THE BIG HAND BAG THEORY ; whats really in that handbag

Like penises they come! , My bad, meant to say, hand bags, are like penises in that they come (I can still hear a naughty snigger in the background)... okay let’s start again. Handbags are like penises, in that they come in many different, sizes others are extremely …HUGE while some are  small , and like our beloved male naughty bits,  the handbag comes in a range of colours, shades… some, shiny, others, matte some really have no defined appearance. Again, similar to the baby maker, when it comes to the touch, they might be smooth, a bit scratchy, spotted or I just don’t know…skin like. ( the above information I got from a girl who has been around sooo a big no homo to yall)    You see, kids …, handbags after diamonds, airtime, that big boned almost overweight nice friendly, slightly loud chick called Chantelle and boyfriend’s, are a chick’s best friend.  She will always want to have one, she is fascinated by its new smell, its pockets and what a guy shall put in it. Lastly, like penises, when it comes to handbags, it’s not the size that counts..Naaah..It’s how you rock it!

As a child, I used to be fascinated by many things, from lady underwear catalogue books, remember those you would find smack in the middle of those ‘YOUR FAMILY’ magazines that had lots of hogwash on gardening and how white women should handle white husbands in white homes and stuff, yeah those, I was also intrigued by the house maid who used to run change in the room when I was inside...i shall not call that abuse, I knew what I was doing and I consented. So there. What else, yes… that was pretty much it. My life had been set to becoming some typa prepubescent pervert. Then girls discovered the hand bag…

There is this time in a girl’s life that, she loses the satchel and whatever other type of bag she used to keep her tampons in and moves onto the real McCoy of sanitary pad carrying accessories. It’s about the same time when no one is supposed to touch her bag, kind of like a pretend goody - girl making sure no one gets to see the broad experience on phone sex hidden inside her phone inbox. Am I talking to somebody??...aren’t  I... thought so.  It’s at this time that she starts smelling like your older sisters dressing table, when she spends more than the allotted pee-ing time in the loo….and by the way she  all of a sudden she starts  calling the loo, the “ladies room”…psh … who does that?

After a while when I was teen ager, my friends and I would after spending some time at one of those “functions where a whole lot of other teenagers dressed up to hook up with other dressed up teenagers all in the hope of getting  a cell number from a female teenager but usually just sticking to designated corners of embarrassment because older teenagers who had stolen nice cars from their dads made the dressed up teenagers look useless” …yes, those things, we would begin to talk about how this girl was cool because of she had a big bum or because her buttocks were huge or about the size of her rump, you know the usual. We would always get to this realisation that, heish, did you see that other chick, she was all grown up and all, she had a matching handbag! For us young boys, a girl our age who had begun to carry a hand bag was like a female social demigod with a weapon of mass destruction, kind of like a super power attained during the course of an adventure video game. We would know a girl of that calibre was one we would mess with NOT! She had come of age. A woman…agh! …all in the handbag 

Although today I have come to realise the multipurpose use of a handbag, when I was younger, okay fine, last week, a hand bag was a fake or real skin of a poor bovine species animal that had been made to look nice when carried by a human being who has breasts , wears a bra and has no penis. ( the penis part is only because some guys have breasts wear bras… and carry handbags..)

So this is what I found,  a handbag is

Practically a suitcase : girls have lots of sleep overs at males people’s houses and at female people’s houses, they never go there with a square shaped bag with two wheels and a handle lest he thinks she wants to elope…nooo, toothbrushes, two sets of underwear, soap, airtime, a picture of mom, a Nokia 1204 that the boyfriend doesn’t know about, a small blanket which really can double as a wrapping towel  and nightwear, laptop, just in case there is no electricity and ‘we wanna watch a secret lives of the Zimbabwean small house season 3 again’ and another pair of undies can all fit inthe bag with little or no effort.  I’ve tried carrying one of those and even now, my shoulder bears scars but women can carry that burdensome load all day and only complain about the sun and shoes.

