Never allow those hot and S£XY kinyozi LADIES use this gadget on you if you are a man! Read this guy’s story


The image you are seeing hereinbelow is of a tool  designed and made under the devil's watchful-eye. Ask many men around and they will tell you this thing has at one time made them pour a few drops of urine whenever they make a visit to the Kinyozi for that nice hair-cut. Last Saturday was my turn to embarrass myself.

Life is generally hard for most bachelors and it is even harder when the bachelor in context is that averagely struggling boy-child. Most of us don't give much attention to our wardrobe. 

Like myself I always forget to do my laundry because weekends it's time to hook up with Kevo & Denno  to swallow chilled ones of Ruaraka. Mostly we drink KEG in those dingy Kasabuni/Uyole joints but  when the tender has gone through we drink bottles like other men. Mostly we drink at Taurus Lounge  in  Buruburu  but when they have money I bring them to either  Jiweke Tavern or Space Lounge even to KIZA  Lounge sometimes so that they can experience a different  optical nourishment .They are great buyers of cookie. 

I personally don't. I'm a former alter boy hence a child of God. So, when Monday comes and I have to report to work, I just pick a random shirt from a pile of dirty clothes, sniff the armpits, hold it at arms length and examine it. If the dirt on the collar is not visible from that far, i declare the shirt wearable. This order is irreversable.

For the past few weeks, I have been walking around with a very shaggy-kinky  hair. I had no problem with it but colleagues at work have been giving me some wild stares. The previous Friday, the boss made an impromptu visit to my chambers  and was not so  happy with the condition of the office and especially my hair. He accused me of peddling a bad image of the firm by staying shaggy and disorganized, yet the company is tirelessly working hard to make sure we are "well paid". He directed that I should report to his office first thing today (the following  Monday- it was almost the payday)  morning minus the hair.

I therefore decided to pay a visit to a local barber or should I say barbret/barberette?  

Nowadays you get shaved by a guy, which I find irritatingly GAYISH, and a lady later washes your head and massages you thoroughly and at the end of it you part with around Kshs. 200/- of your hard earned cash. Back in the village it'll cost you between Ksh. 20/= and Kshs. 50/= I know those indicted tenderpreneurs  are wondering how on earth a niggah can be so exorbitant to spend such a huge amounts of money  on a mere shave even after Uhuru directing that there should  be no commissioning of any new projects, but sorry guys am not bragging.

After the hair was wiped out, I was directed to a seat near a sink where a yellow yellow whose origin I could not easily ascertain (but I can authoritatively  bet that we all bow facing Mt. Kenya. Right?) was eagerly waiting to work on my head. Another instinct tells me that she must be of Eritrean origin. A slender hippy yellow yellow with titties shaped with precision. Ever been to Wamunyu? Those sculptures are eye-candy. I could not resist the urge to rate and ISO certify her a proper 001.7.2018

She applied shampoo on my head and then let her tender hands do their thing. A warm wet towel came in handy and I found myself closing my eyes and drifting away into wander land. You remember that brother Ochola's cloud? The feeling is...

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