BY Gichimu Njeri
My dear brother, If you're dreaming of starting a life, I mean, a love-life with the pretty daughters of Eve around here, my friend, run. Run because this is a species that is alien, readily acting as weirdoes.
When a lady hits on you, flirting with you as a preacher exorcising demons, know that the end times are here. Whatever happened to the humble hard to get lady is still a mystery. The new generation is tough enough and so daring to demand and dictate attention.
Call it the digitally aware generation, I term it the bold team that knows how to grab their wants, target the prey and feast on it with relish. They won't mind manipulating the weak, surprised and desperate men who believe that luck is theirs to be taken by divas. The poor lad will munch all he has, borrow from friends, fabricate lies on nonexistent trips to parents in the name of sustaining, pleasing a model!
Men are said to be perverted, not until you meet the campus darlings. They will demand to touch your tushie, insist to see how hairy below your navel is and silence you as they shave or make locks into your precious bush! They discuss men's lengths and agility better than a class two kid narrates the hare and hyena tales. They laugh, like demons as they watch you embarrassed with their dirty antics. Analysts they are, and about the audience, they don’t give a sh*t!
They work in gangs, her friends ever ready to help a friend give multiple attention (threesome) to brainwash your innocence with fantasy. My brother, they'll suck not only all the juices in you, but also drain your pockets and senses. You'll sing them like an ancient tune.
This is a special collection of creatures, they’ll play you in your full knowledge and there's nothing you can do. They make you doubt your friends thus creating a buffer zone, safe from any virus called critics and caring colleagues. They ensure that you wallow in stupidity till the next century.
They're aware of your straying eyes and they'll show you as much as possible. The chest will protrude save for the spikes, the hindquarters will be dangled, bounced and twerked to excite your fragile mind. With the free-world-view mentality, they’ll dress on the tiniest and the most exposing attire, after all, who cares?
Cash cow, puppet and idiot will be your new names. You'll be moulded to serve as a machine, listening to her whims, getting her drinks which you've never taken, offering her security and calling you a slave will be blamed on English lacking a better term. Therefore buddy, when you see her approaching you, run to the security desk to get cushioned, otherwise, you'll have a memoir of self-pity!
(The writer comments on rational topics)
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