The 3-AM Man

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You curl your wrist and peek at your watch and you know you should probably leave. It’s 2am. Not like you have a curfew or anything. Curfews are for men who carry their women’s purses. You are all male, damn it; you will leave when you are ready to leave. To plagiarize that cool Pilsner ad; A lion goes home when a lion is ready to go home.

But still a little voice whispers in your ear, “do you really want to be ‘all male’ while in the doghouse? You sip your drink and tell the voice to put a sock in it.

At 2am everything seems to drift in a haze of hedonistic mist. It’s like the apocalypse has happened upon humanity and you are the lucky few who this impending final destruction has found in the pub, so you succumb by imbibing. You let it consume you with its imminent obliteration.

You are five on a table. There is also a new girl who wandered to your table; or rather she looks like a girl. Nobody seems to mind her. Or her nest-like hairstyle. She’s one of those girls who lean too close to you, so close you can smell her lunch, and she shouts over the loud thudding music, right into your eardrums; “So what do you do again?” Don’t you just hate it when people ask you that after midnight? What, you want us to discuss careers now? Are there new opportunities we need to discuss at this very hour? If I tell you what I do will you also expect me to ask you what you do? Even if you are a lawyer? Another goddamn lawyer?

Someone with a gaudy polo shirt with collar turned all the way up sends you a double. Or a bottle.

You curl your wrist again; 2.35am. The little voice chirps up again. You are wrecked of course. You’ve had a total of, what eight doubles? Ten? One and half liters of water? Here is what you do; you discreetly settle your bill, tip the nice waiter who always made sure that you didn’t have to ask him to fill the ice-bucket and you catch the eye of one of your boys who knows your ways, and brief eye contact is made and he raises his glass in acknowledgment and off you go – pushing your way through a wall of tutting merrymakers and urgent music and through a dense cloud of perfumes and colognes and testosterone and progesterone, all engaged in a weird game of sexual musical chairs. You push the door to the washroom and proceed to wet the urinal with a stream of what looks like strong-tea and then you make a hole through the wall and you are pressing the alarm of your car. An Irish exit. You are engaging your car into reverse, tipping the chap at the gate (if it’s Explorer Tavern, that chap is a gem because he always gets you parking inside) and him laughing and saying sarcastically, “na leo umetoka mapema boss” and your laughter remains suspended over the smog of pre-dawn cold.

Avoiding alco-blow you navigate the car through back roads and through sleeping estates and barking dogs and past the occasional car driven by chaps who are speeding home because they listened to the little voice in their ears too. Is it me or is there a certain level of unbridled giddiness when you are driving home at this hour, no traffic on the back roads, the street light washing the wet tarmac with a rainbow of colours and you are playing loud music and singing along to “Gin and Juice” by Snoop Dog and you could drive to Kitale and back because it’s so beautiful as it can only be before the storm.

Sleepy security chaps, make zombie-like motions and open the couple of security barriers for you. You promptly kill the music three houses from yours. You are entering into enemy territory, so you fly under the radar. You are officially a phantom as you enter this controlled environment.  If your gate is like mine, it makes this huge racket when you open it, (why do gates scream so loudly at night and during the day they are silent?) so when you rock up at this time, you climb the curb and park your car outside the compound where you send an sms to you one of your boys: Home.

You will find a reply later saying, “kisses.” Hehe. It’s a private joke. OK let me explain although you might not get it.

So this one time, after a night on the tiles, I sent a message to this pal of mine telling him I had arrived home safely and he wrote back and said, “come on, man, only women tell you when they are home safe. If you don’t get home safe we will know eventually. So that is some gay-shit saying you are home.” We all had a good cackle over that the next day. So nowadays to spite each other, when someone gets home and they send you a message of the same you always reply with, “OK baby,” or “I had such a great time, can’t wait to see you again,” “or I miss you already” or “the table hasn’t been the same since you left” or “Dream of me,” or “You looked great in your red bra” (hehee) or “Call me when your p’s end.” And it’s the funniest shit ever….at least when you are still tipsy.

Ahem.

I knew you wouldn’t get it. Anyhuu….

You walk through the gate, let yourself into the house and suddenly you feel the chill. The house is so damned cold. Hehe. Then there is this thing that happens when you rock up late; this urge to sing grabs you. Does that happen to you?

