Water

Posted: June 14, 2014 in humor
Tags: ,

WATER!!!
Water… E no get enemy. That’s the only line I know from that Fela song. Water is such a wonderful thing. I take no less than three litres daily. Any day I take less than that feels like hell; I find I must make up for it the next day.

Seriously, I might drink myself to death someday.

I’m so in love with water. If water could, for just about 5 minutes, become a person, I would fuck the shit outta him. Or her. But unfortunately, water isn’t a person. And as far as I know, Jesus only turned it into wine.
But there’s always the water from the shower head, I guess. I haven’t tried that (yet?) and I don’t know if it’s going to be as good for it – or him, or her – as it will be for me.

Water’s the most sexual thing ever. Right up there with dildos. Stay with me here, and you’ll understand why. When I drink water after a really hot day, I let out a sound that would make Stevie Wonder presume he just stumbled onto the set of a porn film, starring yours truly. Speaking of porn… I wonder what my porn star name would be… I’m thinking “Fubuki”. And no, I did not learn that from a Hentai movie. What the fuck? I don’t even know what Hentai is! You judgmental hypocrites! The lot of you! Okay, moving on.

When I step in the shower, and the water’s set to hot, but I’m too baked from my intense make-out session with a bong to realise it, I turn on the tap and next thing I know I’m getting boiled. Anyone in that situation would let out a scream. Freeze frame, upon my naked, being-boiled body in the shower. Cut out the visuals (really, cut out the visuals, perv… Would it help if I said I had pubes so bushy they’ve turned into dreadlocks? You’re welcome.) Cut out the visuals, and hit rewind. Now listen to that scream again. What does it sound like? I’ll help you. Replace the shower scene with Fubuki getting rammed by some big black guy called Big Dick Johnson. Now hit play. You’re welcome.

In case you’re too slow, what I’m saying is Big Dick Johnson = Water. Hot Water.

Water’s sexual. Everything about it is sexual. From the water bottles I have to put my lips on to drink from, or the water rising up through the straw and filling my mouth, before I swallow, to the pure water sachets which ALWAYS remind me of boobs… Only, thankfully boobs don’t get so small and deflated and squishy like the sachets when you’re done. That would be horrible. Unless you’re a guy with boobs. In which case, find someone to suck on that shit, since you insist on eating so much crap and sitting on your fat ass doing fuck all, you fat fucking fogey!

Okay… This just got personal. I need to calm down. With some water. How exactly? *Barney’s voice* Use your imagination!

PS: it just hit me, that if you re-read this article and replace the word water with semen, this trashicle may (or may not) get even funnier and more disgusting than it already is, AND I will have successfully scarred you for life. Winning!

It’s a sunny Saturday, anybody thirsty?

Authored by Vanessa (@VanessaKanu)
Vanessa is one of our admins here at La Critique and can be reached at vanessakanu@ymail.com
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The One Experience

Posted: June 7, 2014 in humor
Tags: ,

The one experience I had that changed my perspective on so many things.

Date: July 2012. Location: Offa, Nigeria. Event: NYSC.
I have to warn you in advance guys, this will likely not make you laugh as much as the previous write ups on this blog. This is a sober reflection inducing, deep-thought-after-watching-In-Pursuit-of-Happiness kinda write up. You’re going to need to punch a wall to feel manly again after reading this. I hope you got your permission slips, because pack your bags kids, we’re going on a FEELS trip.

I’ve always run away from athletic activities, I volunteered to be toilet washer in my boarding secondary school because it was less physically demanding than other morning chores. Maggots don’t mean anything to me. Thug life. I ran away from camp and man o war activities too. Most of my platoon mates didn’t know me till we were almost done. I however knew about 90% of them. Except in a few instances where I’m pretending so I won’t come off as creepy-stalker-ish, I’m good with faces.