It’s an office emergency package :  rainy days need umbrellas, shower caps, or a plastic bag from FOOD WORLD, lady office clothes aren’t made with a lot of pockets to keep such. These articles have to be kept somewhere just in case it rains…we need to protect the sanctity of the hair do and sacred weave.   So there you go, if you want a place to store a tiny, I swear she got it from batman coz its sooo cool, how it can look like a lip gloss thingy then just by pressing  a button it turns into a tent sized umbrella, shower cap of plastic bag from Buscod supermarket  , hand bag can be that place.                                                                                                                        

She obviously knows that her heels have a lifespan and one day they might break and we might see a fallen heroine… on the tarmac, if she could, she would keep a cobbler in the handbag but they don’t come in such sizes…pumps and other flat shoes, however, do!  At such a point in time, a handbag turns into her portable shoe cabinet, polish and all,                                                               What if, tea or coffee or that other white stuff she that she always seems to get on her blouse every time she goes to the bosses office when they are working after hoursspills on to her blouse or whatever manner of top she has got on, she needs a replacement top. .and probably an HIV test too.  Where do these go tops stay? … handbag. Tell a guy to fit in an extra pair of socks in a wallet, that would be one smelly wallet.

It’s a lip accessory bag, this is where, lip stick, lip gloss, lip balm, lip ice, lip hop are kept…and Vaseline.

It’s a mobile dressing table. You wonder how they look good all the time, maybe its magic, maybe its Maybelline. Perfume, nail polish, nail polish remover, combs, a wig, a wig remover, another comb for her best friend (aren’t they just thoughtful),a blower, she is also a moving blower too, hence she has to keep all that lip stuff. (chuckle if you get this,  and then share it on Facebook  and  twitter) and of course a mirror, you know the ones that open and contain a powdered version of her face colour, the ones that are so small she only spends so much time on the thing coz she can only see one section of the face at a time, left eye check, right eye check, upper lip check, lower lip…okay..lets put more lip stuff thereee.  You get my drift.

It’s a bin:                                                                                                                                                                 1. half the stuff in there is useless,                                                                                                                   2. clutter clutter clutter                                                                                                                                      3. and if the above isn’t true, what do you think explains them not wanting us to open it!

It looks nice on them : in as much as I might be exaggerating the use of the handbag, I have to admit that, ladies, you rock those things well. I love it when I see a girl looking all metropolitan, shades and all, earphones in her…ears I guess, lips shining in the sun, hair all done nicely walking like she is cat walking or something in those heels…handbag…  finishing it off like John Cena when he does that ‘YOU CANT SEE ME’ thing tucked neatly under her arm handle on her elbow…DAMN…matching everything else we can see and maybe that which we cant. Essentially, women have turned a bag into a clothing item for them it’s like a pair of jeans. A good pair of jeans. Congrats on that one

All the above information has made me understand a side of women (other than the back side) and I have come to consolidate what I knew and what’s on the ground. Surprisingly though, the girls I asked about what they use the handbag for told me all sorts of things they keep in it….except… they made absolutely no mention of money being kept in it. It is only now that I understand why they didn’t say so ‘WHY KEEP MONEY IN A HANDBAG…THAT’S WHAT WALLETS WERE INVENTED FOR..’ please note….its men who carry the wallet…and the bill…gotta love women!

SIZE DOESN’T COUNT…NEITHER DOES COLOUR…SO LETS GET NAKED \J/

                                   

..like the greek before g-strings were invented...not that they made much of a difference

