Photo by Yagazie Emezi

There are two articles in this one. I'm quite sure of it. I'm as sure of it as I am that I'm a beautiful man.  I'm sure that I'm beautiful because Mama Afam tells me everyday. The last time she saw me in a wig she half wished I'd been born a girl but she cringed when I informed her that it wasn't too late for me to become a girl. Let's be real here, a penis is one incision away from becoming a vagina. That's probably a little bit of an exaggeration, but I'm allowed to embellish things and blow them out of proportion. Anyway because it's my blog, and my blog is a special weird place, for special weird people who're looking for 5 minutes of escapism I'll give the lot of you the least commercial version.

I remember the day clearly. The previous sentence is a sign that I shall spend the next five hundred or so words telling you what happened that day. I will probably say too much, and it will probably be embarrassing for the both of us. Shut Up. Don't complain. These are the things I do for you.

I woke up feeling a certain sort of way. I can't quite say what it was. If I had been in a hotel I would have attributed the difference to my temperament to the water. I would have said, "the waters infected me with an odd sort of whimsy that's made me even madder than I normally am." Let's not get confused here. My name is Afam and I am mad. Everyone says so. And as you know, everyone is always right. Because I'm a Nigerian living in Nigeria, it would be easier to assume that I endured an encounter with a water spirit as I slept, and was left a worse for wear as a result. A lot of people blame their behavioural extremities on water spirits and their like. Haven't you ever heard someone blame it on the devil? It's a fairly common phenomenon here. There's one song about it.

Blame it on the devil, he got you feel vile.
Blame it on the sango, it got you feelin django.
Blame it on the m-a-a-a-a-a-mmy
Blame it on the m-a-a-a-a-a-mmy
Blame it on the Mephistopheles
Blame it on the Loki
Blame it on the Legion...

You get the idea.

As I was saying. It would be quite easy for me to blame it on all the metaphysical plagues on humanity but I shall refrain because I am superstitious. People who blame their problems on the above mentioned are likely to be turned into yams. I kid you not, the village witch doctor told me something like that.

I will only say that I forgot where I was.

Let's get on with it.

I had this Abercrombie and Fitch shirt that'd been sitting in my wardrobe for ages. I hadn't worn it since Mike Jeffries said what he said. I mean, I'd never quite got into the whole A&F craze, and as I grew older the need to conform to the public school preppy look reduced. It was a redundant remnant of my natural affinity for the herd. The herd queued for hours to get into the Abercrombie and Fitch store on Madison so when I went there, I did the same. My legs hurt and the store reeked but I got my t-shirt. What I'm trying to say is that I felt bad for the t-shirt. So much stress, so little wear... I wanted to make it relevant again, so I cut it in half and turned it inside out. Suddenly, my symbol of classic white good looks and American youth culture was something else entirely. I liked this.  I threw it on, grabbed some sweat pants, strapped on some sandals, and strode out of my house like a super star.

I'm not quite sure about it. I don't think it's a bad photograph but it makes me cringe a little. I won't be doing it again anytime soon, apart from if there's a point to be proven. I'll try it again next year and see how I feel about it then.

My name is Afam and I'm depressed.

There I said it. Weight lifted. Yippee kai yay!

That right there is a lie. There's no weight that's lifted. It's just meh, bleurgh and what the fuck. Some of you reading this will immediately go, "what a cop out! Does this nasty little turd actually expect us to believe this shit?" I'm right there with you. When my therapist told me I was confused. She said, "Don't you feel better now that you know what's wrong with you?" I looked at her like she was retarded.

My mum called later that night.

"Mum, I saw a therapist. She says I'm depressed."

We ate silence that night. She stayed on the phone but the confusion was palpable.

How the therapist came to the conclusion that I was depressed?

I'm not really sure how to write about this but I'll give it a go anyway.

First off I did not walk into her office and scream, "I am depressed Dee! SAVE ME! SAVE ME! Save me from my mind."

When I walked in, I was quiet. I was thinking.

Afam: Why are you here?

Afam: You're just seeing what the options are you know? You're almost definitely going to bonk yourself, so you owe it to yourself to see if there's anyway that you can get out of offing yourself.

Afam: Fair enough.

Afam: How would you do it though?

Afam: We've been through this before. The options are:

Poison: If you don't die, you'll be both suicidal and medically fucked. Also, your parents can't find out about this, it's embarrassing.

Pills: Nothing screams suicide better than a stomachful of pills.

Gun: Impractical. Closed Casket.

