The Good Drunkard's prayer
Dear
our heavenly father, how are you up their Sir? I haven't spoken to you in a
very long time but here I am today.
Somewhere
somehow last week, I promised my friends that I would gallop only 23 liters of
beer but I exceeded my limit and now I ask for forgiveness! Forgive me father.
These
friends keep inviting me for alcohol freebies most times. Well I also remember
your only begotten son turned the mixture of hydrogen and oxygen into wine at
that awesome wedding in Cana. Not so heavenly papa? And it was by your grace
too!
As you
know papa, Okello invited me to act as the drinks manager last week at his
wedding in Gayaza and I had been sober for a very long time; well, approximately
15 hours! The bottles I was serving to people kept calling my name. I tried to
block my ears but they continued with their whore-like
whistle. They wanted me so badly that I stopped serving and I grabbed one of
them, sat down and interrogated her!
Okello
was not happy and kept staring at me with those eyes of a Nigerian who had been
denied a visa. The high table was indeed so high for him that he wished it was
low so that he could walk swiftly to come flog me properly!
As the
tale continues, I held this bottle by neck: it shouted my name; I ignored her;
but when she begun sweating around the neck, I knew she was ripe and a single
second wasted without un-wrapping would seem like an inhumane treatment towards
her.
That
instance did not stop their father. One became two; two became three; three
became oba eighteen! Hell no, I
wasn't counting father! The good news is that I didn't mess up. Well I only
woke up in the trench with a little scratched bum and a girl's lip stick mark
on my vest - a wedding present from my wife.
Now am
confusing you heavenly father. Yes, am married! I married that motor-mouthed
dark skinned muhima. I know you
didn't want me to marry her and I went against your wish! Forgive me heavenly
papa. I also know you wanted me to hook up with Apolot, that itesot goddess and I declined! Mercy
upon me father! I couldn't resist the muhima's
garden for I could plough for long hours without fatigue!
Now how
shall I even face my wife in this vest? Lord, is there any way you can turn
this vest to a charcoal-brown color so that when am asked at home, I could tell
madam that I was simply helping Juma-the charcoal vendor. Please lord, one
miracle on my vest, just a simple one!
I hope you hear my plea
heavenly father! That muhima thing is
wicked. She always thinks that am a cheat! That I keep escaping to go meet
Apolot, Really? Me? Heavenly father, don’t you know that you created us-the
Northern men-with a Hugh chunk of loyalty?
Yes! We the dark skinned
Northerners were created in your image and embedded with trustworthiness and
faithfulness…but the muhima thing
denies all those awesome inherent values.
Heavenly papa, that
woman can beat! She recently pounded me like no man’s business! Remember when
she turned me into a pestle and pounded me like a village woman pounding
cassava? Father, do you still remember that incident after her crashing me; I
looked like a toddler in front of my peers? Or when I took the case to Police,
the female officer-in-charge laughed at me as though she was demon-possessed?
What an embarrassment!
Father, what did I do to
deserve all these? Okay, as I wind up this one-hour long prayer, could you
please do me one final favor? Father, you are omnipotent; you are omnivorous;
you are alpha and omega; you are everything…please kill my wife’s puppy! Now I
sound wicked I know but that creature has taken up all my madam’s time and
attention!
How can a 2-kilogram white hairy beast take up my
madam’s affection? How? We are still in Africa, not Europe! Please send the
late Judas Iscariot to come and strangle it!
I pray for less wifely
punches; I also pray the government’s tax increment on alcohol remains
rhetoric; and I finally thank you for the free air that am inhaling!
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