Here I was crossing the road thinking up my next post when I was unfairly distracted by…how can I put this, do you know when you are crossing the road in a diagonal path watching for cars that might flatten you on the tarmac and leave you looking like a colour confused Michael Jackson of the reptile world chameleon in state of eternal tongue out bleeeegh, all flattened so much you’d look like a twenty first century remake of Picasso. Only this time in spray painting…on the road, (meet you in lizard heaven dear friend.)  Yes, it was one of those, till I saw a couple of meters in front of me the unmistakable sway of buttocks covered by heaven knows what manner of underwear covered by a very thin…white nurses uniform (hmm..). From my geographical positioning in reference to the angle of the sun’s rays and distance from this lady, I could see the silhouette of her bottom, curving to her thighs ending flowing down like a yellow bone river of nice skin out the skirt to that back part of the knee….calves…brown shoes...tar. YES. All I saw was Shape of body. Then I was disturbed by this driver honking at me. It is just then that it hit me (not the car, an idea), that despite the fact that she was wearing those visual impediments to the knowledge on inner beauty we call clothes, all I saw was a naked woman. And no I was not lusting or anything…it’s called, Social Observation Of Human Artificial Fur. That’s when it hit me (again, not the car...the idea).., imagine if I had x ray vision and all I saw were women in their nakedness…give it a second, cool, okay, now,…imagine if we all had x ray vision and saw each other in our nakedness…then…YES..IMAGINE IF EVE HADNT EATEN THAT FRUIT AND WE ALL USED TO WALK AROUND IN OUR NAKEDNESS …and the crowd goes wild...YEEEEAAAAH…and the fat girls go quiet...followed by the small to average lengthed gentlemen...then total silence.

Children today I want you to do an exercise, you might be reading this in an office full of interns, or at home because some friend of yours shared it on Facebook or twitter, you could be walking in town or sitting in public transportation having to bear the noise of whatever type of music is currently being played aloud in there… I want you to look around at the people around you, those walking, sitting, talking, arguing, going to the loo EVERYONE!!! Now…close your eyes…then undress everyone, make them all naked. And open your eyes to see what they are doing...naked

 When I tried this exercise, I was in a crowd in the CBD, elbowing and bumping into all three sexes. So you can only imagine how many boobs rubbed on me, how many people had their pubic hairs exposed whilst they were sitting legs open in food courts, the guys selling airtime in that hand out stance, going all ‘ksss ksss ….airtime yese pano” all of them no clothes, the bus rank touts jumping around yelling out at the top of their lungs the location to which their taxis are going wagging their members all over the place as they enthusiastically leap and pace around here and there. The big women who take up two spaces where normally we could fit in three slim girls in a car, over spilling their bountiful chests onto my shoulder as we all battle to sit comfortably in the damn thing. I know  for some reading this, if everyone around you were nude, you would be staring point blank into a hopefully limp penis because unfortunately you are sitting squashed in front of a kombi conductor, because that’s where the lady next to me was seated before I wrote this...I’d dare her to open her mouth!  

And yes, you too, in that class of second year  marketing year students, you who is bored so much by the lecture that you saw this blog post and are currently reading it, there is a skinny girl two rows in front of you, she might look all clothed now, but inside that really tiny pair of skinny jeans is a band of stretch marks looking like zebra theme knickers, that bra that you think is a bra, isn’t leopard print boob jersey, it’s pure spotted skin.                                                                                                                  And just beside you, right there, where there is that bespectacled dude looking all serious and sooo into the lecture, yep…he’s got a big black one doesn’t he, you and I have to admit, we haven’t quite seen  a birth mark that big on any living man isn’t.

I didn’t say stop, your head of department is about to walk in, we need to keep this exercise going, let’s see what she looks like, you probably heard all the graduate trainees have had a go, I bet you must be wondering what she looks like.  Yeeeees…..yes yes…chest hair... Oh.

Sooner or later if we keep going on with this, it’s all going to look normal, big ones, small ones, perfect skin, light skin, or whatever, sooner or later we are all going to be comfortable with what we look like because everyone is seeing it and we will stop hiding our blemishes and accept ourselves for who we are….or what we are.                                                                                                                   This is especially to the ladies, you always worry about this and that, lose yourself in all those products a bunch of ugly scientists who are forever stuck in that stage of puberty where one has so many pimples popping off, your face may look like a mayonnaise factory with all that goo erupting all over the place, and they don’t even try the remedy that they have so specially formulated for your to keep you younger.

I don’t get it, beautiful chocolate skinned people obsess over getting lighter as if that would make them look any hotter than they already are, they decide to use hair bleaching products on their skin so much they end up looking so out of colour you would think the creator mixed the wrong set of paint, but this won’t be the creators fault, we all know it’s your fault that you look both black and white, only thing being your face is the old school racist when the rest of your blacker body seems to have to carry that monstrosity you call a face around what used to be a perfect skin tonned body. (no pun intended to the non-black folk, I was just trying to get the point across). Lots of African women with curves all of a sudden are taking their big rumpedeness for obesity and are punishing themselves with telly diets that honestly aren’t changing a thing.  Just making them sweat more and eat less, then give up and go HARD AS A MOTHERS COITUS PARTNER on food so much they actually then go overweight.

