Coming Out – Impasse

 

Continued from Coming Out – Crossroads

Although you going back to see your Dad would mean disrupting your plans to binge watch a Netflix series, you turn right.

Carpe diem and all that. The conversation is going to happen at some point. Better to have it now that you feel recklessly confident than dwell on it for a few hours and give yourself justifiable reasons why not to have the conversation.

You arrive at your parents’ place. Get out of the car, head for the main door of the building and press the buzzer for their apartment.

You hear your Dad’s voice through the intercom:

“Hello”

“It’s me”

“Did you forget something?”

“No, I need to talk to you.”

Your voice is steady. You sound self-assured and not nervous. Logic hasn’t set in. This is a good sign.

“Ok”. He buzzes you into the building and opens the door to the apartment. He is standing in the hallway.

“What is it?” he asks looking at you quizzically

You get straight into it.

“Mum, just told me she told you I’m gay.”

“Yes, she mentioned something like that.”

You sense derision in his response. A slight feeling of apprehension begins to set in. Though your earlier confidence is slightly dented, you remain calm.

He turns around and walks towards the living room. You close the door behind you and follow him. You both sit down across from each other at the dining table.

“How do you feel about it?”

“There isn’t much to say about it. All you must do is see how you can get out of it. Nobody has ever been like that in our family and it will not start with your own generation.”

He has given it some thought alright and it sounds like he has a way out of  your homosexuality.  And like his wife he may also be averse to saying the “G” word. But still there is hope – He has never been keen on Church or religion, so maybe he may yet say the word.

“What if it leads to my unhappiness?”

“If you are determined to get out of it, I don’t think it will lead to your unhappiness. Onye kwe chi ya ekwe. If you agree, God will agree.”

It’s R. Kelly all over again, believing he can fly – “If I can see it, then I can do it”. It’s a mindset thing for him. If you put your mind to it, you can stop being gay. Combined with your Mum’s “Pray away the gay” approach, it just might work.

“I have tried before and I can’t be with a woman in a satisfying way. Should I live alone and do anything? What do you suggest I do?”

“I don’t know of the ramifications of people being gay and what it means truly, apart from what I see on TV about same sex marriage and all that. There are people who have been in it and who have obviously come out of it and started being with women. Try it again and persevere this time”

Hurrah the “G-word”. There is hope! You think he is referring to a man in your village, back home in Nigeria. Growing up decades ago you remember him, then in his thirties as effete and unmarried. You thought nothing of it then. But you remember he had a fearsome and domineering mother who was one of the pillars of society. One day you heard he got married to a much younger woman and had kids. At that time you thought nothing unusual about it. Men get married to women and have kids. Except decades later when you became aware of your sexuality and during trip back home, you wondered if you were “the only gay in the village” and he came to mind. Then the penny dropped when you realised his 5 kids who were born in quick succession, looked nothing like him.

“Even at my age?”

“Yes, you can. People still get married for the first time in their fifties and even sixties sometimes. You are relatively young in comparison. Just try. We are not condemning you. I am trying to…you know…I mean people at home keep asking when you will get married….”

“So am I doing it for show? I would be living a lie. I would be making the woman and myself unhappy”

“It will not be for show. Just try. Everything is by trial. Think of what it means for our custom, our family and everything. Try and see what you can do about it.”

Ah, the shame of it all. Ultimately, it’s all about not bringing the family name into disrepute. Your family’s social standing in the village is very important and should not be diminished by any scandal – least of all not by the sin of homosexuality – and this must be done at all cost. Never mind you have serial adulterers and unrepentant scammers in the family, being gay would cause the family name and status irreparable damage.

“What if I can’t?”

“You can. Just try”

“But seriously, what if I can’t. There must be an alternative. What would you suggest?”

“Well if you can’t, you can continue like that, but you are keeping us unhappy”

“So, you rather I be unhappy?

“You will be happy. Just try. Listen, all of us will be happy including you. I am sure you are not happy with the set up. Just try. When we heard about it, we were not happy. So just try. You too will be happy”

“I am happy with the set up. What I am not happy about is that you’d sacrifice my happiness for yours and the family. Not very fatherly is it?”

“Just try.” He insists.

