to say just one thing.

Be considerate.

TAKE PICTURES!!!

evolve or die, people!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

One Of A Hundred

2011-06-30T09:06:00.002Z

Just this life
I need no other

Dido - Us 2 Little Gods

I don't know if one year makes you an authority on the issue, but I'm going to talk about it anyway.

I know a lot of people tell you great stories about newlyweds. Thats nice. I dont know about them, but today means i've been married for exactly one year. So if you've got time and you wanna know, pull up a chair.

Let me tell you what Marriage is all about.

Marriage is learning to concede. No, put your hand down and listen to me. Marriage is learning to live to fight another day. Logic goes out the window, Welcome to the Emotion Ocean. You WILL be captain of this boat.

Marriage is fighting. And i'm not talking about those weak ass squabbles you used to get into when you were dating. If you haven't stood toe-to-toe, face-to-face in a stare-down, or had a heated argument in the most unlikely place (church) over the unlikeliest things (shoe arrangements)...Marry. You will.

Marriage is taking instructions. I don't know what to tell you man, it's painful. You spend your teenage years waiting to be free from your folks always telling you what to do and then... you marry someone who tells you what to do. Take out the trash. Call your mom. Don't dance in the shower.
Face it. Your drill sergeant has boobs.

Marriage is the execution of Me. See that word there, 'Me'? Dead. Gone. Shot twice at the back of the head in some seedy back alley. What you have now is We - which supersedes everything you'd want to do. There's no more gung-ho shopping or acting on impulse here. Your treasured privacy also vanishes. Its like your universe just shrunk and got bigger at the same time.

Okay.

Marriage is about weakness. Moments of uncertainty or emotional pain...induced by life, work, whatever you want to call it. Times when the absolute hopelessness of a situation threatens to overwhelm you.

And all you have.

Is this one person.

Who really, between you and I, has no reason to.

But still loves you anyway, fierce enough to light up that darkness and help you to your feet.

Marriage is sharing some incredible, unscripted moments that make you laugh and keep replaying in your head...moments that imagination can't create, anger can't erase and the memory of which simply get better with time.

So, Sirius.

Marrying you is still the smartest (and coolest) thing I ever did...and a geek like me couldn't have wished for a better wingman.

Happy Anniversary,baby. Here's to the first of a hundred years together. :)

Oh.

And happy birthday too.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Feeling So Fly Like It's June 6

2011-06-06T20:00:00.000Z

As you get older, it seems like all the things you used to take for granted matter more.

My birthday this year was as cool as a monday at the office could get. There was booze. They were blurry camera shots. There was loud music. There was sinful ice cream and ridiculously sweet cake.

And it was all held together by one crazy collection of office colleagues...and the most beautiful wife in the world.

For days like this, it's more than enough.

Happy Birthday, Freaksho.

God, you're old.

Decrypted (Part Nine)

2011-06-05T06:36:00.002Z

Yeah my life a bitch
But you know nothin' bout her
Been to hell and back
I can show you vouchers

Lil Wayne, Eminem - No Love

When I came to, I wasn't surprised to see I wasn't in the ruined safehouse anymore.

I also wasn't surprised to see all my injuries had reopened and I was bleeding again.

And I really wasn't surprised to find myself handcuffed to a wall.

What did surprise me though, was the barrel of the gun pointed two inches from my head.

Or rather, the person holding it.

'Cammie?'

'Hello, mister.' CaramelD's face was a mask of calm. Few blinks. Set jaw. Her eyes bored a hole in my head. It was an expression I had seen many times before.

The expression captors wore before they executed prisoners they had gotten fond of.

'how's Inpoco?' I asked.

'She'll live. A few broken bones. But she's a tough kid.'

I nodded. 'She's good with a firearm too.'

'Yeah. I taught her that'

Silence again. She sat in the bare wooden chair watching me. Her eyes were hard and cold like steel.

'So. What's going on, Cammie?'

'I have no idea. I have some friends who just told me some very interesting things about you.'

'Okay.'

'Anything you want to tell me, Mister?'

'I can tell you I'm not the enemy here.'

'really? My friend Genie would disagree.'

'I didn't kill him. You know that.'

'I know you don't know your name.'

I went silent.

'I know you have a ridiculous amount of skills for an average hit man in this town. Who trained you?'

'I'm not sure - '

A machine somewhere in the room let out a short, sharp beep. I looked around the room but couldn't see anything. CaramelD spoke.

'We took the liberty of hooking you up to a digital polygraph device while you were out. That way you and I can have two discussions at the same time.'

I looked down at my hands and saw the near transparent wires running from my body into the darkness of the room.

'you have to listen to me, Cammie.'

'What was your job? Infiltrate the resistance?'

'I'd never heard of your resistance till I spoke to you.'

The machine beeped again.

CaramelD smiled.

I shook my head.'I am not lying. Four weeks ago I foiled an attempt on my life for the first time. The hitman could only tell me the name of his contractor. Less than a week later I was targeted at a diner. I got the same name.'

'freaksho.'

'yes'

'you ever get a description from any of them?'

'Tall, six feet, maybe six one. Medium weight. Face detail varies. Shaven, bearded, I'm not sure. There's the possibility he has green eyes or wears glasses.'

CaramelD stared at me.

'Green eyes.'

'Yes.'

'Green like The Hulk green?'

'Yes.'

'And glasses'

'Or glasses.'

She gave another smile.

'You know, this probably isn't your most creative moment.'

I shrugged and indicated to the room.

'So why isn't the polygraph beeping?'

'Maybe you know how to beat it.'

'Right. So now I'm James Bond? Come on.'

We both went quiet.

'Inpoco said you told them your name was Joe. What is that? Code?'

'What?'

'Does it mean something? Like, if you say it backwards?'

'No. I don't know. It's what came to my head.'

'Is it an acronym for something?'

'I..I'm not sure.'

'How old are you?'

'I don't know.'

'Why do the Brotherhood want to kill you?'

'I don't know.'

She sat up in her chair, her eyes suddenly burning with fire. I saw her slowly and deliberately bring her pistol forward.

'what's your real name?' She asked, evenly.

'I don't know.'

I could feel my stomach begin to churn.

'What's your real name?'

'I said -'

CaramelD's breathing was calm.

'What's your real name?'

'Ive answered that. Now either get that gun out of my face or -'

CaramelD stood up so fast i saw the chair skid away. The barrel of her pistol rested on her forehead.

'Or this.'

The click of the safety catch snapped loudly in the room.

'i'm sorry. I liked you. But you're a risk we can't afford to take.'

I felt my heart thump in my chest and nausea rack my body.

Her voice softened for a moment.

'Any last words?'

I had nothing to say.i had nothing to live for. Death would be sweet release. It was time to stop fighting it.

I started to shake my head when I suddenly heard myself speak.

I felt the gun press harder against my forehead for a split second, then stop.

'What?' CaramelD said. 'What did you just say?'

A door opened abruptly and light flooded the room. A stern looking woman in a white coat and glasses rushed in flanked by a dark complexioned man in a suit.

'Cammie! Stop!' the woman said. 'It's him. We're getting positive on the brain activity.'

The man crouched in front of me and held up my face. The world was beginning to blur with nausea.

'He...said it. I heard him say it.' CarmelD sounded stunned, her voice small and far away.

'He's lost a lot of blood!' the dark skinned man yelled over his shoulder. 'Someone get these cuffs off!'

I could feel the world fading to black as form and figure bled out of the room, bringing in the oily darkness and numbed my senses and drowned my mind.

The last thing the man in the suit said to me followed me all the way down to the depths of unconsciousness.

'Hang in there'

*
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
The enemy of my friend is my enemy.
The enemy...
...Is me.
*
I opened my eyes slowly as I came to. There were more people in a different room. Three men, two women. The first man was the guy from before. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Patches of blood stained his shirt. He was talking low with another guy. He wore a plain black t-shirt and blue jeans. Big fellow, full beard. The third man was working a computer system, I couldn't see his face. The woman in the white lab coat was next to him.

CaramelD sat in the corner looking straight at me, an unreadable expression on her face.

'He's awake.' She said.

All activity in the room ceased as everyone turned to look at me. The man at the computer terminal was looking at me with one hand frozen over his keys.

I pushed myself off the rough pile of bedding I was on and sat up. I could feel new bandages all over my body and the wires were gone. My mouth tasted like antibiotics and my heart beat a funny pattern in my chest. I swung my legs slowly over the cot and sat for a minute to orient myself.

No one offered to come help me as i tried to stand. It took a full minute.

Swaying a little on my feet, I I took a deep breath and looked at all of them. They were still watching me with a restrained, wary look. I didn't know what to say so I kept my mouth shut.

The woman in the white overcoat stirred a little bit and walked towards me.

‘Do you think you can write?’ she asked quietly.

I blinked. ‘What?’

She handed me a note pad and a pen. ‘Please. Write something for me. Anything.’

I looked at her for a few seconds before accepting the pen and pad. After a pause I wrote the first line that came to my head and handed it back. She took the pad and pen from me, read the line and quietly walked back to her group.

Confused, i spoke up.

‘Look, i don’t know what you guys thin– ‘

‘You’re him.’ CaramelD interrupted.

I froze. ‘What?’

‘You’re Freaksho. You're the same person we...the resistance have been trying to take down all these years.’

I felt my heart skip a beat and begin to slow down.

The man from earlier with the bloody shirt spoke up. ‘We weren’t even sure you were a real person. The rumors...conflicting stories. Like a rumor spread to keep people at bay.No one knew for sure if you were real or not.’

I stood there looking at all of them, my mind struggling to take it all in when it suddenly occurred to me.

There was no nausea. I wasn’t having any nausea attacks.

The lady in the labcoat spoke. ‘We know you're very confused. I’m SHE.’ She put a hand on the blood stained man. ‘This is Cereberus. The big guy is Fish and the guy at the monitor is K9. I believe youve already met CaramelD.’

I looked at all of them in a dazed haze.

'I'm Freaksho?'

She put up a placating hand.

‘Please. We understand that this might all be a bit much for you right now, but it's very important that you understand what has happened here. At least, understand it the way we do.'

She turned to the guy at the computer console and nodded at him. He nodded back and began working a program of some sort.

'Just before you met Muse that night she had sent us two things. One was a written note and the other was a heavily encrypted message on a thumb drive. She wouldn't tell us what the message was, only that it would help us understand. Inpoco had been working on decoding it since that night. We just got lucky an hour before you woke up.'

'it's ready.' the computer guy said.

SHE nodded. 'play it.'

There was a soft beeping sound, then a deep, clear well spoken male voice filled the air. He spoke with slow deliberation and perfect diction; I thought I could detect a northern accent in his voice.

'First, there was Nigeria as we know it today. Decadent, violent, oppressive.

Then, a group of bloggers changed the country through writing and sparked a revolution. The government was overthrown and the bloggers put in place. Everything worked for a while.

Then, like everything else, the bloggers allowed themselves to get spoiled. Contaminated. They forgot the very ideals they had fought against and acted worse than those they replaced.

Smarter and more tech savvy than the old regime, they created checks and balances to make sure a revolution like theirs would never happen to them. They Cracked down on the populace and enforced a near police state.

Nevertheless, rebellion will always find a way. Splinter groups from the bloggers went underground to form a resistance through new means, recruiting new minds to the cause. Influential figures which were pivotal to each section of the country spread the word and captured minds.

The brotherhood responded fiercly. People were murdered, abducted and imprisoned. This however had the opposite effect on the resistance, spurring them on and making them bolder. The heads of the resistance underground were well hidden and their locations protected with a ferocious intensity. To crack this, the Brotherhood needed a new tactic.

They would need to plant people in these communities that would operate undetected. Sleeper agents so deep even they wouldn’t know.

This is when the VG solution was introduced.

In real life it was called the Venatic Gene Solution. But in the end everyone called it the VideoGame Solution. This was when the chemical trials started.

A simple idea. Find suitable pro-resistance supporters and break their minds. What made this particularly creative was the method used. Because these were supporters, their minds would reject the idea of them harming their friends. So, mental coercion was achieved using a chemical state that presented them with tasks to be achieved in their heads that yielded rewards. This was complete with bonuses and save spots.

They presented it to their minds like a videogame. And because their minds knew it wasn’t true, it readily accepted it.

Despite the genius of these idea, failure continued. The goal of VGS was to overlay your objectives and what you were seeing in your head over your everyday life without you noticing. The subjects were never supposed to know they had been turned. They were administered their VGS treatments nightly when they thought they were sleeping in their homes and observed during the day. It didn’t work. There were more and more cases of internal haemorrhaging and seizures.

It took three years and a lot of bodies to figure out the treatment was affecting the heart, not the brain. VGS kicked the heart into overdrive in the most lethal way possible. It was a magnification of the rush you feel when excited, in lethal form. It affected everyone.

Except one. And it was the most coincidental occurrence ever.

Test subject six. His cardio records were normal. He exhibited no abnormalities whatsoever. VGS ran through his system like blood and no one could understand why.

We found out later. He was arrhythmic.

His mind accepted VGS in doses we had never imagined. We just kept pumping him for months to see his limits. We didn’t even field test him or begin the physical rehab till much later.

Subject Six has killed more resistance members for the Brotherhood in the past four years than we could have dreamed. His methods are clinical and short. His mind does not discriminate between targets; i have seen him dispatch a crying 3 year old with the same calmness he used to behead a Resistance henchman. He did his job and he did it well. And the best part was, he never knew about it.

Until The Muse.

High ranking Brotherhood member. Rising star in the PR and Propaganda Department and main squeeze for the man upstairs. I remember when she visited the facility for the first time for a 'research' tour. We had no idea. How could we?

The irony was amusing. We were so busy making double agents we never noticed one of our own.

Systematically, she ruined everything. She stole compounds.formulas. A ton of confidential research. She opened a communication channel with subject six somehow outside his VGS state. No one knows how long she did this. Or why. There were instances of members of the Brotherhood being sympathetic to the resistance cause, but never like this.

No one noticed anything was wrong with subject six for a while. But we noticed when he went rogue. Missing for weeks. Had disabled his tracker. Then the bodies started showing up.'

There was a pause from the recording. The soft beeping went on for a while.

He’s hunting himself. He doesn't know this, obviously. The trail will eventually lead him back to us and we must be prepared. I cannot stress enough how dangerous he is, even without his dose of x4-16. He must be stopped before he can rendezvous with either Muse or the resistance. And above all, it is imperative that he never - ever, find out about The Light.

That is all.'

There was silence in the room.

I sat down slowly. My eyes looked but I couldn't see.

'who was - ' I began.

The guy at the monitor - K9 - shook his head.

'We don't know. We've run analyzers and identifiers. No luck.'

SHE reached into her pocket and brought out a rumpled sheet of paper as she walked towards me.

'I told you she also sent us a note.she said it was from her contact on the inside. Here.'

I collected the rumpled paper and read it. It was a short note. 'need to meet you. I'm forgetting things. What is happening to me? Need to meet you soon. EoD.'

I looked back up at her. 'What's EoD?'

'thats the same thing we asked her. She said it was their secret call sign.'

SHE handed me the piece of paper I had written on earlier.

I saw what I had written on it and my blood ran cold.

Evolve or Die.

The handwriting was the same.Both pieces of paper slipped from my hands and see-sawed their way to the floor.

'OhhhhKay. I am all fucked up right now.' I breathed, my hands trembling.

I was Freaksho? How was that even possible? Mass murderer, killer of women and children - the papers couldn't even show pictures of what The Freak had done in Jos.

Me?

How had I sent people after myself?

And who was I before I became Freaksho?

I looked up. Everyone in the room was still staring at me.

'The Brotherhood have a HQ? A base of some kind?'

'The Rock' CaramelD said. 'Heavily fortified, heavily guarded dont-even-fuck-with-me kind of place. It's in A Town. We'd have to fly you there.'

I nodded. I wouldn't have expected anything less.

'So Myne Whitman would be there? Him and whoever did this to me?'

'Joe.' SHE tried to sound calm. 'You're doing exactly what they expect you to do.'

'This has to end. I need to end this.'

I remembered how the Muse had looked at me that night. The only person who had truly known me and I hadn't even remembered her.

I shook my head.

'No. I have to end this.'

To be concluded.

PS: I know. Lol. It took ten years.
But this is it though. Tale's almost told. Hang in there.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Life and Other Annoying Distractions

2011-05-28T18:32:00.001Z

I've been bad.
I know this. Hell, i even apologise for it. But MAN if April wasn't the most unbelievably packed month of my life. I was put through the wringer and squeezed dry. I'm talking so dry I haven't been able to write anything that isn't work.
Life. One helluva bitch, i tell you.
So again, I'm sorry the blog has been in stasis for awhile.
But it's okay. I'm back.
Group hug.

The Pause and PSA

2011-04-15T13:25:00.000Z

Put your faith in your trust, as I guide us through the fog

Eminem - Mosh

Dudes and Dudettes.

First, allow me to apologise - there will be a 2 week pause for Tomorrow People while some things get upgraded on the blog. I promise it won't be boring, but if i don't finish the Nemesis story, i will get lynched in the streets.

No one wants that.

So who won from last week's post? Well, rustle up a warm congratulations for....

...Farida! The magic 8-ball has spoken your name, and you win! Please email me your name and address at thefreaksho@gmail.com and we'll have your gift delivered to you as soon as possible.

In a serious aside, the literal Tomorrow will be decided by you and I...but only if we vote. So don't piss and moan, get up, get out there and do something.

Here's wishing all Nigerians good luck.

heh.heh.

evolve or die, people.

Tomorrow People - Don't Go Left, Go Write

2011-04-06T23:22:00.001Z

There's no such thing as writer's block. That was invented by people in California who couldn't write.
Terry Pratchett

Writers are perceived to be weird lot. To many of us, they don’t brush their hair; they bite their nails and argue with themselves in public.

Suzanne Ushie’s fiction and non-fiction have appeared in African Writer, Sentinel Nigeria, Saraba, Next, Swale Life and Open Wide Magazine. She’s also a Professional Copywriter who loves reading, frenetic tweeting and dissecting movies.

Today, we’ve caught up with her and pelted her with questions.

F: You know, you don’t look like a writer.

S: How do writers look? I ask this because I’m not aware that we ought to look a certain way. I doubt if there’s anything like an artistic pout otherwise I’d have tried it for a laugh. The blinking cursor on a blank Microsoft Word page is no respecter of this mythical look you speak of.

F: Everybody writes. Everybody blogs. So does that mean we can all write?

S: No. To be a writer you need three things: talent, interest and hard work. Hard work is fuelled by interest, a near intense desire to hone that innate ability into a craft. One of my favourite quotes is by Toni Morrison: “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.” In truth not everyone can do this. We can’t all be writers.

F: What does writing mean to you?

S: If this is the question where I’m expected to give a poetic reply then I’m going to disappoint you. I started scribbling words that evolved into stories when I was seven or so – clichéd, I know. I fear that I’ll either belittle or embellish writing if I try to describe what it means, so I won’t

F: What keeps your inspiration tank filled up?

S: I try to study people without being judgmental – their beliefs, their mannerisms, their hobbies – and then I imagine what motivates them to do the things they do. The best advice I ever received is ‘listen more and talk less’. It has helped my writing. A great deal of my inspiration comes from reading. I’ve learned that the best writers are those who read widely. I read books. I read interviews of writers I admire. I write the kind of stories I enjoy reading.

F: Who would you say is your fave icon, dead or alive?

S: I won’t call them my icons because it’s rather limiting. Instead I’ll call them writers whom I find delightful to read. Some of them are Jhumpa Lahiri, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Khaled Hosseini, Chinua Achebe – his non-fiction is just as profound as his fiction - V.S. Naipaul, Chika Unigwe, Jodi Picoult and Maya Angelou.

F: What’s the toughest project you've ever worked on?

S: Barbachop, a very short film I wrote for a group project in British Council’s Creative Lives. I hadn’t written a screenplay before then. It’s a silent film so thankfully nobody was forced to read what may have been prosaic dialogue. My team mates were great. Not only did they have to conjure the ability to act, they also had to read my long emails and worry about reading my long emails when they weren’t. The crew was tolerant of our naivety. Our director – Tolu Ajayi – was brilliant. The shoot was tiresome but fun. Those frequent takes. That hard chair in hair and makeup. The fiery camera light. It gave me a new respect for actors. Raise your glass.

F: Where do you see writing in Nigeria in the next 5 years?

S: This question would be easier to answer if I had a crystal ball. Nigeria is filled with new talent. Some of our writers have achieved local and international recognition. I hope that someday our publishing industry will be structured so that in addition to Farafina and Cassava Republic, new publishers will emerge. It would be exciting if genre fiction were to be published as often as literary fiction. I won’t be surprised if someone creates a writing reality show. I reckon that in the future there’ll be literary agents, editors, grants and an authentic bestseller list in Nigeria. It is simplistic to expect all this to happen in the next five years; but eventually we will get there.

