“Kevo! Kevo! Hello bro, pigia mamangu umshow nimekufa!” These words, spoken in hasty hit my wax-overloaded eardrum when I picked the phone at 2:00am, in the dead of the night. It was Marto, and he seemed in utter pain and distress.
Vipi buda, eti…, relax. Ongea polepole… sikusikiiii!” I frantically calmed him as he stammered inaudible words punctuated by hiccups. We had parted with him at around 11pm where he had bragged how he was going to bang a certain lady, a cop, at her residence at Kahawa.

jumped off my bed, and stumbled across the dirty sufurias as I hunted for a trouser. Multiple rats scampered for safety as I cursed and stepped on them in hurry. In less than a minute I was out, with mismatching slippers, and without an underwear. called the nigga again but he was not picking...Max called immediately, “Marto amenicall anasema ako kahawa anauwawa!” “Anauawa na nani?”, I asked. “Sijui, I think ni chali ya yule dem, unajua bwanake ni solja!" “Tutajuaje ako wapi sasa?” I wondered. “Najua the keja, hata mimi nimewai ramba uyo msichana hapo kwake.” Goddamn, my friends were all conjugally perverted and sexually explosive suckers who couldn’t survive even a day without conjugal acrobatics. “Tupatane basi,” we all said simultaneously.

I fled, towards kahawa. I managed to get a mat. The conductor quipped as I jumped in, “Funga zip boss shaft iko nje.” Matapaka, I had forgotten to lock in my 3½ acre long member, added to the fact I was negative ngotha! I met Max, the nigga panting like a male hippo which has just climbed down a female partner after a 30 minute session of mating. On his hand was a Maasai Rungu . “Rungu ya nini buda, unaenda kupigana na mtu ako na gun ukiwa na kijiti?” “Yes, atatutambua sisi ni wale wabaya, he responded as he led the way, threatening nobody in particular,” I knew the idiot was depending on my karate skills... "Leo tutaua mtu, wanafikiria kama ni masolja madem wao hawawezi rambwa, iko nini, sisi ndio wale wazii.” The niggaa was rattling. We called marto but the phone was now not ringing. We finally reached the keja, Max knocked it with the Rungu. Inside we could hear groans of a man, saying something about having his balls crashed.

We pushed the door in, to find Marto lying on a pool of blood. When he saw us he almost screamed, making a dead effort to stand up but collapsing on the pain of injured knees. He was cloth-less, a sheath of condom still on his limb but seemingly satisfied manhood. “Wako wapi?! nani anamess na sisi?” Max was breathing fire, threating to set the house ablaze. We were still frightening nobody in particular when out of nowhere a mean looking soldier came out of the bedroom, wielding a G3 Rifle. Max said something like, “Hail Mary, Mother of God help us!”. I was trembling, I looked down to realize I hadn’t yet zipped up, my 3½ acre member now shrunk to a mere 1½, out and humbled as if asking me if he will come out alive...

“Toeni uyu mjinga hapa kabla nimpige risasi ya tako, ni bro yenu?” the military guy barked. “Pole Afande, hata sisi hatumjui tumekam kumwambia aachane na bibi yako, ata anafaa afungwe jela,” Max explained as we dragged a wounded Marto out, on our way to find a late night clinic.

SOURCE . TWIRRA @giknyokelvin


Village Elder
You are really stupid if it's fiction bana . I lost someone that way a few years back but he was stabbed by the bitch. Ume irudisha far