You begin to get irritated by his insistence that you try and find a woman to marry. You know you must be patient with him (and your mum), as they are relatively new to the idea that their son is gay. Being from an older generation if at all, it will take sometime for them to get used to the idea. But you still feel the need to make your position clear. You get a bit fidgety and your voice is slightly raised when you respond:

“It’s not a case of “Just try”. Homosexuality doesn’t have a switch you can flick on and off. It’s not that easy. I can’t and won’t try.”

“And just so we are clear, I am not changing anything to make you happy. I am sure it’s not what you want to hear but you are responsible for your own happiness as I am mine. So long as I am not harming anyone I will do what makes me happy and I recommend you do the same too.”

“All I am saying is that you should try. But if you have made up your mind not to, well let it be. But my advice is that you should try. Let’s leave it like that for the time being, but think about what I have told you.”

His voice is calm and authoritative. It is the same voice he used to reprimand you when as a young child you caused any mischief. The same voice he used when your mid-term test school results were poor and he took away your TV privileges to ensure you studied harder to get better end of term results. You recognise the finality in the tone and it said, “Do what I tell you or there will be consequences.” 

And with that you get up and leave.

Of the ways you dreamt the conversation would go with your Dad, it wasn’t quite the indignant Nollywood rejection or the mawkish Hollywood acceptance you fantasised about. Rather it felt like a Brexit meeting that typically ends in an impasse.

Forget the planned Netflix binge watching session – there is a lot to think about.

 It’s going to be a long drive home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Coming Out – Crossroads

It is a routine visit to see your parents. One you carry out once, sometimes twice a month. You spend two or three hours with them. You talk about everything but nothing. You help them fix anything that needs fixing around the house, but usually you help find a “missing” icon on the Ipad or other hand-held device.

You watch TV, the news is on. They give a running commentary on all the news items. This time it’s Brexit. There are over 500,000 people involved in an anti –Brexit protest march in London.  You listen to your Dad, a Labour party supporter, bemoan the Conservative Government and confidently assert that a Labour Government would do a better job of the Brexit debacle.

You really don’t know what the fuss is about. Supposedly educated people exercised their democratic right and voted in majority to leave the EU, albeit based on a campaign led by very questionable characters peddling obviously flawed information with a dash of xenophobia. Now a few months to Brexit day, they have changed their minds and want  another vote. Some would call it natural selection.

Somehow your Dad’s running commentary segues into the state of Nigerian politics. Your eyes glaze over. It’s time to leave. Your mother asks for a lift to the corner shop. This is a bit unusual. She normally prefers walking short distances to the shops to get some exercise. Doctor’s orders. The corner shop is a 2 min walk away.

Your Spidey senses are activated.

You say goodbye to your Dad and leave with your mum. You both get into the car and as she fastens her seat belt she drops her bombshell.

“I have told your father”

Spidey senses go into over drive

“Told him what?” You ask in befuddlement.

“About your lifestyle”

She can’t even say the word “gay”. It is that loathsome sin, greater than any other sin. And as far as she and most women her background are concerned it is a condition, which if remained unspoken and with powerful prayer , will be miraculously eradicated.

“You mean that I am gay. You told him I am gay?” You ask with incredulity in your voice.

Spidey senses are decommissioned.

Immediately you feel a sense of relief, not trepidation. Relief because your Dad is the only member of your nuclear family you have not come out to. You, your mum and siblings had kept it from him. And though it might sound a like a cliche, you never felt you were being as authentic as you could be with him and that was bothersome.

That said, you often debated telling him or not. And if you did how it would play out. And in all the scenarios – which were anywhere between an indignant Nollywood rejection to a mawkish Hollywood acceptance – that you played out in your imaginative mind, you were always present in every scene. Your mum and siblings maybe played supporting roles, but you were always the lead act breaking the news to him. A part of you feels something has been taken away from you and you should be angry, especially as your Mum was key with that indecision of  whether your Dad should be told or not, because of the “health concerns attributable only to an 80-year-old Nigerian man”. But no, you are not angry, you are calm. Just a bit curious how the scene played out between them.

“I thought you said not to tell him, that it may have “a negative impact his health and well-being”. You said it would “devastate him leading to untold consequences” (Consequences your “nagging” failed to achieve in over 45 years of marital bliss” you wanted to add; But not today Satan) “What made you change your mind?”

“I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It was worrying me.”

“You decided to share your “worry”, despite the possible outcomes you highlighted. When and how did you tell him and what did he say?