Got out of camp, had to find a nice place to stay. Despite various true life accounts of certain places being inhabited by demons, Djinns and evil spirits, I settled for a two story building in the middle of the market.  Whatever, thug life. About 10 corps members collectively rented the house although we had one or two non-corps member neighbours. Like most of my neighbours, I had gone on a few trips with a few of my belongings but when I was ready to settle finally, I noticed I was the first to move in. It was getting late, about 7 oclock. I had not taken lunch/dinner so I did what everyone who just moved into a new apartment does; get junk food. I got back pretty late. I was kinda-sorta scared sha. Everywhere was dark and I thought I saw someone standing near my door.
“Good evening” she said. A lady’s voice. Igbo accent. I swiftly-albeit, subconsciously brandished my torch like a mopol on night duty. I was scared but I had to see if it had a face. I wanted to say good evening back very calmly, but my guts let me down the same manner Beyonce stood in that elevator without protecting her horseband from domestic violence. “Yes, yes!” I replied (You know how you sound when you’re awoken and you’re trying to pretend you were not in deep sleep). “Are you scared?” She asked. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or trying to tease me. “Do you live here?” I asked. “No, my friend does”, she replied. So, the koko of the gist was that her house was in an isolated neighbourhood and she planned to spend the night with her friend who was my next door neighbour. We got talking and she told me she was a batch B corps member, everything was going pretty cool until she mentioned “platoon 9”. Hell no b****. Ain’t no way you was in my platoon. At that point I started wondering why someone would lie about that kind of thing. I told her she didn’t look familiar anyway, though I did not let her know her actions were “suspect”. Midnight was approaching and we said our nahnyts. Less than 10 minutes after I got in, someone knocked. It was her. “Please don’t tell me you can’t sleep alone and ask to sleep with me” I said- (TO MYSELF OF COURSE). My fears were confirmed and because I had this thing I’ve been trying to exorcise since childhood- I don’t know how to say no, I let her in. I let her sleep on the bed and I slept on the floor. She kept asking me to join her on the bed because there was enough space for two. I was like, nah, I’m cool. I’m compassionate like that (or not!). “Please God, don’t let me regret this”, I whispered to myself.

Admittedly, I was still awake at 2 AM, I could not tell if it was anxiety or intense heartburn I had. 30 minutes later, the heartburn intensified into something more serious than I had ever experienced. The pain was beginning to spread to my back and sent a chill down my spine. I had a fever and my stomach felt like it was filled with molten magma. I was rolling on the floor now and my “guest” noticed. She asked what the problem was, she sounded like she had been awake too. I told her nothing too serious. At this point I was on all fours, dizzy, delirious and nauseous. I had to use the bathroom. I stood up, staggered to the bathroom and threw up mid-way. My guest – she told me her name was  Precious, Precious stood up and held me on my way to the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I saw genuine concern. “My tummy”. “Ulcer”. “My drugs”. “Finished”. I managed to mumble. She left me and went to take something from her hand bag. She brought out a blue bottle, same drug I used. “I have ulcer too” she said. I said thanks and grabbed it from her without second thoughts. There was no pipe borne water in the apartment and the only source of water we had was a well. She opened the door and she picked a bucket. I looked at the wall clock. 3 AM. She walked in with a rag and started cleaning my vomit from the floor. Only my mother had done this for me. “How do you feel now”? She asked. I said fine. She asked his question every 20 minutes till daybreak. I actually felt some relief. I did not know if it was because I felt better or just reassured that I was not hosting a ritualist or Ogbanje in my house. The moment shops opened, I left her to get my drugs from a nearby pharmacy. When I got back, she had left. Now, let me tell you something funny, when my next door neighbour moved in finally, I asked about her friend Precious and she told me she did not have any friend in Offa called Precious.

One day I got back from work, about two months after this incident, I heard someone call my name as I rounded up at the balcony. I turned and it was Precious, sitting with my next door neighbour. “Heeyyy!! Babe you just disappeared without telling me. Ada, this is the precious I was talking about”. Precious was happy to see me too. Turned out Precious was a middle name and most people I asked knew her by her First (Igbo) name. We chatted for several minutes and she came around to see her friend about once a month. We were not bffs but whenever she came around, she checked up on me and I always thanked her “for the other day”. This continued till we passed out and everyone went their separate ways.

This experience taught me a few “precious” things about life- some of which are helpful to me till this day. But I won’t push these lessons on you guys, you’re gonna have to decide how and why you feel about it.

THE END.

Authored by Anazuo
Anazuo is one of our authors here at La Critique and can be reached at anazuosalihu@yahoo.com
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Funny Girl Or Not

