Come Baby Come and other stories ...
I have been trying trying to avoid writing about the Migooner Migooner debacle since it came to the fray but lets just say, if it itches, scratch it. And its itching, seriously, down there, and no I dont have crabs. Ok, may be I do but that is an issue between me and my private doctor (or doctor of privates) so let us just move along and avoid that story for now. Anywho, Migooner Migooner - older brother to Moto Moto of the Madagscar fame - has obviously been busy plucking feathers belonging to one bird known as Rao. And because he is not a gentleman, he has started by plucking the ones on the rear end of this bird. Once done, he boarded a flight and flew off to Canada. Now the bird is sitting on its nusu mkeka with a backside missing some vital feathers to hide the hyacinth on its rear.
And all because he was fired ...
When people get fired, their reaction is to first look for another job. During this time, they also wish that the guy who fired them gets some embarrassing disease like an infestation of a certain part of their body that would make them go and see a private doctor. Or is it doctor of privates? I am not sure but at least you get the point. Most people get angry and bad mouth the boss to anyone who wants to listen. If I got fired, I would of course be angry but I wouldnt think of WRITING A BOOK. People hate books. Not to mention my hands would be busy consoling some other organ that may be taking the whole firing thing a little harder than others. And I would have to concentrate so that I dont get injuries that would make me go and see a private doctor, or doctor of privates ... you get my point.
Not Migooner though ...
The guy wrote a book about his boss. Talk of catching feelings like there are bonga points being earned. Ladies, this is a guy you dont want to dump. He will tell the whole world how he had to order a special toilet bowl due to the competition your backside was giving Lake Victoria in terms of size. He would spill beans about every fart you let out by date, name, volume and by which Bamzigi song it most sounded like. He would claim he could never find your M-spot (I think thats what he thinks its called) because of the high number of black Vitz wipers also known as pubes along the road and areas leading to your Canaan.
Back to the book ...
This book is called peeling some mask or something (I could care less by the way) but I think it needs a different title. Listening to his rants, I suggest the title "Rao Dont Take, My Kindness For Migoonerness", a migunified title of the reggae song by that dreadlocked musician who needs to swallow that piece of bread that stuck in his throat sometime on his fifth birthday.
That is what this is all about. Not being appreciated. A hand job and finding his M-spot would solve this whole debacle ...
Over and out ...