Sometimes you just want to sing because there is this song in your head and it’s just dying to be sung at 3am. What do you do? Do you want to be the one who denied a good song its freedom? No. So you hum it lightly as you remove your shoes and socks and toss them in the dirty laundry basket, you hum it as you go to the kitchen and open the fridge and poke you nose inside.

Then you do what has to be done; you cross the Rubicon (insert a dramatic soundtrack here) and open the bedroom door. A sharp gust of cold whips your face. It’s like opening a freezer. That song in your head magically vanishes. The air is thick with judgment and anger and bile. You push your way through this heaviness. Of course you can’t dare put on the lights; you are tipsy, not suicidal. Like a blind-man who knows his way around you wander in the darkness. You don’t realize it but when you are high your breathing gets heavier. Hehe. As you are stumbling through this darkness, breathing like a pressed buffalo, you stub your toe against the baby cot, it hurts like hell but you say nothing; there are more painful things in life, as you will learn soon. You find your towel, you hit the shower and later you go to the kitchen to rummage for food.

Does your microwave make as much noise as mine does? It makes warming food at 3am such a big deal, and then if you step away briefly because you back into the living room to zap through some channels you hear a very loud bell-like sound: “tiiiing!” at the he end of the timer and that shit is so loud at 3am it could get you evicted!

Ten minutes later you (very) slowly slip under the covers careful not to wake up anyone, which is pointless because you women will have heard us coming three houses away. Women will master the sound of your engine but will not detect a mechanical problem with their own car engine by the odd sound it’s making.  There is a time my car was down and insurance gave me this courtesy car, a Probox (I have never felt like such an kuyo from Kinangop) and the next day the Missus said, “you didn’t come with your car, did you?” Baffling.

But you can always tell if she’s awake by listening to her breathing. She lies there like a predator, trying not to move a muscle, listening to you breathe like a buffalo. You can feel how recoiled she is without even touching her. If her breathing is even, she is as alert as an owl but if it’s erratic and deep-ish she is asleep. Then the most baffling thing is always the casual question she asks in the morning, “so what time did you come home jana?” and if you are like me, you are always knocking off an hour from the actual TA and then you are asked, “Oh, hmmm….I could have sworn it was 1am.”

The next morning you will wake up with a start. Your head will feel like someone pinned it to the pillow. You will realize immediately that something is very off; the house is too quiet. There isn’t the familiar sound of loud TV playing cartoons. There is nobody screaming, “I don’t want bread!” and a toddler crying or breaking something or someone saying loudly, “Stop climbing the table, you kids will drive me mad!” and hearing the toddler falling followed by cries all over the house.

You hear nothing.

It’s deathly quiet.

The only sound is the soft eerie humming of the water dispenser or the fridge. It’s almost like The Second Coming happened while you were asleep. You struggle out of bed and stagger to the sitting room; nobody. The TV is off. The kitchen is spotless. The bathroom is still wet. The balcony is bare. There is evidence that the former inhabitants left in a big hurry. You go to the window and look out; her car is gone. You stagger to her wardrobe to see if her clothes are still there. Hehe.

You open drawers frantically, looking for Panadols. Nothing. Next stop, the fridge. If she has timed it right, there will be nothing in the fridge to eat except eggs and minji and potatoes and peas….Kikuyu food generally and that has never cured a hangie. And you can’t venture outside because the sun will scald your hangover. So you beat two eggs into a pulp and fry them, then you carry your plate to the living room and struggle with the eggs as you watch African Startups. You don’t want to accept that you are kinda miserable because you feel the silence and solitude is closing in on you. You fall asleep on the seat, the plate of unfinished eggs balancing on your chest, one hand sprawled on the carpet. When you come to, Richard Quest is screaming something about a gadget that travelers should buy. You kill the TV.

Of course you can’t call her. That would mean she won. She will know you are miserable and alone and so hungry that you might jump off the balcony. So you nap again and wake up. You try reading but you are so hungry you can’t deal. The little voice comes to your ear and taunts, “So, Mr. I’m-all-Male, Mr. Pilsner-Lion, how is it looking now?”

You want your mommy.

At 5pm they aren’t back. 6:30-pm nothing. 7:12pm you give up and call. A sweet little girl picks up and says, “We are driving,” and you ask, “to where, Busia Border?” Hehe. “We are at Total.” So you tell the little girl, “Could you please buy me panadols, darling?” She says she doesn’t have money and you tell her mom has money and you hear her out of ear shot asking her mom, “Do you have money to buy papa panadols?” and you hear her mommy saying, “nope!” and you chuckle painfully and the little girl comes on and says, “mommy doesn’t have money” and you say, “she does, darling” and she hangs up.