“About a month ago. It just came out and he hasn’t said anything about it since”

You remember you’ve spoken to your Dad, several times in the last month and you had seen him at least twice. In fact two weeks ago, you took him to see his cousin a good hour’s drive each way and he didn’t say a thing. Not a word. He did not betray any evidence whatsoever that he knew. He just kept a poker face. You feel like a fraud.

You wonder what’s been going through his mind ever since your Mother unburdened her soul. Had he always suspected? Did this confirm his suspicions? Was the news a surprise? Either he didn’t care that you are gay, or he isn’t sure how to broach the topic with you.

Just then your Mother’s quiet sniffling break through your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed she has been crying. She can snot cry on cue for Africa – Viola Davis has nothing on this one.

“So why are you crying? I thought you’d be happy now that you have told your husband and your “worry” has halved?”

“It is the whole situation. He hasn’t said anything to me about it. Your lifestyle it is not good, I am sure it is hurting him. You are my son and I love you unconditionally, but the Bible says your lifestyle is wrong…..”

“Thanks for your love, but have you considered giving up your religion, so that your unconditional love for me is without any limitation?”

She looks at you aghast, like someone just stabbed her in the chest. You know only too well that her coming to terms with your sexuality will take some time. After all it took you a few decades to accept yourself – it would be impractical to expect her to be comfortable with it within a year of you coming out her. To help her on the journey, you introduced her to a gay friend’s mother (Aunt M) who shares a similar background and is comfortable with her son’s sexuality. But your Mum remains unconvinced. Instead every time she visits Aunt M she tries to convince her to ask her son to change, by quoting Bible passages and making cultural references.

You speak before she collects herself and says something that would require going into therapy rest of your life.

“Anyway, this is not about you right now. We talked about this a few times already last year and I have introduced you to Aunt M. How you deal with it is your palava. It’s about Dad for now and I wouldn’t know how he really feels until I speak with him about it.”

You drop her at the corner shop.

You drive up to the top of the road.

You must decide which way to go.

Turn left and head home, plagued with the thoughts of what your Dad thinks about your sexuality and wondering when/if he would ever discuss it with you or indeed if you’d ever have the courage to bring it up; Or turn right and head back to your parents’ house deal with it now, satisfy your curiosity and start a new chapter of your relationship with your Dad.

You indicate to turn…..

To be continued on Coming Out – Impasse

London Gay Pride 2018

London Gay Pride took place last weekend and I went along with a friend to watch the parade. She was visiting from Nigeria and watching a gay pride event is on her bucket list. So I obliged her.

Over 300 float and groups marched/danced/twirled/sashayed along the route and about 1 million people came to watch them.

I am not sure there was a theme this year like there was for the New York Pride, but it was a lot of fun, with loads of costumes, colours and diversity on display.

The sun was out, everyone was happy, except probably for the lone stupid brave evangelist calling on people to repent and go to Heaven. I think a good number of people heeded her call and went to Heaven gay club, after the parade.

Here are a few pictures :

LDN Pride
Lady Gaga?

LDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN Pride
“Repent and go to Heaven”

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN Pride

LDN Pride

LDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN Pride

 

The end

 

 

 

 

 

Upskirting

Upskirting is a term used to describe the act of taking a photograph up someone’s skirt without their permission.  In most reported cases women are the victims and no men –I guess Kilt wearing Scots –  have come forward to complain.

The sexually invasive act was set to be made a criminal offence in the UK parliament this week, but a 70 year-old Conservative MP gleefully blocked it on some parliamentary procedural technicality, causing him to face a lot of backlash on social media.  But this post is not about heaping abuse on some privileged, same sex marriage hating, climate change denying, misogynist neanderthal, who has used parliamentary procedures to advance his own lecherous voyeuristic sexual perversions, but rather it is to address a little deviance of my own.

It is no secret my obsession with the male gluteus maximus and by which I mean tangible buttocks. Butts you can behold with thine eyes.  Not the unfortunate flat non-existent ones a friend of mine aptly describes as “extended backs”. Sometimes I wonder what the owners of such bums must have done in a former life, or indeed what their ancestors did, to warrant such an omission by God when he was handing out butts.

Bubble Butt_1

No, I mean Bubble butts. Visible cakes. Butts you spank and the sound reverberates around the room and collides with the moans emitted from its owner with each spank, while ravaging him from behind.