Jump: Scary. What if you don't die? You'll be paralysed from the neck down and suicidal, only, you won't actually be able to kill yourself. It's the worst.

Slit wrists: Messy. No one wants to deal with that.

Hanging: Embarrassing. You'll die from the shame of it.

Drowning: You'll take a train to some impossible coast and swim as far as you can, and then die. Brilliant! You'll fly to Lagos, take a swim, and you'll be dead in no time. With any luck your body will never be found. It'll be better for everyone to think you ran off to Grenada.

Of course all of that happened in my head, she didn't know it, and I wasn't going to tell her. The best way to not kill yourself, is to tell other people about your plans to kill yourself. There are two Is in suicide for a reason. It's a lone mission. I was going to skirt around it.

I walked into her office looking very bad indeed. I mean, I was a mess. I looked like I smelled bad, and I did smell bad. I noticed this from some far off place in my mind. It didn't matter.

"Your name's Afam?"

"Yes."

"I'm Dee. Before we begin, I want you to do a quick survey for me."

She pointed at her computer screen. I didn't mind, but then again, I didn't mind much.

The questions had me laughing internally. They were questions like, do you try to avoid dealing with people? The answer to that one was simple. At the time I saw my friends once every two weeks. Putting on the I'm good face was too much work. We'd meet up in the library and then I'd retire for two weeks. I needed the time to charge my batteries.

Have you lost or gained weight without dieting? I had lost a couple of kilos. I looked ill.

Do you often feel that life is not worth living? I did. I saw how other people who weren't me could be happy to be alive, but I suffered from a tragic unsuitability to the land of the living.

The survey went on like that. I answered each question honestly and confidently. I was rather decisive. I was more honest and decisive about that questionnaire than I had been about anything in my life before it. In hind sight this was a little bit daft. I should have lied about it. If I had, chances are that my therapist would have kicked me out at the end of the session, and I'd be dead.

She printed my results and looked at them, then she began with the questions.

Dee: I've looked at your answers and they show that you're incredibly unwell, and that you have been for some time. Why are you here?

Afam: In a moment when I didn't feel as shitty as I normally feel, I owed it to myself to see if I could be fixed.

Dee: And what are you hoping to fix.

Afam: I want to not feel like I'm a fraud. I see other people, and they aren't like me. I want to be more like them.

Dee: Why do you feel like you're a fraud?

Afam: On the surface everything's alright. My friends don't know anything, and my parents are even worse.

Dee: What don't they know?

Afam: They don't know anything about how I can't actually do anything. Everybody can do something. Everybody does something, apart from if they're poor, or ill, or daft, lazy, useless and ambitionless like me.

we'd just touched on the vicious cycle of depression and self loathing.

The Vicious cycle of Afam depression

Get out of bed. I can't.

Why? I'm sad because I can't get out of bed.

Why? I don't know. Just can't.

There are people with cancer that can, why can't you? It's not like you have any real problems.

I'm useless.

Yeah. You're useless.

I'm the uselessest person in history.

Yeah. You're a nasty little shit. You're not poor, or starving. You've never had to suffer a day in your life.

I'm so bloody useless.

Yeah you're the prime example of uselessness.

I'm really sad now.

Why though?

Because I'm the prime example of uselessness.

Why are you the prime example of useless?

Because I was sad about being useless, and my uselessness made me sadder and the sadness made me even more useless, but the sadness is making me particularly sad because uselessness is not a legitimate reason to be sad.

You're so useless and sad right now that it's making me ill. Do something! Go to class.

I can't go to class because I'm sad and I'm useless. Useless people don't go to class.

But if you don't go to class you'll fail and then you'll really have a reason to be sad.

Okay. Get out of bed you nasty little turd. You're wasting your dad's money. You're ruining the family. You're letting everybody down. You're literally a walking embarrassment. Move! Move! Move!

Sadness knock out.

That's one of the reasons why you can't really talk yourself out of it. Telling someone that's depressed to motivate themselves out of it is like telling a person without arms and legs to walk. My depression was and is sadness x sadness x sadness x sadness to infinity. The only thing that I've left out is the suicidal impulses and I'll address those immediately.

Look at you. Just look at you. This is shameful. It's not normal. You shouldn't be like this. It's inexcusable. It's unforgivable. So much has been given to you and sacrificed for you but here you are wasting away in a pool of your own sadness. It's sinful. You should be shot.