A few minutes shy of 8pm they all troop in and the kids, squealing and screaming run to you with hugs on the sofa where you lie half-dead and they hug you and you know that really pisses her off because they are not supposed to have missed you. A small win for you. The panadols are placed on the coffee table like a bomb. And you aren’t sure if it it’s a booby trap. You stare at them suspiciously for a while, expecting them to self-destruct as soon as you touch them. You try to make conversation, “Thanks for the dawa, I almost died here today.” Crickets. You might as well be speaking to a toaster. It will be cold for a while. It’s winter in these tropics. You hang on tight and you start thinking of ways to make up. Which means you will be super nice. And funny. But mostly you will spend.

To all the women who have experienced their men coming home very late. It’s never something we plan. We actually feel bad about it. In fact, the days you don’t plan to overdo it is the day you end up overdoing it. I swear it’s the work of the devil. And time is a witch. After midnight we don’t know what happens, time literally falls off into space; you look at your watch it’s 11.14pm, you look again and it’s 12:54am, you look again and it’s 2:01am, you blink, look again and you know you are screwed. Sometimes you are already so late you sit there and think, OK, it’s already 1am, I have crossed the cold-treatment threshold anyway, it doesn’t matter if I go now or I go in the next hour I’m still scheduled for hanging. Then there is always someone saying, “boss, just have the last one, next time we will hang out again like this could be months, so come on, one last one… on me. Come on, don’t let me beg, I haven’t worn the right shirt for it.” Mostly this is the guy whose wife travelled. Hehe.

And if you are a teetotaler, you are missing out on one beautiful phenomenon; you will die not knowing how loud a microwave is at 3am. And that’s a crying shame.

Ps: Here is where I should add that drinking and driving will sure kill you.

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164 Comments
  1. This must have been written after thursday night’s excursions. Am very sure guys overdid it me included. One thing funny with the urban male is they don’t want to see a free working day like good friday was. Its a good read and hats off for the urban male. You always live to narrate the stories another day.

  2. And if you are a teetotaler……… Lol. Hilarious stuff. You know a man arrived home well the next time you meet, not by asking. You know. Okay, you guess.

  3. You might as well be speaking to a toaster. It will be cold for a while. It’s winter in these here tropics. You hang on tight and you start thinking of ways to make up. Which means you will be super nice. And funny. But mostly you will spend.
    hahahaha

    1. whats it abt women that they always want to know extra spicy details abt ;how long you were in the dog house, when did she talk to you next, have you ever eaten her food since that day(no pun intended)

  4. It’s impressive that you caught in the drinking and driving. Thought you missed out on it….a little late though….You hAd an eventful Easter break I can only presume…. Hehehe

  5. Women will master the sound of your engine but will not detect a mechanical problem with their own car engine by the odd sound it’s making…loooool.. you always crack me up biko

  6. True Biko. I will be more scared if i see a call from my pal who just left the bar at 3am than not him not calling at all to say he is home. If he is calling then he is in trouble

  7. “you stagger to the wardrobe to see if her clothes are still there” 😀 Lol! Biko, those are the scared thoughts you should have had at 2a.m! Where did the lion go to?

  8. “The panadols are placed on the coffee table like a bomb. And you aren’t sure if it it’s a booby trap. You stare at them suspiciously for a while, expecting them to self-destruct as soon as you touch them.” Wewe! The experience is almost universal.

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  9. Kikuyu food generally and that has never cured a hangie . . . . . . . . . , you forgot to add the mbosho.
    My day is made

  10. And you are damned if you have four flights of stairs before you get to your apartment door…feels like a climb up Mt.Everest!

  11. Great read,reminds me of this Friday night am hanging out with two friends,thuo and leftie.i knew i wanted to be home by 11p.m ,since i had an early flight to kisumu;0615hrs ….do u know i ended up going to the airport direct from natives,thika road?

