Sunday, July 31, 2011

Know Thy Rule Book

Going through my old stuff the other day, I found the shopping list I made for my first year. It was a comprehensive list, but it was just so that I could justify the money I was asking my father for. The hoax worked, except for the part where he withheld a small percentage and told me to get it from my HELB loan (story for another day, the worst things people have done with this ‘free’ loan). Anyway, I just though, if someone had written a manual for me before I ventured into this institution of higher learning, maybe I wouldn’t have had to learn the hard (and heard way). Therefore, I thought I would make one….

1. Know Your Campus: Visit at least once or twice before your date of registration, nothing screams FRESHER like asking for directions. Which reminds me, a friend of mine who-shall-not-be-named-because-he-has-a-dossier-on-me, did the blondest thing…So Day One, we are provided with a map of the campus, and the campus is vast as hell (which I presume, is vast, and really fun and rowdy, with the occasional Catholic priest doing his thing). So he-who-cannot-be-named marked the Graduation Square as his focal point and used it for the next four days to find his way around campus. It gets funny when you know that it was not only his focal point on the map, but also physically, which meant that he would walk all the way to the G.Square to figure out where his Department, which he had just passed on his way there, is located. He runs away when the story comes up…

2. Know Your Condoms: It is no secret, Campus is where morality met its death (some hints of it are still there, in the zoology labs where they breed turtles). Know thy rubber, it will separate you from the brood, or make you one in a thousand, which is not such a romantic number. Most campuses have condom dispensers, Government Issue ones that have a KEBS tab (talk of vanity) and come in yellow, gold, or a weird shade of grey packs and a horrible odor. Point is, rubber might save your life, whether you are male or female, or both. Trust Condoms are now 20 bob (Inflation caught up with this slippery bastard!) and Durex (The Lamborghinis of the super car collection) are about 160. Each of these pieces is quoted in ascending order of the probability to get lucky. Nothing tells shagzmondoness like pausing foreplay to run to the washrooms to frisk the dispensers, and nothing tells sophistication like a pack of Durex, but then again, you are working on a lean budget (unless it’s your HELB loan).

3. Know the Dealer: This point should know your shantytown, but that is not really the point. You do need to know your shantytown, know the cheapest hotels, the ones with the best food, best servers (wait, we are talking about shantytowns here). This shantytowns always have weed dealers ( I do not know about sterner stuff, and if I did, I would not), ghosts who keep the First Class Honors and Dropouts running. There are many reasons why you might need this person, the first of it being that second, to whatever deity you worship, he has something that can lift you up. Know him, even if you do not partake, just know the person (ant stereotyping here, unless someone knows a female Marijuana dealer who is sensitive about gender), you both might need each other, and more often than not, if your experience is a normal campus one, you will directly or indirectly use his products.

4. Know your friends: Unless you aim to vie for posts in SONU, KUSA, MUSO (Someone from Moi PLEASE tell me that’s not what your student organization is called), or any other, just keep a few friends. Nothing speaks of loneliness than not having a place to crash when your roomie decides to ‘hang the dirty sock’ on the door. Even for the loner, you still need someone to notice if you’ve been missing for too long (the normal period is 1-2 weeks, depending on the gender of the missing person, some might be gone for a whole sem, the girls of course) but if you are in UoN, you don’t need friends, there are people there who take amber alerts very seriously, they will kill a motorist to demand your release.

5. See no Evil, Hear No Evil: You will see things, You will hear things, You will be told things, You will do things, You will smell things, You will taste things, You will meet things, You will learn things, suffice to say, rub off your moral pedestal and make a new one as you go, adapt to what suits you and find a way around the things that threaten your innocence (it will come under threats more times than your life will).