F: Respect the blog. What’s your fave gadget?

S: My BlackBerry. That flashing red light has redefined mind control.

ah.

Another week, another set of people just #winning!

This week’s winners are...(cue dramatic drumroll)

SHE and Funms-the rebirth!

...don’t the men ever win?

Congratulations, ladies – as agreed, you both win a customised t-shirt each! Simply send me an email at thefreaksho@gmail.com - with name and address - specifying your sizes, preferred colour and slogan and my good man ‘Bode will pimp it out for you and deliver it within a week. To everyone who didn’t win, you still can. What’s up this week?

Well, if you love a good (literary) laugh, Suzanne recommends the hilarious I Do Not Come to You By Chance by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani. We’ve got one copy of the book to give away to a lucky commenter.

Rules are the same; leave your comments below and the best random comment will win. The winner will be notified within a week and as long as you live in Lagos, your prize will be delivered to you.

To actually read some of Suzanne’s work, check out here, here, here and of course, here.

Have fun guys. Read, comment, and most of all, share.

Evolve or Die.

Get On The Flaw

2011-04-02T21:43:00.000Z

All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you feel
All this you can leave behind

U2 - Walk On

Have you ever really thought about a flaw you have? I don't mean accept it or acknowledge it...I mean really sit down and think about it?

Me neither. But today, we're going to talk about it.

So, hello. My name is Freaksho Jones. And I am the most impatient man I know.

*
You know, I don't know when it started.

I know I've always hated waiting. I remember that. And I know that's because for a long time in my mind, waiting was tied to disappointment. My dad would promise to take me out but he'd never have the time; my mom would promise to get us stuff but she'd forget. Small things. I hated the long hours sitting in the car while waiting for a parent to come out of the market. Or waiting in a school lobby, reception or office. Those minutes infinitely building into yawning hours put me in a vacuum of stifling boredom.

So I built up the tool i could use to fight it. My imagination.

God, I've thought of crazy stuff. Scenes from movies, What-If scenarios, time travel, superheroes, love proposals, unscripted events...my imagination learned to grow to be larger than life to keep me sane.

But the most recurrent bailout i kept going back to was Projecting. 'Tomorrow,' I'd say,' I won't be bored as I am today.'

It helped me. I would endure, knowing that my current scenario had a finite duration and just required me to persevere for a bit. So i always held out for the Future. It never occured to me that there was a grave danger in that kind of thinking.

Namely, the future shows up...and you're still waiting for it.

*
Like most people that do what I do, I bore easy.

Most times when i dialogue with people i skip ahead in the conversation in my head. Let's get to the good part already. Yeah, you already said that. Come on, cut to the chase.

It severely limits the people you actually want to talk to.

The same thing happens with reading. And writing. I don't recall ever re-reading any of my scripts before submission in an exam. The age of auto-correct further doomed me, making me tear through instead of going back to banish the typos. I have a friend who tells me I have a serious problem with capitalization when I write. I told her it was my writing style. It isn't. I'm just too damn impatient to go back and write like an educated man.

And it's a damn shame.

*
Tolerance levels. Are you kidding?

Didn't we just have this conversation? I showed you how to do that last week. How many times do i have to tell you this? What, is the point, of talking to you.

Lol. Yeah. Ghandi, I ain't.

I hate being at the mercy of anyone. So that means i do a lot of DYI 'cos it helps me. I google like a sonovabitch. I crawl forums. I read manuals. I try to listen. So I can stand on my own two feet and save myself.

That other people don't do that baffles me.

So i roll my eyes. I sigh in exasperation. I shake my head and repeat myself in a wooden voice that says 'I think you have the mental constituency of custard'.

I tell myself it's not me, it's them.

*

Impatience is a slow insidious disease. You concentrate so much on ending today for tomorrow that you forget today was a tomorrow. You forget that taking things slow when you work adds detail; and detail is what seperates a good idea from a great one.

You forget that we aren't all created equal. Everyone needs help, everyone can help. The most powerful Being of all stoops on a daily to our level; what's so awesome about me that I can't take five minutes to go over a walkthrough again?

Its hard to change. It's a jaded world and we're all a product of it. But the flip side is Life. It's so fleeting, so short and so unexpected. You never know when it's going to end...so why are you in such a hurry to skip this awesome present for the uncertain future?

So.

Yes, my name is Freaksho Jones and I'm the most impatient man I know.

But it's okay.

I'm working on it.

Evolve Or Die, people.

Tomorrow People - Designing Art

2011-03-30T23:02:00.003Z

The task of art today is to bring chaos into order.
Theodor Adorno

There are some people who’ll tell you that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. When it comes to Photoshop and CorelDraw, I’m seriously tempted to agree.

Olabode Ojomo is a young, seasoned art director and founder of www.olabodeskills.com, a blog dedicated to teaching curious minds the dark, mysterious art of Photoshop. He’s sharp as a whip and always willing to share…and today he tells us why he comes from a tomorrow that’s bursting with creativity.
*
F: So, then. About this blog of yours....
O: olabodeskills.com is a free portal for graphic/web designers, design authors, and just about anyone that has a desire to learn how to be creative with Photoshop. It is a hub for creative people to upload design tutorials, articles and share groundbreaking ideas with their contemporaries. The site is only 3 months old but we already have over 200 registered users and 135 Facebook fans.

F: Why on Earth is it free? Don’t like cash?
O: Money is important, but sharing even more so. We made it a free portal because our mission is to teach and share our design skills, ideas and concepts with the community for free. Profit is not our immediate our objective on olabodeskills. we are investing in the future of design hoping that olabodeskills will serve as the first community for creative people in Nigeria.

F: What does art design mean to you?
O: To me, art design is the ability to give life to expressions with visuals that capture the mind. It is the product of human creativity.

F: What keeps you inspiration tank filled up?
O: Honestly? Prayers. It is the depot where I fill up my inspiration tank. I pray to God everyday for wisdom, knowledge and understanding.

F: Who would you say is your fave icon, dead or alive?
O: Fabio Sasso, a Brazilian from Porto Alegre. He is the founder of a creative blog called Abduzeedo. I have been an avid follower of his blog for the past three years and he is simply a genius. He has helped a lot of aspiring art directors develop their design skills. I’m one of them.

F: What’s the toughest project you've ever worked on?
O: The toughest project I’ve ever had was setting up the blog. When i was starting out, I sought a lot of people's opinions, and believe me; I was discouraged right from the first day. It’s amazing how many people tell you setting up a free service is a bad idea. Then when the site was up, there were technical glitches, especially with registration. A few people got pretty frustrated because the registration forms were acting up. At times it seemed like there was always something going wrong...but we stuck to it and, it worked. It’s still working!

F: Where do you see designing in Nigeria in the next 5 years?
O: I see a bright future for art and design in Nigeria. The young generation are embracing technology and are really doing well. We have the raw resources, but we have to learn to process it to function well. We have to brush up our skills and share the little we all know to learn even more. With this, the future is bright.

F: Respect the blog. What’s your fave gadget?
O: My favourite gadget still remains my laptop. It’s what i use to create all the good stuff i love to do, and is one platform that allows me use my design software effectively. All my other gadgets remain secondary.
*
So...before I dive in to what will be won in the next couple of days, lets all congratulate the winner of the Babushka prize...(some people's jazz strong, man...) Doll!
Congratulations girl, send me a mail at thefreaksho@gmail.com with an addy and a name I can send your prize to and you'll be rockin' it within a week.

Okay...this week's prize is all about flaunting your creativity. Olabode will be giving TWO lucky commenters custom t-shirts with - wait for it - their own slogans designed on 'em. Ever wanted a bad ass t-shirt with #Winning with #Tigerblood on it?

Well you don't have to be Charlie Sheen to get it.

Rules are the same; leave your comments below and the best random comment will win. The winner will be notified within a week and as long as you live in Lagos, your prize will be delivered to you.

you can mail Olabode at olabodeskill@gmail.com and check out his stuff at www.olabodeskills.com.

Evolve or Die.

Be Ye Promised and Reminded

2011-03-28T09:05:00.000Z

Mondays, eh? Can't live with em, can live without em.

I come to end your Monday blues with a promise and a reminder. The promise that the next Tomorrow People post will be live this Wednesday. If you've ever been curious about explosions and flame throwers...

...Then the post ISN'T for you.

But. If you've ever been curious about Art Design, niiice!

And now, the reminder. The Babushka gift from the post underneath is still up for grabs - the winner will be announced with Wednesday's post. So if you haven't left a comment, head there now (stop reading this) and make sure you leave a comment. Feel free to say whatever.

That's all I have to tell you, really. While I head for this morning's presentation, keep looking at that Babushka swag and will yourself to win.

Evolve or Die, people.

Tomorrow People - Fashion 101

2011-03-23T17:09:00.001Z

I don't design clothes. I design dreams.
Ralph Lauren

Fashion is one of those things most men never appreciate till they see a bad design. The ability to combine colour and style, fabric and feel is an impressive feat. Maybe moreso when you can do it right here in Nigeria.

Simi Osinubi is the young creator of Babushka, the edgy new label that’s stitching creativity and glamour together in today’s fashion. Today, she sits down to tell us the difference between a cross-stitch and a crease.

*

F: Remember that scene in Sound Of Music where Maria made Armani from drapes? Can you do that?

S: Yeah! Drapes are easy! A long stretch of fabric; cut out what you need and voila!

F: Tailor. Fashion Designer. Same Difference?

S: I believe there is a marked difference between a tailor and a designer. A tailor's job deals with putting a piece together, the finishing, the fit, etc, while the designer deals with the more creative side. For example, there is a dress, the tailor's job is how do I put this dress together, how do I fit the sleeves, place the zipper and things as such. The designer's job is what kind of dress do I want this to be? Is it fitted, A-line, what kind of sleeves do I want on the dress? What sort of neckline will accentuate the design more?

It is important to say that both the job of the tailor and that of the designer are quite tedious and no one is more important than the other.

F: What does designing mean to you?

S: Designing means creativity to me. It means new ideas, putting your own spin on an old thing. There isn't a type of blouse, dress, pants that hasn't already been made; how are you going to make it look fresh and interesting?

F: What keeps you inspiration tank filled up?

S: I get a lot of inspiration from watching really old movies. I also get inspired by fabric. Most times the fabric dictates the design. I might see a piece of fabric and instantly know what I want to do with it.

F: Who would you say is your fave icon, dead or alive?

S: My favourite icon would have to be Beyonce. She is the perfect example of the magic that happens when talent combines with hard work. I admire her work ethic and her entrepreneurship. She is also one of those people who have the rare quality of being as beautiful inside as they are outside.

F: What’s the toughest project you've ever worked on?

S: The toughest project I've worked on to date would be the first bridesmaid's project I took on. Multiple fittings, disappearing tailors, and hand sewing on the day of the wedding. Thankfully it all came together and the Bride was really happy!

F: Where do you see designing in Nigeria in the next 5 years?

S: I think with designing in Nigeria, we still have some way to go but we are on our way and moving rapidly. I think designing in Nigeria has come a long way from ankara tops and skirts and all that. People are begining to understand that Nigerians are fashionable people and we need to give them more!

F: Respect the blog. What’s your fave gadget?

S: My fave gadget would have to be my iPad. It used to be my DSLR until Steve Jobs stole my heart!

So, like i promised, there IS cool stuff to win. This one's for the females (or the cross dressers out there).

Simi is giving out a (and i quote) 'a reverse pussy-bow blouse with a sequined neckline'. My limited male intelligence will simply agree that it looks as cool as it sounds.

Rules are simple. Leave your comments below and the best random comment will win. The winner will be notified within a week and as long as you live in Lagos, your prize will be delivered to you. Easy.

Questions? Drop Simi a line at babushkalagos@gmail.com

Evolve or Die.

Preparing For Tomorrow

2011-03-18T18:54:00.000Z

You Insatiable Lot.

I tell you people about how we're going all Piers Morgan on this here blog and what do you do?

You rightfully ask me to conclude The Nemesis Story which has quite frankly exploded out of control.

But, you're right.

So, in the next two days the story will end. Part 9 and 10 will be finished and published come hell or high water...because the first interview goes up on Monday.

Ah yes, feel free to share the Tomorrow People picture on your blog and twitter. It has magical powers of virility and wealth.

Evolve Or Die!

The Future Walks Among Us

2011-03-09T16:30:00.000Z

I don't know what you take us as

Or understand the intelligence that Jay-Z has
LP/Jay-Z - 99 Problems

Lets be honest. Most of us just kinda coast through life.

It's nothing to be (really) ashamed of. If we all tweeted, who the hell would retweet?

But I digress.

Nigeria today is filled, more than ever, with young imaginative people blowing up the spot in different sectors of the economy. It's amazing. The sheer amount of creativity and innovation that abounds today is simply stunning. These people are the future.

You know, Tomorrow People.

So, in a refreshing new switch, this blog is going to bring you some truly freaky stuff in the next couple of weeks.

It will be fun. It will be enlightening. And yes, you will be able to win cool stuff.

It's almost like a Glo promo...only here, you actually win.

It starts this month, right here. Tell your friends.

Evolve Or Die.

Ugly Creative Beauty

2011-03-01T22:17:00.001Z

Same old sh*t dog
Just a different day

DMX - Here We Go Again

When I tell people what I do they always insist my job is so awesome.
Yeah.
If you ever told me that, this post is for you.

*

9:04am: The brief arrives your inbox. You've just had your apple, your second glass of water and you were about to tackle breakfast. You eye the 'new mail' icon evilly.

9:06am: you click open the mail and see the familiar look of the much hated 'new brief'. The brief comes with the dreaded 'Urgent' tag, which means it MUST be delivered before COB today.

9:08am: you sulk about it for a bit.

9:11am: you are invaded by a hyperactive brand manager who has sworn allegiance to The Client and carved timelines in stone. He/She attempts to speed-walk you through the brief in five minutes. You sit back, needle your fingers and fantasize about beheading them with a ruler.

9:14am: Brand Manager is still talking. You nod at all the right spots and from time to time, repeat the last word they say. This is communication.

9:19am: He/She finally finishes talking. Satisfied that they've done their job, they leave. As the door closes you pepper the air with as many obscenities as you can remember. It doesn't help creativity, but you feel better.

9:21am: Seriously, now. You read the brief again.

9:27am: the brief still makes no sense. You resent the brand manager even more. So, to piss them off, you ask them to print and deliver a copy of the brief to you. Politely.

9:35am: the brief is delivered. If looks could kill, you'd be dead by now. You smile at them and make odd jokes about how hard is always better than soft. He/She walks away with barely concealed annoyance. You cheerfully re-read the brief.

9:47am: It's a brief for a new credit card thingie called Infinity. It's a good name, but you're still a little confused. The brief has a URL reference to the kind of video commercial they would like to have. You decide to have a look.

9:55am: youve found the video in YouTube and it's beginning to buffer. Anytime now.

10:01am: it's a video of a skipping goat. Not animated; it's a real goat with a beard and everything. Skipping. At the end of the video is something about flexibility and a logo.

After watching it for the third time, you feel a little bit like crying. Not for the goat, but for yourself.

10:04am: it's been an hour since the brief came in and all you've managed to achieve is mailing the skipping goat video to all your friends. No one replies, which makes you feel unserious.

10:06am: you read the hard copy brief again and underline a whole bunch of parts.

10:09am: you try out a few headlines.
#1 - Infinity has come.
#2 - Infinity is now in your pocket.
#3 - Take hold of infinity.

Amazingly, they all sound like porn titles.

10:14am: You check up synonyms for Infinity. A minute after seeing the results, you quietly minimize the page and open iTunes instead.

10:23am: you check a few credit card ads online for inspiration. They looks so good. So smart and direct. You wonder if it had taken them all of infinity to come up with the copy.

Har. Har.

10: 30am: you check to see what's good on your BBM timeline. A few forwarded messages about traffic, some on Politics and one from someone asking you to forward a message to thirteen people by 2pm Or Else.

You send the person a carefully worded insult before deleting and banning them from your list. You immediately begin to feel better.

10:45am: You try another set of lines.
#4 - Infinite Convenience. Infinity Credit Card.
#5 - Spend.There's No Tomorrow. Infinity Credit Card.
#6 - The Possibilities Are Endless. Infinity Credit Card.

Pedestrian headlines. You mail them to your Line Head and bound over to his office to go discuss them.

11:06am: your boss takes one look at your headlines and asks if you are trying to get your annual leave early.

It's been two hours since the brief and you're steadily unravelling.

11:13am: An art director swings by to ask if you're done with the copy. Apparently all three of them are on standby to create visuals for whatever headlines you come up with in time for the deadline.

No pressure.

11:36am: You keep thinking of that stupid Buzz Lightyear slogan. 'To infinity and beyond.' Stupid bastard had to just go and OWN the line. Now serious people can't use it.

11:42am: You lean back in my seat, play some Enya and try and think about the word 'Infinity'.

11:45am: You keep thinking of heaven. Calming, but hard to market credit cards with.

11:45am: now you're wondering if they'll be houses in heaven with nicknames on them. You know, like, 'Freaksho Made It'

11:47am: you keep wondering if there'll be the holy equivalent of the PS3 in heaven.

11:48am: which naturally makes you think about the fact that you have six unfinished video games at home.

11:49am: which in turn makes me think that you'll never find the time to play them. They'll just be there for all of...

Wait a minute.

11:51am: Create words. Describe scenarios at the same time.

#7 - Last Card, Check. Thinkfinity.
#8 - Change Timezones, Not Currency. Thinkfinity
#9 - Spend heavy. Travel Light. Thinkfinity.

That's it. It makes sense. Thinkfinity isn't just a word, it's a theme! This is what we need!

12:00pm: the boss man likes it. The art director likes it. The brand manager says it's spot on. A quick hobnob with core creative solidifies the concept.

1:30pm: creatives are done.

1:45pm: rationale for the job is hurriedly put together.

1:58pm: materials sent. Brief answered, with time to spare

2:10pm: do lunch, relax, hangout.

Life, isn't bad.

4:35pm: client reverts

They hate everything.
Start again from scratch.
*

Evolve or Die, people.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Random Abandon, Love, Upgrades

2011-02-13T12:23:00.001Z

God bless us every one
We're a broken people living under loaded gun
And it can't be outfought
It can't be outdone
It can't outmatched
It can't be outrun

Linkin Park - The Catalyst

You want to hear something ironic?

I only made one new year resolution this year. And it was to write more.

The ironic part is I have only four posts written as of today and forty seven documents written in my 2011 work folder at the office.

I guess I should've been a little more specific with that resolution.

I miss blogging. The way I used to just sit back and pour out a load of drivel and happily proclaim it a post is nostalgic. These days I'm so conditioned to criticize my own writing (does it make sense? Is it concise? Does it sell the - wait, what?) that I usually kill posts in my head before they ever materialize.

Take that lovely breakup post. Never happened.

The post on creative lying. Never happened.

What about the post on blog clichés? Sadly, never happened.

I guess sometimes we focus too much on life and we forget to live.

Anyway, this year I'm sticking to my guns. More writing, more blogging and less serious.

In a totally unrelated note, tomorrow is valentine's day. The sheer amount of lying that will be done tomorrow tickles me pink whenever I think about it.

Also in another unrelated albeit sobering note, I got promoted. Which kind of invalidates this entire post seeing how now I'll probably never have time to write for myself.

I know. Sad.

Evolve or Die, people.

...and lie with love tomorrow, eh?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

x4-16 (Part Eight)

2011-01-24T23:14:00.001Z

I'd rather go toe to toe with all of y'all
running ain't in my protocol.
The Notorious B.I.G. - Niggaz Bleed

These are the facts.

Fact: In the last three weeks I have been hunted by an organization who want me dead. This organization control the government, the police, the system and the city.

Fact: this organization is called the Brotherhood; or more popularly, BLOG. Apparently there is a splinter faction of former BLOGgers fighting against the ruling system.

Fact: a BLOGger called Freaksho is somehow at the root of the conspiracy to kill me. I have to find him and eliminate him.

This is where it gets a bit crazy.

Fact: I'm beginning to think I might be Freaksho.
*

Inpoco pulled the plug on the alarm systems one by one and the house went quiet.

I could hear them outside. Doing last minute recon. Getting into position. These guys were going to hit us hard. I could feel it.

The doc - Genie, had fixed me up with some crazy cocktail of Exo-morphine or something. The injection hurt like a bitch and made me woozy for all of thirty seconds, but after five minutes I started feeling more like the old me.

'raise your hands a little,' Genie said. He rolled a fresh bandage around my midriff and checked my head dressing.

'how do you feel?' he asked.

'Good. That's good stuff.'

'They use it for horses sometimes, when they pull a muscle.' He tapped my shoulder and walked off.

