There are things that happen to us that are truly epic. Those incredulous moments where vulgarity or other (in)appropriate expletives would simply not suffice.

Those circumstances that once shared with a second party would replicate that “oh my God!!!” exclamation.

Yes I am aware that a few of us prefer the four letter exclamations…
I’m also aware that even in the presence of divinity; angels and maybe Jesus… You’d still swear and curse by way of exclamations, and then blame it on the devil later (shame on you!)…

There are situations that may arise and the “f” or “s” letter words may not readily come to mind.
Or they may just not be appropriate.

Those moments may be ‘OMG!!!’ moments.

I have a few of such moments:-

1) That jaw-dropping (OMG!!!) moment when you get to meet your wife’s, girlfriend’s, or lover’s ex and the dude looks like a cross between Chewbacca and Groot. And behaves like a cross between Shrek and Bigfoot.

And you find yourself wondering how on earth she spread her legs (or however) to sleep with this E.T?!

Of course you’re no Brad Pitt or Idris Elba yourself, but… Da-yuhmm! “This thing slept with you luv?!”

And then you get to thinking that maybe, maybe, just maybe you shortchanged yourself.

And that she stepped up; and you reached down.

2) That irretrievable (OMG!!!) moment when a respected public figure like a judge or senator or minister makes a statement like;

“notary republic” (notary public)

or “a brown new car” (brand new car)

or “how comes…” (how come)

…on live TV.

3) The awe-inspiring (OMG!!!) moment when you realise that your boo has actually out-eaten or out-drunk your (reasonable) expectations.

Their tendency to gluttony hits you in that instant.

Revulsion laced with wonder grips your soul… You’re hitched to someone that will certainly disgrace you at dinner functions and will one day eat you when they’re hungry!

4) That fart…


You know it when you hear it volcano-ing from your beloveds’ poorly conditioned sphincter or when the stench of their poorly forecast effulgence makes your eyes water in misery, horror and disbelief.

Has it ever roused you from sleep?
No, not the power bike sounding fart… I mean the horror film, demonic presence, sulphuric, cloying repugnance that envelopes you to the point of suffocation till you gasp awake screaming, “Master carest not that I perish?!”

5) So you and your mates are at your favourite spot drinking and someone in the bar that has been drinking all night, (stretches or yawns, then) just slumps face forward dead.


Yes dead.



True story by the way.
One in Nigeria. The other in Ukraine.

We sobered INSTANTLY in Nigeria.

They burst into spontaneous applause in Kiev. The chap there is a legend till this day.

“Vladimir drank himself to death…” They still whisper in admiration.

6) Observing your Traffic Manual’s rules and regulations, you approach a freeway. You slow down because it’s an intersection…when suddenly a speed demon on a power bike blazes past you onto the freeway… And is immediately broadsided by a Porsche Cayenne… The rider is sent flying about ten feet high and floating horizontally about fifteen feet before hitting the asphalt with a sickening thud… And the momentum gained still pushing his crumpled body another foot or so along the asphalt.

Yeah, true story too.

Right before my eyes.

Are you retarded?! Of course he died!!


Kids Say (And Do) The Darndest Things

We were going to marry.

She had a kid. He was eighteen months old at the time.

Now, I don’t mean to discriminate, but back then single moms were a no-no. Ordinarily there was no way my family would ever accept her.

I could see it in their eyes when they first met her, the condemnation. Truth be told, in their eyes I could do better. She was never going to be good enough.

Then they met little Tommy.

The child was a cherub I swear.
If Cupid was to ever have a human face, Tommy was it.
I’m a father and a husband now, trust me, you want a kid EXACTLY like little Tommy.

The kid was smart.
Too smart for his age.
Everybody loved Tommy.
He was truly a bundle of joy.

Alicia was accepted only because of Tommy.

Clearly I loved him like he was mine. I loved his mum Alicia. My family loved Tommy; and so Alicia was “permitted”.

I’m from proud, pompous and wealthy aristocracy.
Please forgive my family.

Black beauty.

Dark, curvaceous goddess.

Sensuality and beauty marred only by her eyes.

Her eyes were full of hurt, guilt and bottled-up feelings.

But hey, I guess heartbreak with a kid as evidence of your “mistake” would do that to a person.

She was a banker. First Bank I think. Stable.
A girl to take home to mama.

Rich. And a nice person I guess. At least that’s what I’m told.

My only excess? I always like to know what I’m getting involved in.
I hate surprises.

Hey! I’m human… Forgive me.

And so wedding plans… Hurray!
Groan… Not really.
Alicia was smiling more though…

And… Then the pastor of her church swung by one evening. I was at her place. He came by to talk about the upcoming wedding.

Tommy was being well, Tommy.
He was at the phase were he was hiding keys and jewellery.
Successfully climbing the most dangerously precarious items of furniture and fittings.
He would gurgle water and spit all day. Gurgle saliva and spit when we wouldn’t give him water… All day.
Remove his nappies for reasons he could not communicate…
Tommy was being, a kid.

He waddled into his mum’s room eventually, (presumably to hide in her closet) and so we hunkered down to
“talk shop”.

A couple of minutes into our talks, Tommy saunters back lugging something behind him. Sits on the rug in our midst and with a cry of glee thrusts it at the pastor.

The man of God screamed “blood of Jesus!” As he recoiled in shock.

Alicia’s face fell in abject humiliation and despair. Her delicate hands flying towards her endowed chest as if to stop her heart from exploding.

