Comin Up
You know when, you know where. Come on over and let’s do this!

Oh yeah, people in attendance are usually more colorful than this thing.


Random Instance Of Thought _ Its kells!

You’ve heard the news, R. Kelly is NOT GUILTY. However, you have to ask yourself what it was like in the courtroom. . .

-So Mr. Kelly, Mr. Pied Piper… R! mask, ziggy dee, whatever your name is, what do you have to say for yourself…

Kells: Well, if I could turn… turn back the hands of time. . .

-Screw that. We know what you did, you peed on her didn’t ya? You peed on a poor defenseless young

Kells: Age ain’t nothing but a number!

-Who the hell do you think you are?

Kells: It’s Kells!

-How is that relevant to the case?

Kells: We got room keys!

-Judge I’d like to call our first witness… I call to the stand, Chris Freakin Brown ladies and gentelemen!

Chris B: Thank you thank you, you’re far too kind

-Hang on, that shit ain’t yours. You’re channeling Jay Z. Mr. Brown I have to warn you, we haven’t gotten over that stuff you did over at facebook!

Chris B: I just left comments from wall to wall…

-So how do you know the accused?

Chris B: Mr. Kelly? I don’t. I know the girl in the video.

-Crap! Okay, so that it is not a waste of time. How did you meet?

Chris B: It was in a gym…or a subway. I remember asking her to gimme that. . .

Kells: What does that have to do with anything?

-Shut up Mr. Piper! Go on Mr. Brown. Then what did you say

Chris B: I said OOOOH! I’m into you then I planted one on her

-Yeah? Then what.. what did she say to that, you sly dawg you. . .

Chris B: nti, how am I supposed to breathe with no air. . .

-Sir, like this piece you’ve gone off on a tangent. Go away. . .Mr. Kells, what do you have to say in your defense?

Kells: I’m a flirt!

-Excuse me?

Kells: I don’t see nothing wrong, with a little bump and grind. . .

-Mr. Kelly!

Kells: sorry, but I doubt Mr. Brown’s claims, that was not the same girl!

-And you know this for a fact, how?

Kells: I did that same girl shit with Mr. Raymond. . .Usher Raymond.

-So you were saying.

Kells: Hey, you’re kinda cute… we can do this on the down low. . .

-Excuse me?

Kells: Your Body’s Callin. . .and I bet you’re Home Alone. . . I’m So Happy Its Thursday.

{Reader: Hang on, that’s not even a song title. What’s going on? I thought you were doing song titles. What the **** !

Me: Anyone notice it gets abbreviated as SHIT? No? Moving on . . .}

Mr. Kelly it is, in fact, Friday!

Kells: Thank God.

What? The case is not over. . .

Kells: Thank God it’s Friday

So, back to the matter at hand. You say you did not pee on her. . .but it says here you said you were “feelin on her booty”

Kells: That’s just a song. Hell, I sang I believe I can fly! You don’t see me flying! That shit is depressing. I can’t sleep!

There, there Mr. Piper, I’m your Angel

Kells: You’re pretty kinky for a lawyer. . .

That wasn’t me, it was that Celine Dion chic. . .it’s just a big coincidence that her words are following the same structure as mine are.

Kells: Come on now, we can all get along. We’re all Happy People.


Kells: Sorry, I thought the Storm was over now. . . and by taking the piss on justice I’d prove what I said before, I’m the world’s greatest.

Not that it has any bearing on this case, but you haven’t done anything with Celine in a while, why is that?

Kells: When a woman’s fed up. . . I don’t need this, this line of questioning is making me feel trapped. . .like a cup in a cupboard, or a shoe in a closet. I feel trapped in the closet! I’m out of this piece!

We’re not done, Mr. Kelly!

Kells: I’m a Rock Star. That court shit is for playa’s only! Jigga Kelly, not guilty!

Posted in Random. Tags: . 10 Comments »

Title unknown

I had a Turkish delight this morning. That was on my way to the bathroom…soapy water got into my mouth so what was once rose flavored, became Geisha flavored. Tasted like crap, incase you were wondering.

My pal told me that who you are at 25 is who you will be for the rest of your life. Technically that means I have roughly three months to mould myself into a morally upright citizen…I’m keeping my fetish for girls in white pants till 5 minutes to my birthday.

I am afraid of babies. Not in a clown’s freak me out sort of way, but I wouldn’t want to be left alone with a baby for even five seconds… shit, at all. My sis wonders how I will cope with my own kids… I haven’t planned that far ahead.

