In 2013, No More…

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 Wasup peeps? I bet you are all having yourself a happy new year. Well, I don’t care. What I know is that the shit hit the fan on my New Years (RIP Granny), but am not letting that dampen my spirits this time round. I don’t exactly have a soft spot for odd years, but 2013; am gonna try and make it my best!
Every Tom, Dick and Harry out there is working hard on making New Year’s resolutions, but we all know it doesn’t take a village witch a black cock (no pun intended) to tell you that those resolutions won’t last a week. I’ve been a victim of these New Year pledges craze before, and am not going down that road again. In the past I have made resolutions that lasted for such a short period that they would make Mudavadi’s marriage to Uhuru seem like a lifetime.  
No, am wiser now. This year I have decided to survive on autopilot. Let the gods lead me wherever they want to, hakuna matata. However, there’s a list of habits I’d like to do away with this year:
Seriously, why are people so obsessed with these silly equine boogie moves? Let musicians like Psy remain in 2012. I mean, there are cooler ways to shake a leg than jumping around like a retarded horse. For your information, we will be remembered as a generation who thought a fat Korean pretending to ride a horse was entertaining enough to look at. That isn’t something that anyone worth his salt would be proud of, is it? Very distressing. 🙁 
Like I had either of the two in 2012
Ok, brothers, I admit that I have found myself nodding to Beiber’s song at a small number of unfortunate times. But don’t lynch me or revoke my membership to the males’ club just yet, give me a chance to apologise first. I also apologise for watching Glee, and listening to some fags called One Direction. Apology accepted? No?
If it would help, let me tell you that I deeply regret my transgression. In fact, I have actually contemplated committing suicide the few times I have found myself listening to Beiber. The only thing that held me back was the fact that I was undecided whether “I caught myself listening to Justin” should come at the beginning or at the end of a suicide note.
Am told that you can accurately determine how straight or cooked a dude is by the number of Beiber songs contained in his ipod. Well, for starters, I don’t even own an ipod, so I believe am as straight as an arrow.
Oh,. And before I forget, a moment of silence for my pal who paid 800 bob to watch Twilight.
In 2012, I had scores and scores of friends. Now that I am a year wiser, I have come to discover that some people would call you a friend when all is well, but when darkness sets in, they flee just like shadows.
At times I sacrificed so much for a friend that I would get myself into a precarious situation. But when my turn of need comes, yule niliyemdhamini kua rafiki wa kufa kuzikana anaadimika kama maziwa ya kuku, na kuniacha nikitepetea na kuyumbayumba katika janga la huzuni na biwi la machozi peke yangu.
A word of advice: The fewer friends you got, the less shit you get to deal with. You all have heard that it is better to have an 1000-bob note than twenty fifty bob notes.
But amid these wolves in sheepskins, there were some diamonds in the rough thank I must give thanks to. Friends like Felix, Job, Mabel, Delilah, Mercy, Sebastian, Dyner, Del, Nancy… (The list is long) truly made my 2012 worth it; and I’d like to grow our friendship come 2013.
“Hi. Sema Jones, Aki I’ve missed you….!”
*Two months later*
“Hi. Sema Jones, Aki I’ve missed you….!”
Bullshit! If you actually miss me, why am I always the one hitting you up?
This year it’s gonna be different! You ignore me, I ignore you. Simple. With only 200 texts per day, it would be barmy to keep a phonebook a phonebook the size of Encyclopedia Britannica. Would you do me a favour? Aki please delete my number if we haven’t spoken to each other for three months.
What’s worse than your pal not hitting you up for 3 months? Read on and you’ll find the answer.
“K”. O, how I hate that reply! It drives me nuts! You’d rather smack me on my face with a foko-jembe than reply to my text with a K. What do people do with all the time they save by writing K instead of okay? The answer to that question I don’t know, but what I do know for sure is that I am capable of punching you in the face via sms if you potassium me. Do I look like I’ve got 19 protons to you?
This goes to all those people who are intense on clogging my inbox with those odious generic forwards. Can I tell you a secret? Let me not spill the beans coz if I do, no one will text me for the rest of the year.
There’s a special corner in hell reserved for all those dorky characters who reply to my long from-the-deepest-part-of-my-heart texts with one word. I bet you didn’t know that.