Horses. Figures.

I stood up, flexed a little and looked around.

The bad news was I was certain the premises was almost certainly surrounded. Inpoco's funky gadget machine estimated about seventy-six people all around the house. I didn't think they were carrying water pistols. More bad news had to do with inside the house; Genie had only been able to rustle up three pistols and two automatic rifles. There was near unlimited ammunition for the handguns but the rifles only had two extra boxes of ammo each. Pistols kick ass at close range. If the assault team outside got that close to hit then chances are we'd already be dead.

The good news? The house was a bunker. There were two doors that led in and out. Both had been shut and barricaded with very deliberate sheets of metal. The entire house was strangely fortified. The doctor told me it had been reinforced in the paranoid 1990's. It showed - extra concrete, three-inch steel doors and most importantly, an air purification system. The purifier was hooked up to a massive inverter in the storage room. If they tried to smoke us out, we'd be good. For a while.

I walked past the silent computers. We had piled ip a bunch of furniture in a rough semi-circle in the middle of the room to form a crude barricade. The central room's windows had been bricked up and the red emergency light bathed everything and everyone in ghost blood. Inpoco showed me thin slats that had been cut into the wall way back when it was being fortified. You couldn't see much out of them, but you could poke a barrel of a gun through. Fair trade.

Genie came and squatted by me. He licked his lips as his eyes darted, looking through the slat.

'can you see them?' he asked.

I shook my head. 'Too much foliage out there. Even with the sun high like it is. I reckon they've got camo on anyhow.' I glanced over at Inpoco. 'Anything?'

She was holding a bulky portable device that was mostly screen. Lethal red dots clustered around a dull grey mass in the middle of the screen. She looked at me and shook her head.

They had taken out the perimeter cameras. I wished I had a good set of field glasses. It would be helpful to know the kind of hardware they were packing.

Genie reached in his pocket and adjusted something. A covered full syringe poked from his pocket. It was full of a clear, dull fluid. He caught me looking at it.

He grinned. 'What?'

'You keeping a way out for yourself, Doc?'

He gave a good natured shrug and shouldered his rifle.

We waited. I let my mind play out scenarios as the minutes passed. None of them ended with us surviving.

*
'To the people in the house.'

The booming voice jolted us out of our reverie. It was a low-power PA system. A clear male voice spoke through.

'We know you can hear us. You must know you are surrounded. This is your last chance to come out of the house.'

I signalled both Genie and Inpoco away from the walls. We battened down behind the barricade of upturned furniture and mounted PC monitors. They stuffed strips of cloth in their ears like I had shown them. I did the same.

I remembered what I had learnt back in the Big Heavy about Shock & Awe tactics. Hit the enemy with such a massive, overpowering show of force that you broke them psychologically before the battle even started.

'we will not repeat this offer.' the voice boomed.

Genie lay on his back and cradled his rifle. 'These young guys.' he muttered. 'Talk way too much.'

Inpoco giggled.

The assault team opened fire.
*
The air reverberated with a thunderous roar as the house shook to it's foundation. It sounded like a torrential downpour of steel rain was hammering at the house like a thousand fists. Sound became a physical wall of pressure, filling every part of my skull with a booming echo.

I heard rattling metallic pings of slugs hammering at masonry and the smattering of flying plaster. The gunfire was unmistakably the sounds of a variation of the M16A2. With a rate of fire of 650 - 750 rounds per minute, the people outside had enough firepower to punch a hole through the side of an armored vehicle.

The gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had started. Acrid smoke hung in a thin cloud over the room. I could hear a sputtering sound from down the hall.

So much for the air purifier.

I looked over at the doctor and Inpoco.

'You guys okay?'

Genie nodded, his face looking pale. 'Why did they stop? Reloading?'

Inpoco looked shocked, but alert. I nodded at her then turned back to Genie.

'No, they cant be out. Each clip carries about thirty rounds. This is the pause to see if youre spooked enough to quit.'

I crept to the wall and tried to peep through the slats. The wall was warm to the touch.

'Doctor' The voice boomed again. 'Can you hear me? Save yourself. Save the girl. All we want is the assassin. Give him to us and you have my word you wont be harmed. The Brotherhood remembers you.'

I still couldnt make out any shapes from my position. I crept back behind the barricade.

'will it hold, do you think?' Genie asked.

'That first wave already weakened most of the outer wall. The next barrage is going to be even louder because its going to bore deeper. If that doesnt start to let slugs through, the next wave will. It's all a matter of time.'

Genie looked at me, the scars on his face making him look older than he was.

'I understand. But from out there? Can they get us all from out there?'

I shook my head. 'they'll have to breach. To finish the job, to confirm the kill, count the bodies. They will come in.'

He nodded. Inpoco looked down at the pistol in her hand. After a second, Genie shrugged and grinned his shark-like grin again.

'well, Joe. Are you going to be the punk bitch that goes out without firing his weapon?'
*

we picked separate slats, about eight feet apart and tested our muzzle space for swivel. When we were satisfied with our maximum space, we looked at each other.

I nodded once to Genie as we both set our rifles to semi-automatic with three-burst modes. I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

The forest in front of my sights erupted in an explosion of grass and earth as the weapon jumped in my hands. Earth spat violently in spouts as I walked a hail of gunfire in a ragged line across my field of vision. I immediately got the reaction I hoped for.

Parts of the forest started to come alive as camouflaged gunmen tried to scramble out of the line of fire. It was like one of those children's books - once you see the shapes in the pattern, everything becomes clear.

'Hard left' I screamed to Genie. 'by the big tree!'

Genie swiveled his rifle instantly to the left and pulled the trigger. The chag-chag-chag of his weapon mirrored mine, punctuated by tinkling sounds of empty shells hitting the floor. The entire area in our line of fire exploded with geysers of red mist and shredded foliage as we fired into the assault team. They were caught off-guard and we only had about thirty seconds before they'd react and respond.

Thirty seconds is a long time for someone like me.

I made out twelve bodies that took direct hits and wouldn't be getting back up. A possible fourteen had sustained some kind of gunshot wound, extent of damage unknown. As soon as I hit empty on my mag, I pulled out of the slat and barked to Genie.

'Back behind the barricades! Now!'

He pulled out and we turned to hump it just as they reopened fire on the house. The air filled with vibrations again just as we hit the floor on the other side of the furniture and monitors. I pulled out my spent clip and slapped in a new one as everything around me trembled like an earthquake. I could see plaster breaking off the walls in tiny pieces. The force of gunfire from outside made the paint on the walls puff up like dust.

Inpoco huddled on the floor, her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Genie had folded himself up to my left, the butt of his rifle resting on his stomach and his teeth grit tight. I felt like the vibrations were deep in my skull, my brain. It felt like it went on forever.

There was a zing! sound followed by a dull thud. The guns immediately went quiet...to be followed by the metallic sounds of people reloading.

I looked up. A thin beam of sunlight pointed at the wall over my head. A beam of light that showed where one bullet had gotten through.

This fortress was about to be torn to shreds.

'Genie. We need to move.' I looked around the scattered room. 'the next volley is coming right through these walls.'

Genie shook his head. 'this is the most reinforced part of the house. The other rooms are like toilet paper compared to this.' he suddenly reached down and whipped out the clear syringe from his pocket.

'you have to use this.'

I looked at him. 'suicide isn't an option for me.'

'it's not a suicide mix. Trust me.'

'What is it?'

'x4-16. or if you prefer, Stanza. It's a Stim.'

'Stanza?'

He gave a small smile. 'It's hard to explain.'

'If it's just a Stim.' I asked, 'why don't you just take it?'

'I don't have your training. If there's anyone that stands a chance of getting us out of this mess, it's you.'

I looked at the syringe. Combat Stims. Never taken them, but had heard plenty. Got in your system and did things to your head. Things that could get you killed. I could feel Inpoco's eyes on me from behind.

I noticed the reloading sounds had stopped.

'Give it to me,' I said, stretching out my hand.

The wall exploded in a shower of light as a hundred bullets came tearing through.

I saw two bullets hit Genie in the neck as he reached for his pocket. Instantaneously another barrage hit him in the chest and thigh, blowing him off his feet and throwing him clean across the room. I ducked back behind a wooden table as computer equipment shredded and rained plastic all over me.

Inpoco give a strangled cry; i grabbed her before she bolted out of cover.

'You killed him!' she screamed against the bullets. 'You killed my friend!'

The gunfire cut off abruptly. Then an amused voice spoke again over the PA system.

'Girl please, please. Just stop it. Everybody knows I'm a monster.'

My eyes searched the floor for the syringe. There was light now, all over the room. I could see particles of dust and smoke floating through. A rough splatter of blood covered the floor where Genie had stood a moment ago.

Inpoco screamed again, an agonized inhuman sound that echoed through the house. I struggled to hold her down as she twisted in my hands.

'Leave me!' she wailed.

I spotted the syringe just as she bit my hand, bolting from my grasp towards the far-flung corpse.

I dove after the syringe just as the assault team opened fire on the last of the crumbling wall. I felt the barricade begin to shred behind me as I flew through the air, hit the floor and rolled messily over the syringe.

I grabbed at it as my momentum carried me in a skid over to a corner of the room, bullets slamming into the world around me. I bit the protective cover off the syringe as I came to a stop.

There was no time to hope or pray.

I stabbed the syringe into my chest.
*

God hit the slow-mo button on the world.

As I lay there on my back, I saw. Everything hung in isolation; all the elements of the room stood apart in stark clarity. I saw the dust motes in the air, I saw the pock marks the bullets made in the floor. I tasted the cordite on my tongue.

My heart was pounding so fast it felt slow. I could feel my body temperature dropping.

Something was happening.

Someone was by my side. It was Inpoco, helping me to my knees. Movement felt sluggish, like in a dream. I saw she still held her pistol.

'are you okay?' she called over the noise.

Her voice sounded far away.

'Can you shoot?' my tongue was thick, heavy.

She gave me a terrified nod.

'stay low. Release the safety. Eyes on me. When I move you move.'

She looked unsure. 'Just like that?'

I shushed her. Sounds. Crunching glass. They were breaching. I felt for my assault rifle and cocked it.

I turned to Inpoco for the last time.

'shoot to kill.'

I stood up.

*

They were coming through the walls. I saw them everywhere. Time slowed to a crawl; I couldn't feel any fear.

I picked a direction and pulled the trigger; i couldnt feel the recoil;my finger was eager.

The gunfire was devastating as it tore through the first wave. I could hear Inpoco shooting; the soldiers got as good as they gave.

I fired and moved in the gloom, seeing with amazing focus. My rounds tore them apart, my bullets hungry like locusts.

They opened fire right back, shooting in frenzied panic. I felt the bullets fly by and kept shooting; my determination was manic.

Inpoco ducked low and struggled to reload. I lay down covering fire from my position; my hands dealt death with mechanical precision.

When she slapped the clip in, I saw her nod a confirmation to me. I nodded right back and kept firing - she'd need a path to flee.

The soldiers kept coming through the walls. I could feel my rifle running out of ammo. I moved my gunfire in sweeps, blood mingling with their camo.

The P.A system was alive. I could hear someone screaming out commands. I felt like I could shoot for days...if only I had enough hands.

My rifle rattled to empty. I turned and threw it away. I whipped out my last pistol; this could only end one way.

Inpoco had gone silent. I knew she was out of shells. I picked my targets and went for headshots. My shots rang out like bells.

The colours were running together. How many had I killed? They wouldn't stop coming, no matter how much blood I spilled.

I could feel the Stim wearing out. Sensation was coming back. I refused to think about it; I defended with my attack.

Then I heard Inpoco scream. And my blood froze as I turned. They had her at gunpoint...my worst fears had been confirmed.
*

I put one hand out, palm first. I held the gun out in my second hand.

There was still pounding in my head. I felt like my mind had been twisted through a blender as I dropped my weapon in front of the soldiers slowly coming around me.

Inpoco was held up by the scruff of her neck by a big man in a black t-shirt and combat fatigues. He had a twin-bore shotgun to her head and he was staring at me with pure, unbridled hatred.

'she's dead if you so much as breathe.'

I knelt, slowly. 'I understand. No weapons. I surrender. There's no need to kill the kid.'

He looked at me, turning his head slightly to look around.

There were bodies everywhere. The walls were splattered with blood and fluid and the ground was stained red. I hadn't killed them all but I had definitely sawed them in half. That was good enough for me.

'how many times have we killed you?' the big man asked me. I saw him slowly, tighten his grip on Inpoco's neck.

I started to stand instinctively as twenty guns trained on me instantly.;

'Kneel. Down.' He squeezed again. His big hands covered her face, his finger almost gagging her mouth.

'don't kill her. I'm the one you want.'

'you're dead anyway. You just don't know it yet.'

'she has information you need. She's a computer genius.'

The man's hand tightened as his knuckles turned red. I saw tears in Inpoco's eyes as her eyes bulged.

'it's too late for that now, isn't it?'

His hand moved. Inpoco moved her head a fraction to the left and bit down on his pinkie finger.

There was a sickening crunch of bone followed by a guttural scream.

I was up on my feet, charging the wave of confused soldiers as they turned to look, bringing up their weapons.

Then there was a creak and a groan as something huge cast a shadow and moved towards us all. I thrust my hand out.

It was my last thought before the roof came down on all of us.

To be continued.
*
I know, I know. This was long.

It's a ten-part story. That means you're two more posts away from the end.

Thank you to everyone who's been dropping comments. The story wraps up soon in what promises to be a conspiracy-theory-resolving-finale.

Hang in there.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Another Tag Meme Thingy

2011-01-21T12:40:00.001Z

You know you're out of it when someone tags you in a post with a meme and you have absolutely NO idea what you're supposed to do. I actually had to hunt through a few blogs to get the idea.

First off, I'm supposed to thank the blogger that tagged me, so thank you Tega. Forgive me if I'm a bit rusty, I haven't done this in a while.

So here are 7 things about me.

1. I can fold my thumbs behind my knuckles. Go ahead. Try it.

2. I used to draw movies as a kid. It once took me 11 months to draw a fictional movie called 'Doom' in an 80 leave notebook. It sucked.

3. I cannot, still, pronounce the word Linoleum.

4. For someone who writes advertising copy for a living, I almost never, ever listen to the radio.

5. After secondary school, for no apparent reason, I created a fake first name, middle name and surname and tried to get people to refer to me by it. It didn't work. I don't know why.

6. I once dislocated my right index finger while running. You know how? I tripped and stepped on it. It took two months to heal.

7. I subconsciously judge people with bad English. Espekcially peoples that mame English wehn they spell.

I'm supposed to tag 15 bloggers...haha. I think that's pretty much everyone I know on blogspot, so. If you read this, consider yourself tagged.

Now. Back to finishing that damn story.

Evolve or Die, people.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod

The Year I've Been Telling You About

2011-01-01T00:25:00.001Z

1/1/11

Today's date is so cool.

With all the negatives that happened last year and all the setbacks that occurred, 2010 was still one of the most defining years for me, ever.

The dude went nuclear. If you catch my drift. :)

So even though I have fears, unanswered requests and idiots hell bent on blowing up half the friggin' nation, I declare 2011 to the best year yet for you, me and the entire country.

You are what you believe. Happy New Year.

Evolve or Die.

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

Mum's The Word

2010-12-28T07:04:00.001Z

I tried to start this post with one occurrence in my life that my Mom played a big role in.

I couldn't think of one. She's played a big role in all of them.

She has sat with me at hospitals, begged principals for me (lol), attended my graduation, matriculation, convocation AND Call to Bar, she has fought everyone that has tried to destroy me (including me)and still to this day wakes up in the middle of the night to pray for us.

I have shared with her some of my wackiest problems (The now hilarious Christmas meltdown from 2008 comes to mind) some vague issues and totally ridiculous points of view. The fact that she has always had a listening ear and a solution for me is only overshadowed by the frankly amazing fact that she didn't give birth to me.

Happy 50th birthday Mom.
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device

In The Beginning (Part Seven)

2010-12-13T16:34:00.001Z

And now again
I've found myself, so far down
Away from the sun that shines

3 Doors Down - Away From The Sun

Ten times out of ten, i'll say the same thing.

Shoot me. Don't stab me.

Most people believe a gunshot wound is deadlier than a knife wound. It's a hollywood misconception. They think flash and noise.
Most bullets usually just punch through solid mass; unless it's a hollow point slug.

Hollow points are ugly. Let's just leave it at that.

But knife wounds aren't much better. The width of the blade, the point of penetration, the size of the knife. All these play hell with the kind of injuries you could inflict on a sensitive area of the body.

A sensitive area like say, the abdomen.

This is bad.

I'm bleeding out.
*
Sounds. Colours merging, separating, forming. Floating in my own head.
There's me everywhere. No light at the end of the tunnel.There's never any light. Just echoes of myself over and again.
Just the colours.
*
I woke up in degrees. That's how I knew I was in a bad way.
The heat was burning my eyelids and warm on my tongue. I felt like coughing, but I was worried I might hack up blood.
I could hear voices. I couldn't feel my legs.
Low light. I was on a table. People around me with no faces.
I felt something warm growing up my spine.I think it's pain.
'he's waking up! He can't wake up now, I'm not finished! Irritated voice.
Another voice. Familiar.'Well you're the one stitching. His guts have been all over the damn table for -'
I felt a prick in my arm. The sounds ran together to gibberish as the darkness rose from my dreams to take me under again.

*
when I woke up again I was alone.
I just lay there for a minute, flexing my muscles slowly, feeling for pain. Or restraints. There's some of the former, none of the latter.
Sitting up slowly, I could see I was wearing only undershorts. The blood stains on them were a dull purple. There were bandages around my midriff, back and face. I felt like an Egyptian mummy. I probably looked like one too.
The room looked like a human chop shop. A makeshift surgical table stood in the centre of the room with a hook lamp over it. Torn pieces of my clothes littered the floor around the table. The rest of the room was bare and grungy, apart from the bed I was in. There were no windows, no clocks. There was a door on the far side of the room with a solid lock on it.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat for a while to remember. Myne Whitman's place. The attack on the bridge.

They got The Muse.

I stood and immediately wished I hadnt. The room dipped and swayed as pain spiked my belly. I sat back down and exhaled slowly with my eyes closed.

'i'd take it slow if i were you. you got lucky.'

The voice came from the door which now stood open. A dark shape stood in it, arms crossed, leaning against the frame.
'Two things. From the look of your insides you've suffered some trauma to that same area before; your plumbing is a mess in there. Second, the blade that got you must've been dipped in something nasty - you were burning up with cramps and fever in under an hour. If Cammie had gotten here any slower...' I saw him shake his head.

'How long was I -' I started

'This is day four.' he interrupted.

I nodded. 'I'd thank you, but I can't see you.'

I heard him laugh. 'Use your mouth, not your eyes.. Besides. I like it better this way.'

I leaned back and put a hand on my bandages. 'thanks for patching me up. Where's CaramelD?'

He made a dismissive sound. 'she comes, she goes. You couldn't hold that one down with glue.' his voice changed, hardened suddenly. 'she says you're going after the brotherhood'.

I let the throbbing in my head subside. ' I'm going after one man. If I have to pull the Brotherhood down to reach him, I will.'

The figure detached from the doorway and stepped into the faint light. He was past middle age, fair and lean. The light fell across his face and showed a profile lined with scars that reached down his neck.

'Then you're going to die' he said flatly.

*
He showed me to a bathroom down the hall where he checked my bandages. When we were done we both walked to what I assumed had once been a living room; it was now a big wide space with rows of computer monitors. The bare floor was crisscrossed with wires. Massive UPS units were lined up to a side, clicking on and off as the current fluctuated.

From the look of the walls I could tell the windows had been bricked up. Things beeped, lights blinked and power buzzed. It reminded me of a command centre for a submarine.

Or a war room.

The doctor cleared some space by a few monitors and rolled me a swivel chair. I sat in it gingerly, looking around for exits.

'I'd apologize for the state of the place but...it's always like this.' he beamed a wicked grin. 'I guess you could say most of the guests I get do more lying down than sitting.'
He picked up a small remote control and pressed a button. I felt cool air sweep in as an air conditioner came to life.

'where are we?' I asked.

'safe. Outside Las Gidi. This is one of the many safehouses we keep, just in case.'

'who's 'we'?'

'ah, I almost forgot.' he looked around. 'come on out and say hi.'

I saw a shadow detach itself from the wall to my left. A pretty young girl stepped forward. Seventeen, maybe nineteen years old. She wore glasses, was a little short and had quick darting eyes. They fixed on me like a hawk.

'this lil princess here is my erstwhile partner in crime. She does the thinking, I do the heavy lifting.' he gestured an amused flick of the wrist.
Say hello, missy.

She didn't speak, just kept reading my face,like she was staring into my mind.

'she's not a people person, I'm afraid, he said apologetically. 'But I guess few computer geniuses are.'

