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Thursday, September 23, 2010

RIP Hot Babe

Eeeeeeeeeekkkkk!!!! Run Mena! There’s a monster in the mirror.

Shut up jo. That’s us Brain. We’re the monster.

Boo Hoo! My beautiful face.

 It’s not possible. Hey! Stop crying and listen…Ko possible. I had a deal with the guy upstairs not to be inserted into any ugly people. By accepting me as your brain you were under strict obligations to keep yourself hot at all times or I would be forced to turn you into a vegetable. You put on weight; I did nothing because your face was still fine. You went through a period of channeling Lil’Kim as your fashion inspiration; I did nothing because…your face was still fine. I even allowed you to continue to lead a normal life after subjecting me to months without manicures and silky human hair extensions because of our fine facial features but seeing as you have allowed your one saving grace to be desecrated, I give you 1 hour to put your affairs in order because today is the day we will see who really runs this body.

Sharrup! You talk too much for a muscle mass. It’s always about you. What about me? I’m the one who has to face leaving the house like this. I’m never going to meet a man now. It was hard enough when I was hot but now that I’m disfigured…Boooooooooooooo Hooooooooooo. E don finish o!

Er... what’s going on here?

Oh look what the cat dragged in Brain? Crappie fans.

Na wa for you people o! How many days ago did I say I was going to go out with Ladies Man?

About a week ago

and when was the last time I posted a blog?

About a week ago

And none of you thought that was a tad strange? That something might be wrong?

Not particularly. You are rather self absorbed and tend to forget you have an obligation to your long standing fans. Frankly I think I speak for the rest of your reading public when I say we don’t feel appreciated Mena.

Ennnnnn…Brain! Are you hearing what I am hearing?

I hear am o. I think someone does not know in whose presence they stand.

I think not.

What mode should I switch to in order to enable you kick the nincompoops behind verbally. Should we do local chick, ghetto chick or I went to public school and I know big words chick.

This one is not like the usual complainants Brain. Seems to understand English. I think we should fight fire with fire and go for the latter.

Righty ho! Public school girl it is. I hope I remember how to switch it on. It’s been a while seeing as we don’t get to use it much with the razzo’s we are forced to relate with on a regular basis. Switching in 3…Oh, by the way don’t think I’ve forgiven you. You have 50 minutes of normal brain functions left. After that I suggest you embrace the joys of not being able to blink and you might need to invest in some big girl nappies. OK continuing countdown… 2,


"Mena open this door at once. Open the door and let me see you. Inspector Lamidi says you have been involved in a horrible disfiguring accident. I rushed straight here from The Wives of Big Men club luncheon when I heard. The sooner we sneak you out of the country so you don't disgrace the family with your mangled features the better. Oya open the door."

Damn it! God save you that my mother arrived when she did because I had a bevy of soul crushing insults planned for you.

Who send that gbeborun Lamidi message? I was hoping to have covered up the worst of it with a bucket of liquid make up before she returned from her jobless women’s meeting. Abi what do you call a meeting dedicated to comparing their husbands PRADO models? She is currently not cooking for my father because he refuses to upgrade, spoiling her chances of reelection as Chief Iwayo Olowo next year.


"I’m coming mummy."

This is going to be painful.  I take a deep breath and open the door for my mother.

"Hello Mum! You shouldn’t have rushed over. It’s just a scratch."  I say plastering the most carefree smile I can muster on my face.

My mother takes one look at me and as if in slow motion slowly crumples to the ground.

Mena! I think you finally did it. You have finally killed your mama. You will henceforth be known as Mena the murderer. They go send you to Kirikiri, where you will have to wash other women’s knickers with non -foaming bar soap. You will beg me to turn you into a vegetable then.

"Oh my God! Mummy! Wake up please."

I shake her no response. I check her pulse and thank God she’s still got one. She’s just fainted. I rush to the bathroom, get some water and sprinkle some on her face.

No response.

Tap her face gently

No response.

Then I decide to try an old trick my dad says he uses when she snores. My father says she can smell money a mile off regardless of how out of it she is. Let’s see if it’s true. I open her purse and waft a couple of thousand naira notes under her nose.

I detect movement. Na wa for this woman and money. She stirs and starts to mutter

"Ummm…my money. Who’s stealing my money? God punish all you thieves. you will not see anything to buy in the market with my money."

"Mummy open your eyes it’s me. No one is stealing your money."

She slowly opens her eyes, looks at me and sits up with amazing speed for someone who was lying comatose seconds ago and starts to whack me with her handbag.

"You will not kill me for my husband you hear?" Whack!

"You will not kill me." Whack!

"Owww!!! Mummy!! Stop hitting me."

 I’m up and running round the room but the sprightly old witch is right behind me whacking away.

"I will take out any child of mine that decides they want to cause me problems in this world. And I will not allow any child to live in my husband's house after their allotted time. You my dear have passed your time. I see what you are planning. You think by turning yourself into Quasimodo you will escape marrying and leaving this house? Over my dead body."

By now the scene is something from the Benny Hill show with me and my mother running round in circles and her handbag thwacking me at every opportunity.

I hate you Brain. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t made me agree to go out with Ladies Man, none of this would be happening.

Like I make the decision round here? And if I remember correctly it was more Market Boys fault than mine. Move your head dimwit you're killing me here.

Market Boy! The thorn in my sexy side. I will make you pay.

Ok! I know I’m just an annoying fan but what the hell is going on here? What about Ladies Man? What happened to your face and what does Market boy have to do with anything? Answers Mena! Answers! And don’t you dare leave us with another stupid cliff hanger.

Enn…U dare me? Brain they are daring me.

Are you talking to me? I’m not involving myself in your wahala again. If you like don’t komot your head for road, When your mother has killed all my component little grey cells maybe you will learn your lesson.

I’ll take that as a “How dare they dare us?” from you and you all know what that means…

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