Ok so this guy is pretty funny.

Ok, so this guy has a website where you can take a legit IQ test (apparently thows are common now), and this is like, his welcome note.

There is only ONE rule (okay, it’s actually a couple of rules, but I wanted to start off big).

You have 13 minutes to answer 38 questions with either TRUE or FALSE (that gives you about 20 seconds for each question).

WARNING: Even to my surprise, the START button starts the test and once that has happened, there’s no way (as in 1^st date – 3^rd Base) to pause it.

Keep in mind:

If your time runs out before you finish, you are A: borderline retarded and B: disqualified.

If you finish under 13 minutes, you’re a show-off but will be awarded bonus points.

To get an accurate result please only take the test once … it’s also a legal thing and I’ll sue your ass off if you do it twice. Three times, that’s cool, but not twice.

By the way, I did the test. Score: 128 Scale: 126 -135 (Gifted; pretty close to genius). *Shrug* Hahaha. Peace y'all.

They're Not Talking To Me

“Did they tell you, you should grow up, when you wanted to dream?

Did they tell you, better shape up, if you wanna succeed?

I don’t know about you, who are they talking to? They’re not talking, to me.” – Metric.

There was that dream that you had when you were a kid, when you were a teen. You’re in university now, and that dream is constantly slipping away.

You realize that it’s not gonna be possible. Even if it was possible, you probably need a mix of extremely hard work, lots of luck, and maybe some divine intervention.

So what do you do? Before you burn out, you wanna enjoy your dream one last time. Wile out, smoke, drink, whatever.

It is at this point that they start to tell you those things in quote. Get your act together son, it’s time to grow up.

I don’t know about you, who are they talking to? They’re not talking to me.

It’s bad enough that I have to sell my brain to the society when I leave this goddamned place. I have to sell my soul and my mind too? Fuck that shit. I’m not getting married, I’m not going to church, I’m not wearing Kaftans, and I’m getting out of this country as quickly as I can.

Jesus. I’m supposed to stop reading comics, and stop watching cartoons now? Because I’m a ‘man’. Because I’ve taken my place as drone number seven billion and something.

Fuck no. I’m not gonna live life like everybody else. There’s so much more drones are missing out on because they’re now grown-up.

“I’m higher than high,

I’m lower than deep,

I’m doing it wrong,

I’m singing along.” - Metric.

I’m a 22-year old ‘man’ who smokes weed, smokes cigarettes, indulges in cocaine, reads comics, watches cartoons, reads books, follows politics, drinks like a fish, likes to have extra-marital sex, loves music, uses the internet a lot, and is more exposed than you drone motherfuckers.

That’s not what is expected of you, but you know, they’re not talking to me.

Caveman Stigma

The only way an insult gets to you is if it’s true. I realized that today. You see all those squabbles, and some guy just says one thing to the other guy and the other guy goes all ‘Hulk Smash’ on some-guy’s ass. It’s because what he said was true.

I mean, I’ve been called all sorts of names today ‘Big Dummy’, ‘stupid’, even ‘wicked’. I haven’t even had the slightest inclination to get angry. I have been irritated though. I’ve gotten like one billion calls today. Some time for me, maybe?

So the deal is my mother found out I smoke weed, and that I was even gonna get some for my sister. Whoa!

So there’s some crazy shit going on there, which explains the phone calls from one thousand family members, all lasting about one thousand minutes by the way, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about.

We’re here to talk about why these people have a problem with me anyway. We’re here to talk about why they’re calling me all the time because they found out I smoke ‘Indian Hemp’. I’m telling you, it’s a big problem. My aunt actually said those lovely three words to me – I hate you.

I got the distinct impression from all the conversations I had with different family members (my mum told everybody!) that they think I’m now a dumbass irresponsible skin-scratching dirty degenerate because I smoke marijuana.

They said shit like “So how many times a day do you take the thing?” “ I know your brain isn’t working well.” “That’s why you failed isn’t it?” “You’re now a big dummy.” That’s how I got that distinct impression.

I have this conversational tactic. It works pretty well. When you don’t say shit and the other person does all the talking, they come to realize you’re not gonna say shit so they just say a few harsh conversational conclusions and they hang up and probably send you a text message. Which you will not reply.