I looked at the bank of blinking screens. 'she did all this?'

'she does all this' he corrected. 'writes software, hacks systems, you name it. She created the network that gives us most of our intel.'

'who are you guys?' I asked again.

He sat up. My name's Genie. That's what everybody calls me. This is Inpoco. We're one of the cell groups that make up the resistance against the brotherhood.'

*
a long time ago this used to be a hard land. A lot of oppression, pain and abuse going on by the government against it's peoples. Not many were willing to speak out against the oppression, not many did. For a long time all development stopped; our nation lost all credibility outside these shores.

But one day, some people decided to do something about it. They couldn't go toe to toe with the government, so they did the next best thing.

Which was?

They went underground. Not literally, you understand. Using code-names, they planted the seed of hope through messages they distributed to the masses in different ways. Radical ideas that told us about our right to a better way of living. They called themselves the Brotherhood of Love, Order and Good. And those were the values they fought for.

'The BLOG.' I said.

'The BLOGgers. Those were the days.' He laughed. 'The things we did. The fire in our bellies burned so fierce. We felt invincible.'

I looked at him. 'you too? You were one of them?'

He nodded with a sad smile. 'I was. I said we felt invincible but we really weren't. So many times the government came down hard on us for daring to speak the truth.' He ran an absent hand across his scarred face.

'Who led you?'

His eyes lit up. 'A man like no other. Funny. Charismatic. Hard. He was a Cunning Linguist and where he led, we all followed. He's gone now, and the world is poorer for it.'

The beeps and tickings filled the air as we sat there. I tried to imagine the guts it would take one man to conceive an idea like this. Implement it. And lead others to fight for it. A hell of a guy.

'So what happened?' I pressed.

'The unthinkable. Our ideas caught hold. People started listening and thinking for themselves. They started to fight back; to vote, to ask for change. I remember the first fighters like Carlang, Rethots...'

he shook his head with a smile 'so many of them. it was the first time in fifty years this nation of ours had united against a single foe. And won.'

Inpoco was sitting watching Genie with rapt attention like a kid at a story telling.

'We had peace for a while. Things many of us had forgotten started working again. The society started to get better.'

'Who did the people vote in?' I asked.

He gave me a sideways look. 'who do you think? Us. Their saviors. We filled the arms of government with beautiful words of promise, hope and...whatever.

'Maybe we believed what we said. I did. We were younger, idealistic. And now...' he trailed off.

'And now you've become the very enemies you once fought.' I said to him.

He looked me in the eye. 'Don't judge us too harshly, my young friend. Absolute power is...hard.
Anyway. A few years after that the infighting began. The original idea of the BLOG vanished overnight and what remained was...this. Now Resistance is summarily dealt with, opposition is put down and the earth belongs to them. Life, is a cycle.'

'But Freaksho. Who is he?' I asked.

Genie looked at me. 'I spoke to Muse before they got to her that night. She told me about you. You don't know your name. You don't know why they're after you. And you don't know why you're compelled to Kill Freaksho.'

'I have a name', I said.

'Then share it with us.' he gestured to himself and Inpoco. 'We've told you ours.'

Slowly, I felt a wave of nausea begin to boil in my belly.

'I have known and seen many members of the Brotherhood since the revolution.' he said, leaning forward. 'Some of them were really bad head cases. And yes, I have heard the name Freaksho. Killer. Mass murderer. He's the boogeyman. But you know what?

I was beginning to shake violently as sweat started to trickle down my face.

Genie leaned forward. 'I've never met him. Never even seen him.'

I grit my teeth. 'what are you saying?'

'what's your name?'

'I have a name!'

He stood suddenly, his chair flying back as he grabbed me. 'what's your damn name?'

I felt myself speak, like i was far away.

'Joe. My name. It's Joe.'

'Joe? No nickname? No last name?'

I shook my head. 'I dont know. I don't remember.'

He let me go and stood, staring down at me.

' I did a scan of your brain when you were on the table. Some parts of your brain show some very abnormal activity, like you've been...i dont know. Someone did something to you. I think the most important question now isnt who you are. It's who you used to be.'

I sat there, my minding trip hammering with emotion. Not sure what to do, what to think...and then a loud whooping alarm shattered the silence.

'Contact!' Inpoco said, jumping into a chair in front of the cmputer screens. The alarm whooped and repeated, lights strobbing as the screen filled with code.

'whats going on?' i asked, immediately on my feet.

Genie was fiddling with a mouse, tuning somethng on-screen.

'we wired the perimeter of the compound to alert us of a breach. We've got multiple contacts inbound.'

I tried to make sense of the gibberish on the screen. 'why doesnt it show up on the screen as images?'

'it's the OS she wrote. Thats how she encrypts it. He shrugged. 'She named it Incoherent.'

I peered at the screen, wincing at the cramps from my belly.

'how many of them out there?' I asked.

I saw his lips moving as he counted in his head. Then he smiled a slow, sardonic smile.

'I stopped counting at 58.'

I felt a cold calm settle on me. All the shivering, trembling went away.

'Genie. Do you have weapons in this place?'

They both turned to look at me.

'Yes.' Genie replied.

'I'll also need something for the pain.' I said.

Genie stood up. 'Follow me.'

I followed him down the corridor, the alarm sounding like a savage call to spill blood.

I was more than happy to oblige.

To be continued.

it seems like everytime I write this mad story they're always a million more people to thank - the guys who bother to listen to my mad plot points and the awesome people who keep reading and leaving comments. But today, I'd like to drop a line for someone who's gone to a better place. He was a good schoolmate, a great friend and a fantastic blogger.

This one's for the most Cunning Linguist of them all.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Hey Bruv...It's Time For B.E.D!

2010-12-01T22:58:00.001Z

...and I'm pretty much amazing.
Chiddy Bang - The Opposite Of Adults

Now that, that was fun.

I was going to originally type a very detailed post about my holiday, but I kept distracting myself with flashbacks and staring into space with a gooey smile on my face.

The three key elements of any good holiday are loads of money, a spirit of adventure and the right kinda people.

I had more of two and less of one, but hey. This is still the best holiday I've ever had.

I will admit readily that I might've overdone the video games a bit. 16 new games is probably a tad much, but some people I know overdosed on shoes, so don't judge me.

I single handedly created something new. It's called B.E.D. Which stands for Burger Evaluation Day. The gist of it is you designate days as B.E.Days where it's your duty to evaluate the quality of at least three burgers from various vendors.

I don't know which is better. The fact that I only added 3kg or the fact that CaramelD is now on detox because of me. She even named her fat Freaksho's Fat.

I also invented the now lovable character known as Ghetto Santa. If you've ever been so cold you wore a jacket, gloves, three layers of shirts, a scarf and a wooly hat, you've been Ghetto Santa.

Ghetto Santa. Puffing along and bringing love to all the little ghetto children.

The only low point of the entire trip was someone convincing me to buy 'warm' gloves that cost two a pound. That's two gloves for two hundred and fifty naira.

My fingers froze to the bone. I have a hazy recollection of walking from a tube station and biting my fingers to feel something, anything.

The guilty shop is of course, the world famous Primark. Lovingly dubbed Primarni by the Missus. The best description of Primarni I've heard is they make 'disposable clothing'.

God, I couldn't stop laughing at that one. Till I walked over, saw the cost of their t-shirts and bought a couple.

Disposable or not, no Nigerian ignores prices like that. It's. In. Our. Blood.

And don't get me started on the All-You-Can-Eat outings. The unholy combination of unhealthy food that was consumed in one sitting might've shamed my family name, but it felt so goooooood.

And why is it that no matter how carefully you shop, on the last day you go out, you'll always see the crap you spent the whole trip buying cheaper, staring you in the face the whole time.

And you're broke. So broke you're counting those big-ass brown coins.

Ah well. I resumed at the grind today. It's back to work, the alarms, the Lagos traffic and all that rubbish.

Wait, I just remembered another one. One pound shops. Put your hands up if you're as weirded out as I am by the fact that ALL THOSE THINGS COST ONE POUND.

Why? Is it witchcraft? Are they made from dead goats? Why? Don't you people like money?

Heh heh.

Evolve or die, people.

Orrrrr go evaluate a burger today - for science!!!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Pounding The Concrete

2010-11-16T07:49:00.001Z

These boots were made for walkin'
That's just what they do
One of these days these boots are
Gonna walk. All. Over. You.

Jessica Simpson - These Boots

I am not going out today.

Not because the weather is currently zero degrees outside. Not because the hustling for buses and trains have got me crazy.

I. Cannot. Walk. Into. Another. Shop.

Scratch that.

I Cannot Walk.

I married the energizer bunny. Yesterday we entered everything from La Senza to H&M with all the madness in between. All the shoes and dresses had blended into a mad blur of colour by 1pm.

I hate the word 'sales'. It's a dirty, dirty word.

My lower back gave up at noon. State of the art shops, nowhere to sit. Nowhere to take a leak.

Epic. Fail.

Every once in a while my wife would cunningly placate me by allowing us go into an HMV or GAME shop. Oases in a wilderness of female fashion and frenzy. Then we were off again.

Yesterday's journey started at 8am. It ended at 8pm. 12 hours. I don't even work that hard at the office anymore and I'm on leave.

So, that's it. I'm staying home today. I've already managed to hook up the ps3 to the house PC monitor and I've made some prime purchases. It's time to sit back, accept defeat and get to know my knees again.

Closing down 'sales' my @$$.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Blood And Chocolate (Part Six)

2010-11-12T02:21:00.000Z

Dom Sheldon is a cold man.
Michael Jackson - D.S

I had been trained deep in the south.

A rich green forest camp that was part local vegetation,part techno-wizadry. It was miles from the state capital with a compound that stretched as far as the eye could see. Population was over 600 personnel.

Everyone called it the Big Heavy. Never found out why.

I honestly can't tell you when my training started because I don't remember. I do remember doing laps around a track field when I was eight. Fitness training when I was nine.

Firing my first sidearm when I was ten.

I have no recollection of my parents. Or my birthday. No childhood friends. Just the endless faces of training instructors, weapon specialists and drill sergeants who had all taught me and the others the same thing.

How to survive when the odds were against you.

The fist smashed into my face again.

The first thing they teach you is to embrace the pain. Love it.

Pain let's you know you're still alive.
*
I'd already been tied up and secured when I came to. A glimpse at someone's watch showed it was just past 1am; that meant I had been unconscious for about thirty-four minutes.

I was tied to one of the beams of what seemed like a moderately sized warehouse. I figured I was still on the premises, probably behind the house. The air was thick with the smell of diesel and engine grease. There were dark patches on the floor which confirmed that this was probably a vehicle service area.

The fist rocked my head again.

They'd been at this nonstop for the past hour. Whitman stood watching from a few yards away, no emotion on his face, not saying a word. A stark lightbulb overhead swung slowly, illuminating the scene with sharp light and heavy shadows. Blood fell at my feet in random patterns.

'Stop.' Whitman.

The pummeling stopped. My attacker was breathing a little heavy, which told me he wasn't in such great shape. Odd. He looked pretty high up the food chain. If HE wasn't physically fit...

Useful information I put at the back of my mind.

My body throbbed. My mouth felt raw.The guy working me over was a southpaw. That meant the right side of my face had taken the brunt of the beating; I could already feel my right eye swelling shut. I probed my teeth with my tongue and spat blood. Nothing broken. Good.

Whitman walked up to me and stared at me for a minute. He was wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and black trousers. He wore leather slippers. I could see he believed in pedicures.

When He spoke it was in short, clipped tones.

'Who sent you?'

I spoke slowly, thickly.'Muse. Club Sizzles.'

'Why?'

'She told me you'd be able to help me find someone. The Freaksho.'

He stared at me again with that same flat look.

'Muse was found dead in the club the night you left. Shot twice in the head. I hear the bullets were from a colt 45.'

I watched him. My mind tried to process the situation.

'That's your weapon of choice, isn't it? A colt 45.'

'I didn't kill her. She tried to help me.'

'Who are you?'

'i'm nobody. Just need to find someone trying to kill me.'

He smiled.

'If Freaksho wanted you dead you'd be dead by now.'

I shrugged in my bonds. 'Well, he does and I ain't. Life is funny like that.'

He nodded.'What's your name?'

A sharp pain lanced through my head like a knife. I clenched my teeth and bowed my head till it passed.

'What?'

'I said, what's your name?'

I could feel the same nausea I'd felt when the Muse had approached me. My head was on fire and I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like I was going to pass out again.

What the hell was this?

A concrete punch rocked my head and I dropped to my knees.

The huge henchman grabbed my head and spoke into my face.

'Oga asked you a question. Answer him before I remove your head.'

I tried to keep my voice level. Whitman seemed rational. To get through to him, I had to be too.

'Listen to me. I didn't kill Muse. I understand she might have been close to you and you probably have a heart to mend right now, but you're wasting time.'

Struggling a little, I slowly rose to my feet.

'I'm not the bad guy here. You can either help me find out who is, or I do it on my own. Those are the cards, Whitman.And if you aren't helping me then you're slowing me down. I don't do dead weight.'

He smiled a little. 'Threats? Really? This isn't a movie, my resilient friend. You aren't James Bond. You're in my corner of Las Gidi.'

He stepped a little closer.

'When I first heard that someone was coming after the brotherhood...one man, I couldn't believe it. How stupid could he be? What could he achieve?'

He smiled again. 'But here you are. Stirred up quite the hornets' nest too. I admire that. In other circumstances maybe, we might've done business together. Alas.'

He nodded to his henchman. I saw it happen too late.

The henchman pulled out a thin dagger from his pocket and punched it into my belly in one swift motion. His face was inches from mine and he grinned evilly.

Pain spiderwebbed from my belly down my legs and up my spine. I slumped against the beam.

I put my head back and spoke.'You're a dead man'.

'No, my friend. You are.' Whitman turned to go just as the world suddenly lit up.
The ground erupted as the entire front wall of the building exploded.
*
The blast slammed me against the beam I was tied to and threw everyone else to the floor. The walls were on fire and I could see flames snaking across the diesel soaked floor.

Myne was getting up from the floor, looking about wildly. His eyes locked on me.

'Kill Him!' he screamed, all former composure gone.

The bodyguards on the floor started to get up. I strained against my bonds as the knife poked from my bleeding stomach. The henchman closest to me pulled himself to his feet, aimed a pistol at me and pulled the trigger.

His head vanished in a spray of blood and bone.

The body stood there for another second before toppling to the side. The other henchmen looked dumbly for a minute...then a resounding hail of gunfire erupted on them.

They were dead in thirty seconds. I had recognized the chunky chatter of an automatic rifle. The entire warehouse was catching on fire as I struggled to stand. Whitman was gone.

Who had - ?

A figure walked through the flames. Even with the pain clouding my vision and the smoke in the air, I could tell it was female. Jeans, t-shirt and a backpack.She carried an assault rifle in one hand.

'Who...'

As she stepped into the flickering light of the flame, I could see she was fair skinned and pretty. She grinned at me.

'Well, look at you. Another few seconds and there'd have been nothing left to save!'

She walked briskly behind the beam and untied me. I dropped to my knees as gravity took over. She came by my side and shouldered me to my feet.

'We have to get out of here. They'll be back and we won't be able to hold them off. Come on. My car's just outside.'

We hobbled through the fire out of the building into the cold night air. A set of headlights shone in the not-so-far distance. There were bodies everywhere.

'Did...did you do all this?' I asked.

'Yup. Female penetration at it's finest.'

I laughed. It hurt.

We got to the car and i slumped in the front seat. Putting my hands around the hilt I pulled the dagger from my belly. Cords stood at my neck and tears ran down my eyes as it came out. She handed me a rag.

'Here. Put some pressure on the wound. I'm taking you to a doctor friend of mine. You've lost a lot of blood.'

The combat high was wearing off and my body was shutting down. 'Thanks. Who sent you? How did you know I was here?'

She threw the car in reverse and roared out of the compound.

'Muse did. Before they got to her. Tracking you was hard; so instead I just tracked the people after you.'

I nodded. My tongue felt thick and heavy. 'I don't know your name.'

I saw her grin as we whooshed past a streetlight.

'You didn't ask. My name's Cammie. But all my friends call me CaramelD.'

I smiled through the pain 'Sounds like chocolate.'

She laughed a rich sound. 'That's the idea.' The car took two lefts and a right at breakneck speed.

'So,' she said 'you're hunting the brotherhood?'

'The brotherhood' I pressed down on the rag as blood flowed down my sides. 'That's what Whitman had said too. Who are they?'

She looked at me sideways.'The Brotherhood of Love, Order and Good? You don't know?'

I shook my head. 'No.'

'It's called the BLOG for short. The members, we call em' Bloggers. Don't let the name fool you though. Good, these guys ain't.'

I put my head back, rocking with the motion of the car.

'You know a lot about them. You after one of them too, CaramelD?'

She smiled her bright, voracious grin again and floored the accelerator.

'Me? Naa. I used to be one of them.'

The car sped on down the empty, express road and I gave myself to the darkness.

To be continued.

NB: the thanks just keep on coming. Special thanks to Myne Whitman for letting me 'send her Male'. Her literary tips and suggestions have been very helpful. Also not forgetting my favourite conspiracy theorist, all hail CaramelD for granting me permission to use her character as well.
the story begins to wind...but is that up or down?
see you next friday. :)

Leave, Me

2010-11-08T22:19:00.001Z

Qui dit étude dit travail,
Qui dit taf te dit les thunes,
Qui dit argent dit dépenses,
Qui dit crédit dit créance

Stromae - Alors On Danse

Most people do it all wrong. They put the alarm off.

You shouldn't put the alarm off.

That way, everything happens like it's supposed to. You go to bed. You sleep. Early morning comes and your body clock starts to wake you up cos your alarm is going to off soon.

And it does. At 5:50am sharp, the peace and quiet is shattered and it's time to get up and face another day at the office.

Only.

Only this time, you're on leave. Twenty days of no office, no briefs and no deadlines.

Trust me, don't put your alarm off. There's a certain pleasure in waking up, crawling over to your device and switching off your alarm before going back to bed.

It's the small things in life.

Evolve or Die, people.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Fast Lane (Part Five)

2010-11-05T21:02:00.001Z

I got my mind made up

Dr Dre - Zoom Zoom Zoom

The blue SUV came after me like a raging bull.

The corolla was tearing along at an even 110 kilometers per hour. I saw my pursuers were matching my speed with ease.

The corolla was fast but not fast enough. I wasn't even halfway across the bridge yet.

I held the steering wheel with my left hand while my right was stretched out on the seat next to me gripping my pistol.

The car was noisy as hell. Missing windscreen, missing window, the roar of rushing air and the horns of commuters trying to get out of the way.

There was only one option.

I started a count in my head as the SUV closed the gap.
When It was close enough for me to see the guns coming out of the windows again, I exhaled.

Now.

The trick to doing a successful handbrake turn is timing. Sure you need to be going at the right speed to complete the turn. Sure you need to have good tires so you don't get a blowout half-circle. But above all, you need to be perfect with one thing.

Timing.

I pushed the corolla's gear into neutral and yanked the steering wheel full right.

The whole world spun to the side.

I waited a heartbeat and pulled the handbrake.

My seatbelt bit into my shoulder as the car did a full 180 degrees.

I spun the wheel back straight.

Releasing the handbrake, I shifted back into drive and floored the accelerator. The car left a blue cloud of smoke behind and three inches of tire rubber on the road.

There was a little skew as I counter-steered to keep the car straight. The SUV filled my windscreen and I pushed the car to a hundred and sixty.
The SUV started to realize what had happened.

I raised my gun, aimed at the approaching vehicle's windscreen and opened fire.

The bullets punched through the tinted glass as I saw blood splatter against the insides. I kept shooting for eight seconds, spiderwebbing the glass and shredding whoever was behind the wheel. The SUV started to skew just as both cars collided.
*
I crawled out of the mangled wreck of my vehicle and shook the glass off my back. Jumping to the backseat just before impact had saved me a great deal of hurt but I could still taste blood in my mouth.

The corolla was on it's roof. The front of the car had been obliterated on impact, pushing the engine block into the car. Both front wheels were missing and radiator fluid pooled around like blood on a crime scene. I stood slowly and reloaded my pistol.

The blue SUV had come to a stop about sixteen feet from my wreck. It had spun to the side, almost blocking the road. The front doors hung open and i could see The dead driver was in the front seat, his head thrown back.

Shots had hit him in the neck, head and chest. Another body lay in the front passenger seat. I could see two shots close together in his upper chest.
I brought my weapon up and walked slowly around the vehicle. The front of the SUV had caved in like a skull and steam hissed from it. Blood splattered the dashboard, bonnet and seats. The back doors were still locked.

I paused by the rear left door and listened for sound. When I didn't hear anything I took a step back and fired three shots point blank through the tinted glass.

