Ayaaam telling you, wonders shall never seeze. Daughter of Agrippina was apprehended drinking oxygen at a notorious club along Thika Rd that’s usually full of Mchele babies, patiently waiting for a Good Samaritan to sponsor her thirst. The “I don’t date broke men, you’re not my type” is on record holding an empty tumbler, nodding seriously like she’s negotiating a bottle of Glenfiddich older than her trauma.
This yellow-yellow thighs ambassador, the national chairperson of “Where Did You Get My Number?” is now practicing advanced-level fake it till you make it. She is swirling air, sniffing vibes and sipping imagination, hoping a potential client will feel emotional, buy her a drink, then be charged premium rates for accessing the slippery department.
The cup is neither half-full nor half-empty. It is fully empty, but her confidence is dangerously full. Honestly, what is wrong with staying at home and drinking porridge like the rest of us? These street motivational speakers have no shame at all.
You wake up, shower, dress well, apply makeup, perfume yourself, just to go and drink ambiance. You’re not thirsty, you’re just socially dehydrated.
Lord have mercy on us, because some people are surviving purely on vibes, eye contact, and hope.
But there are clubs out there which can’t tolerate such nonsense. At club 1824 where I enjoy sipping my Whitecup, any lady suspected to be hunting huwa anatolewa inje very fast at a lightning speed. It’s either you buy a drink, or go & have a chitchat with soja at the gate. Chesaa!! All credits to G Diano
Langu jicho tu.
