A boring story

My eyes were glued on a frail brick wall that was savagely engraved with the following statement – as tempting as it is, a coffin-maker does not distribute business cards in I.C.U’s. 

Like an endless chain, we puffed and passed king-size joints with one thought in mind: to get higher than rebellious kites on a stormy day.It was euphoric. Unexpectedly, Modekai (a stand-up comedian who hated his job following a spinal cord injury) appeared with a radiant face while doing donuts in his brand-new wheelchair. I couldn’t hide my wry smile when he nearly slid on a pebble while showing off his awkward stunts. Wittingly, he started his random skits by explaining why most wheelchairs don’t have passenger seats.

Next, he recounted a tale that involved an armless deaf widow who was notorious for spreading rumours. Unfortunately, she was a busybody with missing limbs. Hahaha! it cracked our ribs. I almost choked on zaza amidst laughter.

Over and over, he lamented his ex-wife’s absence (Magdalene) – a catwalk model who neither had an agency nor sponsor. Moreover, she was never considered for   runway appearances even on voluntary basis, simply because of having extreme bow-leggedness. Unluckily, she took her own life citing career frustrations plus cheating allegations revolving around her husband: Modekai. Guilt conscience tormented him. More than twice, he himself attempted suicide by jumping off a temporary bridge that left him with permanent spine fractures. It’s then when he sought refuge in Comedy but detested stand-up due to apparent reasons.

At the back of my mind, I recalled a magician who received a standing ovation after performing nothing in-front of a blind audience that was impressed by his on-spot invisibility. Also, I remembered a gang of amputees that tried to evade an   arrest after a two-hour police chase. They later on booked themselves to the nearest police station due to exhaustion and their aluminum crutches were thereafter confiscated for good-to avoid an imminent escape. I thought of sharing another story but was quite hesitant since it was so personal and embarrassing. The tale involved my dead-beat father who was a carpenter by profession. He brought nothing to the table and the only achievement he had in life was being an overall winner in a musical CHAIR contest amongst his fellow alcoholics. He received a certificate for participation and proudly hanged it in my room. Still hangs there aimlessly ‘till-to-date.

There were so many questions that I had in store for Modekai, for instance; do adolescents born and raised in dry-lands experience wet dreams?

Can a blind person be considered a key witness in court?

How would an onlooker know that an argument between two deaf people has gotten out of hand?

If a kidney donor changes his mind at the last minute, is that being selfish or self-love?

What was going through Isaac’s head when his own dad, Abraham, was about turn him into Shawarma?

If you deny a boy his coat, will he boycott?

Why people during the stone slept in caves instead of houses?

Suddenly, I got startled by Modekai’s deafening belch that sounded like a raptured esophagus. The man had saggy chunky lips that formed various peculiar shapes whenever he spoke. His stories were hilarious and so was his countenance. Many are times we did burst into hysterical laughter whenever he yawned, thanks to his natural oversized “props”. He was on a story-telling spree. The last on his mental list was of a deaf victim whose ears were chopped off by thieves who assumed he was rude. However, he stunned the very thugs by thanking them for getting rid of his hearing organs of which he deemed useless.

Then came my turn, and I had only one story in mind; It was about an old eccentric priest who ran away from a clergy house aged 65yrs with nothing apart from an adult magazine that he cherished dearly and discreetly possessed. The wayward man of God had decided to do away with celibacy and go astray without second guessing himself. Never was he married and little was known of him, especially his past sex scandals that were swept under the carpet by the parish. He was a recluse hedonist with a penchant for cheap prostitutes with broken teeth, facial dents and bad make-up. Stubborn sluts and cheeky harlots who either demanded more pay or made fun of his pathetic stammering during orgasms left his room with dislocated ribs.

He had amicable looks that camouflaged unfriendly motives. A “snake” underneath a black robe.

The priest made acquaintance with a rogue pharmacist from whom he secured his weekly dosage of Viagra without failure. They were kindred spirits.

His body was no longer the temple of God but rather a full functioning brothel.

On Christmas Eve, Petero (rogue pharmacist cum Pimp) resolved to pay the priest an impromptu visit after a whole week of absence. He felt something was amiss. After several unanswered knocks, Petero decided to peep through the window. Alas, what he saw with his naked eyes was ghastly and macabre!!!

 It was a naked male body!

The floor was inundated with a variety of queer paraphernalia: empty sachets of blue pills, scattered “call girl” contact cards (suggested attempts that were met with refusal from the vulnerable night angels who were fed up with his perv-brutality), unused extra-large latex and a small bible that was laced with cobwebs…

Beside his lifeless body, was a family-size plastic tin (perfumed Vaseline jelly) which was full to the brim on the edges however had a huge hole in the middle almost reaching the surface; seemed like a finger had casually excavated generous chunks from it countless times. On his left hand, was a cut-out picture of Sarah Baartman that had large wet patches. Priest looked dehydrated yet his right palm that “choke-held” his enormous phallus glistened. Petero was a frustrated man: the priest had perished without settling off his debts after consuming the chemist’s annual blue-pill stock. He stormed out of the squalid room with rage, without bothering to cover his body that had nothing on-other than his birthday suit that paraded a flaccid weapon of mass destruction-for the masses to marvel at.

I didn’t want to share the story because I sort of thought It was boring.

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