Bubble Butt_2

Or the butts you can grab and hold on to for dear life, as its owner bucks away furiously on top of you in reverse cowgirl position, like a jockey racing his horse towards the finish line.  Yes, those kind of butts.

It’s crazy because one of the first things I do when I see any remotely attractive guy in public is to discreetly check out the backside. I have always said if I was ever to identify a male crime suspect in a Police line-up, I would have to ask them to turn around to give a positive ID. Such is my obsession.

Recently, I have taken this infatuation a bit further – I now use my smart phone to take discreet pictures of guys with bubble butts. This could be in the street, on the underground, on the bus or sometimes at the gym.Bubble Butt_4

This morning while trying to take a picture of the bubble butt on a guy walking in front of me, I had an epiphany – as I tripped and came crashing hard on the pavement and aggravated an old shoulder injury in the process – that in some ways this could be similar to Upskirting but perpetrated on men.

It has the same hallmarks  – taking pictures of someone’s butt without their permission and it could be seen as a sexual intrusion into their privacy.  It is only a matter of time before men (hopefully those with bubble butts) in the name of equality, start campaigning for their own version of the law to be passed.

So in order to avoid any possible future embarrassment – you never know I might run for public office, I spent a good part of the morning while waiting to be seen by a Doctor at the A&E department, deleting images of bubble butts I took over the last few months. They were in their hundreds.

I am not sure what was more traumatic – the excruciating shoulder pain before being given strong pain killers or the agony of deleting those pictures.

 I think I need Jesus….

I wonder if He has a bubble butt….🤔

Bubble Butt_3

Wild Thoughts

The hustle is real, so off to work I go.

I do the 10 minute walk to the London Underground station. I have my headphones on. I am listening to music from my “recently played” playlist set on random selection mode. There are 175 songs. Means songs from Classical, Musicals, Pop, RnB, Gospel, Hip Hop, Afrobeat and possibly Apala music genres can start playing any time. I like the unpredictability.

The sassy song “Trouble” by Iggy Azelea ft. Jennifer Hudson is currently playing.  

I get to the Tube station and the platform is crowded.  About 3 people deep from the edge of the platform, there is some delay on the line. I was hoping for a trouble free journey into work today.

And right on cue, Andra Day starts singing “Not Today” in my ears with her mellow and soul stirring voice .

I maneuver myself into position on the section of the platform, where I can get on the carriage nearest the exit when the train arrives at my stop. Most people do this.

I am behind a young interracial couple. They are probably in their mid to late twenties. She white, blonde, about 5’7” tall, wearing light make up and a body hugging short black dress, that accentuates her curves. He Indian, stands at roughly 5’10”, athletic build, wearing a blue turban on his head and a light pink shirt tucked into a pair of grey slim fitting trousers and holding a gym bag. I assume he will be going to the gym at some point in the day. They look so loved up.

Tina Turner starts to serenade me with “Two People”. How sweet.

I steal a look at this bum. It would be rude not to. It is visible. Not flat. Not big, but round and firm. It complements his athletic body nicely. I know I shouldn’t foster stereotypes, but for an Indian, “Baby got back”.  Would I tap that?  Most likely, but that’s not up to me. He kinda looks hella straight. I will call him Ramdeep.

Blue turban 6

 

Two busy trains come into the platform in succession. No one gets off from the carriage we are positioned in front of, so no one gets on. Shit I will be late for a meeting at work. A third one comes in. Some passengers get off and more people on the platform try to occupy the space they vacate. Back in the day, in Lasgidi (Lagos), I learned how to squeeze myself into a crowded Molue bus. If they think I will forget those skills for the sake of propriety, they have another thing coming.

Molue

I manage to get on.

Fela Kuti starts playing  “Shuffering and Shmilling” through my headphones. The line in the song “49 sitting and 99 standing” very much describes the situation in the train carriage. The rest of the song, though released over 30 years ago, highlights endemic corruption which is still very pertinent to Nigeria…But I digress.

It’s a tight squeeze. My back is pressed against the carriage door. Ramdeep with the nice cakes, is in front of me. He is facing his girlfriend with his back to me and his firm round butt just about grazing my groin area. Any slight movement and it will brush against me for sure.

I press my back as much as I comfortably can against the door, to create a respectable distance between my groin and his butt. I won’t be in this position for too long. Maximum 3 minutes.  The next stop has connections to other underground lines and a good number of passengers will get off.

