Ah my friends, my foes and my frefoes, woe is me. Yes, woe. Why is woe me and why am I woe you wonder? Well, wonder no more. I'm about to tell you. On a side note I quite like our relationship. I tell you things and you don't interrupt. You shut up until I'm finished talking. Well some of you don't read what I write and find your way unto my twitter and comment section to type rubbish for me to read. I cannot imagine why anyone with half a brain would do such. If you didn't know, I'll tell you. I read every comment, and every tweet with my name in it. Yes, I search Afam on twitter, and I'm not ashamed of it. It's important to monitor the conversation you see. If your commentary is sub par or if you insult my writing with a tweet like, "dat Afam iz verrr sillie N hiss writingz r unsensemaking." I'll shoot you at least a thousand times in my head. I'll confine my mental picture of you to the part of my mind where I ruminate over the bastards I've met. And if we ever meet there'll be no pussy footing. I'll say, "oh so you're the guy that refuses to spell properly on twitter! It's so lovely to meet you." Of course I'll say this with too many teeth for you not to consider that I might be thinking of biting your head off.
That was a little bit of a digression but I remember that I was saying something about how I am woe and woe is me. There are a couple of reasons why this is.
My guest blogger, wattsapp buddy and sausage in law believes that he is using me. Yes, Ola of Ola is blogging thinks that he's using me, Afam, the arcane. What a blithering idiot! I mean that in the best way possible. I cannot tell you when it was that I gained a taste for the odd, disorganised, strangely amusing, occasionally deathly funny offerings of Ola, who sounds a little like me but isn't at all like me. That taste, was followed by an inexplicable addiction. Because Ola is a little bit of a lazy blogger I sought to spur him on, while entertaining myself. It's like getting your favourite story teller to write you stories on demand and for free. He thinks he's winning but he isn't. I lie on my Wonky as hell, barely there, goddamm awful Edo state mattress and pat myself on the back for a job well done everytime he writes one.
Oh, ola is my sausage in law because he's my German-American sausage's cousin. I miss my sausage so but I do not wish that she were in this shit hole with me. Sausages and shit holes don't go very well together. I wish Veronica from fashion week was here with me though. That wasn't very nice of me. Bad Afam, bad Afam. I shan't do it again.
Woe is me because, my face is ruined. I won't lie to you, I know I'm a pretty fit dude. By fit I mean banging and by banging I mean sezzier than R Kelly... But then again who isn't sezzier than R Kelly? I like that I'm a pretty fit dude, so I don't like it when things randomly sprout on my face.
Look at it! What is that! Who is that? It is I, Afam, the same beautiful man who's pictures on the blog banner have made you save that email address and follow that instagram. But look at my skin. Oh My God!! How can I be having skin issues when I'm well past puberty?
This is the last nail in my ugliness coffin. I know some of you are thinking, "but he's only a little bit darker. Stop being such a drama queen!" May the Holy Spirit arrest you and stop you in your tracks. Don't you know that black isn't universally beautiful? We're all about team light skinned here. The sort of black that's beautiful is the black so light that it may not actually be black at all. So in terms of the good looking scale I've gone from a ten out of ten to a four. But this is only temporary. Mama and Papa Afam have promised to buy me tonnes and tonnes of bleaching cream. I'll explain away my sudden lightness with tales of acute vitiligo.
And that's that. I wrote most of it when I was in that godawful place in Edo state.