“When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities.” – Matt Groening.

“Satan and Bros J agreeing on something??! That can’t be right!” my intuition prodded.

But I’ve come this far right? And my father always told me, “Son, never quit ever!”, and I don’t intend disregarding my dad’s sacred words. So I click my heels, and I snap my neck, I  crack my knuckles, and I flex my pseudo-muscles, and I growl, “Let’s do this bitch!”

………Ok, scrap that last part. Let’s continue from where we stopped last week.

In reality, I’m looking at Condom-breast McDonalds and I’m like, Dude, you really wanna do this to yourself?!  I’m pretty ambivalent, because this is no Kim-K in front of me right? But hey, whether it’s Natalie Portman or Iya Rainbow, its still free coochie! And Snoop Dogg said “Pussy is Pussy”, (epic lie by the way). But Snoop should know, he’s slept with all the ratchets in America, and Sub-Saharan Africa is next on his itinerary. 

Anyway, by means of telepathy and intense mind-control, Ann gets me to pull down my shorts, and hello hello, my already turgid pee-pee pops out! In her mind, I think she thought about asking me to suck those granny breasts of hers, but I immediately countered and pulled a Professor Xavier on her Igbo ass, penetrating her porous mind, and telling her, “Don’t even think about asking!”

Apparently, she had a very effective self-lubricating system because there was absolutely no form of foreplay on my part, Ann simply lay down on the floor rather than the bed (do house-girls have a subconscious phobia for beds?), I got between her legs, and I ……………………………………….  Now it’s funny how when I entered Jerusalem, I thought, “Finally, I am now a man!”.  Big irony being the fact that I didn’t have pubic hair at the time and in fact, it evaded me for three more years. **covering face**

So I thrust…

And I thrust… 

And I thrust…!

And in my head, I’m thinking how over-rated this sex thing really is. I’m also not particularly liking the white coating of her coochie-goo around my tool (Ladies, was she ovulating?)

By and large I can’t take it anymore and I pull out, and she tries to stop me from leaving, but I am determined because pre-marital sex is a sin for chrissakes!! **scratching eye involuntarily**

Even with my underdeveloped battle-axe, I must’ve been giving her insane pleasure because in frantic desperation, she makes a last-ditch effort to coax me back into her vagina by cooing “baby”…….

…HUH?! **extra-extra confused face**

Ladies, gentlemen, I ask you, What. Tha. Fuck?!

This motherfucking house-girl is calling me baby! I have issues with that, salient ones too! They include;

  1. She could barely speak English!!!! All her conversation was in pidgin. How tha hell did “baby” enter her limited lexicon for the love of free pizza?!
  2. Calling a guy “baby” is a sure sign of fondness. Even in my juvenile state, I was already commitment shy (Now it’s a major phobia), so what the fuck warranted this misdirected affection gaddemit?!
  3. She was ugly for hitler’s sake!!! If Jessica Alba or Meagan Good, or even a “not-that-fine” chic like Yemi Alade called me “baby”, I for even gree. But this girl whose face was as nondescript as a pressing iron, and whose body was as attractive and desirable as a sullied kitchen sponge calling me baby??? Her father!! **angry face**

I forcefully extricated myself from her paws, wore my shorts, dusted my bottom, and walked away in slow motion with the “godzilla” theme-song playing in the background (or maybe that was just in my head).

Ann tried and tried to get me in a tight corner many times after that, but I refused to give my precious virtue away so easy! **wink**

With the desperation to bed me she exhibited, I wonder now whether perhaps she didn’t have a mandate to steal my prized semen and deposit in her underworld kingdom where I am positive she couldn’t possibly have been anything more than a lowly serf considering her colorless looks! The suspicion that my seed in particular was desired is further strengthened on the premise that upon broadcasting my first conquest to my awe-filled sidekicks, and acquaintances (and even total strangers to be honest), my ever-thirsty, slow-as-satan, “lame-at-that-time” brother Sam deemed it prudent to try his luck (in this case, ill-luck)… Oh, he was soooo turned down! So ingloriously turned down! And it was a very smug me who gave him the national sign of “Ela” characterized by covering one eye with your palm…Heh heh! I bet he was denied access because his semen had very little spiritual currency value! **not interested iPhone smiley**

Interestingly, this same Sam it was who unwittingly facilitated the eventual loss of my innocence! Even more coincidental is the fact that the agent sent to bring me down through my obtuse brother was also named Ann! If you think Ann McDonalds was bad, you don’t wanna read about this new Ann! Gaddemit! New Ann, like a (diabolic) computer upgrade, was badder than Afrocandy!

We shall call her Ann v2.1. on account of her upgrade status, and more importantly, to avoid spiritual attack, as the mere invocation of her full name incurs unpleasant repercussions…  **shivers**


SHOUT-OUT: to my brother Sam “Intrepid” O******… Good looking out bruv…!


A farmer buys several pigs, hoping to breed them for ham, bacon, etc.  After several weeks, he notices that none of the pigs are getting pregnant, and calls a vet for help. The vet tells the farmer that he should try artificial insemination.

The farmer doesn’t have the slightest idea what this means but, not wanting to display his ignorance, he only asks the vet how he will know when the pigs are pregnant. The vet tells him that they will stop standing around and will, instead, lay down and wallow in the mud when they are pregnant. The farmer hangs up and gives it some thought.  He comes to the conclusion that artificial insemination means he has to impregnate the pigs himself.

So, he loads the pigs into his truck, drives them out into the woods, has sex with them all, brings them back and goes to bed.  Next morning, he wakes and looks out at the pigs.  Seeing that they are all still standing around, he concludes that the first try didn’t take, and loads them in the truck again. He drives them out to the woods, does each pig twice for good measure, brings them back and goes to bed.  Next morning, he wakes to find the pigs still just standing around.  One more try, he tells himself, and proceeds to load them up and drive them out to the woods.  He spends all day shagging the pigs and, upon returning home, falls listlessly into bed.

The next morning, he cannot even raise himself from the bed to look at the pigs. He asks his wife to look out and tell him if the pigs are laying in the mud. “No,” she says, “They’re all in the truck and one of them’s honking the horn.”

Peace out mortals.

See you next Sunday.

Categories: Tales By Moonlight

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