Slowly,i grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

Three guys. One with his neck twisted at a funny angle. The other two were gut-shot and bleeding on the upholstery.

Everyone in the car had been dressed in blue mechanic overalls. No wallets, no radios, no ID. A few pictures of me lay on the floor amidst bullets, blood and glass.

I opened the fuel tank, stuck a rag in and lit it. Retrieving my bag from the corolla, I started my hike up the bridge,walking briskly with the sun on my back.

When the explosion went off five minutes later I didn't look back.
*
I got to the island at almost 11pm.

I had hitched three rides and changed clothes once. The taxi dropped me off by a wire fence with foreboding power lines overhead. The nightlife was busy. Music blared from a joint as football noises joined in from a neighboring tv. I walked past a kiosk selling cheap booze and cigarettes. I walked back and bought a pack.

Lighting up and taking a drag, i surveyed the scene. People milling around in the hood. You have to always look for the controller, the big nuts, the local badass.

A loud crashing sound caught my attention far left. I cocked my head in that direction as someone was physically thrown out of a viewing centre into the street. A big burly guy in shades walked out after him, flanked by petty thugs.

I took another drag of my cigarette and stubbed it out.

The big nuts, apparently.
*
They were working the guy on the floor over pretty bad when I walked up to them. A small crowd was forming.

'hey'. I called.

The thugs paused mid punch. The guy in shades turned to look at me with a sneer.

'what the -' he started.

'which of you monkeys am I going to have to tame to take me to Myne Whitman?' I asked pointedly.

Both thugs swore and charged me at the same time.

Always look for the local badass. And when you find him, kick his ass.
I caught the fist of the first thug as he reached me and slammed my forehead into his face. Still holding his hand, I dodged the second thugs' clumsy punch and drove my elbow into the back of his head as he went past and down. Then I wrenched the hand I was holding sharply as the bone fractured like a gunshot.

The crowd scattered as the guy in shades pulled a mean looking knife.
'you've made a big mistake, my fri-'

I pulled out my gun from my belt and shot him in the leg.

He screamed and went down like a sack.

Walking over to him, I grabbed him by his collar.
'listen to me. I've had a long day today and I have neither the time nor the patience to screw around. Tell me where Myne Whitman is or I'll do shit to you that your mind won't believe.'
*
The compound was deep in the community. One of those personal houses that was fortified like a barracks. As I walked up to the gate I could feel the guns tracking me. Big halogen lights illuminated me as I approached. I got three feet from the gate and stopped, raising my hands over my head.
The gate opened slowly as men walked out. At least seven of them with assault rifles all trained on me.

'get on the floor. On your knees, now.'

I obliged without a word, kneeling with my hands still up.

Two of them flanked me. I felt my hands pulled behind me and felt the secure snap of handcuffs. The remaining guns stayed pointed at my face.
I saw someone walking through the gate. Slowly.

I knew it was him.

He walked up to me and stopped.

He was slim. About 5'11, maybe just over a hundred pounds. His hair was cut very low.

His face was a mask of pure, bridled ruthlessness.

'Myne Whitman'. I said. 'been looking for you'.

He gave me a smile that showed strong, white canines.

'so I heard. And now you've found me. You should be careful what you ask for'.

Then the world went black as I got slugged from behind.

To be continued.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

How Difficult Presentations Should Really Go

2010-11-02T06:21:00.001Z

You know me now, normally i don't -

M.I - Blaze

Ever made a presentation?

If you said yes,please stay; this is for you. If you said no, may I politely suggest you move along?

This is heartbreak country. You don't want to be here.

I usually split my presentations into two rough categories; those I worked on and those I didn't. Now in theory you're supposed to be able to sell both presentations the same, with that same hallelujah fervor in your eyes and a maddening smile on your lips. It's not easy.

When you work on a project or campaign from the beginning you basically stamp your personality all over it. It's your child. You know all it's little points of weakness and you've devised clever ways to gloss over them and still sell the big idea to your client.

Projects you DONT work on however are like rude adopted children from Mushin. You never know when they're going to open their mouths and shame your entire family.

either way presentations are usually an interesting affair, especially if you dabble in my side of the pond. how do you sell an idea in 30 minutes? (an idea conceived under pressure at 9pm in an office full of mentally exhausted people who, like you, just want to go home)

you cant answer that question unless you've stood in a meeting room presenting to thirty people all aged fifty and above.it's like trying to sell rock n roll to the pope.

but this post isn't about that, dammit. this post is about how i wish presentations could go sometimes. just once.

if you're in the business and you feel me, leave a 'hell yeah' in the comments below. :)
*
Your colleague just finished running the room full of die hard pessimists through the strategy part of the presentation and now says those 10 words that do more for me than red bull could ever dream of;

'my colleague Freaksho will now take us through the creatives.'

i stand. clear my throat. flick the slide to the screen titled 'Rationale' and begin to speak.

'okay. so what we've done here is - '

'why did you use this font?' someone interjects. he's an old man in a bulletproof suit.

i pause with my mouth open for a second.

'i'm sorry. what?' i say cautiously.

'i don't like this font. it's not rich. it looks like medicine font.'

i stare at the offending font on the screen for a beat then slowly answer.
'uh...this is only the rationale. i haven't gotten to the crea - '

i'm interrupted again. 'you people don't read briefs. you just sit down there in your office and do nonsense! this is disgraceful!'

i bow my head and slowly inhale. then i speak with a controlled voice.

'we'll fix that. it won't happen again.'

people around the room cluck their tongues disapprovingly but remain silent.
i take a cue and flick the next slide to the first visual. this is my territory.

'so you see right away from these visuals and these colours that - '

'i've seen that design before' a bespectacled woman interjects.

my mouth is open again.

'it looks like you people aren't ready for us today' someone else sneers.

inside my head, something snaps with quiet finality.

'look, let me tell you people what you're doing wrong' the bulletproof man says, pointing at the screen.

i look down at the table and slowly tear a page out of my printed agenda.
bulletproof man stutters.

looking him dead in the eye, i ball the sheet of paper into a fist so tight that my knuckles goes white.

'em..' he begins.

'please' i say, 'looking at him with a look of sheer venom 'please, continue.'
the whole room is watching me with mounting tension.

'i...think...i think the creatives..' he tries again.

i spread out the crumpled sheet of paper and slam it on the table with a force that makes everyone jump.

then slowly, i reach in my pocket and pull a tightly wrapped bundle of dried leaves out. i proceed to wrap them in the paper.

'thats...thats..' one woman stutters, trying to point.

'medicine,' i say, completing for her. 'this is medicine. you know, just like the font.'

'you there, pops.' i point at bulletproof dude. 'how old are you? 86? 94? were there even ads back in your day?'

i pause to lick the flap of paper.

'i mean you dinosaurs sit here and kill good, honest ideas' i pause. 'who has a light?' i ask the room.

'young man' a stern looking man begins, standing up.

i slammed my fist down on the table and roared.

'i said who has a bloody light?'

a box of matches skidded across the table to me. i picked it up.

'nice one brov.' i lit the makeshift roach.

taking a long drag, i exhaled as the world lit up in bright colours.

a loopy smile came to my face as i gazed at them with burning red eyes.

the stern man from before stood up again.

'young man. are you going to stand there and smoke that...that THING...or...are you going to SHARE it with us???'
*
evolve or die, baby!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Bridge To Nowhere (Part Four)

2010-10-29T20:23:00.001Z

One - nothing's wrong with me
Two - nothing's wrong with me
Three - nothing's wrong with me
Drowning Pool - Let The Bodies Hit The Floor

Dogs barking.

They're using dogs now.

It had been three days since club sizzles and I was just beginning to understand what muse had meant.

The hunt was relentless.

I had moved three times in three days. Twice during the day and once in the heart of darkness. These guys weren't the crude street muscle I had encountered in the last couple of weeks. The people after me now were methodical, deadly and precise.

Once I'd caught a phrase in Hausa. Two days ago I was sure I had heard one of them use military speak. That had made me pause.

As I watched from the second floor window of the cheap hotel, my fingers flexed on the pistol in my hand. A man gets hunted for most of his adult life, you'd expect he'd get used to it. Get used to the running, the trying to stay alive.

Not me. I still, after all these years, get mad.

The barking was receding. Slowly, the night sounds came back. Somewhere someone was listening to an old Phil Collins song. I thumbed the safety catch of my pistol and put it on the table.

I wasnt even sure how they kept finding me. I had been careful; more careful than i usually was. Never staying in the same place for more than six hours at a time, always paying in cash and doing a 2 hour recon on every cheap dive I stayed at. It hadn't made a difference.

i walked over to check the door again, then the bathroom window.when I was satisfied I dragged my duffel bag out from under the bed and started packing up.

They would be back. I needed the head start.

*

Myne Whitman. Criminal genius and ruthless tactician.

The story was he had his hand in every deal going down in his part of town. If you dealed on his turf, you paid a stipend. It didnt matter what it was- racketeering, pimping, whatever. If you didn't agree with his rules, he was likely to disagree with the number of fingers you ought to have. Or worse.

As I sat on the bus watching the houses whizz by as the sun climbed the sky, I tried to think about Muse at Club Sizzles. She'd acted like she knew me. I had methodically gone over every combat and civilian scenario I'd been engaged in over the last twelve years and I repeatedly drew blanks. How did she fit in all this?

There were things she had asked I didn't want to think about. They clouded the issue, made me lose focus. I couldn't be thinking of them now if I wanted to keep sucking air.

The bus rolled on.

*

I got down at the bus terminal and walked past the crowded market and down the road. The time was 02:20pm and the day was bright and hot. I needed discreet transport for the next bit. To get to the Island part of town I had to go over an 11.8 kilometer stretch of bridge. It was the longest in the continent, maybe twenty odd years old.

It would be the perfect spot to try to take me out.

I needed fast,unassuming transportation - preferably one I could drive by myself. Behind the wheel of a reasonable vehicle I reckoned I could do the bridge in four minutes flat if traffic was low.

Putting on my shades, I walked into the first car park I came across.

*

A few minutes later I was headed for the bridge at a hundred kilometers per hour in a car. The 2006 toyota corolla. Jet black, modestly beat up and one of the millions in this city preferred by banks, corporate organizations and would-be entrepreneurs.i didn't expect anyone to notice it was missing for another half hour.

If anyone found me in this car it wouldn't be by mistake.

The car handled well so I kept it at a flat speed of a hundred and ten. my head was on a swivel, checking the rear and wing mirrors every other second. The air conditioning contrasted the blazing heat That wavered outside.

The smooth roar of the engine. The cool air from the unit. The unthreatening vehicles in my rear view mirror. I almost didn't see the car heading straight at me from my front.

It was the last thing I'd expect, and somehow they knew it. A blue SUV bore down on me in my lane I could see other cars swerving out of it's way as it chewed up the distance. It was heavily tinted with no plates. I felt time slow to a crawl as my instincts took over. The front passenger window of the SUV began to descend in slow motion.

I immediately wrenched the steering wheel to the right and ducked.

The windscreen exploded as bullets shattered it, letting in a wave of hot air and the staccato of gunfire. My face stayed pressed to the steering as the corolla swerved, fighting to stay straight. I anticipated they would try to go past my left side, the two cars passing each other like knights at a joust. It was almost certain they'd rake me with bullets as they went past. In this cheap car, I knew what that would mean.

I didn't have a choice.

I jammed my foot down and raised my head a fraction to look over the wheel. All the windows of the SUV were coming down and I could see the ugly oily steel of automatic weapons poking through.

Both cars would pass each other in less than fifteen seconds. I swerved to my left, setting a course for a head on collision with the SUV.

The next round of gunfire blared, but I already knew it would go wide. I was moving too fast, too close. Bullets whizzed all around the vehicle. I heard one ping off the bodywork.

I counted to three and swerved to my right, out of the way.

The SUV whooshed past my left.

I had jinked too hard. The corolla swerved angrily too far right, the right side smashing into the side of the railing at a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. The passenger glass exploded inwards, showering me and the dashboard with more glass. The side mirror tore off as the door buckled in. I felt the tires on that side lose contact with the road for a split second before slamming down again in a scream of tortured rubber and smoke.

The car wavered from impact but held straight.

Now they were behind me. I reached down and pulled out my pistol from under my seat. In my rearview mirror I saw the SUV tear into a powerful handbrake turn, skew wildly, then gun after me.

I thumbed the safety off my weapon as the wind from the speed forced tears from my eyes.

Come on, I thought as the blue vehicle bore down on me.

Come on...and let the bodies hit the floor.

To be continued.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Nigeria at 50 - Day 24

2010-10-24T05:53:00.001Z

Nigeria at 50, Day 23 - Black Man Comes http://www.femiisblack.blogspot.com/

here's a little known fact. i once failed SS1 so bad i was advised to withdraw.

it's a funny story. i had just passed my JSCE in flying colours. passed so good as a matter of fact that i was allowed to choose where i wanted to end up; Science or Arts.

almost all my friends seemed to be going to Science. in that short period, i had to decide. what did i want to be?

this was me who struggled with any subject with digits. this was me who hated mathematics worse than i hated fish. this was me who would eventually write SSCE four years later and STILL get an F9 in Mathematics.

So what did I decide I wanted to be? i decided i wanted to be an Aeronautical Engineer.

so, yeah. i failed.

now, i told you that story so i could tell you THIS story.

over the years i have believed in many impossible things. i believed i would one day get super-powers. i have believed i could teach myself how to use industry-class animation software. i have believed that i would walk in outer space on a satellite, fixing hi-tech gear as an aeronautical engineer.

but i have never once, deep down in my mind, believed nigeria will ever get better.

there has always been a nagging suspicion to me that this country has derailed, and derailed bad. an understanding that with each passing year, we dig ourselves deeper into some cesspool of failure that we are never going to climb out of.

think about it.

when you think about ten years from now, do you think 'oh, i hope PHCN get their act together so we'll always have light'...or do you say 'i'll be so rich i'll have a massive generator that will run for days so i wont need PHCN'?

this is how most of us think. not that the nation will get better. but that we'll get richer to live comfortably as the nation gets worse.

and it's wrong.

i understand that the rigged elections, flagrant abuse of human rights and ridiculous fraud have left us a jaded nation. we expect the worst. we're tagged the worst. globally, our reputation continues to take a beating in every available media 24/7. the more you think about it, the less convinced you are that things can ever improve.

but here's the truth. somehow, things could be worse.

take the beginning of the year for example. 2010 opened with the most politically charged atmosphere i had known in a while. it was bad enough that i declared in a post that the worst was inevitably going to happen.

nothing happened. we're still one country. there have been massacres. there have been kidnappings. there have even been bombings. all major events that would have torn any other nation apart and sent us spiralling into another X years of civil war have occurred.

but against every iota of reason, we're still here.

i've learnt that nothing can change when we keep thinking a particular way. the country will most certainly NOT fix itself. President Obama is not going to come over and fix it either.

nigeria can only get better if you and i want it to. it's never enough to just point out what's wrong. or draw comparisons and shake our heads. we have to physically want it to get better. act like it can get better. i don't want to raise a kid in a world worse than the one i grew up in. i don't want to be like the old generation who tell me 'the naira was stronger then'.

if a thing can be fixed, i want to fix it.

anything can be fixed as long as you're alive.

and even as we mark 50 years of failure, disappointment, heartbreak and stagnation...we've never been more alive than we are now.

evolve or die, 9ja.

Nigeria at 50, Day 25 - Nonye http://www.nonyeanike.blogspot.com/

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Teasing The Strip (Part Three)

2010-10-22T13:27:00.002Z

they say you cant find a good girl in the club
but i found you
Dipp - Good Girls Remix

there are two things they teach you not to do at the Big Heavy.

one, never walk into a place without having a plan on how to get back out. two, never build that plan on underestimation.

i had seriously underestimated the protection in this place.

every three tables seemed to have it's own bodyguard. i counted eight men in general populace, two by the exit and another two next to the corridor leading to the private rooms. i could see four CCTV cameras in the open, two blinking LED lights by the base of each door and every bodyguard in the room had a nightstick on their hip. if you've ever been hit by a police baton, you learn to respect those pretty quickly.

it was clear that whoever owned this place didn't want their clientele worrying about security.

i walked over to the bar and took a seat backing the room. it didn't matter that i couldn't look over my shoulder; the massive mirror behind the bartender did a better job. i ordered a drink and surveyed the scene.

the music blared, the girls danced, the men watched and shelled out the cash. i wasn't surprised that the guests were orderly. the show of force in the room was a convincing deterrent for bad behavior. my drink came and i poured it down and ordered another. Sizzles does good booze, apparently.

the original plan had been to walk in, ask for a private dance from one of the girls and then get the info about Muse in private. that had changed now. any weird behavior would get one of these goons running in on me. and if one came, the others would follow. i didn't want to spend the whole night fighting the establishment while my target got away.

i drank my drink and thought about plan B. less finesse but more dirty. but what the hell. i was in a strip joint.

i finished my drink, brought out a wad of cash and paid the barman. i asked for the bathroom and he jerked a thumb in a direction. i headed for it, slowly. i tried to bump into a number of stools along the way, still holding the wad of cash. i didn't have to try too hard. i saw one body guard standing by the door nod at me to his buddy.

putting a little slouch in my walk and a smile on my face, i pulled up to them and bellowed a bit too loudly.

'Guys! Guys! i need to take a piss before my bladder pops!'

one guard nodded at my with a shark-like smile on his face and waved me through to the bathroom. i walked through the push-through door.

i didn't have to look to know that they'd be coming in after me.

*

three mirrors for three sinks, five urinals and four stalls. the white antiseptic light contrasted with the strobe lighting of the club. i had just enough time to survey the scene when i heard the door push open behind me.

right on time.

i turned around in a slow shuffle, mouth open in a silly smile, hand still clutching the cash.

'hey guys!' i drawled.

they were both laughing low, walking towards me. both their eyes were fixed on the cash. the first bodyguard spoke. he had a tattoo of crowned rat on his bicep.

'we've come to help you hold your bank...so you don't flush it by mistake' he said. the other bodyguard sniggered at that.

i did a slow look at the money in my hand, then back at tattoo. then, offering the money to him with a loopy smile, i shuffled forward.

'i like this guy' bodyguard two said.

i stopped directly in front of tattoo. he reached out a hand to take the money and i locked a grip on his wrist.

his smile vanished in slow confusion.

'what the fuh - '

people move slow when you surprise them. people move slower once it's past midnight; the body clock can tell. but people always move the slowest when they come up against someone like me.

i made a a fist and smashed tattoo in the ribs just under his heart. his eyes bulged and he made an O with his mouth as he flailed to the side. i stepped in close, grabbed the back of his head and rammed it into a sink. his head snapped back and he dropped to his knees like a sack of potatoes.

the second guard was going for his nightstick.

i closed the distance and clamped my hand over his hand just as it reached the stick in the holster. he grabbed my collar with his other hand and tried to head butt me; i moved my head and pushed him against the wall.

he was still trying to jink his baton free under my death grip. i whipped him in the face with my free hand then slammed a fist against his collarbone. i heard a brittle snap. he threw his head back to try and scream and i grabbed his jaw and rammed his head back into the wall behind him with brutal force.

there was a dull thunk! as his eyes rolled back in his head and he went slack jawed.

twenty three seconds.

checking to make sure that they were both breathing, i dragged the first guy into the last stall and went for the second chap. i bodied him into another stall and tied his hands behind him with one of his shoelaces. then i entered the stall with him, put his head in the toilet and flushed. he came awake sputtering.

i turned him around so he could see me.

'i'm looking for the Muse. i need to ask her some questions. i know she's here tonight. how do i find her?'

he started to open his mouth. i dug my thumb and forefinger into the nerve cluster by the side of his neck. his left eye shut involuntarily and his right foot spasmed. his mouth opened in a rictus of agony and a thin spool of saliva reeled out down his chest. i counted to seven and let go.

'now', i said. 'let's try that again...without whatever you were going to say just now.'

fifty seven seconds.

'she's in the back room. VVIP. you cant just walk in.'

'how do customers get in?' i asked.

his eyes darted frantically. 'they-they make an appointment over the phone. or they pay jimmy at the door and he gives them a password to get in.'

'who's jimmy?'

'jimmy's the team head. big guy, by the private pass entrance. he handles everything. that's all i know.'

i nodded. 'what's your name? you and the guy with the tattoo?'

he looked stunned for a minute.

'Elvis. the other guy is Niyi.'

'Good man' i said. i punched him in the face and passed out. tearing off a strip of his shirt i gagged him with it and went to get the still unconscious niyi from the other stall. i dragged him in and gagged him as well. locking them both in, i climbed out of the stall from the top.

i washed my hands quickly, ran my hand over my face and exited the bathroom.

total time, seventy four seconds. time to find jimmy.