The contestants on Tusker’s Project Fame make me want me to throw our TV…at them…I was going to let it slide until the traffic jam they caused made it close to impossible to get a decent meal at Garden City… there’s also the fact that some chic said, “My own very home!” …and most of the contestants seem to have developed accents of questionable origin after going to Nairobi…NAIROBI for crying out loud!

What’s the deal with teletubbies? Why don’t they grow old and wrinkly and die? How come the kid in the sky with a sunny disposition is not aging? Aren’t we filling our kids with false hope?

The fair and lovely lady on telly in that advert says four is her lucky number… haha, mbu 4! The nerve.

My niece believes in shooting stars. After watching Ragga Dee and Bobi Wine engaged in a game of pool at the night club the other night, I think it’s a brilliant idea.

I want my Sony Ericsson to be as deadly as the Nokias in that advert where people are as-if fighting using their phones network waves. Damn you Sony, when will you make my phone a weapon of mass distraction!

where do i start. . .

“I don’t know… It’s flattering I guess. More flattering than troubling, to think that when you’re bleeding love, that bleeding’s for me…”

How did we meet? That’s not really the important bit. Well, I suppose it makes for better reading than the “where”. It was a bar mind you. Nothing classy, nothing fancy. Just a regular bar near home.

It was one of those evenings. You know. You’re at home with your mind made up. You won’t go out no matter what. You borrowed a movie earlier so your night is made.

For insurance you’ve bought yourself some vodka. It helps. There was a moment’s hesitance when you were making this purchase because a part of you knows what the vodka does. You wanted so badly to go with something else. Something like, Bond 7. But you didn’t because you remembered what happened the last time.

But that’s not important. What you want to know is how we met.

Like every other story, it involved a blackout. There was really no point in staying at home so I decided to take a walk. Not too far, coz you never do know what will happen lest you wander too far….

Or take things too far, as I did that night.

Asking my pal for the keys to his car because of her. Him handing them over with not a single care in the world.

And then getting screwed.

No, not that way…not in the way it was supposed to happen.

There we were, me and her. backseat of the car. About to get it on. Then a light was shone. Then we were asked to come out of the car.

The guy holding the torch held something else in his other hand.

A gun? A crow bar? It doesn’t matter. He hit me. Hit me hard. I blacked out.

When I came to, the car was gone. My friend was yelling at me.

It wasn’t his, he said… truth be told, this story ain’t mine either.

Random Instance Of Thought

I dropped a rhyme | Once upon a time,

Back in the day | Back in my prime,

I dropped a rhyme in a style lyrical,

The delivery with a precision kinda surgical,

But that was back then…


No one gave a shit about mice and men,


My mind wandered about on a solitary plane,


I pandered about on the brink of falling insane,


And then I broke the wall,

That which stood between you and I,

I called you boo,

You called me sweetypie,



That was then,

hi, my name is ivan, and I’ve got the flu. . .

The initial idea was to type out something about Nairobi, experimenting with different types of meat, meeting Idols and a dude at the airport with the tact of an undertaker, going around asking “what is final destination?”

That is, I was supposed to type out something about Thursday last week and the days that followed, but I kept putting it off, and now, I’ve been brought down by the blasted flu.

To a degree it’s really my fault. I kept ignoring it figuring it would go away of its own accord with time. It probably will, but I don’t have the time…and the pretty young thing in front of me at the cinema might be getting a little agitated with all the snorting and sneezing.

(*sneeze* eugh, gross…oh I beg your pardon, I’ll take that, thank you.)

The situation wasn’t improved by the cold shower this morning. Seriously, I can’t remember water being that cold. My follicles froze, fell off and a new batch of unsuspecting follicles sprung forth. They too fell off, because follicles are given to suicidal and carefree tendencies. I am keeping the new lot firmly tucked under warm clothing.

I’ve started taking medicine for it, some drug with the uninspired name; FluCold. I can’t help but wonder how they arrived at this.

(Boardroom at some pharmaceutical firm

“seems to me like a tie. We will adopt both Flu and Cold as the name for this drug; now let’s go shoot some hoops…”)

It goes without saying, I needed a handkerchief at some point during this ordeal. The lady at the shop went through the routine that usually comes with such purchases;

She: What?!

Me: Hanky!

She: Color?

Me: white…

She: Size?

Me: er, bed sheet.

She: Take

What I don’t get, during this whole thing, is the whole color thing. Why are hadkerchiefs made in any other color? Scratch that, why try to glamorize something we are going to wipe away snot or sweat with?

I’ll probably post about the Nairobi experience later, I’m done with this; mourning my morning.

For you, that you may find your feet.