And that was it. I had my motive. Of course the motive created its own vicious cycle, and by the time I walked into my therapists office sadness was equal to DIE! DIE! DIE! I don't want to say that I was crying all the time because crying means something. I cried when my grandmother died. I wailed and moaned and ugly cried until I slept. My eyes were leaking. I wasn't hysterical, I was just weepy.

Back to how the therapist came to the conclusion that I was depressed:

Dee: In the survey you said that you'd thought about self harm? Have you ever harmed yourself physically?

Afam: No.

Dee: Why?

Afam: When they find my corpse with marks all over my arms they'll know that I killed myself.

Dee: and you don't want them to know?

Afam: No.

Dee: Who are the them?

Afam: My family.

Dee: How do you think your family would feel about you dying?

Afam: My dad would be alright with it I think. My mum would be upset about it at first but she'd get over it. My brother would be alright as well, I think he's a little surprised that I haven't done it already. My sister...

I hadn't thought about my sister. I start ugly crying because she's the only person in my family that won't know who I am underneath the melancholy and that's sad. I wasn't always this mess of a human being. I used to be funny. I used to laugh like a banshee. I used to be a fun person. Dee hands me a box of kleenexes. I'm a little surprised that I'm crying in her office. I had been swimming in a sea of sadness apathy. I didn't do spikes of emotion. 

Dee: How would your sister feel about it?

Afam: She'd be gutted.

Dee: Why wouldn't your brother be surprised about it?

Afam: He knows me very well. He's seen me get sad for no apparent reason before.

Dee: So has this happened before?

Afam: Not like this. I've always been able to do the things that really mattered whenever the situation called for it. Now I can't do anything.

Dee: Is that the main reason why you're here?

Afam: Yes, if I could work then they won't say I killed myself because I failed my exams.

Dee: I'm sorry but I can't help you like that. I'm not a witch, and this isn't Harry Potter. Nothing I say to you will make you feel that different from how you feel now. I'll be able to help, but it won't be immediate, and you're going to have to go to your GP as well because you need medication.

I was starting to wonder if the session was a good idea. She was supposed to be a magician. She was supposed to zap me with something and send me on my way with a completely different personality.

Hi. How's it going? I like to say hi. It's as good a way as any to start any conversation.

So what's new in the world of Afam?

Well, Bintin's gone of to Uni. I'd say where but that'd be saying too much. If I do I'm quite sure that one of you will go and look for her, and I can't have that. My sister is a gem.

There was this one time we were ripping up the floor in Spice (a popular club in Lagos) and a lout came over to dance with her. Before he could get within five feet of her, I completely surrounded her with my brotherly mass. He tried to get around it, but I deflected his advances with aggressive brotherly twerking. I don't shake that way. My arse is quite solid. Years of cross country will do that to you. Plus, the sight of me attempting to twerk is actually revolting. I put him off. I was proud of myself. I would do worse things to deter anyone with a penis from getting within striking distance of her. I don't quite understand why a guy that looks like he's thirty would approach a girl that looks like she's ten, and dresses like a man repeller, but these things are beyond me.

The first time I realised that my sister was actually a girl was when I was 15. We were watching a movie, and there was a rape scene that involved a baseball bat. It was gruesome stuff. I turned to her and said something like, "If anyone tries to do that to you kill them before they get a chance. Don't let yourself be paralysed with fear, fight them off." Some of you will read that and insult me for it. You'll say something like it's her right to not be raped or something like that, and I agree in principle. You'll say that I should work on re-educating the guys her age that No is no, and too drunk to say yes isn't yes, and I agree with that too. You'll say that I'm setting her up to blame herself for something that she isn't responsible for and I agree. The thing is, when the conversation changes from a theoretical one to a practical one, I change sides immediately. I say don't go to that hotel room, apartment, bedroom, party, meeting, unless you're sure that he won't do anything you don't want. If you leave your drink unattended don't pick it up, it may not be the same as when you left it. Don't drink so much that you forget yourself. Hang with Abdul, I know where he lives, if something happens I can keep vigil outside his house. If anything happens I won't ask you why, and I won't say what if, and I won't tell you that you were stupid. The warnings and the guides are for the before. The after is a different matter altogether, and I'd much rather do the before.

It's a little bit funny, but it is what it is.

When I went to uni Mama Afam gave me 2 rules that I mostly lived by.