It was during one of the lovely monologues that I began to become weary of the insults and began to think they were true. But then I realized that for every insult the opposition had come up with, I had come up with a way better counter-insult that woulda shut them up for life, metaphorically, and shut them up for quite a few minutes, literally.

Insults are the epiphany today people; insults.

I am not a dumb-ass. I am not irresponsible. Man, if my mum knew about some of my colleagues, she’d take me to The Vatican and try desperately to get me Saint status. What?

If due to some extenuating circumstances like my instructor doesn’t like my attitude much, I don’t get a C or a D, then I’m dropping you an A. Every single time. Boom. A. I’m dropping it like a runner’s sweat. Except for the extenuating circumstances.

I’m a dummy, uh?

I got a job at a news house as a librarian that one time. Remember mummy? I was a librarian. One month of work, and I was writing for the paper. Remember that mummy? You and daddy were so proud.

I used to smoke weed on my lunch breaks mummy.

I guess I’m getting too personal here. It’s pretty simple. I thought it was just a myth but apparently, it’s true. It’s true that people are actually that dumb, so dumb as to go about assuming that because you smoke some marijuana, you become some Brenda-baby-throwing crack whore.

I don’t know what to say man. Let me tell you a little story. There was this guy, his name was William Shakespeare. No biggie. Dude wrote like one million plays in what became to be termed the British Renaissaince. Playwrights, poets like William Blake, writers like Dickens, all those mo’fuckers, they came out of this era. They did some good shit.

William Shakespeare dominated the pack. The English that we speak today, consider it Shakespeare’s gift to the world. One dude, man.

Some two hundred years later, some silly scientists go poking around Shakespeare’s shit, and they find his pipes. They test the motherfucker’s eight or so pipes and find residues of marijuana in every last one of them. Every fucking last one of them.

There’s this new science gizmo that can check bone content and know how much weed you’ve smoked in your lifetime, that kinda thing. They’re gonna take a small pinch of Shakespeare from where he’s rested (they’re not gonna exhume him, no) and check his bone content.

What do you expect the results to be?

He was the leader of the fucking pack. In every last one of those pipes, they said.

What else can I say?

It’s just a pity though. That such people exist. That there is such ignorance in a world where information is power. People still don’t know shit. Somewhere a white guy is still killing a black guy just because he’s black. He doesn’t know any better. He’s ignorant. Somewhere someone’s kid is being subjected to religious hilly-billying because his/her parents found them reading Harry Potter. It’s about witches and wizards. The kid’s gotta go to spiritual deliverance in church.

Here, I’m being threatened to be disowned because I smoke marijuana. There is still that ignorant caveman stigma. It’s just a pity.

Ignorance is dangerous is what I learnt. Amongst other things. Dummy. Stupid.

You know, whatever.

I rolled this blunt really well though. Even for myself.

MAN DOWN

Why did I pull d trigger, pull d trigger, pull d trigger, boom.

And ended, ended, ended, life so soon.

-Man Down by Rihanna.

I’m just sitting down, high, in this whole limbo world with myself. There’s nothing here. There’s no shape, there’s no structure, there’s no society, there’s no rules, there’s no judgment, there’s nothing forbidden, there’s no emotion; nothing. It’s just me here. It is in this state that we are said to see most clearly; doesn’t matter how you get there. There’s nothing to cloud your judgment because after all, there is nothing. Rum-pom-pom-pom.

So. Have you seen someone get shot and die? Have you seen it in a movie? It doesn’t matter how you saw it, in this case the movies are bang on point. You shoot a guy, the guy gets a few minutes max, and the guy just dies.

The motherfucker just dies.

It’s some crazy shit man. I’m just sitting down on the WC, smoking some weed and listening to some good music, and this sexy redhead chick starts talking to me. She just paints a simple picture of someone shooting someone else. But she’s also reminding me of some shit. Some shit that people tend to forget. That we have power. We don’t have that much power over life, but we have power over death.

Don’t get it twisted man. When a nigga points a gun at you, fully loaded, cocked back, death isn’t coming to get you, that nigga is. Don’t call your supernatural motherfuckers, don’t call your friend. Don’t call your mother, don’t call your father. Don’t call your special OPS friend, don’t call your loving girlfriend. Those motherfuckers won’t save you. The only person that can do that is that nigga holding the gun, fully loaded, cocked back. That nigga owns you. That nigga decides whether you live or die. To you, that nigga is God.