6. Know Your Priest: Whether it’s the religious priest, your imam, guru, minister, barman, drug dealer or little voice in your head, know the one person who can bring you back to sanity without expecting something from you (except a bill of some kind, a collection, tithe, offering or black eyes). At the end of your period, just before graduation, seek a hypnotist to make you get amnesia. You will need to start afresh, your mind will be scarred, either by a boring campus life (you non-experimentee!), a moderate life (yah, yah, so you let your guard down in second year and stayed at a party) or an insane life (Like some guy who slept in a trench, or the girl who can outdrink most men I know)

There are many things that can be written about campus manuals, but the rules are clear, except for those posted on different posts in the campus, Mututho laws, those of organizations, clubs and societies that you will join, those that your deity requires you observe, and those your mother told you would attract the boogeyman, you make the others as you go. You are your own person now, do things!

and JKUAT( Juja Boys and the rumor of a girl), I take it that you haven't thought about rioting about this...

Monday, July 18, 2011

The Dirty Sock on the Door

If you have ever read Chinua Achebe’s A Man of the People then you would remember the part where Odili, the main character, details how he laid the ‘hardest girl’ on campus. His friends waited on the hallway for proof that the mighty lioness had been devoured and indeed, after sometime, the creak of the door opening was unmistakable, and he thrust his hand out, holing the condom full of seed! Mad, is it not? Remember that Achebe went to campus when it was for the select few, and yet how he describes the act is so vivid you can tell some parts are written from memory.
Everyone knows the legend of campus life, the dirty sock on the door. It is the crudest, yet most ingenious method ever devised by budding academics to warn their roommates and friends that they are not to be disturbed because they are engaging in coital matters. I have always wondered who came up with it, at some point I even suspected that it had something to do with voodoo, at least its origin. However, let us not bore ourselves with where it came from, but what it means.

No one hangs a dirty sock anymore, with the invention of phones; a text message should be enough for you to have the room to yourself. I have a million tales about ‘exile’, some that I have witnessed, some stories retold.
A friend of mine sent a text saying “ Niaje msee, unamind kwenda exile leo?” to his roommate on a Sunday evening. When his roommate replied in the affirmative, he sent another one “Aki sina rubber kwa keja, unaweza nigetia pack mbili nitakurefund?” As you can imagine, his roommate was mad as hell so he decided to revenge. He did buy two packs of trust Condoms, back when they cost 10 bob (things our children, pun intended, will never believe), but then he did something else. He ripped apart the pack, took the six condoms and placed them on the reading table in the room (don’t beat me to the genius part). The idea behind it worked perfectly, you all know that unless it is your wife or long-term girlfriend, or someone you will pay after, you need to appear aloof to what you are going to get. It is the nature of the hunt that once you are sure you have the prey, you do not have to remind it that you are going to eat it, if you catch my drift. Now, imagine you walk into a room with a girl, and being the man that you are, you let her get inside first only to find six condoms lay neatly on the table! It’s back to square one again, huh?
Legend has it that if Hall six in JKUAT Main Campus was to burn at any time of the day, there would be more girls than guys running outside, which would not be weird if it was not a guys’ hostel. It is the same in all campuses, there is one hostel that carries with it tales of broken beds, exiled roommates and blocked toilets. Irony is, if you walk into the washrooms in Ngong Hostels in KU, for example, the condom dispensers always have several packs, new as the day the government shipped them in from wherever it is they get them. Compare that to guys’ hostels where the dispensers are rusty because the rubber never gets there. It is handpicked before it the caretakers can lift the packs and empty them into the dispensers.
Campus is where mindset about shagging takes a completely new dimension. Where we all shunned it at first, it becomes a way of life. For example, Mark, a classmate of mine, once went to his friend’s room. It was one of the big rooms meant for elected student leader’s officials, but they are always full of people. So he walks and finds a couple on the upper bunk watching a movie on a laptop, four guys huddled on a computer and a nerd reading, but he could not see his friend. So he approached the lower bunk, which had one of those makeshift curtains you make with an extra bed sheet (I first saw them in high school, creeped me out). He lifted it without much thinking to find, alas, two naked beasts getting on with it right there. She was on top (small detail I thought I should add) and Mark just dropped and walked out. Everyone else just continued doing what they were doing, minding their own business.
Then John, who lived on my floor, left his door open once while she was down there blowing things up. SO you can imagine my shock when I banged through the door and found him lying down, eyes closed, sighing like he was asthmatic. When she looked up, those big eyes, that full mouth…suffice to say I have leverage on him now, he is very careful around me.
I have only been sent on exile once, by my last roommate. Actually, it was somewhat self-inflicted because I had introduced him to the girl. It was the first Mashujaa Day, last year (no pun intended, do not ask how I remember) and I spent it in the library online, doing much of nothing. When I got back to my room they were high, and the smell of rubber, the stench actually could have been the worst thing if my forensic skills did not indicate that they had done it on my bed! Being a self-confessed metro sexual, a fresh change of sheets and pillowcases still did not do the trick. But he was a man now (did I mention he was a fresher).
The moral of the story is, dirty sock or not, unless you live alone or with Jesus, someone is bound to exile you sometime in campus. They say when Lady Luck smiles your way, then you have gotten lucky, but please do not do it on someone else’s bed, it is rude. If you sleep of a top bunk, do it there, you never know, she might be into gravity and all.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Campus is Sin City, Do parents really need to know that?