1. You're black, if she cries rape, they won't believe your side of things. I understood this. It happened to my uncle. It was not funny. The situation was resolved, but not before he was suspended from his job, and suffered the humiliation of an investigation. They later found out that she was psychotic. This happened. I'm not joking. Of course you can't blame someone who's ill for swearing that her surgeon was coming on to her with the subtlety of a dragon when he wasn't doing anything at all like that, but his life was fucked for a little bit all the same.

2. Do not fight. Do not fight in a club. If there is a fight sprint. Do not separate them. If you're caught in the middle of things, you will be deported. The one time there was a brawl I was close to being involved with, I sprinted home. Some of my friends were cuffed, when they got back to halls they asked me where I'd been. I laughed. Can you imagine me calling Papa Afam from prison? That's grounds for a disowning.

I suppose these muddled thoughts are my version of that.

Do well. Stay safe. Your safety is your responsibility. Eat well. Exercise. Manage your money properly. Save. Don't let dad forget the first of the month. Travel. Don't lend. If you lend, be ready to not get it back. Whatever happens there isn't the end of the world. Email when you need anything. Find yourself.

Happy Days,
Afam

Oh my... Things have been very dull on the ramblings haven't they? I can't quite say why, especially because I don't really need a topic to blog. I mean, there are sometimes I panic because I think the glitch that makes me comfortable with going on and on about absolutely nothing has left me. And there are times I panic because I have something to talk about and I can't seem to find the words. There's also the problem of beautiful synergy. Before I feel inspired to ramble on about nothing at all everything must converge beautifully. The music must be inspiring, the conversation must be minimal, and I must be either whimsically happy, or whimsically sad, or silently introspective, or rousingly ecstatic. If I am not any of those weird things, I will sit at my desk and stare at the laptop screen, until I decide that I need to read manga to inspire me.

So am I inspired now?

Yes. The music is quietly soothing (fire by Ed Sheeran), and suitably rousing, and the only noise apart from the music is that of the generator. Someone's walking outside my window, so I'll resume when the cretin passes.

Let's get on with it. The other day, I met a fan. I like meeting fans, because I think that they're slightly mad. Well, we're all slightly mad but we all hide it very well. When someone comes up to you with big big eyes and says, "I AM SUCH A BIG FAN OF YOURS!" I know then and there that in all matters that concern me, that person is bonkers. Take this dude I met at some block party I went to the other day.

I'm going to revert to play speak because I really can't be arsed to write the conversation a la prose.

I'm with my buddy Feyi Adesanya on a bench. The bench is the most unremarkable bench you'll ever see, but benches need not be remarkable for them to be effective so I don't mind it too much. While I'm on the bench I develop a sudden irrepressible desire to see who is sitting on my right. I look, and our eyes meet. He tenses up like he's seen the devil. I eyes front immediately. I'm not drunk enough to be amused by extreme displays of awkwardness. I spend the next five minutes steadying myself for the next encounter. I turn my head to the right again slowly this time. I don't want to startle young dude on my right. If I startle him again, he might die. 

Enter fresh cool young Lou on the right.

Lou: A-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-e-e-e y-o-o-u-u-u-u A-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-m

Me: Yes. Who are you?

Lou: Who I am is not important I already know who you are.

Me: Okay.

I eyes front like I've been bitch slapped. I start to plan my escape. I've never met anyone like him you know? And I don't know where he knows me from. He must be an instagram follower. The ones that actually read my blog know that I probably don't respond well to any awkwardness that is not my own awkwardness, so they're always very calm when they meet me. 

Lou: I cannot believe that it is you, Afam, sitting so casually next to me.

Me: Really?

Lou: Yes!

Me: But... but... I'm just Afam. I'm no one special really.

He looks at me like I am an absolute idiot. He's about to launch into a serenade or a ballad or an epic about how I saved his life or something like that. I can feel it coming. I eyes front again and resume planning my escape. He grabs at my left wrist. I don't like people touching my left wrist, my bracelets live there. I look at him again, but my gaze is a little bit cold this time.

Me: What's up?

Lou: Oh my God! That's the exact bracelet combination you wore on Star Gist yesterday. I told myself that if I ever met you I would steal the silver one.

My silver bracelet from Tiffany and co that Papa Afam personally paid for? The same one that Brother Afam engraved my initials on? The same bracelet that I received as I turned 21? Gaddem Gaddem Gaddem. 

Happy Days,
Afam

Gaddem = The non-sinful way of saying God Damn!

Originally on The Sauvage 

S.E stands for Sauvage Editor

We didn't expect this to happen so soon, but we're glad that it did. The Sauvage Assisstant and I had planned for a month of solid writing before we went on the hunt for contributors, so when Afam of The Ramblings of a Madman tweeted at us, asking for a column we were a little bit surprised. He was looking for a space that wasn't his, so we gave him a column, and then we decided to do something unheard of.