  12. This part here left me in stitches……reply with, “OK baby,” or “I had such a great time, can’t wait to see you again,” “or I miss you already” or “the table hasn’t been the same since you left” or “Dream of me,” or “You looked great in your red bra” (hehee) or “Call me when your p’s end.” And it’s the funniest shit ever…

  13. Sorry to say this, but few understood why Fidel Odinga slept in a different room that night. Kumbe Bico you shower too; I hate it to the bone. Save the boy child

  14. hehehehe….the song dying to be sung at 3am jameni. And that bit where you text the boys about getting home,the replies are hilarious!!!! My goodness
    This has made my afternoon,I can’t stop laughing.

  15. Sometimes you just want to sing because there is this song in your head and it’s just dying to be sung at 3am. What do you do? Do you want to be the one who denied a good song its freedom? No. So you….
    Haaaaaaa

  16. good read consider yourself luck if owls can be lucky u had eggs for breakfast and panadol to spruce u up with us we are told sikufungulii rudi huko ilikotoka

    1. I recommend you start a blog for the old-aged like you, I’m sure my granny will be a big fan of yours . hehe

  17. Damn it Biko! always hitting the nail on the head. Last night man!.. am still reeling from that 3am cold “trying to be loving” touch

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  18. I’m so guilty of the silent treatment.but why do men have to be soooo bloody loud when they came home half drunk at 3am…banging cupboards..spoons cluttering…and that bloody microwave…waaaaah!!

  19. Gave me a good laugh, this one…and Biko, I got what you thought we wouldn’t get (hehee) more than I got the third paragraph, do you know how many words I had to look up?

  20. hahahah….h! i have crossed the Rubicon like hundred times and predictably,the welcome is always ice cold.the more i try not to,the worse i sink into this hole of a 4 am man.roar,man,roar like the pilsner lion,tehe!

  21. Chief, ” you looked so lovely in your red bras today, you presence is already missed”. Damn it you fool.

  22. Mine will not speak to me but manages to drag me to church! Your buddies are nuts though. Do they realize they can get you killed if Mrs read those messages out of context? Nice read as usual

  23. Hilarious! Most of us will share the same experiences. After 1am, hanging is almost guaranteed; in-fact, I will be more worried if it all played out well when i sneak in at 3am. And yes, we are lions:-).

  24. Night owl. Thats what they call me. My pals. Thing is, as opposed to? There is no such creature as a Day Owl. Darkness is first nature to owls, and all other pretenders to the absence of day, and light, and truth, come second. Or third. Whatever. Never figured whether I am an owl, but I know I am nocturnal. Except in the way of bed bugs, and other creatures of the dawn. Marriage was never meant to be about what time the husband got home after dealing with his pals who financed the pre-wedding. Its always whether you still care. And can keep the promise. To provide. Thats all.

  25. The Probox part reminds me of a trip i made to Naivasha with a friend. It is a requirement to sign in before you enter the camp and part of the entries is the TYPE OF CAR. So the driver wrote PROBOX. I added that he should simply have written TOYOTA like some former entries. Well, as we came off the parking a group of two gentlemen and two ladies were bursting with laughter and one gentleman said, “lazima nione hiyo probox..uuuwii nani huyo ana probox.”
    I do not understand what most people have against the probox. Is it the design? Is it the name? Is it its engine? 🙂 My least favourite car would be the vitz..because at some point every lady in Nairobi seemed to own it

  26. As always great writing! I love how you always paint the picture so effortlessly with your words. Also, I know some women who would smash their computers after reading this article. It’s not so funny when you are the one waiting up 🙁

  27. There are, in fact, two voices; the one that says to go home right away (he doesn’t have a name yet, but we are all in agreement that the fella should either speak up or forever shut his piece!!), and the other that reminds you that you are the Lion (aka. Mr. John Maguthathio, a great pal to have in the wee hours of the morning, but a bastard who walks out on you as soon as you creep into bed).

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  28. This has made my afternoon. Was one of those who were unable to access the site earlier. Those private jokes…….no comment. I hope missus does not read them out of context cos you are definitely cooked!!

  29. I hope one day a pal with one of those unisex names texts back with an ‘inside joke’. You will not get that panadol you need.
    Enjoyed this piece immensely.

  30. killed it biko…”Women will master the sound of your engine but will not detect a mechanical problem with their own car engine by the odd sound it’s making…”…tears

  31. Guilty of the silent treatment. Na u guys leave the kitchen a mess when your done with your night-eating activity. Maddening to say the least. Great piece.

  32. This is so funny…as i try to understand my future late husband coming home at 3-10 am. and devising ways of punishing him…hehehe.