I am embarrassed. The last time I blogged here was on the 29th of November in the last year of the last decade? Then a friend of mine happened upon it while reading @savvykenya‘s old blog ‘The Diary Of a Kenyan Campus Girl’ and texted to ask why I have no current posts. Talking of Savvy, she graduated from campus which means that a gap remains that must be filled. I do not think I can, her shoes (although I have never met her) are far too big when it comes to blogging. Every good writer has an area of expertise, as it is with porn stars and assassins. I am more of an academic writer (and I make a decent living off of it) and my mind is (or rather used to be) too dynamic to keep up with the stagnation of campus. Suffice to say, life always has its way.
A lot has happened since last year. Some of which cannot be blogged without a legal agreement from the parties involved. Martha (read the second post) is now headed to her second year, baptized with fire from ‘Judy’, the girl who ran away with her 16 k. Life has taken its inevitable toll on all of us, I think I spotted a single hair on my chin, maybe I wont be a thirty something year old with a chin like a baby’s butt after all. Something got me thinking today, reading through the different witness accounts of those who were present at the party where Mercy Chepkosgei Keino was seen alive last before her body was found on Waiyaki Way. Morbid as my interests in life might be (I think death is God’s gift to humankind, it is the question we answer with our lives), reading the dad’s candid defence on why he knows for sure that his daughter had never touched a drop of the –COOH products brought me to near laughter. How many of us partake without our parents’ knowledge? That would be 97 %, and the biggest number is obviously the ladies. For guys, suspicion begins once you hit puberty and your mother catches you in the house with a girl (or fondling the house help, whichever comes first).
The first time I ever tasted beer was when I was in my mother’s womb (story for another day). I avoided it for about 16 years after that, until a few months before I joined campus and I blacked out on 16 bottles of Smirnoff Black Ice (unbroken record in a house of drunkards, do not underestimate that ‘panty remover’). Even for a narcissist like me, it would be unfair to say I drank it all in one sitting and in my right mind. I also think I took 15 and a half because, if my memory serves me right, I poured about half a bottle on myself when I missed the glass. I woke up four hours completely sober, and sat through a lecture by my grandmother as to how moderation is key.
Fast-forward to a few months later in campus when one Thursday (it was the only day on the timetable that we had a single class, meaning much of the day was do-as-you-wish) I had my first taste of a brandy. Piece of advice, if you are going to introduce someone to brandies, please make sure it is not Napoleon. The small brown bottle retailed at 140 /= if my memory serves me right, and my classmates and I bought about four. We walked to the hostel and at 10 am in the morning, listened to music as we sipped through badly mixed coke and cheap brandy. Hours later and four more such bottles down, Eric was on the floor, having thrown up all the bread he had eaten, Levi was trying to salvage Phil’s laptop after a jug full of water tipped on it, Tim was fast asleep on his bed and I....I was staggering to my room to meet up with this girl I had been trying to get for the previous three weeks. Picture a room in slow motion, everyone doing things at -10* speed, at 2 p.m on a Thursday afternoon.
Karma can be a nasty bitch, when you are not prepared for luck, she shines it upon you. Mercy forgave me for throwing up so close to her feet that some of it splashed onto her long dress (tells you something, does it not) but she has never forgotten. She also helped open my door after I missed the keyhole about five times (could have been more, everything was so blurry). Now? Now my friends and I are the gurus of pinting, we hardly ever pint together and I have been on a sabbatical for no logical reasons. I can never do brandies, even the sweet Viceroy (bloody drinks nearly annihilated my libido *shudders*) and Phil is the guy you buy ten beers and he still drives you home and gets to his place without a mishap. Levi does not drink now, and Eric knows better than to eat bread while drinking. Do our parents know of our experience? You all know the answer to that question, they were once in campus too, were they not?