It’s funny, when someone survives the scenario in the last paragraph, some stupid motherfuckers attribute it to God, or Allah, or some shit. Think about it motherfuckers, if God somehow influenced that nigga, and caused him not to shoot you, then why the fuck did he let the nigga come up to you, probably say some really hurtful shit to you too, then pull out the gun out of wherever he’s stashed it, and then point it at you? What’s the point of all the drama if God is going to do some jedi mind trick on the nigga and cause him not to shoot you? I mean we’re talking about a five to ten minute build up here.

Stupid motherfuckers.

But when the person dies, they blame the nigga that killed him and throw him in jail. How about throwing God in jail for aiding and abetting? I mean, he didn’t do shit to stop it and he knew it was gonna happen.

The human race is fraught with many vices and flaws but I think our biggest vice has to be our ignorant humility. Because we are ignorant of our abilities, we are also humble. We don’t know we’re humble, but we’re humble. If the human race maximized their potential, we would own fucking galaxies my niggas. Fucking galaxies.

Have you heard of the people of Krypton? Or I could ask, did you have a childhood? Anyways, Superman was from Krypton. Their city was beautiful. Their people were elegant. They were progressive. They were the kings of the universe. They were human. Well, they’re an evolved form of human beings, but that’s because they knew the shit they were capable of. Those niggas can fly, throw you into space. They can go to the sun. Do you get the picture? What makes you think we can’t do that?

I think we’re gonna get there though, but slowly. Like snail-crawling slow. No. Like if a snail, with all its attributes, was a human being, we would be moving at the speed of a snail to a snail. And this is also because we are ignorantly humble. And it shows in the nature of our society.

There are a few men, just a few men, relative to our population that rule the world. These people rule the world man, make no mistake about it. They only rule the world because they know how much power they have. They know what they can do. All other human beings are suckers. You expect them to tell you what you can do? Yeah, they’ll tell you. They tell you every day. You can do it if you want. You can do it if you put your mind to it. They tell you every day, but they can’t do it for you.

I don’t know what to say to you man. I guess that you shouldn’t piss off a nigga that has a gun.

You know, or else, man down.

I THINK I'M GONNA CUT MY HAIR

My hair is really curly and it doesn’t grow more than a certain silly height. Leaving it to grow in this rough and jungle way has never really been my preference. I think my preference has just been to leave it the way it is; not doing anything about it. I comb it from time to time, but it never makes me feel any different about it. It’s just there.

The power of the tongue. I remember at one time, I used to say that the state of my hair reflected the state of my mind, body and soul. I guess it has always been true. It’s like living twenty-two years and finding out in your twenty-second year that your name is truly your name. The state of my hair does reflect the state of my life. Just there. Curly. Tangled. No breathing space. An abandoned jungle of protein.

I’m tired of having life. It is such a feeble intangible wisp of an idea. Fleeting. Yet it is such a burden. Suicidal people complain and complain and they want to take action. They wanna fix things. They wanna take their lives. I’m past that stage. I don’t even have the strength to wanna take my life anymore. I’m just there.

I really don’t know what to do. I have no idea. Everybody has an idea about what I should do; what path I should take. Everybody seems to know what’s best for me. Everybody can point out the mistakes I’ve made. The right moves I’ve made. Everybody can tell me about myself. It’s like they feel the need to remind me of these things so I don’t forget; so I don’t forget about myself.

This ‘me’ is never gonna marry. This ‘me’ is never gonna have children. This ‘me’ is never gonna be a functional member of society. This ‘me’ might get a good job, and be an effective member of the labour force, but obviously, and I will not say why it is obvious, that’s not really hard to do. A mad man on the streets of Lagos can easily refine himself and become the dude you ask for a loan for your dead-end society-defined entrepreneurship business. It’s not that hard.

I don’t know what to do with myself, and I guess it shows in the way I carry myself, and in the way I walk, and talk, and relate with people. I have never met anyone who was not inclined to give me advice. I guess it’s a sign of weakness to show fallibility, and to show uncertainty. However, I think it’s the only way I can cope with this life. Accepting the characteristics of my life, extreme fallibility, uncertainty, and failure, and living them. It would cause me to be extremely deranged and insane to try and cover it up, and lie to myself.

So in light of these things, I have come to the conclusion that I should consider cutting my hair.