It’s okay (in fact it’s cool) when a girl who probably got kicked out of kindergarten mistakes the letter S for X and thus sends stuff like “Xaxa”, “Xawa”, “Xalama”, et cetera. But it is really discombobulating when you receive such a text from a dude. In my opinion, dudes who put X in place of S also wear pink g-strings and take pictures of themselves in front of the bathroom mirror. Not sexy at all.
Let’s not forget those people who rape our inbox with poor grammar.
Oh, and this goes to that girl who refers to me as “Deer Sweathut” (sic) with admirable alacrity. Pliz don’t text me in 2013. In fact, don’t text me until you can afford a dictionary.
I know this is very flabbergasting to all of you with whore-able minds. Relax, because Jones hasn’t been pregnant. By period, I mean class. Yaani, I will attend most, if not all of my lessons in 2013.
In 2012 I had a wrong perception that Campus is the place where people go to make merry, as such I attended less than 10% of my classes and took my studies like a gag. Anyone would tell you engineering isn’t a walk in the park, so am gonna pull up my socks come 2013.
I got a confession. Am the type of a guy who would rather go out and buy a new pair of socks every morning than do the laundry. Yap, am that lazy. When did I blog last? Only God knows. My ardent followers would tell you it takes a period longer than the time between two general elections before I revisit my blog again. But come twenty thirteen, am trading away my lethargy. In fact, I plan to… (I’ll tell you about that later).
Remember back in class five when we all vowed never to touch alcohol in our entire lives? Well, Jowal Jones, aka Lukorides, is still living in those innocent days.
Bluemoon Vodka? Nkt! How does one stoop so low? Bluemoon is not fit for you. In fact, it’s not fit for any human being’s consumption. There exists better stuff than Bluemoon. In my opinion, you better let your throat get drier than #ChapatiZaAkinaAdrian (Feel free to ask a tweep) than irrigate your throat with Bluemoon. I haven’t had a chance of testing Satan’s urine yet, but I believe it tastes better than Bluemoon.
My pals tell me they take Bluemoon because it’s the only beer they can afford other than chang’aa and busaa. But me thinks being skint is not an acceptable excuse. I’d let a broke guy wear a rubber-band on his hand in place of a bracelet, but I’ll never let him get away with drinking Bluemoon.
What I’m saying is, in 2013; catch me dead inebriating myself with such cheap liquor. Given a choice, I’d happily imbibe a gallon of paraffin than take a shot of Bluemoon. Felix, take my word on this: I cross my heart and hope to be smacked on the forehead with a foko-jembe if I ever insert Bluemoon into my system this year. It’s not like am canvassing for my liver to grab the 2013 employee of the year award or something. I’ve discovered cooler ways to roast your liver, like setting yourself on fire.
2012 just wasn’t my year. The gods of financial prosperity refused to smile at my direction. This was the year whereby I was so broke that mice used to point fingers at me and laugh and laugh and laugh. Heck! Even ringworms (read ugonjwa wa mashillingi) gave ma a cold shoulder. As such, I slept-in most Friday nights. Only a person whose senses had taken a leave would invite me to a party, as no one loves broke fellows.
But if my psychic intuition is anything to go by, 2013 is the year of prosperity. 2013 is the year when it’s going to rain paper. So I have made a solemn vow that Friday nights will never find me in my hostel. I shall have to somewhere; anywhere. Even if it’s Suguta Valley or Baragoi. Am gonna party like it’s 3012 , sampling all the finer things in life. Stop! Wait a minute… Did I just quote Justin Beiber?
Sniff! What is that smell? Are they Valentines’ Roses?  Do you imply to tell me that Jones is in love?
No! No! No! This can’t be true. You mean Jones, the President and Commander-in-Chief of #Teamforeveralone, has finally started catching feelings even after what he wrote last time? (If you missed last time’s blogpost, click here)
Whether I’ve finally decided to turn my back on #Teamforeveralone is an issue I’m working on, and I’ll be putting it up for on this blog in a few days. Watch this space.
Don’t want to miss a post? Y u no follow me on Twitter (@jlukorides) and Facebook (Jowal Jones) by clicking here and hererespectively? You may as well leave a comment in the comment box below, or go an extra mile by sharing this post with your friends on your timeline. Thanks. Am wishing you all a happy and Blessed 2013. But above all, am wishing you love.

Lukorito Jones

Lukorito Jones is a columnist and correspondent with Kenya's leading newspaper, Daily Nation. He also dabbles in fiction works at times, hoping to be the next Stephen King. Sometimes he takes time out from writing to perfect his deer-dancing and goat-screaming skills.


  1. kathrn kay mweni

    ur resolutions r gr8t…

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