The train sets off. 30 seconds into the journey, something causes Ramdeep to move back a bit. Perhaps being the attentive boyfriend that he is, he is trying to give his girlfriend a bit of space to ease the crush on her. Not sure if he is aware but, he just entered the unspoken allowable personal space of an adjacent individual in a packed train.

I don’t say anything. No point causing a fuss. Besides if he doesn’t mind his backside just about resting on another man’s groin…more power to him.

Now, his butt is grazing my groin and he unconsciously mirrors the slight rocking motion of the train, only he is subtly swaying back and forth into me.

Christina Aguilera  croons “Want your skin up against mine. Move my hips to the baseline…” from her song “Get mine, Get yours” from the playlist. 

Oh Lord, this is not good.  It would be over in about 2 and a half minutes. Wrong.Read More »

Whose Child Is This?

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2017/oct/30/kevin-spacey-anthony-rapp-apologises-accused-sexual-advance-14-year-old-boy

spacey-rapp

Any form of sexual harassment is inappropriate between adults of consenting age and more so if the victim is underage.

Yes what a 26 year old Kevin Spacey did to a 14 year Old Anthony Rapp, 30 years ago was improper under any circumstance.

Since Mr. Rapp’s (now 46)  story broke yesterday, Mr. Spacey (58) has issued a statement in which he stated that he was “beyond horrified” by the allegation.  He has drawn the ire of many Social media commentators (basically anyone who has access to a keyboard)  because in the statement, he effectively blamed his actions on alcohol and for good measure he took the opportunity to come out as a gay man.

Many people have said, he has used his coming out to deflect from the issue molesting an underage person. A tactic he borrowed from his fictional character President Frank Underwood,in House of Cards. While I see where they are coming from, I do not necessarily entirely agree with that conjecture.

Firstly, It’s been an open secret for years that Spacey is gay. There was an unfortunate incident many years ago during his residency at the Old Vic theatre in London where he was the artistic director (2003-2015), when it was reported that he was attacked while walking his dog around 3am,in a park well known for night time gay cruising. Maybe he was researching  a forthcoming role – Go figure.

Secondly, these days when actors in the West where homosexuality is accepted come out, it does not have the same “wow-factor” as it did 20 years ago. So if it was his intention to use coming out as a softening the sexual advances on a minor blow, it is as limp as a dick on a guy high on GHB at a chemsex party.

I have also read comments that this scandal strengthens the assertion by homophobes , especially those from my Village, that homosexuals are pedophiles by default. Also they will say this one incident was pivotal to Rapp, turning gay. For the next foreseeable future I think one would need the communication skills and tenacity of Sean Spicer to refute these assertions and many more on social media forums. The battle will be fierce.

I am not defending or condoning what Kevin Spacey did. At best it was reprehensible and at worst lewd. However I feel I should  ask a few (probably unpopular) questions  and I am by no means taking away from Anthony Rapp’s terrible ordeal, but –

Where were his parents?

Who lets a 14 year old child go to a Nightclub?

Who lets a 14 year old child into a Nightclub?

Was no one chaperoning the Anthony Rapp that night? Had he no curfew?

From the story so far, what happened that night was entirely Kevin Spacey’s doing and I wholeheartedly agree, but it could have been prevented.

It wasn’t right what happened to Anthony Rapp and he would be forgiven for sending some Klingons to sort Kevin Spacey out, but he shouldn’t have been in that situation unchaperoned even at the best of times.

Perhaps underage kids being allowed to go clubbing , people not raising an eyebrow and chalking it down to just having fun, is the norm in the Hollywood.

But this is a sad consequence of such nonchalance.

Klingon_2

 

 

 

 

Coming Out

“…Mum. I am gay”.

How did we get here?

You are gay. You have known for more than half your life. You struggled with it at first but you are at peace now. But you are also a Nigerian; culturally both don’t inherently go well together.

You grew up in a moderately Christian home – your mother being the fervent church going parent and your father being phlegmatic about the whole Church going thing.  Sex was a taboo and any talk or depiction of it was frowned upon. “Children came from God and He provided them strictly only within the Holy sanctity of matrimony.

In your early teens you learned about sex from straight porn supplied by very resourceful mates. When you watched it, your attention seems to be focused more on the male form rather than the female one, but you thought nothing of it. You regarded it as normal. And when you took matters into your own hands, it was the male form that nourished your imagination.Read More »

It Takes A Village…..