  33. Sometimes you just want to sing because there is this song in your head and it’s just dying to be sung at 3am. What do you do? Do you want to be the one who denied a good song its freedom?Hahahaha Biko ..Thank you for this!

  34. “As you are stumbling through this darkness, breathing like a pressed buffalo, you stub your toe against the baby cot, it hurts like hell but you say nothing…” Hehe Biko iroma!

  35. “A few minutes shy of 8pm they
    all troop in and the kids,
    squealing and screaming run to
    you with hugs on the sofa where
    you lie half-dead and they hug
    you and you know that really
    pisses her off because they are
    not supposed to have missed
    you. A small win for you.”

    i don’t read you posts,i watch. You are a great story Biko

  36. Biko, i dunno how i never saw this earlier. But it’s hilarious. The thing about singing at 3am is totally true

  37. Am normal! Am not the only one who lies like a predator:) you are sooo good I especially liked that ‘tiiiiing’

  38. Awesome article Biko! Mad talent. For some weird reason I’m looking foward to my future hubby coming home late once in a while. I will definitely play the cold war game and guilt trip him through a new pair of shoe. Deep down I pray I’ll never be really angry at him(I’ll love him tremendously) , instead I’ll hope he had fun coz he will have deserved it.

    1. Priscilla you will not enjoy it. It makes one so mad.For some reason it won’t be as funny as Biko makes it sound.

  39. you are missing out on one beautiful phenomenon; you will die not knowing how loud a microwave is at 3am.
    This is a great piece Biko.

  40. good stuff….so real i thought you’ve watched me as i stagger my way into ‘enemy territory’ at that forsaken hour!

  41. I have read this like ten plus times!! Very funny. I tried coming home late at 4:00,and he was so look mad at least he felt how l have felt countless times. For some weird reasons after midnight cognac tastes more sweet!

  42. Nice piece Biko.Every activity you mentioned is right on point.The cranky and noisy gate is always a bother.Drinking and driving note was timely.

  43. …”home”….”kisses” – I would text just to see the ridiculousness the next morning!!
    I was tickled to death!

  44. Hehehe, Missus would just kill me if i came hoke at this ungodly hour….sometimes it feels nice to cross the cold-treatment threshold

  45. It’s going midnight and you have that dread in the pit of your stomach again that he’s going to come home at 3am or later. And you know that when he does come home, he’ll be the only thing that he can be at that hour which is an idiot. And for your male friends who settled because they needed someone to temper their idiocies, they like to joke about you not succeeding in tempering his.

    It’s not even a matter of limiting freedoms for control’s sake, though, it’s just that nothing good ever comes out of staying out that late. And you hate that to ask him to come home makes you that proverbial nagging wife. And so you keep quiet and he calls it you being judgmentally silent.

    To be honest, you don’t mind the 1am man. The 1am man is high in the mellow kind of way, he’s relaxed, talks more than he normally does, maybe says sweeter things than he normally would… But the 3am or later man? Is simply a fool. He loses his phone(s), wallet, keys, cigs, lighter, car, argues for argument’s sake and finds himself arrested for loitering or being drunk and disorderly or whatever other charge a cop can think of to maximise extortion. And instead of calling you, because you also happen to be a lawyer, yes, another goddamn lawyer, he calls his boy Jaymo, who hangs up on him laughing and then says, “that was a good one manze.”

    There’s nothing he’s losing, you think, from leaving the same boys he sees three times a week a few hours earlier than 3am. But you let him be, because he says you met him that way so you should love him that way. And you do. You let him get into trouble, because inevitably it’s him who has to deal with it… well:
    1. Except when he wakes the tois up as he finds his way through the house bumping into every noisy thing on the way from the door to your room and if Ciku doesn’t go back to sleep well, she will be cranky (which equals crying and tantrums) all day the next day which you have to deal with and have been dealing with since she was born;
    2. Except when he wakes you to try to feed you Kenchic chicken and chips because in his 3am mind, if he is hungry, you are hungry too, “I’m not just giving you the last piece o’ chicken babe, I’m giving you all of it!” He tries to charm you as he greases your face with food offerings and leaves chicken pieces all over the bed;
    3. Except when you have to call Jaymo to ask him whether he’s seen or heard from him ‘cos he hasn’t been home in the last two days and you’re worried and Jaymo reacts with, “kumbe he wasn’t joking that Friday when he said he’d been put in cell!” And so you spend your Sunday or Monday looking for him in the cell you think he might be in;
    4. Except when he barges into the bedroom, with 3am booze-induced self-aggrandisement of becoming a lion – nay, a mandingo and declares that it’s time to have sex with all the enthusiasm of a caveman whose killed and dragged meat home and announces this achievement, only in this sad reality he will probably pass out in the throes of trying to do so;
    5. Except when he’s constantly suffering from stomach pain and diarrhoea and never gets to eat the food that you cook for him and then wonders why you have no motivation to cook;
    6. Except when he cancels or indefinitely postpones plans you have made because he’s broke again and needlessly tries to question how it is that he lost/loses so much money?;
    7. Except when, every other time someone he knows or was with gets into an accident and you pray that every next time it isn’t going to be him.