Monday, November 29, 2010


Months before this blog was born, my fraternity went on a pilgrimage to the Rift Valley town of Nakuru. There’s something about this town that makes it an ideal place for the annual, or monthly campus pilgrimage. It has something the city can’t offer, anonymity and cheap raves. The planning was as meticulous as a plan by men can get, beer, money, house, transport and rave points were marked and thoroughly researched (Who needs Google maps or foursquare). Let me save you the work of sorting out the hundreds of inboxes that were exchanged on face book among four guys (and yes, I still think its gay for guys to inbox, unless it’s something top secret and illegal).
So that dark Friday evening we met outside Ukwala, conveniently, because its one of the few supermarkets in town that still stocks alcohol( On your Face New ALCOHOL BILL), once inside we went on a shopping spree in one aisle, moving from brandy to gin to vodka to rum doing the only math that a campus guy can do after the exam, minimizing expenditure and maximizing effect. In this am a proponent of vodka and rum, the former being specifically KIBAO for low income beggars and starters, but I was rolling with people who consider themselves high rollers(sad, because they were getting the money from m-pesa, mum sent?), and we ended up buying alcohol that can not even disinfect a scratch, but when no one else was looking, I sneaked in a bottle of KIBAO vodka and we queued and paid.
A few minutes later and we were seated in a shuttle headed to the Rift Valley, to, as the Swahilis call it ‘kula anasa’. Sad as it was, the mat was a sad affair because it was full of old women coming from I don’t know where on a Friday night, and when John, eldest member of the squad, decided it was as good a time as any to do a few shots of vodka, and the whole mat started smelling like a bar(the smell of tires and burning fuel made it smell more like a strip club, if you catch my drift).You could see the disgusted look on the women’s faces, the frowns, and the thirsty look in the men’s eyes(there were only like two other guys in the mat).One 750ml of HUNTERS CHOICE fulfilled its life’s mission there, even before the matatu reached Soko Mjinga( Someone is feeling genius for having need it that?), which is about 55minutes from the city. Riley wanted us to start on the Napoleon (and am putting it out there that I don’t do brandies any more, it has impotence issues/effects, I hear, and it tastes like coal and rotting watermelons.)but everyone else thought it would be too much, and we still needed to find our way to the house, whose location no one but John knew, and you cant get the guide drunk(you can actually, but this if you don’t mind ending up in someone else’s house and having dogs released on you).By the time we got to Naivasha I had discovered the cure for motion sickness I have been seeking for so long, alcohol! Somewhere between Naivasha and Nakuru, the brandy was downed, and I think everyone in the mat got high by association.

