Ingratus

My life sucks. A lot. An awful lot.

I sleep late every night. I wake up 10am every morning. I do a few lame ass push-ups and then an equally few awful sit ups. If frustrating my already frustrated life was not on PHCN’s to-do list that particular day, there would be light already, and I would be able to charge my two dead phones. Check twitter for people with better lives so I can pray they have jaundice and die, and then Facebook to view posts that tell me typing ‘Amen’ in their comment box would give me double promotion from Part 1 to Part 3 in the university, or bring my dead gramps back to life. I’m tempted by the proposition, but then hiss at them and move on to check if my rat trap has caught any rat. Sometimes I bath. And then…TiVo!

I become a couch potato for the next three hours or so. I watch the cool Hollywood movies and then the brain-damaging Nollywood ones. My mom dares not cook my food behind my back because I won’t eat it cold, so I start thinking about cooking breakfast when people with better lives are having food fights with their lunch. With break-lunch done, I’m back on the couch, if my siblings haven’t sabotaged my tv rights already.

Me, minus the big head.

I’m back to wishing I was American so I could be a cool Hollywood star and slandering Nollywood for fighting piracy when they keep producing literal shit. When PHCN inevitably holds power at intervals, I keep up with my online personality. And before I know it, it's night already and I remember lunch. I find any almost shitty food and call it dunch.

Sometimes when my daily routine gets boring, I go over to my best friends place and he whips me over a game of PES. Oh he always hands my scrawny behind back to me. And then the moon appears above, Vampires prowl the streets, I renew my vows with my bed and then crack some lame joke on twitter and wait for someone to notice, before I go to sleep. Late. Every night.

My life sucks. A lot. An awful lot.

But I'm also an idiot. Did I mention that? No? Well I am. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiotic fool. I'm a stupid idiotic fool. If you don't understand why, we're probably the same: stupid idiotic fools. We don't appreciate the little things in our lives. The things that really matter.

I sleep and wake fine everyday. Some are not so lucky. 2 people died for every seconds that I typed this (or you read it). I do push-ups when some don't have the hands to push their bodies. The street opposite mine has been without light for over 4 months. I don't know their secret weapon, but they are still drawing breath.

I get to cook food to eat. I eat cool break-lunches and dunches. Some don’t have nothing to eat. Others are just bad cooks, like my best friend that recently tried to assassinate me with over-salted chips. I have 272 followers on twitter, some have 271. I've a good enough internet connection to post this, some people have to cuss MTN every time it takes them 5 minutes to reply someone with K.

I’ve even got tv to watch fake lives Hollywood produce to make me feel like a loser and Nollywood movies that want to make me pee myself with idiotic laughter. Some don’t. Or they probably still use their ancestors black and white TiVo.

I’m an ungrateful infidel and I’m sorry for it. But if I’m living a better life than yours, please just don’t pray I die of a horrible disease. You probably speak more languages than I do.

My life doesn’t suck. I’m just an idiot.

Why Are We Here?

For The Ravenous

          Lord knows, I have no idea why or what I’m writing (or is it typing? You wouldn’t know if I had a stylus or light pen or a classy boo or some other stylish and touchy thingamajig. Well, a classy boo would be great. But she prolly wouldn’t help my blog get follows) right now. All I know is, I dunno if yesterday was that bad, and if today’s gonna be any better.
          I really should just jump on Twitter and rant or check out whatever’s funny on there. But nah. I wanna sulk. Why? Yeah, I got my butt handed to me in PES this morning. So now I’m just here, red-faced (and red-bummed too. But you think that’s too gross. Boohoo) and thinking, WHY THE HECK ARE WE HERE?!!!
          Here? Where? Earth? This blog? Well, if it’s the latter, I have an answer. As much…

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The Wrong Fight

I lied today. Twas a little harmless lie. I just wanted to win a little argument. I didn’t want to be at a disadvantage. So I lied!

And I won. Yes. I won the little argument. And I loved the sense of victory. A little victory. Over a little argument.

And then I was alone for a moment. I had time to think about what I’d just done. And it struck me! Why did I have to lie? It was the only way to win the argument. Yes! Twas the only way to win! Win! But it’s just a stupid little argument. Really stupid one.

And then I realised twas not worth it. It wasn’t going to do anything other than win that little stupid argument I once had. It wasn’t going to win me the lottery. It wasn’t going to win me the presidency. But I did it anyway.

And it nags me! The little piece of shit nags my conscience. It makes me feel like I just committed mass murder. Like I just pushed a school bus full of whining little children off a cliff. It nags me. The little piece of shit nags me.

