Come with me, let us take a walk down memory lane. Are you following? You are? Good. Memory lane is just around this corner. Behind those trees. And here we are. Now, didn’t your mother tell you not to go wandering off with strangers? Oya, you over there, bring that wristwatch, very nice. You, empty that wallet! Only 500 card? You broke die! Chai! Still bring am sha. Aunty, pull that your shoe, e be like my babe size. Next time they tell you to follow them into memory lane, you people will use brain.
Ehen! Sorry for that interruption, I had to teach some people a lesson. I don’t know if they learned it, seeing as I didn’t hang around for course evaluation forms, quick getaways and all, you know how it is. How have you guys been? Good? I don’t really care, but it’s apparently polite to ask about things in which you have absolutely no fucking interest. I mean, it’s not like you’d say, “I’ve not been that great” and I would do anything about it. But, these rules exist, apparently. Who knew? Oh, you did? Well, shut up, nobody likes a smart ass. Besides, I also knew, I just wanted to see who else knew, okay? Stop nodding sarcastically, you prick. You know what, fuck off.
I apologise for that other unintelligent interruption, it was due to the voices in my head. Oh, it’s perfectly fine, we all have them. You don’t? Lying to yourself is not a good look, darling. I know you’re a man. Does another man calling you darling make you uncomfortable? Are you that insecure in your sexuality? No? You’re as straight as an arrow, eh? Straighter than an engineer’s slide rule, eh? Straighter than a Nigerian builder’s level, are you? You know those aren’t quite straight, right? I mean, have you seen many Nigerian buildings? You know what I mean. You don’t? Ok, I’ll explain, break it down for you sweetie. What you’re saying is that you’re sort of straight. Don’t worry, love, it will be our little secret, eh? Give us a kiss. Oh, stop staring, the rest of you. You’re going to make him uncomfortable, the sweet lambchop. Speaking of lamb, I had the most divine lamb the other day. I moaned, it was that good. Yes, lamb, as in the meat. What on earth? You were associating it with something else, weren’t you? I can’t even with you right now. Like I am physically unable to can. Or even.
Speaking of closets and staying in them, it is hard work. Or at least, it must be hard work, all that pretending and sneaking about, and hiding your true appetites. Oh, I wouldn’t know, personally. Do you see a Nigerian builder’s level around here? Straighter than the road between Fort Worth and Dallas, and that was built with American tools. Big, Texas tools. And no, the gentleman doth not protest too much. In fact, the gentleman doth protest too little. Way too little. Ok, not that little. King Kong ain’t got nothing on me! In fact, I just left Mrs Kong, and she gave me a great big bunch of bananas as a thank you. They came in handy, seeing as I had to hide behind when King Kong came home all huffing and puffing with a plane in one hand and that white woman in the other. Ah, that explains Mrs Kong’s affections. I wonder if she’s told him that consummating that relationship is not medically possible. Kanye did have it right, he’s leaving her for a white girl. Just like Kanye eventually did to Amber Rose… It’s not like she didn’t see it coming, she paid attention to his lyrics, right?
Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, in the immortal words of the legendary Bob Izua, we were where where we were o! Which was where, exactly? What do you mean you can’t remember? It’s your job to pay attention to these things. What good are you if you don’t pay attention? We might as well take you out behind the Engineering shed and put two in you. Bullets, you dummy! What two did you think I meant? WHAT? You’re just nasty. And wrong. Such filth. I apologise, we apparently have a troupe of comedians backstage. Basketmouth and company are safe from you lot, never fear!
Whew, it’s getting so one would need a bunch of cowboys just to keep this lot in line. Is that the proper term for a group of cowboys? Should it be a herd or a flock? No, a posse is what they put together to chase after the rustlers what made off with 100 of old man Johnson’s prized cattle. No, every man who rides a horse isn’t a fucking cowboy! What’s the matter with you? Ever heard of jockeys? Pays better than being a cowboy, minus the guns. Wouldn’t that be fun though? Armed jockeys horse racing. Equestrian Death Race. The horses would have to be armoured too. Good armour, not that leather bullshit. We’d have to erect bulletproof glass around the spectators too. It wouldn’t do for them to get hit by stray bullets. Although, we could make them all sign waivers at the gate, and buy ourselves the local sheriff so we wouldn’t have to deal with pesky murder investigations. By the way, if I see this concept on TV somewhere, I’ll come drag the people responsible off behind the Engineering shed, and put two in them.
What? Oh, you know the kind I mean.