The matatu ‘touched down’ in Nakuru town at around 10:15 p.m, all four of us were slightly tipsy by then, but the night was just beginning, and there was a lot that could still go wrong9 Four men, booze, strange town, do the math). The first thing that hits you when you get to Kenya’s fourth most developed town is the number of tuk tuks, they are so many that the probability of getting hit by one is slightly lower that finding a virgin in a strip club. But you get to appreciate them when you start moving around town and you discover that they offer the most convenient means of transport within town and its outskirts.
After debating on whether to go raving or not,we voted to find the house first and the plan for the night,so we boarded a tuk and by some cruel trick I hadn’t really foreseen, I ended up sitting at the front with the rider, and my three buddies squeezed at the back. The maneuvering within town is just plain madness, especially if you are sitted at the front because things seem a bit different there. We got out of town smoothly though, but we counted our chicks too fast. The house that would host four men for the next to days is an apartment in a small town called Shabbab, around 10mins away on a tuk tuk but the weather is a bit unpredictable and as the gods of the skies would have it, it had rained a few hours earlier and the road was pretty messed up, and if that wasn’t enough, we were stopped by cops, apparently(and life is indeed a learning process)it is against the traffic code for a tuk tuk to carry more than 4 people including the rider and it is even worse if the ‘excess person’( Don’t they teach grammar at Kiganjo?),in this case yours truly, to sit with the rider. If you go to campus in the city or anywhere around it you know cops hate us, and they think anyone who schools in Nairobi or anywhere close to there is as rich as Dangote, and as generous as Mary Magdalene(Go figure!).Suffice to say that we feigned innocence and the rider ended up paying the 150bob he earned from providing his services to us as a bribe to the cop, and he let us go, (cheap bastard!)But then again, this is Kenya.
We got to the house and didn’t even explore it. We stocked the fridge and started planning our weekend, and once we had located the kitchen and the glasses (the fridge is in the living room, small place); we sat and started the ritual. Two 750mls of 40% alcohol later and everyone was now high and happy and the weirdness started when, at around 4:30, Sam (the last of the Fraternity you haven’t met yet) started doing borderline gay things. It is an unspoken rule among men drinking squads that everyone has their day to get silly, I had had mine some weeks prior(ssshhhh, the walls have wiki leaks) and this day was Sam’s by default, and his ‘object of obsession’ was Riley. He started chasing him around, nagging him and like I said some sentences back, borderline gay stuff (gross! gross! gross! give him some Napoleon?).So we dragged him to bed and left him there, and had the gods of throwing up not invaded his alcohol induced stubbornness, he would not have woken up again, I still have photos of him lying on the washroom floor (I would really love to post them, but I have a to-do-list for the future so..) looking like those drunks you see when you go to shagz just high and sleeping so peacefully on the roadside.

(Day2 next blog post)

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Types of Knickers.

this blogpost is not entirely original,it has been edited severally,but its revance is indefensible

What type of underwear is the best? I have compiled the following types. The default type is one we will call Msupa. These are those nice boxers, briefs, thongs or panties which are made of cotton and were NEW when you bought them. Yes; I Insist New! The rest are as follows ...

1) Senior Citizen: This is an underpant with a few years job experience (second hand underpants) and with several high profile 'referees or previous owners' if you may. The owner is most possibly nuts! And a miser.

2) Sambaza: These are hand me downs from older brothers and/or sisters. They have also seen better days. The owner is most possibly young and most probably disgruntled.He/she is most likely to start a fire during a high school strike.

3) Someni Vijana: These come in a box of three for a hundred and fifty. The owner is normally on a tight shoe string budget thus mostly a student.They are obtained only after alot of armtwisting and the process of purchasing them remains a tale to be re-told.

4) Okoa Jahazi: Any underpants bought on credit. Some of which are never paid for. The owner is most possibly still hiding from the underwear dealer. Lend such people your clothes at your own peril.

5) City Hoppa: a.k.a Grandmother panties, Granny P'z a.k.a Mothers Union. These are the old fashioned large ladies panties. They have very thick panty lines too.The owners can be seen with V.P.L.s (Visible panty lines) along the streets.

6) Magana Flowers: Well, this is the self explanatory type. I still don't understand why ladies insist on wearing these flowered underpants. What does it say about the owner? The flowers are a tribute to the men who have perished while working 'down under'.

7) Under 18: This is an under-size one. The owner doesnt believe he/she is growing bigger and insists on defiling younger (read smaller) members of the panty world. The owners can also be seen regulary adjusting their poor under-18s in public.

8) Peeping Tom: These are underpants with a few peep holes especially for men/guys who want the old soldier down under to peep outside, or people with seriously toxic farts that drill holes in the underwear.