Not many people in this business celebrate their writers and regular contributors, so we thought to change things. We'll announce every regular contributor before they begin, and we'll interview them so that you get a sense of who they are, and why they're with us.

 S.E: Hi.

Afam: Hi.

S.E: How did you find out about us?

Afam: You interviewed Denola Grey and he instagrammed it. I followed you guys after I think.

S.E: And the blog, how's that going?

Afam: It's been alright thanks. I've made some great friends through it.

S.E: Friends like Toyin of Ndani and Feyi?

Afam: Yeah. How did you know that?

S.E: Sometimes, when you selfie with them you say #WeMetOnTheInternet

Afam: That's really observant of you actually.

S.E: Thanks. Have there been any down sides?

Afam: Some people hate my guts, but that's alright right?

S.E: Are you on Tinder by the way?

Afam: Err no. Are you on Tinder?

S.E: Not yet, but soon.

Afam: Looks like I'm not the only perpetually single guy out there. S.E: Shut your face. I'm not the one who got his heart broken and blogged about it. 

Afam: Are you sure this column thing is a good idea?

S.E: We'll see won't we?

Afam: I guess.

S.E: In any case you've got 523 likes on Facebook, 795 followers on twitter and a good number of insta-lovers. You'll be good for us, and if you aren't we'll chuck you.

Afam: Fair enough. You're a little bit of a knob though.

S.E: There's no other way to be. We'll look forward to reading Afam's words on Monday morning.

It's been a while. I am alive, and I am in Lagos. Whenever I haven't been out and about for a while people come up to me and ask if I've just come back from holiday. I don't quite understand this. No, anyway you look at it, it doesn't make any sense. Is my life expected to stop because I am no longer a constant feature of yours? Because you left me somewhere, did you always think that I would be there? It's crazy! Anyway, this one is about all the new things that are going on in my life.

First off, I quit my job. Err Maa Gerrrd! Why Afam! Why! The answer is begin with the end in mind. There's this myth that you've got to spend a couple of years doing things that you aren't particularly good at, or things that you don't like, so that one day in the near or far future, you'll get to do the things that you love. That is 1 million shades of bullshit. I say think very very hard about where you want to end up, and then live everyday until you get there in preparation for that day. So intern here, spend three years there, or go back to school, but in all your movements just make sure that you're aligning yourself with the end.

I learned a lot from my old job. I learned enough to see that it wasn't the best thing for right now. It may be a brilliant thing for 2016, but 2014, and 2015, are booked solid. Also, I got a new writing gig at thesauvage.com. I like the website. I like how they sound, and I like what they're fighting for. It's gutsy, and it's brave and I think it'll go far. I also like that the editor's a nasty little shit. He's rude, and sometimes rude is exactly what you need. Also it's easier to take editorial notes from someone that can use tenses properly, and doesn't bog the content down with useless useless needlessly large words.

For those of you that are worrying because unemployment in Lagos is no joke. It is really really hard to get any sort of job here without being a nepotist, I have another one lined up. It's content research at a television station and it looks promising. I haven't accepted it yet, but I will soon. There's no need to dawdle when you know exactly what you're after.

Unemployment has been great so far. I saw Grand Papa Afam on Saturday which is always nice. I've started swimming again, and I'm eating a lot better than I used to.

Onward and Upward!!

Happy Days,
Afam

Cummins why?

Cummins West Africa why?

I don't know what it is about paying customers. I mean, we people that pay for things must be daft, and that's because a $50,000 dollar generator is nothing to you. I mean you're Cummins, the biggest and the best right? What's the extra $50,000? What's the bad press, because this isn't good press. This is gutter press. For those of you who do not understand what gutter press is let me explain. Gutter press is when you routinely release the toxins that a company places within you by repeatedly serving you shit loads of bullshit into the world. For instance, a friend of mine said, "I can't wait till we get the new generator in." I said, "I hope it's not Cummins. It is better to have savings and no power, than it is to have a Cummins generator, and no savings." Does this sound libellous? Well, it isn't, because it is my truth. I am a the mouthpiece of a rightfully angry customer, every time any one mentions the word, generator, in my presence, I shall think about how spectacularly bad Cummins are, and because no filter exists between my brain and my fingers, or my brain and my mouth, the things I think will inadvertently leak out of my mouth, or spill from my fingers.

