The good, the bad, and the Lagos – 006

The good, the bad, and the Lagos – 006
It is not a moot argument that Lagos is notorious for verbal creations that spread faster than the word of God.
You don’t even have to be internet savvy to know this. It’ll find you far away in space, or buried away in some remote cave.
Mad o.
I have the full video. 
Shift let me faint. 
This table you are shaking. 
And before all those, the long-lived, Men are scum. 
The reason Men are scum has survived many successors is because of the gospel in it. Equally important, I am, today, reminded of one of the biggest illustrations by a bonafide bastard who is arguably a principality of the attribution.

The good, the bad, and the Lagos – 005

We’d been guzzling beer like it was New Year’s eve and alcohol was going out of fashion by midnight. Typically, we had also edged into that confessional zone with slurred words influenced by drinking too much.
I had my say.
Everyone was having their say.
When it came his turn, to prepare you, it was brief as well as disgusting.
He had met a girl who kept him running in circles for weeks. She neither accepted nor declined his offer. And she treated him with condescension.
One night she and her friends found themselves stranded on Carter bridge, in Lagos Island. The taxi they hired had had its tire flattened.
This was before the Uber era.
Without much of a choice, the girl called this young man who had been prospecting her; and he drove down fast and furious.
One point earned.
Or so she thought.

The good, the bad, and the Lagos – 004

He insisted he was going to take a dip in each of the girls before they got in his car, otherwise good luck with the dark angels of night in Lagos.
And by dip, he meant literally putting his stuff in them; screwing all five of them for a few seconds each.
The girls bickered and cussed.
He refrained from dialogue, got in his car and made to drive off.
In that same instant, the reality of the terrors of rogues, kidnappers, as well as spiritualists surpassed their mutual resolve for chastity. They begrudgingly asked him to wait.
He was scum.
One by one, they obliged on the trunk of his car. And a few minutes after the shameful romp, they were headed home in safety; unable to speak or even look at themselves.
It was a night everyone would prefer to forget.
Everyone but the bonafide bastard.

About The Author

Kingsley Alaribe is a Digital Marketer with 1stNews, and writes the weekly column, Strangers and Lovers. He is also a Data Scientist. Email: [email protected]

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