If we all just thought for one day we were all naked and saw each other for what in reality we want to hide behind, we would be left with no choice but to accept it AND BE PROUD OF IT.

Take men for an example, the average male length isn’t much to talk about. But no man shall ever tell you that his member doesn’t deliver. ‘A man brags about his penis, however small’. He shall tell you that Cedric the Cigarette may be small, but he goes a looooong way. And if you are curious (or loose enough, depending on your sexual liberty) you may actually find out that ‘THAT BLOODY LITTLE ITEM….YOOOOOH’

Come to terms with your naked self, stop trying to change the things that make you YOU. Your incessant whining about your weight sucks the hell out of us, your refusal to turn the lights on and hiding behind the excuse that its more romantic that way (or only getting naughty when ZESA goes) only because you feel like you aren’t as hot as Beyoncé while we get intimate has become a bore.    The way you keep telling your man that you wish you had bigger breasts might just mke him think twice about you because one of the reasons he thinks you are perfect is because or your on the smaller side bust size.

In conclusion, all of you out there go to a mirror…take all of your clothes off, look at yourself, close your eyes and say this….

 ‘Thaaambikuying pooom.. Ithinkthisistrangebutiwillkeepdoingitcozfreshsaysdoit...Abrazoom. ‘

 Count to three and open your eyes, the spell didn’t work did it. But your eyes did, just as the spell won’t change you, neither will that scientific cum you keep placing on your face.  Don’t lower yourself or paint yourself, or look like Nicki Minaj, or not reply my text, Or don’t share this on Facebook or twitter or SHA…or most of all ever think you can get hotter by making yourself uglier. So, turn to the hot girl next to you and say ‘size doesn’t count, neither does colour, let’s get naked.’

PS.  ANY INCOVINIENCES CAUSED ARE SINCERELY REGRETTED….but at least you tried hey.                                   

Smart women invented he word “Gentleman”

Have you ever overheard a group of single ladies who are kind of still fresh out of college or well, have that job as some fat tummied Zimbabwean Mhofu  Yemukono’s (an infamous totem animal for a notorious brand of men known for loving to hunt…woman meat...And for the record, I am one myself) secretary or receptionist or dumb younger sister who just didn’t know what school was for beyond interact and Junior Parliament shin digs. Well I was saying, Have you ever overheard them talking about this guy called, Maurice or Dylan who happens to be a budding chartered accountant or trainee manager at some hotel or something.  Have you ever noticed how she will keep repeating, “so it was a bit cold, and I had called to see where he was, and he came to pick me up, he was in this nice suit, and he asked me if I was hungry and we went out for coffee and black forest, ooooh my goodness the suit, and then he got me this bag, and then he drove me home and he bought me airtime for ten dollars and he called me to see if I had got to my room okay and…….sigh, HE IS SUCH A GENTLEMAN…SIGH”

This, to some is a normal conversation that ( I’m not so sure how girls manage to endure repeatedly) ladies can have on the daily, did you just see the criteria that one must match up to be called gentleman….it’s very clear SPEND! SPEND! SPEEEEEEEEEEND....and wear a suit, not those bright shiny ones though,( try those and look like an usher at Full Universal Kingdom believers fellowship ministries international church Worldwide…try even harder and you will look like the founder) you  notice how everything that culminates to a man being a Gentleman is the fulfilment of the girls insatiable appetite for things that will give her a big tummy, disgusting love handles, and her shocking inability to get a frikkin lift like any other non-gold digging human being and much rather prefer the comforts of rubbing her buttocks on the passenger side of Dylan’s car and release a fart or two for good measure then ask for the air-conditioning to be turned on just in case he gets a whiff of it,. How somehow she  talks about how stressful her day was so much that she didn’t eat anything but while she was having her third snack she got a craving for cake and or…..”There’s a coffee shop, LETS GO THERE.”