I need a little bit of a break so let's take a trip to the Cummins West Africa website shall we?

Hello. Hello. Hello. Life is extraordinary! My name is Condoriano Thatcher, and I'm jolly good friends with Afam. We met in the summer of 2012 and I knew then that we were destined to be friends forever and ever. We're fellow Unicorn bros and we're going to dance on rainbows when everything's said and done. Sing it with me!

The only thing I can say about this one is, why the dororeekado was he wearing a Kaleidoscope shirt darling? Every time the shirt changed colour I had a seizure. I'm far more interested in the dancer on his right. We could open a brothel together. She'd be the talent, and I'd be her madam. And please, a more believable car next time dahling. That was the first time Reekado child had stood so close to a Bentley, it should have been a Kia.
Tiwa actually looks good here dahling. She should marry the stylists that helped her dahling. Maybe now, my eyes won't implode everytime I see her on youtube. Now she only needs to stop rubbing herself so much, if she did it any more one would think she has ebola dahling.
This is a woman that I never want to see again darling. She shook her bum bum at me! How rude! How vulgar! I was traumatised. I think I might have post traumatic stress disorder.

Me: Yeah, that and fag ash breath. Don't you think you're being a little too harsh?

Gozzy: Shut up dahling. I told you not to interrupt me, you criminal.

 I was so happy for Dr. Sid here. I actually smiled. Can you imagine it dahling? Me, smiling? It was incredible dahling!

Me: Why were you smiling?

Gozzy: Because this is the most action the good fake doctor has gotten all year.

Me: Gozzy I think he's engaged!

Gozzy: Really? he's probably still a virgin then. I am always right dahling. I know it. I live in his attic.

Me: Stop lying Gozzy!

Gozzy: Did you say something, you imbecile you. It's good that you're cute, if you weren't I would have used you as my cat's litter basket dahling.

Me: But Gozzy, that isn't Dr. Sid!

Gozzy: Oh it's not?

Me: No.

Gozzy: Well whoever it is, is definitely a virgin.


Ah the good doctor looks good. I have no complaints about the sexy man. Yes, he's my landlord. I live in his attic, and this doctor is so far from virginity that he borders on being a man of the night.

Me: Gozzy, he's engaged!

Gozzy: If he's engaged, I'm sane. Stop playing games with me Condy dahling. I know what I'm talking about.
I just want to take this one home and ravage him. Then I'll put him in my brothel, and I'll be his pimp.  I'll change his name to Cougar bait, dahling. His Hausa sounding whine is just so sexy dahling. I'm quite sure that he's into BDSM. All he needs is a she beast to dominate him.

Me: Erm Gozzy. Isn't this a little bit inappropriate.

Gozzy: Enough, dahling. I know what I am talking about. Just the sight of him makes me want to purr. Yes, purr dahling. Miaow. There is only one thing about him I would change and that is his wardrobe dahling. He looks like a clown, albeit a sexy clown.


When I saw this one Condy, I was a little scared. She's a predator dahling. We must protect the sexy clown from her. I felt like she was about to eat me. Eat me Condy! All of that womanly hatred aside, I'm quite glad that she's a Northerner. We need more Northern musicians in the Nigerian pop genre. There are far too many Yoruba people in it, dahling.

Me: I'm getting tired of this Gozzy. You're too negative. You're messing with my chakra.

Gozzy: Stop it dahling. Your chakra is as black as mine. I throw the shade and you drink the tea. That's how it works honey sweetie cutie pie.

You can tell that all the confetti came from his nostrils dahling. They're just so big and dashing. I imagine that that's where he keeps his infamous goody bags dahling. Such a fine specimen of man. Also, all the women here are welcome to join my new entertainment establishment.

Me: You mean your brothel?

Gozzy: Don't be silly Condy, I could never be a madam. I am simply a provider of luxurious entertainment.

Me: Right.

Gozzy: Would you like to join it Condy baby? I know a woman or two that would use you well.

Me: Err no thanks.

Gozzy: Or you could be mine and mine alone Condy. It will be delicious dahling.

Me: Thanks but no thanks. Have you got anything else to say about the video?

Gozzy: Only that the next time the Mavin crew has money to burn, they should burn it on me. The Iamisigo resort collection is coming out soon. I need to be ready. I'll see you later Condy, I've got to go shopping.

And with that she walks out the door and hopefully out of my life. 

And Cut!
C.T (Condoriano Thatcher)
Call me Condy!