I lied today. Twas a little harmless lie. I just wanted to win a little argument. I won. But I’m worse off. I won the little fight. And I’m losing grip of the bigger fight. The fight for a better conscience.

THE-SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD

Wahala Central

I glance at her through the window bars, this sixteen-year-old. I steal another stealthy glance just to be gun-to-the-head sure it’s this same sixteen-year-old they talk about. Perhaps the rumours are wrong? They must be! It can’t be this sixteen-year-old! It’s called rumour for a reason. Well…this is a little bit above mere rumour, but you can never be too sure with these things.

Rumour has it this twenty-first century sixteen-year-old has ambitions of breaking Seyi Kolade‘s (Google is your friend) enviable record of shaboinks (Google that too). Folks say that this sixteen-year-old has more boneyard experience than all the Vatican nuns combined. Reports also indicate she was inspired by Nike’s Just Do It campaign. Okay that last part was made up, but you get the picture, right?

Folks respect this sixteen-year-old because of her enduring consistency. She is said to keep her Creaking Bed Syndrome within the…

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Invidia

It was one of those Sundays when you’ve just returned from one of those awfully-long church services that almost make you want to blow your brains out. I was having one of those days, jobless, with nothing to do. And by jobless, I mean both of my not-so-smart phones dead with the smart alecs at PHCH having a power trip. That was when I started to think about every other person that was up to something at that time, like feeding their pet tortoise or something like that. And I started to envy them. Envy! “You could write about that!”, that teeny weeny voice everyone has in their head whispered to me. And here we are…

But first, let me bring closure to the blowing-your-brains part

Dog years ago, when I still believed genies lived in lamps and granted three wishes when you rubbed ’em (the lamps not the genies, perverts!), I made an unscientific discovery. My friends and foes were starting to acquire mobile phones but I didn’t. Couldn’t! So I just envied their oh so perfectly happy life. Karma probably caught onto the joke and I got my first phone. After the initial novelty wore off, that’s when I realised the joke: phones weren’t exactly the root of life’s happiness like I thought all along. Just another thing that you possessed (with the extra risk of someone knifing you for it). I’ve had more phones since then, each better than the last, but that epiphany still holds true.

Bertrand Russell said envy was one of the most potent causes of unhappiness. You don’t know who Bertrand Russell is? I don’t either. But I envy the fact that if you Google his name, you’d find stuff about him. Stuff like how he was a British philosopher and won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1950. If you Google my name (for whatever covert reason), all you’re gonna get are my social media accounts (yeah I Googled me). That one time I tortured the neighbour’s goat for trespassing into our sitting room didn’t even make the news. Depressing, eh? But what’s the point in being envious of that? We still breath the same air, don’t we? And I’ll probably travel to the sun before he does.

You know enough about envy already it would be a waste of time to start telling you how it is. Envy’s green in colour. Errm…ever heard anyone say “Green with envy”? Yep. Green’s the colour! Envy is one of the most powerful human emotions, along with 6 other deadly sins, and leads to anger, frustration, aggression…and its family members. Envy was also the reason for the first murder in human existence. You know, bible? Cain and Abel?

See? Green. Told ya!

I think it should come as no surprise to discover that most sort of envy tend to be materialistic. You know, like being envious of someone for their possessions, appearance, and whatever materialistic thing there is. Heck, I’m sometimes envious of other bloggers’ traffic numbers. It’s only more laughable that you think being in possession of these things would make you happy. It won’t. You’ll only want more. Like when I discovered having a phone isn’t the end of it. You’ll need to almost constantly recharge, or even repair when the Grim Reaper makes several attempts on its life. What then happens is you start to be envious of other people with the money. And the circle of envy rolls on…

The climax of envy is when you not only want to possess what your object of envy possesses, you don’t want them to even have it at all. Like having your fortunes reversed with theirs or something. You resent their life as well as equally want it. Carrie Fisher said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” That would actually be cool if it’s possible (I know right?), but it ain’t, and the poison will just send your ass to an early unmarked grave instead. Bottomline is envy hardly helps in making your already shitty life easier. It’s actually more likely to make it shittier.

I’m an unlicensed shrink, so if you’re asking me what to do to not be so envious of other envious people, I got a few ideas: stop counting other people’s blessings, count yours. Focus on your life’s goodness, acknowledge your good points. Twill probably also help to avoid that friend that obsesses too much with material things. Or you could just share this post with them (yeah yeah…I know).

In the immortal words of Lao Tzu, “Manifest plainness, embrace simplicity, reduce selfishness, have few desires.” Even if that quote doesn’t provide you the clarity you hoped would come from a self-professed shrink, you should have fun pronouncing Lao Tzu. I know I did.