By now you can tell where this is all going, men never get it, all our lives we have secretly wanted to win over the favour of these tricky little species of human being, think about it, when you were younger its those dumb fat kids who had car switching dads that brought funny looking chocolate to school that always had the attention of that “Michelle girl” that you swear you had something akin to a crush for. And aren’t you just happy she got uglier when puberty got her. They only liked that fat kid because he was able to buy her chips at break time and all of a sudden …he was such a gentleman. At the end of the day we have been indoctrinated by a culture to die, buy, and when we are supposedly supposed to show emotion cry so that we earn the title, gentleman. Everything about being a gentleman has been made to impress the lady, from the uncomfy suits in summer that we are supposed to keep on throughout the whole day so that the Mrs can use you to show off to her friends; practically you have been relegated to being part of her outfit. How we are supposed to carry all the bags she ALONE accumulated in a day of shopping, rub her feet when they hurt as if YOU told her to wear painful shoes the whole day or open her door like she temporarily looses the use of her upper limbs when a door is in the vicinity. It’s all for their pleasure and convenience DON’T YOU GET IT OH YOU MALE PERSON!!!!

One day we shall be free, one day, when all the world becomes Infected by some zombiefying  virus  (yes like on Resident Evil, or I Am Legend) and you are stuck in a building with her while the flesh eating zombies lurk outside doing that zombie contorted face and hand thing. Both of you need to get to the helicopter but if you step out someone will become lunch, at this point, guys, moving around with a decoy would be advisable, because if you had one, you could throw it outside to the zombies and while they maul the poor thing, you could make a run for it...but it will be just the two of you...question is, who shall be the bait? Who shall be the decoy?.... YES, if there was a time you were ever supposed to be a gentleman, this one is that one time,… be a gentleman, open that door and with your slightly raised eyebrow, look at her in the eye  and with the calmest voice your vocal chords can produce, say, “Ladies first”.

Fresh says

Greetings, ladies ...gentlemen, light in complexion girls with horses tails for hair, dark skinned women who aspire to be small houses, those good looking really chilled guys that undergraduate girls (ehe you USA’S..) swoon over but then later find out that in the one sided sexual relationship that the working class punks have really bad conversation, are distant and have a chronic bad breath problem (that’s what you get for looking down upon the younger guys....bleeeeh).

 How can we possibly forget uniformed forces...not our beloved police force...but we shall get those guys another day. I mean the High School girls who shall eternally be a problem to varsity boys and a blessing to sugar daddy’s. Their, shortened uniforms and the boys trousers they wear as slacks every winter to heat up our cold frost bitten contents of boxers shorts nationwide. Salutations to the good girls..well we all know those don’t exist. I’m talking about those always in almost knee length skirts, go to church every Sunday late teen to mid twenty girls who always show a great interest to the ‘new pastor’ and who you may find in a bar shaking vehemently to a Winky D song dressed in nothing close to the word decent type of dress.

And we have a special greeting to the Ex Boyfriends, yes you! We all don’t like you, you seem to be that guy that the current girlfriend will not delete from her contacts, you are saved as ‘bharanzi’ or ‘bugger boo’ or..nah Tadie, and why are you saved that way, well so that when us the current boyfriends check the inbox, we see ‘bugger boo’ and momentarily understand that she doesn’t like you anymore or assume that Tadie is some girl who has this queer habit to call you ‘baby’ in text messages..Girls..psh.

If I left you out, don’t worry, in the coming posts, we shall get you...be sure of that we will.

Fresh Says..who is Fresh? Well, Fresh is YOU... yes IWEWE.. WENA! Fresh says is all about saying stuff that we usually wouldn’t want to be known to say for fear of being laughed at...or dumped or having people look at us funny at church because they think you are the devils small house or something. It’s about that hesitant moment of thought that we have for a split second when someone offers to handshake you after they scratch their ‘inside the underwear’ area... and we greet them anyhow, well coz... you know

Fresh Says that’s disgusting...but so are periods... oh well.

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