*
Jimmy gave me the password when i name dropped his buddies as reference. it cost 20 grand. i paid. it wasn't my money anyway.

the VIP area was just a corridor lined with doors numbered in roman numerals. at the end of the corridor was a solid oak door with a bouncer in front. he had a shoulder holster with a firearm in it. i walked up to him and told him my password.

it was Ares, the name of the mythical god of war. i thought that was pretty appropriate.

he frisked me then rapped on the door twice then opened. i walked in and heard the door close behind me, then lock.

it was a big room. in the middle was a glittering silver pole from roof to floor. a stout wooden chair was the only other object touching the floor. at the farthest end of the room was a massive wall drape with a picture of a half naked female against a presidential seal. the words on the drape said 'Politics is just for my aMUSEment'.

the same female stood in front of the pole staring at me now. she wore a light transparent blue gown that moved on it's own to the air conditioning in the room.

she was pretty. her eyes were flat, dead, beautiful. when she spoke, her voice trembled a little.

'it's you.'

she knows me.

i wasn't expecting that. how can she know me?

'you've come back' she walked towards me, her robe whispering around her.

i stopped her with a gesture before she reached me. i walked past her, collected the chair and jammed it under the door knob.

'wha-' she started.

i held her by the elbow and looked her straight in the eyes.

'the alarms might go off any minute now if they find the bodies. i don't have much time.'

her eyes went dark; but not with fear; i saw anger there.

'they aren't dead,' i clarified 'but i need answers'.

she pulled her hand free. 'answers?'

'freaksho. where is he?'

she stared at me for a minute...then nodded slowly. 'ah.'

i didn't like the way she was looking at me.

'answer me, now. or else i'd be forced to - '

'why are you looking for him?' she cut in.

i faltered. 'he..wants me dead.'

'Mmm,' she murmured, sidling closer. her perfume covered her like an aura, sweet and cloying. i could taste it.

'and what did you do to...tick him off so bad?'

i was trying to focus. it felt like the room was beginning to swim.

'he took...he took something from me' i gasped.

she nodded slowly, her eyes boring into my soul. 'yes. yes he did. but WHAT was it?'

my head was roiling. i was going to pass out.

'he...took...my..' i said slowly, uncertainly

a piercing alarm shattered the air, startling me. the lights immediately dimmed and began to throb a pulsing red.

through the clearing fog in my head i could hear distant shouting.

they must've found the bodies.

they would be coming down the hall soon. she grabbed my face and yelled at me over the din.

'listen to me. you have to get out of here. head south of town. over the bridge, past the island. you're looking for a man, he's powerful and he can help. he controls the entire Haja axis. his name is Myne Whitman. tell him i sent you.'

shouting erupted from directly behind the door. something slammed into it and the chair scraped a little.

Muse forced me to look at her again. 'go see myne, but be careful. they'll come for you now. they'll all come for you.'

she pushed me towards the wall drape and peeled it away to reveal a door. the last thing she said before she pushed me through chilled my heart...and i don't know why.

'remember what you lost.'

*

then i was out running, the cold dark wet morning tearing at my skin, the blood pounding in my ears.

answers always bringing more questions.
to be continued.

(a big thank you to my good man Muse for letting me remix his character. and feel free to visit the real-world club Sizzle at www.sizzlingthots.blogspot.com)

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Going Clubbing (Part Two)

2010-10-15T10:13:00.002Z

You tell your boyfriend, if he say's he's got beef
that i'm a vegetarian and i ain't fucking scared of him
3oh!3 - Don't Trust Me

questions drive you to find answers. sometimes answers only bring more questions.

i had spent the last five nights trawling through the seedy underbelly of this town. i had spoken to three drug dealers, one pimp and a former club owner who would need to learn how to use his right hand again.

none of them had any leads for me. nobody seemed to know The Freaksho.

the only lead i'd gotten had come from the club owner just before he passed out. a woman might know. professional. expensive. if i could get in to see her, then maybe i could get more specific intel.

and that's what brought me to club Sizzles.

as i stood across the street in the night rain smoking my cigarette, i wondered if i'd ever heard a dafter name for a nightclub. Sizzles. rhymes with fizzles.

there were two big chaps in front of the club. typical meatheads, tucked in cheap long sleeve shirts and sunglasses at night. i wasn't hoping on getting any flak from them but i planned for it. they shouldn't be a problem.

past them i wasn't sure what lay beyond, but a lifetime of experience in strip joints gave me an idea. there would be the main area, reached by maybe a corridor. a loose table arrangement, dim lights to keep the gropers happy. anywhere between four to five girls working the room. a bar, most probably to the left of the room. last, there would a tucked away section of rooms for private lap dances and some more old fashioned entertainment.

the amount of protective muscle on the floor depended on the size of the room and the quality of the place. judging from the type of cars i could see in the car park next to it, there might be anything from ten to fifteen bodyguards in there. it would be foolish to assume they wouldn't be armed.

i flicked the butt of my cigarette away and flexed my arms. the corduroy jacket i had on was a dull gray and forgettable. black jeans, black boots, a gray t-shirt underneath. if things went the way i hoped, i could stroll in and stroll out in under fifteen minutes.

i crossed the street with my hands jammed in my jeans and my shoulders hunched, keeping the warmth in and the rain out. the two bouncers at the door were talking and laughing about something and broke off as they spotted me.

i came to a halt a respectable distance from them, with my hands hanging freely and non-threatingly by my side.

the first guy stepped up to me. 'yeah?' he said. his arm was roughly the size of my midriff.

i raised the currency in my right hand. 'just looking for some heat, guys. no wahala.'

the first guy looked at me for a while before turning to look back at his partner. the second guy shrugged.

i stepped up to him with the money. he plucked it out of my hand and gave me a sloppy, rough frisk. a second later he waved me inside.

that went well.

i stepped into club Sizzles. a stripper worked here i needed to talk to. she was about 28, hot and she had info for me. everyone called her the Muse.

well, here's hoping she inspires me.

to be continued.

(okay, a word here before you all think i've gone crazy. sometimes, you don't have a story. all you have is a scene that refuses to let go. for me it was the image of a man ducking behind an overturned table as bullets shredded the area all around him. that gave birth to the Quiet Dinner post...and while writing that i got the idea for what i'm now thinking of as the Enigma Story. so, keep your fridays open. Things are about to get freaky.)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A Quiet Dinner (Part One)

2010-10-08T11:01:00.003Z

Since we are the best
and you agree with me right?
no need to debate...
the way we bump shit
see we're kinda like the government
so just respect my conglomerate

Busta Rhymes - Respect My Conglomerate

i heard the sounds a split second before it happened. they were clear and metallic in the empty diner, the one sound i could never confuse with anything else.

the sounds of the safety catch coming off a gun.

i was halfway to the floor when the first barrage of bullets disintegrated everything on my table. i hit the floor hard with my right shoulder and rolled two feet to the left.

the guns were loud. they reverberated in the small room as dishes exploded, glass bottles popped and the thud-thud- thud of bullets hitting wall plaster roared in my ears. they had to be automatic weapons, from their sound.

i slumped against an upturned table, forcing myself to be calm against the din. my shoulder throbbed in dull pain as i tried to think. my jacket had been hanging over the back of my chair when i had started my meal. that meant my gun was still in it, four feet away from me.

in this situation, four feet was just about the same as four miles.

i'd seen two shapes just before i hit the floor. big men. at least 6 feet. even though i hadn't eyeballed them for more than a second, i was pretty sure i could take them in a one or one, or two on one. those were good odds.

i had to find a way to get around them. i did a calculation in my head and waited.

at 17 seconds i heard the first clack-clack sound of a trigger being pulled on an empty weapon. at 19 seconds i heard the second one. that gave me 3 seconds.

i stood up and moved. the air was filled with thick, acrid smoke. they were both facing the wrong direction, trying to peer through the chaos that had been my dinner table. big mistake. they should have been reloading.

the closest gunman heard me a moment before i reached him. i smashed my fist directly into his adam's apple, putting my full weight behind the blow. his eyes went wide as his larynx collapsed, his hands coming up too slow to me. the second gunman was beginning to bring his gun up, his mouth forming an alarmed O.

i faked left, then right. he spun in confusion as i reached out and got a handful of his collar. pulling him forward in one quick movement i jumped and smashed my knee into his face. i felt his nose snap at impact. he screamed something in yoruba as he went down on his knees.

letting go of his collar, i grabbed his right hand and twisted it at 90 degrees till i heard the pop. he collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony.

i walked over to my jacket and shook my gun free. walked back to both of them.

the first gunman lay on the floor twitching. his eyes stared vacantly as foam bubbled from his mouth. the second gunman whimpered as i walked to him, cradling his arm as blowed flowed down his face and dripped off his chin. i slowly and deliberately centered my gun at his forehead.

'wait - ' he started, trying to sit up.

'don't' i warned him. 'don't move. just tell me who sent you.'

he looked around in despair at the smoky, shredded room. i could hear people yelling and murmuring in the distance.

'i'm going to ask you one last time then i'm going to put a bullet in your brain.' his mouth trembled as he looked at me. 'read my eyes, not my lips. i'm not screwing around.' i paused. 'who sent you?'

he told me. i made him repeat it. he wasn't lying.

'good' i said and shot him in the head.

i picked up my shredded jacket and moved through the back of the diner. i could see the cooks and the help cowering and praying as i went through the kitchen. i exited at the rear and blended with the crowd in quick, long steps.

as the night air was shattered with crude sirens, i mulled over the question in my mind. that name. again.

i hailed a cab and got in.

whoever this guy was, i'd find him. that was my job.

whoever Freaksho was, i would find him.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I Read You, Loud And Clear

2010-09-20T10:22:00.001Z

I haven't felt this surreal since 9/11
J.L Bourne, Day By Day Armageddon

Last night, as i was getting ready to go to bed to prepare for yet another monday, i casually leafed through amazon.com looking for a novel to buy. Thats the problem with having money in your account; you constantly feel moved to spend it.

As i ignored yet another deal on all Twilight books, Potter Books and basically every other fiction created for pre-pubescent teens, i noticed a title by someone called J.L Bourne. The book was called Day By Day Armageddon.

It looked mildly interesting with great reader reviews (i always doubt reader reviews), so i immediately sent a sample of the book to my iPad to see what it was like. That was at 12:00am.

I bought the full book 5 minutes later. I finished it at 3:57am.

I didn't realize how much i missed reading till recently. There's satisfaction that a good book can give you that movies can't even begin to approach. The reason for this is a simple one; movies show you specific images that make up a story. Books on the other hand use your mind as a blank canvas and your imagination as the most powerful brush in the world.

This was the first time in years i had snuggled up with a book under the covers, being equally terrified and amazed at the same time. I did a total of eight bathroom trips in the duration it took to finish, shivering in ways that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

It felt good to remember being a kid again. In an age where it seems like we're all growing up too fast leaving the essence of ourselves behind, it never hurts to take a step back every now and then.

Besides.

I think the process for preparing for a Zombie outbreak and preparing for the 2011 elections is eerily similar.

Fela was right, after all.

Happy Monday, people. Evolve or Die.

Sent from my iPad

Cheating On Eve

2010-09-03T21:16:00.001Z

If you like my body touch me
Flo Rida - Touch Me

As i write this there are three devices on my table. There's my domineering Dell office desktop and Eve who you all know. Both computers are loaded to the nines with the myriad of software i need to function. Buffers, video converters, word processors and at least three browsers each. these are my tools for both work and play.

So how ironic is it that this post is being written on neither?

Don't blame me. Blame this damn iPad.

*
To answer your question, yes. It's unbelievably sexy.

I've been using it for almost a week now. After everyone at the office drooled over it, they all asked me the same question; Is This A Laptop Replacement?

Now, the answer ultimately depends on what you use it for, but thats a boring answer. A more fun answer follows.

Now i'm not going to do a review. Mostly because this device has been around since May and also because i think Seye already did a good job with that way back.

Okay? Let's go.

1. iPad A Keypad
If you plan to use your iPad for anything more than playing scrabble, you'll need a physical Keypad. While you can certainly type on-screen, i strongly suggest you get something more tactile. If you plan to blog from this baby, you really dont have a choice. I got the official wireless keyboard. Slim and sexy, all you need is something to keep your iPad up...

2. Just In Case
The iPad is heart-achingly beautiful when it's bare. It's also terribly exposed. If you want to be able to hand it over to the crowd of gawkers around you without panicking that someone will - gasp - drop it, you'll need a case.. They're like a billion available online. A good tip is to get a case that doubles as a stand. That makes it a perfect fit with the Wireless Keyboard.

3. Baby Boo-Boo.

Buy Baby Wipes. You go clean screen tire.

4. Tune In To iTunes
This isn't an iPod. Getting an iPad without an iTunes account is like buying a car without an engine. Your iPad is only as powerful as the Apps you put on it. Either get a digital Visa card here in 9ja or buy an iTunes gift card. You'll need it.

5. There's An App for That
Seriously, there's probably an App to teach you how to do a half-spiral back-flip over a bowl of custard at 3 o'clock in the afternoon in Italian. But you wouldn't want that. Here's some of what you should get;
Dropbox
Register and get 2GB free space online. Dump all your documents in it and they'll upload the entire lot so whenever you pop open the app on your iPad, you can see all your files. Handy.
Quickoffice or iWork
Whats use is a device that can't run Word, Excel or Powerpoint? Download one of these bad boys and you're good to go.

iBooks
Proof that everyone who said people are reading less these days is terribly mistaken. It's the sexiest way to read a book - ever. With the iPad's 10-hour battery life, you can get your read on. Plus, if you're well connected like Mrs Freaksho, you can read all your Glamour and Vogue Magazines on it for free.

ComicZeal4
This is actually one of the reasons i got the iPad in the first place. With over 60GB of comics stuck on my hard drive, i have now found release.
Twitter
Because you're a twat if you don't tweet.

AirVideo
This app impressed me. Download it to your iPad, then install a small file on your Laptop or PC. You can now watch every video on any harddrive connected to that computer. And i mean any video cos this bad boy converts over the air as it streams to your device. No lag, no buferring, just smooth buttery video. Makes storing videos on your device old-school.

So is this a laptop replacement?

Well, what do you do? If your job requires special software not found in the Appstore then, by all means skip it.

But.

If you read a lot, write a lot, browse a lot (don't get me started on the internet - you haven't truly lived till you've caressed your browser by hand) play a few games and watch movies, then leave your laptop at home.

It's far from perfect. It doesn't play flash. You can't expand the memory. And when you type in Blogger it looks funny. Still.

The iPad will make you cheat on every other device you've ever owned.

Florida University

2010-08-24T13:06:00.000Z

This is short for Florida University
Oh Yeah -
F.U.
The Dream - Florida University

The first thing that came to my mind was, 'I should have said something earlier.'

Horns honked as cars swooshed past me. there were the usual shouts of compliance and Yoruba threats...not like i could understand the lingo.I didn't need to. when you're in deep sh*t, it sounds the same in whatever language.

A Hausa looking policeman pounded on the glass by my face, demanding that i open the door. I wondered why. I wasn't the one driving.

*
The time was 5:45pm.I'd closed early from the office and had been offered a ride in my colleague's new pathfinder. Happy enough to get home early enough to pound the X button, I jumped in and buckled up.
Hurtling towards my house, my colleague (let's call him...Teddy) drove like the characteristic psycho he was. Taking cue, I held on for dear life quietly and engaged my iPod.

It took two seconds to realize we were whizzing along in BRT lane.
Four seconds to realize there was something happening.
Five seconds to realize the cars in front of us were trying to divert out of the lane.

That was five seconds too long.

*

The police and 'legal touts' had been waiting for defaulters like us. Their method was simple. Slow down the cars in front so that whoever was behind wouldnt have a chance to evade. Also, they had a guy taking pictures with a camera.

Yeah, i know. I laughed too. At first.

Anyway, our reaction time was slow. By the time we figured out what was happening and started to turn, a tout jumped in front of our vehicle waving one hand. In his other hand was something yellow. Looking closer, I saw what it was and grimaced.

It was six inches of steel rod with welded spikes attached.

He slid the strip in front of the front tyre to prevent us moving another inch. We stopped and engaged the safety locks as people approached the car.

The first thing that came to my mind was, 'I should have said something earlier.'

*

The policeman pounded on the window again, allowing me to see a little bit more of his 20 year old AK-47.

'Teddy' I said, slowly, without looking away from the window. 'How much is your front tire?'

Teddy's head was on a swivel, trying to look all around at the same time.He didn't hear me.

The camera guy walked up to the window. He looked like a reasonable kinda guy so I wound down my glass the fraction of an inch to try and talk to him.
It didn't work. I smelled the alcohol on his breath immediately.
When he saw how dug in we were he called for another spike to block the back tyre. My heart took a nosedive and I started to get that bitter taste in my mouth.

'If i were the one', I said to Teddy 'I would've said screw it and driven over that first spike.'
Teddy gave me a look like I was mad. 'I should go down and talk to them.' He said nervously. He didn't move.
'Don't even dare.' I said sharply. something had caught my eye in the rear view mirror.

The guy with the camera looked like he was in charge. He was recalling all his boys from BRT duty and pointing to our vehicle. The message was clear.

forget everyone else. We're getting these guys today.

A bad scenario had just gotten worse.

*

More policemen were converging on the car.

A solid wall of traffic was building up behind us as we choked the express. It felt like eternity, but we'd been there for maybe four minutes.

My voice was going hoarse from the explanations I'd been screaming through the window. They werent budging. A policeman stood off in the corner rattling off on his phone in Yoruba. Touts waggled their fingers at us.

What happened next will always be in my mind for all of eternity.

I saw Teddy immediately stop explaining and whip his head towards the policeman on the phone. Then he turned towards me with a look and spoke once.

'Freaksho.'

That's when he put that 240 horsepower V6 engine in gear and drove over the spikes.

*
Contrary to popular belief, there was no loud pop or bang. but two things did happen.

First there was loud hiss as the first tyre got spiked, then a quick second as the back tyre got spiked the second time going over the front spike.

Second, the steering bucked as the whole vehicle slewed to right.

Policemen jumped back yelling as touts dove out of the way. as we tore off at a rough 40km per hour, the steering bucked and fought as the tyres kept hissing.

A crowd of onlookers that had built up burst into cheers and spontaneous applause as we zoomed by.

*
Teddy did a great job of keeping the car under control as we took back roads to get off the highway. both tyres deflated three minutes later as we came to a stop in front of the most surprised vulcaniser in Nigeria.

The time it took to patch, change and replace the tyres? Two Hours.

The cost of the repair? One thousand, eight hundred Naira.

The experience of telling drunk cops to head to Florida University?

Priceless.

The Kick

2010-08-01T13:34:00.001Z

When we die and get to heaven, Saint Peter is going to meet us all at the pearly gates with a serious look on his face and an iPad with a checklist in his hands. He's going to ask us a series of questions to determine how good we were and what we've achieved.

Then he's going to ask if you watched Inception.

If you had, it's through the gates and happily ever after.

If you haven't, I mean, hadn't, then you'll have to go to the dense corner of Paradise. You know, where all the home video actors and saved politicians will be.

So.

Go see Inception NOW.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Talking Low

2010-07-24T07:06:00.001Z

Don't stop,
Get it Get it!
Ludacris - How Low

Now, I know I should put up a post. But I can't seem to think in one straight, coherent pattern.
So instead of procrastinating for another two weeks, let's take the low road and go RANDOM, people!
*
Healthy eating has introduced some new horrors to the mix. Top two offenders are brown bread and wheat meal. Why does all the good stuff taste so bad? And why the HELL are they so brown?
*
Am I the only one that finds it maddening when people keep changing their profile names on bbm? They're constantly jumping up and down the fraking contact list.!
*
Wande Coal's biggest asset is his voice.
*
As I type this, Bree Vanderkampt (is that still her name?) is performing the most awkward striptease in television history. I desperately (har har) need to buy another tv in this house.
*
Seriously. Is anyone really watching the female World Cup? What country is hosting again?
*
The 'Waka Waka' dancing baby is the scariest sh*t I have seen on the internet this year.
*
There is simply nothing cooler than an office full of people spontaneously stopping to raise their hands at the chorus of 'All I Do Is Win'. There should be a church version of that song.
*
You want to see a movie called Inception. Go write the name down.
*
When you see a picture of me in a suit, standing next to a girl in a white dress holding a red bouquet in front of a church, I dunno, does it still make sense to ask if I just got married?
*
Body Magic is hilarious.
*
Tweeting at meetings is necessary, tweeting at weddings is okay, tweeting in church is see finish.
*
Pour some Jik in the bowl before you go number two. No. Odour. At. All.
*
What's short for Florida University?
*
Okay, I relent. I'm going back to my new pspgo.

