If I had on my posh ajebutter hat, I’d have titled this post “Bang-Bang” mimicking the sound of a gun expelling bullets.
The tragic news of senseless killings, regardless of where it happens, always touches me deeply. I empathise with those caught in the crossfire of thoughts within another person’s disturbed mind and sympathise with their loved ones. Everyone is entitled to the right to die a more dignified death.
Recently, I was surprised to learn that a man responsible for mass shootings in the US simply walked into a licensed store and purchased two guns with the casual ease of buying Bazooka bubble gum.
I wondered, what would be the motive for purchasing a gun? What else could guns possibly be used for? So, to give those who make lax regulations that piggyback on the second amendment the benefit of the doubt, I made a list of possible alternatives outside of firing and killing:
I was highly amused to discover that there’s all sorts of profiling. Within five minutes of chatting me up, my red pout probably dazzled this bobo and he proceeded to interview me for a role that I wasn’t even aware I’d applied for.
“Are you catholic?” he enquired, amongst other things, I chuckled gently at his forwardness. He wondered why, and I cheekily commended him for having his checklist ready and within reach. He laughed a caught-in-the-act sort of laugh.
While Religious denomination profiling is one bowl of soaked Ijebu garri with idly floating ground nuts, Silver spoon profiling is another bowl altogether with milk added. That sly “What does your father do for a living?”
Let’s not forget the more subtle yet so powerful, it really packs a punch, I bet you’ve missed it several times because it seemed so innocent, like nothing more than a polite request. “What is your name?” Yes, this, sometimes, is the grandmother of Tribal profiling.
If you must steal the National Cake, then steal enough.
Do not steal a piece of cake that weighs less than Thirteen Billion Pounds. I can’t be bothered with the metric conversion to kilograms so pounds will have to do. Yes, I know we were colonized by the British but I am giving these stealing tips in my newly-acquired American accent, so pounds is quite apt.
Please forgive me for being behind the times, I hear “Stealing is no longer Corruption”. Perhaps, I should reword my sound advice- Do not “take” a piece of cake that weighs less than Thirteen Billion Pounds. Yes Billion, you heard me right. Millions is so mediocre, it even sounds like Minions – funny, right? Always remember that you are special and have nothing in common with the masses, those laughable minions, pitiful slaves of Nine-to-Fives.
Make it worth your while o, anything less than 13,000,000,000 lbs. would be so embarrassing. You mean it crossed your mind to eat less cake simply because you are worried about your expanding waistline? How vain! And you are also worried about dental cavities? How unambitious! Enough of that sanctimonious burst of conscience, go hard or go home!
Look, you must stop thinking of yourself alone, that is so inconsiderate to your unborn generation, your children’s children’s children and the children’s children after them.
I have major Ostrich Syndrome (OS). When faced with unpleasantness, I simply bury my head in the sand and drift off to my happy place.
It’s a coping mechanism of sorts, that explains how I still managed to dance to ♫ “Ijo Shina” ♫ in my car (thank you 90.9 FM), wiggling with enthusiasm beneath the seat belt on my way to work, while relentless Lagos Traffic was (with a smirk, no less) gleefully wasting scarce petrol that I grudgingly purchased at the black market, “chai!”- inducing premium price.
Why the daughter of the village goldsmith still goes about without earrings, is the riddle that is (more…)