    He says he loves you for accepting who he is and you don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. So you take every 3am night as it comes and listen to his justifications of witchcraft or owing his boys. And you want to both laugh and cry because as much as it’s annoying and cyclically senseless and deprives you of sleep and many other things, there is no malice and you can only be so upset with actions that are not intended to hurt. It’s like the times you buy him PS games and he runs out the house almost immediately to floss to his neighbor friends and colleague friends and drinking friends and then plays them all day and forgets you have just come back from being away and were looking forward to catching up. And then he comes sheepishly back home and you want to both laugh at his childlike fervor and the stories that come out of these idiocies but cry also out of both relief that he’s home and the recurring sadness that you lose/lost him momentarily to booze.

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  46. Oh honey,i’m sure it sounds so cute right now,coz a wizard of a wordsmith has painted a breathtaking hilarious image of the situation but i’m sure it get’s very uncute* when it’s your reality

  47. That Kinangop Part boss!! you are write on point. Rule of thumb! eat where you are, apparently we Men can spend thousand of shillings on alcohol during a night out but can’t spare some 800 bob for a T-bone or just a decent meal that agrees with beers. I stopped the fridge habit following several encounters with cold Githeri.

  48. Be honest. Did my hubby help you to write this?? lol. When he comes home late he says he didn’t plan it. He never knows where time flies to after 11pm .

  49. haha ati women can master the sound of your engine when you three houses away even at 3 a.m but they can’t notice a hitch in their car engines..crazy
    hilarious real and perfect capture of the situation.love it .

  50. It’s 2.50 and my person has just crawled into the digs right now. He got “Punched” by his boys. I’m alarmed.. What sort of friends punch you? What was the fight about?..Must have been serious, tho my person and fighting or being fought..he is soo friendly..if cops are stopping him on the road..the next minute they are throwing him lunch.
    Apparently “punched” is another code word like “kisses” for “being thrown for/ or being celebrated.”
    I guess this is why the “Visitors room” exists- especially when they start ngorotaring like a 24piece trambone band.
    I’ve inboxed him this hilarious article + the instructions..if he finds himself out after 1am just to stay out till the sun is up – it’s a lot safer that way..for the both of us.

  51. We all that engine sound too well actually if the master bedroom window faces the road we even peep haha lol! And when you get in we lay there steethily pretending to be asleep wsiting for one wrong movr and dude that will be the end if you. totally funny and relatable

  52. I have read this blog more than 5 times but it always cracks me up….and also the people that I share it with. Perhaps because I relate so much to it..

  53. I have had a latecomer boyfriend and I wouldn’t wish the emotional torture on even my worst of enemies…. The worst part of the deal is that he most of the time acts like nothing really happened..

  54. Great as always. That fight looks unfair, you versus her, the guilty you and the rude world around. Biko, you always nail it with style..

  55. One of my favourite pieces to date! I felt sorry for the guy for all of two minutes…
    Lol!
    Come home at a reasonable hour and keep world peace. Simple.

  56. So that is some gay-shit saying you are home.” We all had a good cackle over that the next day. So nowadays to spite each other, when someone gets home and they send you a message of the same you always reply with, “OK baby,” or “I had such a great time, can’t wait to see you again,” “or I miss you already” or “the table hasn’t been the same since you left” or “Dream of me,” or “You looked great in your red bra” (hehee) or “Call me when your p’s end.” And it’s the funniest shit ever….at least when you are still tipsy.

    This is some Gay shiiiiiiit but straight up hilarious.