By Daniel Kakuru
There is a problem. My friends – and man, I’m talking about those with not the faintest idea about what my balls look like – have given me away to famished hounds. They are saying things. Hurling stool at me. Human stool, I mean. It smells exactly as it should, or worse. They are saying they wish I had farted aloud instead of subscribing for my pricey data bundles and saying what I said in a firestorm that sprung up in a WhatsApp group. They are saying I am inching closer and closer to imbecility with each day that befalls me.
But what did I do?
Man, I don’t quite dope out what my outlawry is about.
It started with a meme. A naïve meme that was supposed to be bald and artless. No embellishments, no reclusive meanings. A light skinned man stands upright with both of his hands thrust deep in his pockets. A smirk plays on his face. A full beard coats his succulent cheeks and flows all the way down to his neck. He narrows his eyes like there’s something he is trying to see forsooth in the camera. A dame leans into him from one flank. Her arms are wrapped around his neck. This photo is captioned, ‘He chose peace of mind over outer beauty’.
Peace of mind. Whatever that means.
It is the poor dame’s physical appearance that fascinates me. Her legs look like they’re both left legs. Her chest is flat, her hips depressed and her buttocks submerged. Her hair is scanty and countable; one, two three, how many? Twenty strands? Two of her upper anterior teeth stick out, dominant and dangerous. What color are they? Do you ever close your eyes and imagine what an improper fraction would be if it were human? There, you have her.
Before I take you farther down this road, be it known that I know things, the first of which is that all humans were created in the image of God. Be it noted too that I needn’t squander a whole day staring at her before concluding that this poor dame was not created in the image of God. In fact, I doubt I’d ever want to be loyal to a god that looks like her.
If being betrothed to such a person whose otherworldly appearance terrifies me is what it takes to attain the elusive peace of mind, I do not want it. That is what I say about the couple in the meme. That is when Hell breaks loose and in everyone’s eyes, I morph into a butt.
I know a few more things.
First, that there’s an erroneous credence that dating (and imminently marrying) an ugly woman guarantees blessedness in the man’s life. Ugly women have inner beauty; it is widely conceived. Ugly women are loyal. Needy and submissive. Beautiful on the inside. Not many men are hitting on them; so there’s no stiff competition. You will sin and they will cast themselves down at your feet, apologizing, begging you to please forgive them for your misdemeanors. For where else would they go if you discarded them and pressed, Next?
You believe that garbage? It’s on you, brother.
Ugly people are as ugly on the inside as they are on the outside. They are human. They are paranoid. You’re definitely eyeing more aesthetical damsels, firing your shots in all directions and the beast at home is aware. Even if you weren’t, she would still think you are; for she knows there’s little that should keep you glued to her. And man, she will muscle in; her kind won’t go down without a fight.
Again, look here friend. Peace of mind, whatever that is about, doesn’t come from the comfort of knowing that yours is an ugly creature that hardly any other mortal man would want. Whenever we don’t want a woman, we know exactly why. We know our enemies and friends would laugh at us if they suspected that we even know her. We know she would give bad vibes and features to our kids if she birthed them. We know she would, if she smiled, frighten domestic animals and rodents out of our homes. Now, tell me: how will such a person give you that thing called peace of mind?
Before I forget to tell you, we’re living in a world that subtly scorns ugly people and their partners. Are you shining with your chimpanzee? We are laughing. And pronto, it will get to you. And you will lose your peace of mind.
Do not flex your muscles, ugly people. The other thing I know, despite my denseness, is that whenever dry bones are mentioned, old women tend to feel uneasy.
The writer is just a worthless MugOfPorridge. His articles have sporadically appeared in print and online. He drinks and smokes and hopes to die by suicide
