No friend of mine will wake up hung over this morning.
I can (not) say it boldly.
Because I do not have a hangover. And I fully believe it when they say “show me your friends and I will tell you who you are”.
Okay…see…thing is I’m just finding it a little bit hard arranging my thoughts this morning. I’ve had a stressful week. Very stressful. Going into details will only give room for wonderment.
But really, back to the matter, because the matter isn’t how stressed I was yesterday. Its really about how many people make a fool of themselves on Friday nights.
For the love of God, why should anyone enjoy being drunk? And if there is a reason one should, why not buy yourself your poison, stay in your house, get drunk and drag yourself into your bed. I personally will not complain. But why get into your (friend’s) car and travel to the other side of town, dance and get drunk, waste a vital part of your life discussing endless gibberish, make a fool of yourself in public and become the laughing stock. And then to crown it all, you get back into your (friend’s) car, head towards home, make a stupid mistake and then die on the road! Or worse still, you dash someone’s brains out across the road and you survive. For what?! So you can do it the next weekend?
I’m pissed really. Because I saw real brain matter (or is it grey matter?) across the road last night. An innocent side-walker had been killed by a drunk driver. This particular driver didn’t even drive across town to buy expensive drinks, get drunk and kill someone. This dude was drunk on N30 shepe. N30! Blimey!
I couldn’t help but wonder if the victim was someone I knew or a relative. What if it had been one of the kids I was with? C’mon don’t get all religious and begin the whole “God forbid! Tufia!” charade now. Tell me the victim wasn’t a Christian. Mtchew.
That scene is entrenched (and I mean it) deep down and I can’t forget it in a hurry. And I am not having a great weekend…yet…simply because of that.
Please if you’re addicted to the bottle (or bottles), stay away from our roads and public places. Come out occasionally when we need a good laugh. You can talk to the ATM and call it a stupid boy or urinate from the escalator of a mall. You can take it professional and do the real version of Klint da Drunk. But please, stay home if your joint is not close to your bedroom and by that I expect that joint to be within your compound.