Evolve or Die, people.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Siriusly Speaking

2010-07-07T11:28:00.002Z

She's freaky and she knows it

Justin Timberlake – Lovestoned/I Think She Knows

I’ve tried to make this not too long a post (~~I FAILED~~) because I believe there shouldn’t be that much to say when you’re, you know, gloating.

My last post might’ve alarmed some people, but I assure you, nothing was wrong. Last Wednesday the 30^th of June was something of a big deal for me; no exam, no interview. Just me hanging out with friends.

Getting married in a small wedding.

Getting married in a small wedding to Sirius.

BOOM.

Grab a seat. This is a good story.

Those flashing lights come from everywhere

Justin Timberlake – Lovestoned/I Think She Knows

Now they’ll tell you that small weddings are impossible in Nigeria. They’re mostly right.

The average Nigerian family blossoms from a few and explodes into an army of uncles, aunts and cousins twice removed. Attempting to have a small wedding means cutting off these people and facing their wrath for life. And that’s before you talk about the friends you went to school with, the people from all the different offices you’ve worked at and so on. To attempt to try and dock all these people, you have to be something of a freak.

It helps that my wife was just as nuts as I was. She hates loud ceremonies with fawning well-wishers just as much as I do, so coming up with the plan was easy. The hard part, was selling the idea to family.

Weddings, I have found are just like Law. They’re built on precedence. There’s a known model with elements that Make Up a wedding and deviating from them in the slightest is severely Frowned Upon.

Doing away with some elements completely causes an uproar of Biblical proportions.

The way they hit her I just stop and stare

Justin Timberlake – Lovestoned/I Think She Knows

From the beginning we had decided the wedding would be on 30^th June, Sirius’ birthday. That day fell on a Wednesday. Then I had decided there wouldn’t be any groomsmen at my wedding. While we’re at it, take away any MC ideas. No one comes to a wedding to hear jokes. They come to eat cake.

About the cake. Make it Black and White.

Don’t decorate the hall.

Don’t put a high table.

Don’t even think about getting a musician. If there’s a day to fly my Geek Credibility, it’s that day. There will be music, but it will come from a 64gb iPod touch from an iPod Dock with a customized wedding playlist.

Finally. Restrict the guests to a hundred, with name cards for each table and a stone cold female bouncer at the door.

To say both families hit the roof is kind of an understatement.

I'm love stoned from everywhere and she knows

I think that she knows

Justin Timberlake – Lovestoned/I Think She Knows

Now here’s the thing. It didn’t all work out the way we planned.

No. it worked out better.

From picture perfect weather to a killer buffet that had people talking about too much food to sitting down at a table and eyeing a room full of people…and knowing everyone’s name?

Had we pulled off the perfect wedding? It sure felt like it.

I’d like to thank the elite members of Blogspot for attending my wedding. And because this is a unique, once-in-a-lifetime kind of post, we actually took a picture for you all. So,for the first time from left to right, I present CaramelD, Sirius, Freaksho, Muse and Incoherent.

Heh. Heh.

Like I said at the beginning of this post, all I’m doing is gloating. I had the wedding I wanted to the woman I dreamed of. She’s got me lovestoned but its okay.

She knows.

The End Where I Begin

2010-06-30T06:01:00.000Z

as I type this it's eight minutes to 7 am. I haven't slept a wink since 3am. I'm jumpy, I'm tired and I am not going to work today.

As I sit here on my bed this morning in t-shirt and jeans, my mind is completely blank. Just like before each exam I'd write back in university. Clear your mind. Go blank.
Go blank, Freaksho.

Evolve or Die, people.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Celebrating The Silence

2010-06-06T19:36:00.001Z

I know every year I put up a long birthday post with a fantastical story that usually has something to do with Angels. But this year, just being tired from work, you just appreciate the peace.

So this year, no long posts. Just peace, a brand new console from my better half and food. Plenty food.

It's the small things in life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have two weird looking guys knocking at my door. And I think they have halos. Weird.

Evolve or Die, people.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

And The Clocks Stop Ticking

2010-05-25T17:17:00.001Z

There are only two TV shows that i honestly believe have touched me deeply. The first one is Battlestar Galactica; partly because the writing on the show is so damn good and partly because they created real life characters painted against a fantastic galaxy as a back drop.

But if BSG is my Shakespeare, then 24 must be my Tom Clancy.

I watched my first season of 24 in 2006. I had heard the hype and wasnt impressed, but i had borrowed the dvd boxset along with some other dvd's because i was bored. This was NYSC, before the years of deadlines and clients, scripts and revisions, back when i still thought i wanted to be a lawyer.

I remember i had plowed through all the other dvd's with the bootlegged movies and I had run out of things to watch. with nothing else to entertain me, I popped in one of the discs from the 24 box. It was season 3 and this was my first episode. I prepared to be bored.

The rest, as they say, is history.

*
To say i love the 24 TV show is a gross understatement. I mean, i named my blog after it.

The series has gained a reputation for such ruthlessness that the viewer is compelled to keep watching out of sheer shock. Lead character Jack Bauer has single handedly put James Bond out of work as die hard super-spy, played to brilliance by actor Keifer Sutherland.

Jack Bauer is the embodiment of every badass you've grown up to know - stubborn, indestructible and prone to go rogue at the drop of a hat. Add super weird hacker Chloe O'Brien to that mix and you've got the dynamic duo that's every Jihadists nightmare.

Now i'm not saying 24 didn't have flaws. we know the flaws that showed themselves every season. CTU always having a mole. Super-smart terrorists with three, four back-up plans. The president always signing goddamn immunity contracts for blackmailing bad guys. The shocking and maddening habit of killing of major characters just as you were getting used to them. Interminable White House politics that tended to drag when you just wanted to see sh*t blow up.

Despite all these failings, you still got a straight hour of TV with more stunts, gunplay and attitude than most hollywood blockbusters.

So as i go home tonight to watch the two hour series finale, I tip my hat to the hardest ex-marine to ever defy presidents and save the world over and over again. Jack Bauer, we salute you.

The following heartbreak occurs, in real time.

There's Some Blog Stuck In Your Tweet

2010-04-26T16:59:00.000Z

generation x, generation strange

the sun don't even shine through our window pane

Limp Bizkit - My Generation

omo, this blogging thing is hard. let's not lie about that.

for the past two months i've been planning to write this really awesome post about heartbreak...i've finally figured out how to start it and how to finish it...so i guess i could just write rubbish in the middle and y'all wouldnt notice. i mean your comments are always so nice. lol.

but i'm tired. writing is hard for me just now because i just seem to be doing so much of it.

which i guess is the Twitter appeal. i mean. let's say you had a crap day where all your meetings went bad and you got splashed with mud water.

if you were going to blog about it, you'd probably start something like this;

'today was the worst day of my life. i shouldve known when i woke up and stubbed my toe. i cried like a baby but little did i know what was going to happen.'

you get the idea. the page is gonna be full but the plate's gonna be empty ifyouknowhatimean.

now. say you wanted to tell that same story on twitter. how would it go?

'just got mind ****** at every meeting today. to top it all off some saint splashed me with water on the way home. i love my life.'

128 letters of crystal clear angst poured directly to the page. 128 letters. tap-tap-click-click-boom and watch the retweets happen right before your eyes.

i'm not sure what it is that makes blogging and reading blogs all the more tedious these days. maybe it's the fact that when i see a blog page with more than six paragraphs my heart starts to skip a beat and i imagine it's a client brief. or maybe it's just the fact that my generation is permanently on fast-forward in everything we do.

it's a paradox, to be sure. why do people blog? we blog for opinions but get upset when people tell us what they really think. we blog to share but get upset when not enough people - or no one - reads our stories. we blog to find release but get ashamed when what we say leaks into the real world.

personally, i've found it harder to read blogs like i used to. (granted, this is me who lately cant watch anything without explosions in it) it's just that so many blogs are filled with the same stuff. why do men cheat? this is what i did today. forward this to 11 of your friends and tag them.

it all seems to have sunk into a shapeless bog of drudge that threatens to overpower the senses. so yes, Twitter does offer refreshing 140 letter alternatives for you to snack on. its life on the go without weight or heft; a story you can query or comment on at anytime.

so why blog at all, you ask?

well, because there are somethings i reckon even twitter would struggle with. expressing a perfect feeling of loss so clear you can feel it. saying the craziest things on your mind without regret. going good girl gone bad when you want to. expressing in clear and unhurried terms, just how confused you have come to be.

there is a beauty in expression that cannot be done in 140 letters. no matter how well you write.

and this. this, my friend, is why we blog.

Carnival Epic Fail

2010-04-05T16:24:00.002Z

When you're rolling through the carnival, anything can happen.

Wyclef - Anything Can Happen

Lagos Carnival. This was someone's bright idea.

The time is currently 4:40pm. I've been on Akin Adesola for exactly two hours and a bit. This is made all the more painful that it took me almost the same amount of time to GET onto the island.

As I type, the traffic is bumper to bumper, the temperature is merciless and driving etiquette went out the window hours ago.

You could say the whole 'carnival' thing isn't exactly working for me.

Now, I've got a couple of, you know, rhetorical questions.

1. If it's called Lagos carnival, how come the carnival only seems to have gone down in V.I? Aren't us mainland people Lagos enough?

2. How come you know, if the carnival is going down in V.I, they closed all the roads leading to V.I except one? Is this like a 'if you don't live here then fack off' kind of party?

3. Can the people who organised this event be flogged publicly with cheap wire?

It's ridiculous. Choppers are criss crossing the sky, cars are overheating and crowds of people trudge on foot. The atmosphere is more akin to a disaster movie than anything even remotely celebratory.

Carnival? All I've seen are some really bad costumes, some scary paint jobs, and a music truck blasting Sean Paul. I may be myopic but I fail to see how this carnival has contributed positively to my life.

Thank goodness I picked up my God Of War 3 today.

I'm off to scale mount Olympus and kill some gods when I get home.
:)
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

There Are No Atheists In The Foxhole

2010-03-07T18:04:00.001Z

I wanna live so bad
All my life, I've been so arrogant
This is the vessel of my wakening
Please Father, put your hand out, carry me

EL-P - Flyentology (Remix)

The first time i heard the title of this post in a song, I thought it was simultaneously the most hilarious - and the most honest statement ever. At that time i didn't even know it was a popular saying.

I haven't been in a lot of near death scenarios, but there have been a few times when I knew the chance of dying were 50 - 50. Weird illnesses. Sleeping next to offended ex-girlfriends. Air-plane flights.

Talking a little bit about that last one, it's not that I have a fear of flying.On the contrary, I quite enjoy flying. What I have a fear of actually, is taking off. Those three minutes when that ridiculously heavy machine fights gravity is always the moment when my stomach knots, I grip my seat fearfully and my mind cruelly turns to the Final Destination movies. It's a moment of sheer vulnerability that makes you aware of just how helpless you are and just how comforting it is to know that God exists.

That is, if you believe God exists.

I hadn't met a lot of atheists till I came to Lagos. Figures. It's Lagos, right?

Before then, i had never given a minutes thought to the fact that some people might actually, totally, really, not believe that God exists. I mean, who'd be so stupid as to actually believe evolution, right? Ha ha.

More like Ha Hunh???

Apparently a sizeable number of people believe we got here from a long process of evolution. cells from the sea and all that. Monkeys as grandads, a total lack of divine intervention and a universe built on chance, coincidence and Nostradamus.

I wont lie. It still disturbs me when i meet people who declare loudly there is no God. I try to step back from them so the bolt of lightning that descends from the sky doesnt frag us both. they always have very rationale arguments, atheists. Lots of howcome this, howcome that and wave Haiti in your face. Arguing with them almost always ends with me inviting them to go perform an impossible sexual act on themselves.

Which brings me to our title song.

But first. What is a foxhole?

Noun

foxhole (plural foxholes)

(military) A small pit dug into the ground as a shelter for protection against enemy fire.

...in short, any scenario that makes you go 'Oh Sh*t.'

Now. Apparently, the song's talking about a plane about to crash. Here's the chorus of the song and why it tickles me so much.

There are no atheists in the foxhole
There is no intellect in the air
There are no scientists on the way down
Just a working example of faith versus physics.

So. To everyone out there who believes there's no Big Man upstairs running things...we know you know the truth. so when you walk outta that near-miss life or death scenario and go, 'Thank Good~~ness~~'...

we know what you really mean. ;)

Evolve or Die, people.

Quote Me On That: The One About Murphy's Law

2010-02-20T18:03:00.003Z

Negative expectations yield negative results. Positive expectations yield negative results.
- Murphy's Law

i know the last time we did this the quotes were about optimism. Yes, the year was about to end and it made sense to be optimistic; form submissions were in progress. But today, at work again this weekend, tired and just you know, hating everyone at home, I've decided we should do Murphy's Law quotes.

You know the drill, seven quotes. one for every day of the week. Or if you like, one for every day of the week where Freaksho works like a dog for evil, corporate masters.

Evolve or die, people.

*

1. Nothing is so good that somebody, somewhere, will not hate it. (And that includes Avatar, the BlackBerry and Sex.)

2. It is impossible to make anything foolproof because fools are so ingenious. (If you've ever seen someone open a pack of Omo from the wrong end, you'll understand.)

3. Chicken Little only has to be right once. (Yup.)

4. The other line always moves faster. (Especially at fuel queues, airports and bathroom stalls.)

5. In approaching a double door, you will always go to the one door that is locked, pull when you should have pushed, and push when the sign says pull. (Every Mr Biggs in history.)

6. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. (iPhone, we're looking at you.)

And the final, defining Murphy's Law of all time is...

7. If anything can go wrong, it will. (Pants ripping, PC crashing, Power-Failing, Fuse Blowing, Gas Finishing - It's the eternal anvil of life perched on the door about to come crashing down on your head.)

Have a blast.

The Eight Id Deed

2010-01-21T14:52:00.004Z

Jump.shout.let it all out
These are the things i can do without
Come on
I'm talking to you

Tears For Fears vs. Eric Prydz - Shout vs. Pjanoo

Sometimes you wish you could do socially unacceptable stuff. it's okay to admit it. if you read this and you can identify, make your own 'Eight id Deed' list on your blog.

the world will be a ~~crazier~~ happier place.

1... participate in a 20 man choreography. don't ask me why, i just haven't been able to get it out of my head. it's got to be like the dance choreography from Kung Fu Hustle mixed with the wedding dance at the end of The Best Man. And I'm doing it to this fantastic remix.

2... i would really love to make fun of a fat kid. You know, poke him a few times with a sausage or pelt him with chocolate. Even chase him around a room with a rolled up towel. You probably say I'm evil. I say I'm helping him lose weight.

3. ...Run up to someone and drop em with a childhood favourite, a running dovekick. Naturally, it would be nice to do this to either a wicked uncle, an unarmed policeman or your client, but one can't be too choosy. The important thing is to do it properly and shout 'dovekick' while you do it. For the feel of the thing.

4. ...Execute a crooked PHCN official by electric chair. Just so i can utter the words, '...Shocking Irony, Motherfacker'.

5. ...I was going to say 'make everyone in the Nigerian Home Video industry stupid'. But then I remembered I'm not supposed to talk about things that have already happened.

6. ...Head to ***** ******, find *****, and punch her in the face for all the nonsense she's been up to.

7. ...Pause in the middle of a presentation to bring out some paper from my pocket. Pull out a small stash of weed from my other pocket, roll it carefully, lick it sealed and then light the joint. Puff for a bit before looking round the room with a smile to ask, 'Am I gonna smoke this alone, guys?'

8. ...I would really like to hit an inconsiderate driver with an egg. Did you know that if egg yolk dries on car paint, you'd have to scrape at the paint to get it off?. Quietly consider how AWESOME that is.

Please note the above described behaviour isn't deemed proper, politically correct and can in fact in some cases, be dangerous. I in no way endorse the behaviour stated above.

But i sure as hell encourage it. >=)

A Storm Is Coming

2010-01-10T11:00:00.001Z

I had hoped my first post of 2010 would be fun, but reality overtakes us sometimes.

People are going to look back at this period as the not-so-calm before the storm and wonder why no one did anything.

For the three decades I've lived in this country, I'd say for over two and a half of them I've bothered to pay attention to the political climate in Nigeria, I have never felt such a palpable sense of foreboding as I feel now.

2009 was the year we as a nation got universally panned by the media. The sony commercials, the tv serials, even a negative name drop in the record-setting Avatar movie. And when you think bad cannot get worse, some seriously misguided soul goes against the very nigerian canon of 'self preservation first' and tries to blow up a plane. So along with the fraudster, illiterate, prostitute name tags, we get terrorist. No one can make shit like this up.

The day after christmas, I walked from my hotel room to try and change some money. When it got to the point of me handing my passport over, I think that was when it hit me. We're the bad guys now. Years of a few making the rest look bad was paying off in the worst way possible and the government wasn't doing a thing about it.

Of course. Then, I thought we still had a government. As of this morning I'm sure just about everyone in the country knows the President is brain dead and his wife (his wife!) is dictating policy. So amidst terrorist classification by the United States, three month old fuel queues, people getting sacked left right and centre, no power, no budget, the 'government' is running around like the daftest chicken in the world with it's collective head chopped off.

The worrying part isn't what has happened. No. Its what lies ahead that bothers me. Everywhere I go, every discussion is filled with talk about what's coming. I mean, as I sat in church this morning and listened to a write up being read out calling nigerians to open their eyes and see what was happening, the first thought that crossed my mind was, 'has it come to this?'

I guess it has.

The very fabric of this nation is being stretched to breaking point facing pressure from both inside and without. Happening any other year, this would be bad. Happening prior to election year, this is potentially worse. To everyone with an iota of faith and common sense, you should start praying for this country if you haven't been doing so.

...because only the Lord God Almighty can save Nigeria now.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Surviving And Winning

2009-12-31T21:19:00.001Z

I know where I'm coming from. I know what I want to be. All that's left is to act out the middle.
- Freaksho

No one could have predicted this decade.
From my dad getting a stroke to the twin towers coming down, from the economy crashing down to a black president rising in the United States.

From devastating Tsunamis to deaths of global figures, from personal failures to a meteoric rise to fame.

I'm willing to bet that anyone reading this will agree that the last ten years have been the most important of your life. And while at first you seem drawn, compelled, even to only see so much devastation, death and terror, the fact still remains that tonight, on the 31st of December 2009, you are very much alive to read this.

We all have a lot to thank God for, and that includes anyone who lost a friend, loved one or job. Life may seem bad sometimes, and good sometimes, but I assure you only the living can tell the difference.

So as we cross over to the new year, I'd like to thank God for all he's given me; who he's given me and all that I am.

And oh yes. And thank God for blogger; the best and truest means of expression for a rambler like me. :)

You know how we do, blogspot. See you in the future.

And a Happy New Year to you too.

Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Christmas Peace

2009-12-25T06:42:00.000Z

and i ran..i ran so far away

Flock Of Seagulls - I Ran

as i lie here this christmas morning with pain in my feet, i should be worrying about fueling the generator. worrying how long PHCN will give us light. worrying if i have to go physically threaten the guy at the gate again to pump water.

i should be worrying about all these things. but sometimes, you just. can't. shout.

so. because i couldn't shout, three days ago the missus and i packed up and blew town and arrived Cape Town.

so, as i lie here this christmas morning with pain in my feet from being dragged through over fifty shops in two days, it's nice to not have to worry about the small things in life.

merry christmas, blogspot. wish you were here :)

It Sounded Just Like...

2009-12-09T12:18:00.000Z

Rhymes richochet off the inner walls of my lungs
and go past my tongue faster than bullets come out of guns

Kurupt/Lost Boys - Music Makes Me High Remix

have you ever wondered what an experience sounds like?

yeah, i said sounds. i believe experiences have their own aural cadence which can be translated perfectly to song. who says moments in life should only be interpreted by how you felt?

testify, somebody.

well, today we're exploring five popular scenarios. what we all think they'd sound like and what they really sound like. evolve or die, people.

Having Sex All Night

you think sounds like - Sexual Healing (Marvin Gaye)

gasps of passion. poetry in motion. repeated bouts of pleasure framed in the moonlight. acts of heroism and vigor all done to the breathless chants of 'heal me...my..darling'

really sounds like - It's All Right - (DMX)

rivers of sweat and damp sheets. leg cramps, faked orgasms around 1am and a persistent smell akin to a box full of damp kittens. desperately checking the time while one partner chants 'it's all good, it's all right, f*ck all day, f*ck all night!'

Arguing With Your Partner/~~Worse~~ Better Half

you think sounds like - We're Not Making Love No More (Dru Hill)

plaintive arguments. tortured looks of betrayed emotion. holding your loved one tight as you both sob in each others arms and whisper 'we don't even talk no more!'

really sounds like - Scream (Chris Cornell)

fingers pointing two inches away from the other person's face. cords and veins bulging in necks and foreheads. slamming doors, stomping footsteps and the recurring plaintive question being yelled down the hall 'WHY do you KEEP screaming at the TOP of your HEAD?!?'