9) G4S: This one is Stolen, mostly by persons playing 'Ponyoka na Ngotha' promotion.They realize they canot afford a nice one and decide to steal from friends, family or neighbors. The new 'owners', while daring, are quite stupid and are mostly caught sooner or later.

10)Bob Marley:First they are multi-coloured and have funny looking shape.Because they are 'mtumba' and mostly 'camera',they only exist in 1 per continent and the owner is said to sing "Iron Lion Zion' everynight as he/she irons,lies on and wears the same pair of knickers everyday.

11)Justin Beiber's:Don't mistake this for the 'under 18s',this are extra-white knickers that you store in your closet.

12) My love: Well this is the one and only under pant owned by the Lone-Under-pant-Club members of our community. Its washed at night, dried at night and worn every day. Why is it called 'my love'. Well, it's because every morning they wake up and pick the ngotha while singing Lionel Ritchie's... 'My love, there's only you in my life'...

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Alcohol chronicles;chapter 2

THE last chapter ended with a confession that i didn't know exactly ho i ended up in Riley's bed,and you all asked what happened to Ivy,relax,even at my worst am still sane enough to take care of the girl.Before i i tell you how Ivy and i ended up sleeping on the same bed about a km away from my room,maybe i should just tell you who she is to me.

I met Ivy about two years ago,she is my idea of a funky girl,a bit of a flirt but she is a teaser,I hated how she would always manage to make me close my eyes as i moved in for the random kiss and then she would justtouch my lips lightly and vanish,and you know what happens when you tease a lion?Ivy is in her freshman year and so she is still raw in the matters of the world as per the walls of this institution of higher learning,but she is no blonde.and she hates dissapponting people,which expains why she came to the party in the middle of the night.But our relationship is purely platonic(Chris Rock doesnt think they exist but i could prove him wrong-i think),that is,if your view of platonic is distorted.

In the previous chapter i described,albeit too lightly,how we moved the party to the parking lot when the guards refused to let her through.The Somali night housekeeper in my hostel is a stickler for rules,he wouldnt let his mother through if she came past curfew am sure.and so to make tequila from lemons,i grabbed the vodka,Riley grabbed the lime and glasses and we declared the party moved.Its weird how much fun you can have with just three people who understand you,make that for,i hadnt factored in the vodka.

I drank too much,but how much is too much??and now Ivy wont sttop reminding me of the way i was getting all weirdo showing her the stars as we lay on the grass.the noise and commotion the two of us(Riley was on the phone,either with his clande or his insomniac girlfriend)was enough to drive any sober person crazy,The Somali housekeeper came down the stairs twice and both times i lied to him,i think the first time i told him that my name is John and i live on the third floor of the hostel next to mine,but i doubt he believed me,i dont know why,but am pretty sure that i contradicted myself when he came the second time.I wasnt afraid of him,but the bloody beaurecratic system would peel the layers off me if he started a case with the accomodation department,other than that,he can go take a dip in a frying pan for all i care.

At around 4am we were burnt out,all the noise,one and a half 'mzingas' of vodka downed,what was left was to head to bed but the headache was still there,buzzing all around us waiting for us to try and sneak Ivy into my room again.Riley lives in a hostel that is around a km from mine,they are refurbished builidings that seem like a ghost town,the rules there are seemingly no-existent but the price to pay for that is that the room has at least three occupants and the partitions of three are made of cardboard.So it was obvious that Ivy could only sleep there,the matter at hand then became where Ivy would sleep.The problem was easily solved by harnessing jealousy into positive energy and coming up with a king solomon like solution:Riley took my bed,and Ivy and I took the long walk to his.

I doubt his roommates slept though,seeing a drunk srtanger and a girl walk through the door in the wee hours of the morning,high as a concorde,am sure they were just waiting for the creaking bed,well,if they ever do read my blog,sorry guys!

