The first story starts with an erect penis which makes it, erm, hard for me to read considering I am shy. I am part of the Religious Brotherhood and in our way of life, we don’t have…time. Get your mind out of the gutter.
It is a big black book which reminds me of the Big Black Book back in high school where principals used to write the name of those who floundered the school’s principles. Of course I was a prefect throughout high school and that equates me to godlike status. You may henceforth address me as ‘Sir..’
I became a prefect to get out of gen pop. That has translated to many facets of my life, and that means I don’t attend an event that issues only regular tickets…or anywhere Bahati sings..
My book was signed by Mbanacho Brian, which is to mean he was not buying me dinner, or dousing it in perfume, or laughing sheepishly when I croaked. Sad. I preferred a female of reputable charm, like Eunniah Mbabazi or Munira or Tatu…you know. Elle de la classe. Also, Mbanacho kept doing that thing Kenyan vendors do, walking around NAIROBI with a phone with less than 20% charge. Not cool!! As a keen student of Socrates and Disciple of Deogrates, I can conclude that the man is mad. Jokes jokes jokes.
As a self-styled recovering sapiosexual, this is not a book to be read in a Maserati. Haigwesekani. It represents a potential banana skin if you are saved. It’s 223 pages long which means this is not a book for sapiosexuals, medicine men or people who listen to Bahati.
For a self published book it is bawdily risqué, with what looks like a priest groping a girl’s left breast…but I wouldn’t know. Again, religious brotherhood.
There are some stories with blue-humor, feel-good titillations and playful lasciviousness — kinda like the incognito tabs I switch from when my boss is passing.
It is all there – the sex, the acid wit, the drama, and *checks notes* underlying everything else — the wounded amour propre and writer vulnerability. Let’s face it, this book is ticking a lot of boxes here. It’s the writing equivalent of throwing everything you have in the cupboard into a pot, stirring it for a while, and coming out with a strangely delicious meal.
My first review of it was that it has so many sex stories, which is tiring considering the national coitus average.
But Jupiter is in retrograde and the world is upended. For the ignoramuses, buy it because this is the only time you’ll get your finger wet. When turning the page. You hor…
Also buy it, because despite what he’ll say, I have some soap and would like to wash Mbanacho’s dirty linen in public. And the dirty linen is that Mbanacho needs a new phone. This book will help in meeting his KPIs.
Who do you think they meant when they were coming up with the title?