The meeting was cut short. I could feel her eyes on me the whole time. I could not meet her eyes.

We were going to get married.

But we did not.

No one broke it off. We just did nothing.

Neither of us have spoken about the incident till this day twenty years later.

You see, we had been lovers for three years prior to that day.

At full mast I measured a paltry four inches. Width, an average adults index finger.

She always said I was “the best”.

It was about thirteen feet long.

It was a shiny black, white flaky stains here and there.

It was about the width of a can of soda.

It was one big-ass rubber dildo.

Any way you chose to interpret the dildo, it did not look good for Alicia. Present company considered.


I could sense her.

Her eyes on my back. All over my body. I couldn’t see her, but I knew someone was very interested in me.

I’m forty. Married. And in the UK vacationing.
And yes, I was wearing my wedding band.

She was beside me before I could turn. I turned just as she reached out to tap my shoulder.

We both froze… I don’t know what made her pause, but mine was because of a few reasons:-

Yes she was as beautiful as they come.
Yes she was curvaceous and yummy.
Yes she was high or tipsy or both…
But most striking was her youth. She was all of sixteen. And looked eighteen. As a retired connoisseur, I could perceive the right hormones oozing off her sultry form.

At that moment, I started to hear my bruv’s voice of caution,

“Dude, out here, the sort of women you like, are jailbait! They age differently here.”

And here she was. Smiling seductively at me and intent on whispering everything in my ear… Did her cleavage have to be so… there?! Sigh!!

“I’m too old for you.” I ventured directly.

She sidled closer with a broader smile.

“I’m bad news. The sort your mummy warned you about.”

She practically gasped in arousal, warm unclad body parts glued to me.

It dawned on me at that point that anything I said next would unleash the sexual tsunami brewing within the young teen.
Whatever she had been smoking, snorting, eating, anally-absorbing, shooting-up or drinking was good stuff. She was in a good place.

“I’m not high.” She quipped,

And from her voice It occurred to me then that she wasn’t. This was a proper problem now!

“I think you’re a right legend. And I want you.”


I immediately sat up straight and extended my hand,
“Bond… James Bond… The negro version.”

She squealed in good humour and the brunette bombshell was suddenly in my arms. I swear I didn’t hug her back.
As I (grudgingly) extracted my married self from her surprisingly ‘octopusian grips’ she began peppering available portions of my face with kisses.

“Wahala dey o!” I lamented as my people are wont to.

Long story short, I didn’t want witnesses. So I suggested we take a walk.
She blew kisses at a bevy of equally hot and giggly friends, who all either snarled, batted eyelids, or waved at me on our way out of the pub.

Long story shorter still, there’s nothing quite like the crisp chill on a cold winter night to quell ardour.
And nothing quite like fresh air to clear the senses and leave you room to make proper decisions.

I returned her back to The Artillery Arms thirty minutes later. In good health, no longer in lust, though I suspect, now in love.

We had exchanged BB pins and email addresses. Yeah, I’m hybrid old school like that.

May not seem like much, but I was impressed by me.
I can be nice; I am not necessarily nice.



Jack is the only son of Awe Schitt and O. Schitt, and he has an interesting family tree:

In 1957, Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O. Schitt, the owner of Needeep N. Schitt, Inc.

They had one son, Jack.

Jack Schitt grew up and married Noe, and together Jack and Noe Schitt produced 6 children:

Holie Schitt  (who came to be known as “The Lucky Schitt“)
Fulla Schitt
Shineola  (who didn’t really have the Schitt Face)
Giva Schitt
Bull Schitt  (who really looked like Schitt, the father),
and the twins: Dip Schitt and Deep Schitt.

Dip Schitt was not very bright, and was known as “The stupid Schitt“, and she married Dumb Schitt, a high school drop out who happened to share the same last name (no relation, however). Friends affectionately nicknamed them “The Schitts“. Their marriage produced no little Schitts.

The other twin, Deep Schitt, went on to build a deodorant empire, which became famous for it’s slogan: “Smell Like Schitt“. Interestingly, that slogan only worked in the United States, and another slogan was more popular in the U.K.: “Put a dab of Schitt on your pits.” When the company launched it’s product into Australia, a third slogan was used successfully: “Smell Like Schitt Down Under“.

But soon, trouble developed and Noe Schittdivorced Jack and promptly married a nice man named Ted Sherlock, but being a modern woman, she decided to hyphenate her name. She become known as Noe Schitt-Sherlock.

Jack was depressed at losing Noe, but he, too, remarried a nice lady named Loda. The blushing bride, Loda Schitt, produced a son of nervous disposition, whom they namedChicken Schitt.

Jack and Loda went on to produce two more boys, Krappy Schitt and Ugglee Schitt.

These athletic brothers, Krappy and Ugglee, married the stunningly beautiful Happens Sisters in a dual ceremony.

The “Schitt-Happens” Wedding was a huge affair, and this union also produced many offspring:
Dawg Schitt
Byrd Schitt
Hoarse Schitt
and Pigh Schitt

But once again, Jack lost his love for his wife, and left to tour the world. He recently returned from an extended visit to Italy with his newest bride, Pisa.

Presently Jack Schitt and his 3rd wife, Pisa Schitt, are living without children in New Jersey on property which contains a stream of water, now known to the locals as “Schitt Creek.

(From now on, nobody can say you don’t know Jack Schitt!)