Dancing While Drunk

you think sounds like - I'm Really Hot (Missy Elliot)

it's amazing. three glasses of vodka, two glasses of punch and one un-named drink later and you're burning up the dancefloor. you're moves are perfectly in sync. everyone else has formed a semi-circle around you and are cheering and screaming that you're 'doing it, doing it and doing it well!'

really sounds like - Pjanoo (Eric Prydz)

there's music everywhere.

there's music in your head, in your mind, in your brain. the music has taken control of your body and you cant stop moving. in every direction. at the same time. everyone else has formed a semi-circle around you and are laughing and screaming in time with the crazy tune in your head....

Singing With Earphones On

you think sounds like - I Surrender (Celine Dion)

earphones deep in your head, your eyes are closed as you summon your sweetest notes from deep within. without trying, you match the notes you can hear; even surpassing them. you take the American Idol stance, legs apart, one hand stretched out as you hit that impossibly high note and the world explodes into colour. 'I Reeeeeach to Yoouuuuu!!!'

really sounds like - The Llama Song (Burton Earny)

earphones deep in your ears, you belt out the notes like blender with rocks in it. glass shatters around you, milk curdles and mothers cover their babies' ears. as you take the American Idol stance to reach that high note, the world goes mad and God intervenes to save mankind from your voice.

Wearing A Brown, Purple & Orange Outfit

you think sounds like - Turn My Swag On (Soulja Boy Tell 'Em)

you are a walking enigma. people turn to stare in awe as you somehow make the colours work. it's like you simply hopped out of bed and turned your swag on.

really sounds like - Turn My Swag On (Soulja Boy Tell 'Em)

you are like a walking car crash. people stare in horror while the sun turns black. the words fashion and style cease to exist in the dictionary as you are spotted by more than ten people. The devil shrieks in panic as he spots you.

Quote Me On That : The One On Optimism

2009-12-07T11:44:00.006Z

My Optimism wears heavy boots and is loud.
Henry Rollins

I was doing some research this morning looking for quotes for a branding opportunity. And one of the values was ‘optimism’. Now usually i’m one of those people who believes decorating an office with quotes are a pretty depressing thing. To me, it’s like decorating a cage. I mean, it’s still the grind right?

But this morning, jumping from website to website looking for quotes on the value of Optimism, a truth began to form in my head. That the belief and hope of a brighter tomorrow isn’t a sign of weakness or refusal to accept reality...it is the nutrition for a soul that needs positivity to excel.

The idea of quotes has given me an idea for a recurring monthly ‘Quote Me On That’ series where i dig up the best quotes on a new topic, value or whatever. I think it could be fun.

Kicking things off I’ve compiled seven of my personal best quotes on optimism i discovered this morning.

I hope it makes your week like it just made mine.

1. 1. It's better to be an optimist who is sometimes wrong than a pessimist who is always right – Anonymous

2. 2. The average pencil is seven inches long, with just a half-inch eraser... in case you thought optimism was dead - Robert Brault

3. 3. Optimist: Person who travels on nothing from nowhere to happiness - Mark Twain

4. 4. An optimist is a man who starts a crossword puzzle with a fountain pen – Unknown

5. 5. Optimism is a happiness magnet. If you stay positive, good things and good people will be drawn to you - Mary Lou Retton

6. 6. Being an optimist after you've got everything you want doesn't count - Kin Hubbard

And the best one of them all...

7. A pessimist sees only the dark side of the clouds, and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides, and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all - he's walking on them - Leonard Louis Levinson

What's In Me?

2009-11-19T16:55:00.000Z

i've been talking in my sleep

Matchbox 20 - Unwell

you ever hear that joke about the man that kept dreaming of the secret to all of life's problems?

a man would go to bed and every night and in his dream he'd see the solution to all of life's problems, right there, as clear as day. unfortunately by the time he woke up every morning, he wouldn't have the slightest recollection of what the solution was. so one day, he takes the initiative and puts a pen and a pad next to his bed just before he falls asleep. that night he again dreams of the solution to life's problems. immediately he wills himself to wake up and scribbles the solution down on the pad. satisfied, he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

he wakes up the next morning and remembers excitedly what happened the night before. he grabs the notepad and flips it open to see the solution to all of life's problems.

...and discovers he's written his house address.

*

i've been having dreams just like that.

only in MY dreams, i'm dreaming scripts. plot. dialogue so intricate i'm actually impressed in the dream that all this is coming from my head. then i wake up and the whole thing is vapour.

i know where all this is coming from, of course.

in the last three weeks i've seen one chap win a hundred and fifty million naira and another win a mind-boggling forty-five million pounds.

say it to yourself. Forty Five Million Pounds.

well, i'm realistic enough to realize life wont give ALL of us freebies. some of us (well, most of us) actually need to toil the earth and make that money, lubricating the wheels of enterprise with blood, sweat and tears.

see how i get poetic when i'm depressed?

the more i think of it, the more i'm convinced we all have that X factor in us that is pure genius and will make us ridiculously rich if we can just...nab...the damn thing. i'm not talking about your day job. your day job is what you do cause you've gotta do something to eat.

i'm talking about what you dream of at night. a chain of corporations with your name on it. designs and patterns so vibrant they could make you cry. music so beautiful you can live it.

a story so epic you cant remember it when you wake up. :)

i know somethings in me. i just don't know what it is.

Trick or Tweet

2009-10-31T16:33:00.002Z

This year halloween fell on a weekend
Me and geto boyz are trick or treatin'
Geto Boyz-My Mind's Playing Tricks On Me
Happy halloween, bloggers. Anything scary happen so far?
Me, I've been home, taking it easy. Later tonight I've got a good scary movie planned to frighten the missus (Session 9; an absolutely TERRiFYING movie) even if she is notoriously difficult to scare.
But I'm just saying, there's absolutely nothing wrong with a good scare now and then. And in the light of this I bring you nine ways to get your scare on.
1. Watch Nightmare On Elm Street. even though halloween is usually associated with axe murderers, indulge in the brain numbing terror of Freddy Kreuger. He is Psychotic, athletic and had blades for fingers. The good news is he can only get you when you sleep.
The bad news is you WILL sleep.
2. Listen to Michael Jackson's Thriller. one of the greatest songs of all time from the best selling album of all time. Filled with howls, shambling footsteps and THAT LAUGH at the end. Won't terrify you, but might scare you when you discover how hard it is to do those moves now that you're older.
3. Read some Stephen King. my favourite author hands down with high definition imagination. Allow me to suggest the novel 'Salem's Lot'. Great pacing, fantastic characters and Vampires like you've never seen them. Twilight this aint.
4. Type in the words '2012 phenomenon' in wikipedia and slowly freak out. Wonder if it's remotely true and prepare to see the movie when it hits cinemas on november 13.
5. Tune in to African Magic and catch a home video. stare in horror at the bad acting. Be terrified at the length of the movie. Be afraid of the fact that these movies increase every year. There is no escape.
6. Read any nigerian newspaper and notice the rising number of kidnappings. Be afraid that even a vulcaniser's son was kidnapped. Be amused that he had to pay 30k to get his son back. True story.
7. If you haven't done one in the last ten years, do an HIV test.
8. This is a good one - wait till everyone goes to bed then watch the movie Dawn Of The Dead (2004). Turn the volume up.
9. Listen to news on Swine Flu. Wonder. What. Happens. If. It. Gets. Here.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

I Will Not Be Frozen

2009-10-29T15:07:00.000Z

yeah, you can try

but I've found the antidote
music is the cure

Little Boots - Remedy

Yes. My leave is over.

it's interesting to see work is just as frantic as it was when i left it a month ago...I'm back and already in the deep end. a presentation on Friday, clients screaming insults over the phone and me creating copy for a campaign AFTER seeing the artist's images.

it's like a drug. a poisonous fracking drug.

once again, i've turned to music as my savior from madness...and i heard the above little boots song on my ipod. apparently from this month's UK billboard top 40, it's a great work out song...even if not everyone online thinks so.

here's a little parting bit of geek news for all music lovers out there. almighty Google have incorporated a new 'music search' feature into google search that now lets you find the lyrics of any song just by typing in a phrase, sentence or line from that song. so even if you don't know the name of the song but cannot get that chorus outta your head, you can still find that tune.
Kewl, no?

Straight From The Heart

2009-10-24T10:11:00.004Z

Here's my heart
It's been broken,
It's been wounded
But I'll give it all to you if you will love me
...If you will love me
Out Of Eden &The Winans - Here Is My Heart

This is a long post. Get a snack.
*
A lot of ex's used to tell me I had a heart like stone.
How ironic.
They came pretty close.
*
The thing with heart problems is doctors tend to be nervous about it when they talk to you. Lots of hmmm's and ahhhh's while they listen to your heartbeat over and over without saying anything concrete. For two years I'd heard a whole lot of phrases, terms and gibberish till one had stood out.
Angina.
Now angina is a general term for cardio-related chest pains, much the same way the term 'flu' is a general description for cold infections. So yes, there's angina. I feel pain. But what's causing it? Enter another funny word; Arrhythmia.
Arrhythmia is a fancy word for saying your heart is showing off. Everyone's heart is supposed to beat say, Bop-Bop, Bop-Bop,Bop-Bop. There's a pattern.
My heart is doing a Bop-Bop Beep, Bop-Bop,Bop-Bop Beep.
See? It's like a Timbaland edition heart.
Now I never knew about the arrhythmia. I just thought I had a really strong heartbeat (some of you reading this right now are going 'hey waitaminute. I have a really strong heartbeat!)
So when you put it together, what do you get? You have angina, pain, which is the effect. Then you have arrhythmia which is not a cause in itself, but is causing the angina.
So what's causing the arrhythmia?
Yeah well. I'm STILL asking that.
Over the past few years I've done a few blood tests, cholesterol tests, HIV tests (they didn't tell me that was what it was for!!!) And ECG's. An ecg is when they hook you up with those white discs and wires and try to get a reading from your heart. Once, they put me on a treadmill and made me run for 10 minutes while they kept ramping up the speed.
Very Six Million Dollar Man.
But the one test I'd dreaded, which I had never done, was the echocardiography. Call it the echo for short. This is a test that uses sound waves to create a real-time beating image of your heart. Like an ultra scan for your heart.
Well, I finally got around to doing it last thursday. Got to the hospital, took off my shirt, lay down, had that freaky jelly smeared on my chest and the machine touched me. My eyes went wide as the image appeared on the screen.
Its one thing to watch Discovery Channel and see A heart beating. That's cool. Its geeky. But when you're lying on a bed seeing YOUR heart beating on a tv over your head, its something...more.
I lay there looking at the heart pounding away...strong and relentless like the wrath of God. I could see a valve opening to let stuff in (blood? Air?) and I could see how it grew and shrank with each beat.
It looked huge. Somehow more real than I'd imagined. The doctor did something with the machine and for the first time ever I heard my authentic, timbaland heartbeat.
And in my twisted, geeked out way I wondered absently if I could convince him to let me use it as a ringtone.
*
So there I was on the bed all emotional while the doctor asked me all the same questions (are you an athlete? Does physical activity bring you pain? No doctor, I have sex just fine) and once again, acting nervous.
He explained my heart was pretty normal...only the left wall seemed a bit thicker than normal.
I
crazily heard a million female voices screaming 'heart of stone! Heart of stone!'. I battled to keep a straight face.
So, the doc explained. Was there a history of timbaland hearts in the family? Did I have healthy relatives that had suddenly just keeled over?
Over the years I'd learned to answer these gruesome questions quite calmly. And honestly. I put my heart into it. :D
So as the missus and I left yet another test with fewer answers and more questions, I patted myself on the back for finally doing the echo. Seeing my heart had made me realise two things.
1. It had been made by Someone.
2. And since I'm pretty sure He has the manual to fixing it...I should probably hand it over to Him to look at it.
Because you all know.
They don't make these 1979 models like they used to. :D

Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Seeing Things Differently

2009-10-24T07:38:00.003Z

And the sun will set for you
And the shadow of the day
Will embrace the world in gray
And the sun will set for you.

Linkin Park-Shadow Of The Day

Man, I am so addicted to Flickr. It's true we can't all be photography maestros like Cereberus...but if you love having fun taking pictures, check out flickr.

Now then.

Whoever said health is wealth was misunderstood.

'Health is wealth' doesn't literally mean good health is wealth. It means when you AREN'T sick you aren't putting money in doctors pockets so people like Bumight will have to go get a real job.

Two and a half weeks into my leave, I realised I still had boxes to tick in my 'things to do while on leave list' one of them was suck it up and go see an Ophthalmologist.

I've been wearing glasses since 1991. As far as dependency goes, I've accepted my fate; me and these babies are bonnie and clyde. If I aint going anywhere, THEY aint going anywhere.

However in the last two years, I've noticed lapses in visual detail. Put plainly, my eyesight has been getting worse and I was still making glasses based on my old prescription.

So, last week, I went to see the eye doctor. I guiltily sat in his waiting room, looking around at all the (mostly) hideous glasses on display and wondering if I'd one day be caught wearing these thirty years from now.

Seeing where I'm coming from, that's not impossible
.
I walked in when it was my turn, answered all the polite questions and we were off to the eye chart.
The eye chart is a cruel thing. Its an unflinching, insinuating assortment of letters determined to make you feel blind, stupid or both. A long time ago, I'd squint and fight for my honour.

Well, 10 years later and a few lenses thicker, I have seen (literally) the error of my ways.

My lenses are a minus two point five...and that's since my last eye test five years ago.

So we did the chart. Then the spooky machine where you looked down a road and saw (or if you're really f**ked up) or didn't see the little house at the end.

Then there's the piercing beams of light prodding your cornea as you look up down left right in the head brace machine.

After all this, the doctor sat down solemnly and scribbled away in my brand new file and delivered the news.
'Your eyesight is exactly the same'.

Well, not exactly. My left eye, hah hah, actually got better. Stepped up from a minus 2.5 to a minus 2.2. So even though my prescription was 18 years old, it was still relevant.

I felt very good as I walked out of the doctor's office. I mean, sure, I'm still short sighted. I will probably wear glasses for the rest of my life (his reply to my questions on corrective eye surgery confirmed THAT) but there's a good feeling in knowing that you aren't, you know, going blind.

Also tells you just how real your imagination can make a thing seem. I was sure my eyes were getting worse. But I'd been wrong. And that gave me the stones to book the next test I'd been putting off for the past two years.

An echocardiography.

Stay tuned.

Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Of The Carrot And The Stick

2009-10-06T15:57:00.002Z

But I'm never gonna make it without you
Do you really wanna see me crawl?

Air Supply- Making Love Out Of Nothing At All

I remember my girlfriend telling me once that there are no READY perfect boyfriends or partners. She said every chap a lady met that had good qualities was the end result of some previous girl slaving away to mold him right. It's a fascinating thought when you get right down to it-one for me which always leads to the idea of the carrot and the stick.

The older I've gotten and the more mistakes I've made, I have come to understand how the concept of a relationship can be prepared to naked flame and gunpowder. Two different people. From different backgrounds. With different ego's. Are meant to meet, coexist and condone each other for a lifetime. Starting now.

I mean. It sounds nuts.

But like everything else (and this might upset some people) relationships get better each time you fail and try again. I know some people nail it once; date, fall in love and marry their first love...well bully for you.

Some of us keep having quite a few first loves. I dunno.

But I digress. What I'm trying to say is its the women that come out of the first few relationships fully formed. Aware. Ready to make sure that shit NEVER happens again.
(Their hearts always make sure it DOES happen again...but that's another story). And because they gain sentient awareness first, they usually gain the upper hand in the next relationship.

Think about it. Who sets the ground rules? Lays out all the do's and don't's? Who is the person that always starts a sentence with the line 'I promised myself that this would NEVER happen again'?

Women.

Men, we just...go with the flow. And most likely, keep doing all the dumb stuff that ended the last relationship. That's when the woman decides that she HAS to step in and do something. Use a weapon. But what will it be?

The carrot? Or the stick?

Now the country we're in lends itself to some bias in choosing the above. Nigeria is a hard country. Nigerians are hard people. You HAVE to be to survive here. So naturally, a woman in trying to make her point grabs the biggest, loudest most assertive weapon to get through to the man. The motherf*ckin stick.

Sometimes its screaming. Sometimes its threatening. Other times she just throws a fit and all hell breaks loose. Now, as I see it, two things happen. One, you get his undivided attention. Which is good. You wanted that. Two, you have shown your hand.

You have given him a means of measuring your freak out; i.e: I lied to her and she broke my ps3 so if I cheat on her she'll stab me in my sleep. Women tend to see this as a good thing. A 'he knows what I'm capable of' kind of thing. The problem is the man'll just put his friggin ps3 out of reach next time. And sleep with a helmet. Problem solved.

Now I'm not saying being firm doesn't work. Its just that there's the Carrot.

Now. Man does something wrong. Gets nabbed by woman. She knows he was wrong. He knows he was wrong. He spreads his legs, braces for impact and prepares for the storm.

It never comes.

Instead your invited to sit down and patiently told that behaviour like the one you've just exhibited is seriously counterproductive to the relationship. And because she loves you, she wouldn't want anything to jeopardise the relationship.

Then here's the kicker. She kisses you on the head, smiles and walks away.

I speak on behalf of my species when I say there is no better way to f*ck a man up outside doing what I just described. We're confused. Unsure. Dressed up in tons of defensive gear and suddenly there's no battle to fight. You are weighed down by the shame of what you've done and her ability to forgive you.

Now once again I'm not saying all men are waiting for soft spoken women to see reason. That would be terribly naïve. Its just that I have realised now that sometimes the loudest and clearest way to get a huge point across is to speak quietly.

Screaming the word 'tiny' has never made it big.

Later, people. :)

Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Is This Thing On?

2009-10-02T06:05:00.000Z

Don't mind me, I'm just trying to see if blogging from a bb works as advertised. I doubt I could ever actually type a full post out on these keys. I'd be finger cramped and crossed-eyed after thirty minutes.

And only masturbation is supposed to do that to you.

I've started reading books again...which is a rightful return to geek status. Back to my Stephen Lawheads, Lee Childs and Terry Pratchetts. The beauty of a book has always been its non-dependency on the basic amenities we lack here in Nigeria like, you know, electric power (happy belated anniversary, by the way). Of course our generation is so entrenched in the future, we confuse things at times.

Example. I was reading a paperback novel some months ago when I wondered what the time was. Did I check my watch for the time? Look at the wall clock? No. I glanced to the TOP OF THE PAGE OF THE BOOK. True story. I looked at the top of the page for the time and was honestly confused when I didn't find it. Its a funny old life, this.

Argh. Finger cramp.
Sent from my Blackberry wireless device

Just Leave, Dammit.

2009-09-29T15:14:00.006Z

We Make It Clap

Busta Rhymes - Make It Clap Remix

You ever see one of those toy monkeys that just grin psychotically and clap cymbals together till kingdom come as long as you keep them wound up?

See, the cymbals are your job. The wind up wheel is your salary. And the monkey is you.

I’m on leave. But i just cannot seem to stop clapping my damn hands.

Well, it’s been a while since i’ve been here. At first i thought it was twitter killing my blogging skills but then i realised it was just work killing my everything skills. Man I’ve had days reduced to ctrl-shift-delete, ctrl-c plus ctrl-v and done it so much i’ve lost my damn ctrl. A few weeks ago i knew i was losing it and i re-applied for my annual leave. My boss took a good look at me and approved it. Smart move. It was taking me twenty minutes to write one headline.

Saturday night had been award night in our neck of the woods and we did pretty okay...by anyone standards. Hell i even got to walk the stage and pick an award. I kept seeing Kanye jump out on stage, snatch the mic from me and go ‘yo Freaksho, i’m really happy for you and all and i’m gonna let you finish; but Rosabel had one of the best ads of ALL TIME!’

Heh. But it didn’t happen. Yaay.

In other geek news i dumped my Javelin for a Tour (which i suppose will become the new ashawo of the blackberry market)and upgraded from windows vista to the blistering new windows 7. As far as operating systems go, i cannot recommend this highly enough. It’s got the beauty of vista and then some (and i mean that) combined with the speed and stability of xp. I’ve been using this baby for two weeks now and it hasn’t locked up or crashed once. Score one for the Gates team.

I’m not so sure about this leave thing. As much as its fun to wake up in the morning and throw the duvet over your head, its rather sad to be polishing your shoes at 2 in the afternoon because you’ve got nothing else to do.

And i swear today’s just the second day.

Ah well. This is just to work out the kinks. Nothing terribly exciting has happened so far...but hopefully that doesn’t mean it wont.

At the very least i’ll be spamming my blog.

I’ve got this hilarious idea about audio blogging in autotune.

Stay tuned, baby.