“It takes a village to raise a child”

Villlage children

I love this African saying and its practice in the community has huge benefits to a child’s formative years and indeed all the way into adulthood. But like everything in life there are disadvantages.

Everyone in the community contributes in whatever way they can to the child’s upbringing, from looking after the child for a few hours while the parents are away; Collective admonishment when the child misbehaves, then pleading for the child when punishment (flogging) is about to be meted out by its parent; To giving advice on and approving choice of schools and career path and so on.

However there is payback. Read More »

Gym Vibing

Starbucks baristas are notorious for misspelling my name when taking my order and writing it on the paper cup. It comes out meaning nothing to me, but clearly meaning something to the barista taking the order in whatever language they speak. How many ways can you spell “Keredim”? Ask a Starbucks Barista.

I have a friend who has the same name as I do and we got into a competition to see whose local Starbucks will come up with the weirdest spelling of our name.

I lost the contest. However in my competitiveness, I had more than a few sugary Starbucks drinks and pastries; add to that a recent 10 day trip to Nigeria where all I did was eat freshly cooked meals, I gained more than a few pounds and my hips stopped lying in my trousers.

Big butt

So I have adopted a new workout regime and eating plan. One of those 12 week body transformation programs which I have modified to suit my lifestyle. The modification means it will take anything from between 12 months and 12 years to look anything like the “after” photo shopped models used to advertise the programs on Instagram.

As prescribed by the program I rest between sets during an exercise. During this time, I keep myself amused by looking around the gym and making up stories about other gym members.Read More »

Crap I Get On Grindr II

So there I was, (on a slow day at work) minding my own business trolling on FB – (Zuckerberg when will you roll out that poor substitute for a dislike button you call “Reaction buttons” into the UK?), when some guy liked a comment I made. He immediately sent me a friend request and in the spirit of ”Facebook friendship” and sheer boredom, I accepted his request.

To my utter surprise he immediately started a conversation on FB messenger (I suppose work was slow for him as well), but I didn’t respond immediately.  I checked his profile and saw he was friends with a good Jamaican friend of mine (yes I do have some bad Jamaican friends), named Peter. I asked Peter who the chap was and his response was far from complimentary.

Peter used choice words like “White dude who loves black dick”,”Patronising”, “Smarmy” , ”Ass-wipe” and finished off with “Bumbaclart”.

Like I said, It was slow at work and I had a few hours to kill before closing, so I decided to verify Peter’s colourful description of this guy and responded to the guy’s message and this is what transpired:

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Peter was on point with this guy’s description and then some. I really don’t care that he is a white, middle aged, rotund guy with bad teeth and flaky skin, fixated on Big Black Cock (BBC). In the pursuit of BBC he would sleep with any shape and manner of black guys and in most cases lose all manner of propriety and self-respect, like a crack addict after his fix. In other words  Any Black Will Do (ABWD).

From time to time, I come across white guys like him. They are prone to making racially offensive remarks, which are sadly overlooked by black guys in search of some form of socio-economic advancement. The thing is once people like this chap get away with this kind of behaviour and they think all other black guys are after the same thing and treat them with the same impudence.

I don’t think I have heard of how you gain working – let alone expert – knowledge of  the cultural behaviour of people from a certain country ,by getting on your knees and sucking them off. (Not even on your back;side or on all fours). Sadly I couldn’t sustain my indignation (or vomit) long enough to engage with this troglodyte, to begin to fathom why is his small mind works the way it does.  Still  I engaged, long enough for him to show his disdain for very people he claimed to like, especially those that don’t succumb to his unctuous advances.

But what I really want to know is how does a Nigerian writes differently from a “Native Brit”? And who are “Native Brits”? Are they exemplified by the Queen, who is actually German or the Prince of Wales who is Greek? (There goes my Knighthood).

Maybe they are the Bangladeshi community who own and run London Borough of Tower hamlets; or the wealthy middle-easterners what own most of Mayfair? Certainly not the Nigerians who own property and run businesses in Thamesmead aka Little Lagos?  Perhaps they can be found out in the countryside where they are threatened with extinction by the imminent influx of Syrian war refugees.

Someone please point me in the right direction.

PS: I should really rename this “Crap I Get On Social Media” shouldn’t I?