Worst Place to Live? I Swear I Can't Stay Here...............


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So today I decided to take a slow, leisurely drive to Ole Polos. Needed to do some thinking.

The moment I hit the Rongai-Kiserian stretch I knew I had made a bad mistake. I will not even mention the unending, unsightly slum that seems to go on and on and on and on - I mean, what's wrong with baboon-IQed Africans? Can't you just plan an urban area?

What's this crap of an endless collection of shanties along a thin, two-lane road? Going on and on and on for miles?

And then there is the stupid human and vehicular traffic cutting in and out of you like mad bats from hell? Like seriously, why do people, donkeys and ugly matatus have to disobey every traffic rule in the book? Did I mention donkeys? DONKEYS!

And that's before I got past Kiserian, and the road narrowed to three metres. THREE. And sand trucks from I don't know where began to crowd me out, making me almost shred my tyres on the roads edge. Baboon-IQed Africans should all be sterilised, I tell you.

But that was not all.

Just when I got to the scenic parts before Ole Polos, I encountered the Probox menace. Apparently, all the matatus from Kiserian to beyond are proboxes driven by crazed mathafakas who think playing chicken is fun. So there I am, a sand lorry on my tail and a probox coming at me like a bat from hell, on a four-metre wide highway. It ain't fun.

So, sweaty and a little tense, I was happy to drive into the Jordan Breeze Motel. It was 5pm, and I thought I could even spend the night there (alone!) and let the madmen on the road go to sleep.

Mathafakas told me a room in the middle of nowhere, with no chick, was going for 4.5K. *** them.

The whole ordeal had a bright spot. A few kilometres down the road I came to a small rural town called Keisamis or something like that. I got into the best pub, and made friends.

Out of the corner of my eye, as I spoke to John the butcher who doubles as the local medicineman and his bratha Emmanuel, I saw five of the most beautiful dirty titties I have seen in a long time. Given the respect the two morans were showing me I didn't dare speak of what I saw. Sometimes you do not show your claws too early.

As I swigged some WhiteCUP, one thing became clear; I will battle the proboxes and sand trucks again, and pay the Sh250 John told me they charge for a room.

Hopefully, I will pass the Rongai-Kiserian death trap - the worst place to live in my opinion - unscathed, because there will be much to do, babies to make, titties to suck, empty promises to make.

The good book commands it; go ye forth and multiply, fill the world.

There's a lot of empty land I saw.
You really are an Alfred Prufrock. Indeed there will be time for all that