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I had a Turkish delight this morning. That was on my way to the bathroom…soapy water got into my mouth so what was once rose flavored, became Geisha flavored. Tasted like crap, incase you were wondering.
My pal told me that who you are at 25 is who you will be for the rest of your life. Technically that means I have roughly three months to mould myself into a morally upright citizen…I’m keeping my fetish for girls in white pants till 5 minutes to my birthday.
I am afraid of babies. Not in a clown’s freak me out sort of way, but I wouldn’t want to be left alone with a baby for even five seconds… shit, at all. My sis wonders how I will cope with my own kids… I haven’t planned that far ahead.
The contestants on Tusker’s Project Fame make me want me to throw our TV…at them…I was going to let it slide until the traffic jam they caused made it close to impossible to get a decent meal at Garden City… there’s also the fact that some chic said, “My own very home!†…and most of the contestants seem to have developed accents of questionable origin after going to Nairobi…NAIROBI for crying out loud!
What’s the deal with teletubbies? Why don’t they grow old and wrinkly and die? How come the kid in the sky with a sunny disposition is not aging? Aren’t we filling our kids with false hope?
The fair and lovely lady on telly in that advert says four is her lucky number… haha, mbu 4! The nerve.
My niece believes in shooting stars. After watching Ragga Dee and Bobi Wine engaged in a game of pool at the night club the other night, I think it’s a brilliant idea.
I want my Sony Ericsson to be as deadly as the Nokias in that advert where people are as-if fighting using their phones network waves. Damn you Sony, when will you make my phone a weapon of mass distraction!
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