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Alcohol chronicles;chapter 1

Its approximately 4;30a.m and I have a murderous hangover,I think my head is in some remote part of Russia and my body is detached from my body,the last time I felt this beaten up was the second Thursday of my freshman year when my 3 new friends and I decided to try out the campus myth,we ended up high on some cheap brandy that should be included in every campuses curriculum as a common unit because the only people who don’t know its taste and smell are either six-feet under or on a pilgrimage.Ignore the fact that I can not bear to look at that particular brandy because it is rather embarrassingly cheap and I actually stopped taking brandies when I heard from mo than one person that they tend to weaken your carsexual(a word I just made up)battery so that when you want to engage in a particular activity that require that one thing leads to another,it just won’t start,so you run and hide and pop your manhood(pun intended),the battery is dead and however much you fondle the terminals,all you get is a spark,and even when you get your co-driver to try and start the engine,fail!Any normally healthy knows the implications of this,the girl will either hate you or be intrigued by you because she either suspects your are ‘queer’ or that you don’t find find her attractive,either way,trouble!

Sorry I drifted,it’s the hangover,lemme tell you about last night,or,technically,tonight…

My good friend,codename Riley(yes,from Boondocks) and I are potential drunks,I doubt there is any brand we both collectively tried and so we decided on Friday that we were going to have a mini-party,which is pretty easy in a campus,seeing that all you need is to supply people with only enough beer to get slightly high and crave more,at which point you conveniently suggest that someone take a collection and a barman be summoned,or the errand boy be sent for re-supplies,its one of the oldest tricks in the alcohol consumption rule book and I have fallen for it millions of times.So yes,5 texts to my ‘victims’ and we had a mini-party in schedule,and did i mention that my fraternity never sends official invites to males?Being guys we know that while men are more willing to contribute for coffers,they are harder to control when they are high,the worst a girl ever did was throw up all over my duvet and having slight OCD,i washed it in the middle of the night and got the flu,which bugged me for the next three weeks until i treated it with a prescription you only see in the epics,two quick shots of a stiff vodka.

Riley decide it was a vodka weekend,and i'm not even a fan of vodka,i secretly loathe Russians,although that doesn't make a capitalist,vodka gives me this kind of a hangover,the kind even the blonde girls in my class notice and keep looking at me with pitiful eyes,its just a hangover ladies,not a terminal cut the long story short,flashforward to around 10p.m and am slightly high,Riley is flirting with some random girl and we are the only ones at the party we made in my room.Blaring music tends to increase ontoxication,or am i the only one who feels that??So here we are,seated on my reading table in my room,everyone else has been 'on their way for two hours now and its already past curfew(which would be 10p.m,officially called the 10-10 rule,bloody utopia!).
I'm disappointed but slightly worried,loneliness makes too good a drinking mate,my plan B,which is always present,goes into motion,the plan is to drink myself into a black-out or a semi-coma,whichever comes first and then karma does what she knows best,Ivy calls at 11;30 to say she's seriously on her way,im just three shots away from blacking out and i can't even remember what i told her exactly,Riley is still flirting on the phone,i tried getting him of by snatching the phone and talking to his girl,i think i told her something along the lines of him being blonde and all,i know he will kill me for this later but il just say it was his fault i got so high and did something so silly,and she,the sweet girl on the other end,hopefully,hasn't believed me because logic would follow that being his closest friend........well,figure that out.

Ivy gets to my hostel at midnight and the guards wont let her in,which shouldn't be a shocker, but to yours truly,who is now as high as a kite,it is an encroachment of my rights as a student(which is a load of bull-doody,because i signed the school rule-book but mum didnt say booze dont make me a genius,did she?

Plan B becomes the parking lot,Ivy is telling e there are no stars in the sky but i swear i just saw orion and venus,or maybe its in my head?The guards are pissed,but what can they do?i freaked them out sometime back when i kinda mind read one of them and profiled him and he freaked out,and i speak like am the VC'S son when am high.How i have ended up on Riley's bed i cant quite remember but i only managed an hour of alcohol-induced sleep and now here i am.

its all a blur.

Dear Iceberg,
sorry about global warming,i hear you are melting,karma is such a bitch,is she not?