Clash of the Keyboard Warriors

Vunderkind’s Note: I am writing my note in a different color so you can differentiate between what is mine and what is today’s author’s. Like Jesus in the bible, words of the Vunderkind appear in red. In the house today is the HNIC (Head Niggah in Charge) of Naija Dude enterprises, @Volturi_Lord, giving a very interesting story. Allow me to say again, I am not “infofd” in this story. I wasn’t even around when it happened. He says he wasn’t too, but seeing as the story is written in first person, it’s kinda hard to buy it. Almost as difficult to buy as Stella Oduah’s N225m security cars.

Cheers. Happy Sunday too.

(Remember: if it is not written in red, I did not write/say/think it.)

Keyboard warriors – ‘cos talking shit in person is too damn dangerous

I had searched for him all day long. Missing him by an hour or so at his office. I had tracked him to the laundromat where the cashier said he had left a couple of minutes ago. A futile trip to the bank and another one to his apartment later, I finally caught up with him.

He was at the bar. The time was 17: 59. The time of the day when all the functional alcholics come outta the woodworks and flooded the nooks and crannies of the various bars across town. I had come to the bar with the bests of intentions. I wasn’t looking for trouble, I didn’t want a fight. I just wanted us to talk thinks out. He had done the unimaginable the previous day and I just wanted to hear his reasons.

I noticed him before he did me. I strolled down the short steps at the entrance of the bar and walked slowly up to him. I could see he was well on his way to the “high-land”. I could count 4 empty bottles of le Tusker on the table and he was working hard on the fifth. He didn’t say a word as I sat down. We stared at each other malevolently as the waitress came over and I ordered a bottle of what he was having. You know, for cultural integration.

” I just need you to tell me why you did it, man, I don’t want no trouble. Just gimme a good reason and I’ll be outta here”. I told him softly. We had always been cool, both on Twitter and off it.

” Ion’ gat your time mayneeee, go chill with yo clique”, he shouted at me, drawing the attention of the whole bar to our table. I continued watching him as he waited, hopefully, for me to leave. On noticing that I had no such intention, he then stood up and attempted to leave himself and that when things got outta hand.

As he walked pass me, I laid a hand on his shoulders and shoved him around. “Dude! You owe me an explanation.” As usual with him he went overboard. He laid a right hook sucker punch across my face and I went down. Faster than a stone.

All would have been well if he had stopped there, but he got down right behind me – Just as I was trying to get up – and clamped an arm across my wind pipe like an iron bar. No one moved to intervene as he slowly choked me to death. Increasing pressure on my neck by the minute. I began to shake, my head swelling like a balloon and the roar of the crowd was as the sea pounding in on some distant shore. I flung myself backward, suddenly shifting the weight of both our bodies on his arm. He cried out and released pressure on his arm enough for me to wangle myself out of his grasp.

I grabbed a chair and smashed it across his head and shoulders. The chair splintered on impact. I raised it high and brought it down again and it splintered as its support cracked. He cried out in pain and started towards me. Blood trickled down his face from a scalp wound. I threw what was left of the chair in his face and backed away.

He came in a rush, hands reaching out to destroy. I dodged to one side and kicked a chair into his path so that he stumbled and fell heavily to the floor. There was a bottle of McDowell’s whiskey on the table at my side and I grabbed it by the neck, smashing it across the edge of the table and had a knee on his chest before he could move.

The bottle made a fearsome weapon and I shoved the broken end up under his chin, the jagged, splintered edge drawing blood from the taut flesh. One push and he was finished and he knew it. Fear broke out through like scum to the surface of a pool. I stared at him with hatred and asked him what I had been dying to all day.

“Why Los? Thought you were a cool niccuh Losgiddy,  Why gon do me like this?? I cri mahn, I cri everitiem. Tell me bruh, or things gonna get awks to be honest. I finna do you right now and that would be uncool.

His further existence depends on his answer.

(._. )

( ._.)

If you’re confused about what that was all about, you may want to check out the ‘inspiration’ for this post here