I curse the day I met certain individuals

I am aware this is utterly un Christian and maybe even a little unconstitutional but ‘I hear’ everyone is entitled to a sin or two. I’d like to use my civil liberty to vent the hatred I have for some individuals who turned my life into a living hell and made me suffer bouts of selective amnesia.
Martin Bishop’s  Black Diary
Martin Bishop’s Black Diary

I am aware this is utterly un Christian and maybe even a little unconstitutional but ‘I hear’ everyone is entitled to a sin or two. I’d like to use my civil liberty to vent the hatred I have for some individuals who turned my life into a living hell and made me suffer bouts of selective amnesia.

If my soul is condemned to eternal damnation, I will return with a hellish smile, haunt them and make them pay for all the pain they put me through. It’s a little too hard to put them in order as they all qualify for the number one spot.

Let me start with my Math teacher Bwana Tim Benson Opio around 1990. This gentleman did more ass-whooping than teaching, he made me feel like I a small Jesus suffering for the daftness of my classmates.

Opio was a torture specialist; apparently he later joined the Police force. I wonder what took him so long! The second person makes me want to take a shot of morphine. At a young age, after smuggling me into the world of adults, some vixen squashed my fragile heart and marched away with a happy grin like a goat on twos. It took me forever to mend it. 

The last one came into my life years later. Though I was partly to blame, please allow me to heap all the blame on her. This woman, also my landlady (before I joined the crème de la crème) treated me like I made in China.

It all began when I started having issues with rent. I could go months without paying ( I blame this on Mr. Opio, if he had concentrated on teaching me like he did caning me, I would have passed Math. Today I’d probably be an astrochemist or neurosurgeon, earning a seven figure salary!) 

When she found out I had barred her number on my cellular phone, she resorted to kicking my door like SWAT whenever I was home.

Whenever the smell of fried meat hit her nostrils she would call me all sorts of names and tell whoever cared to listen how I was a good for nothing tenant who couldn’t pay the rent but could afford to buy meat.

This is when I started boiling meat in a kettle; she would scout the place like a starved eagle, investigating where the meaty smell lingered only to find a beat-up kettle on the charcoal stove.

The winner was when she removed some iron sheets on the roof of my one bed roomed abode!  I could see St. Peter looking down at me. Opio, I have no kind words for you. As for my ex, I deserved better and as for the mean landlady, you are the reason I no longer rent!

 

Have Your SayLeave a comment