Posted: May 24, 2014 in humor
Tags: ,

        I’m back again and yet I still feel like this is only an introduction. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the hiatus La Critique went on. To show you how much of a slacker I am, I still have no idea why we went on a break I sure am glad though. Combining my unwillingness to write with the happenings of my day to day life, in the past few months, would have been almost impossible. But I like impossible. I was born that way. And it’s is due to this hiatus that I feel like that unlucky kid who joins a new school in third term and has to move to a new class after Summer break and start the process of making friends all over again. Never mind that I had no anxiety about this happening to me in primary school. I actually looked forward to the change. Always the new kid around these parts I guess.
         At this point, I’m wondering if I have managed to give the impression that my introduction actually has a body to follow it. Well, I guess we’ll find out together. No, you didn’t read wrong. This is an experiment. I should probably issue a disclaimer before I go any further. The well respected members of our team did not give their consent for such level of tomfoolery to be carried out on here. I have not obtained or even sought permission in attempting such brazen levels of shamelessness. I have pulled this or am pulling this off entirely on my own. If this goes south, I will gladly take the fall alone. If by any chance, some of you are forgiving enough to accept the prank I’m trying so hard to pull off as an article, I‘ll take the credit alone too. It would mean I have found the answer to combating procrastination. I would like my gold plaque delivered to my house with white orchids. Thank you. 
         As you might have guessed I procrastinated on writing  and now, just hours from my deadline, I’m planning to pull the wool over your eyes. The more I think about it, the less likely it is that I will pull it off. I might as well broach the topic I had in mind.
          I just want to know who declared that girls could not be funny? Who? Who exactly died and made it a man’s biological right to be funny? Now, I’m sure most of you are getting ready for some feminist think piece on why the “funny gene” is actually feminine. You’ll have to wait a really long time. Yes, I’m a feminist but I’m done with the words “think” and “piece” especially when placed together. I’ve read so much crap disguised at “think-pieces” on the internet, I think I could possibly implode or worse yet, explode if I read another one. Anyway back to my point but first let me do a word count.
          My interest in the issue of funny females first piqued when I was with a certain guy. He was funny. Well, I found him funny. I’ll never be sure if it’s one of those things where your brain shuts down because of hormones and  Cupid’s stupid arrows or the dude was legitimately funny. Anyway, every time I made him laugh, he always used to make it a point of stating that I often got lucky but I wasn’t actually funny. Turns out, I could never be sure if he was telling the truth about anything. That being said, I had somehow always believed that being funny was a thing guys were better at. Funny thing is, I never had this view until I left the sweet confines of my nuclear family. Everywhere I went there seemed to be a general consensus that women are really not funny and that the few who are, are somehow an anomaly. Before you try to argue that I’m making this thing up. I’ll  ask a question, how many comediennes do you know? How many do you like? Now, how may of them are really successful and famous for their trade? If she‘s an actress on the side, she doesn‘t count right now. I’ll wait for a figure…. Now how many men fit into the same criteria? A whole lot more I’m sure. I can’t even begin to attempt explaining why – in this lazy attempt of an article – mostly because I don’t know. Before you try to bring up (SNL) Saturday Night Live Cast, I would like you to ask yourself this question: “Do you honestly think girls are just as capable of being funny as boys? ” If not, why? Because we are more passionate about nagging or we are only good at gossiping? Please these stereotypes are so over-flogged so can someone please come up with a rational explanation. I could use one and I‘ll be waiting… or not.
          I’m that girl with a million and one male friends and in my experience, early on in our friendship, most of them would be reluctant to laugh out loud in public at my jokes. They would stifle their laughter and try to make up some logical excuse for why I had caught them unawares. With time, some of them would go as far as being pleasantly surprised that I was funny. While others would attribute my “newly found humor”  to the benefits of hanging out with them. I have even received handshakes for making dudes laugh. I’m entirely confused as to why that is. Now, I’m no Kevin Hart, (Yes, I went with a guy because y’all probably wouldn’t think much of a comedienne as a worthy example or you wouldn’t even know her ) but I tend to “get lucky” often enough to compare the reactions of my male and female friends. 
          I noticed that whenever I would be with my girls or even just other girls, they’d  be laughing a lot while I spoke. While with my guys, I was supposed to do the laughing and not try to challenge them at this manly art of eliciting laughter. Whenever I did, I was met with quiet smiles, stifled laughter and banter about how “ I was trying“. It was often a mix of the above mentioned responses. I naturally concluded that I was funny but only to girls. I’m not even going to re-read that sentence. I apologize for how stupid and naïve I was. I assure you I have changed. They wouldn’t let me write for La Critique otherwise. Anyway, I decided to try something. I ignored the unsure reception of my jokes. I stood my ground and talked as much smack as the next guy about how funny I was and before you now it, my guys were openly laughing and acknowledging my good jokes as like the next guy‘s. If I got any hand-shakes, they were the same as the other guys got. Good old kudos for outdoing oneself.
        What am I saying in essence? I’m not sure to be honest. I kid. Perception is everything. From both angles. The way you perceive yourself can change the way others respond to you. The way others perceive you definitely affects their response to you. If you’re a lady reading this, you’re probably as funny as the next guy. But don’t take my word for it. I couldn’t even fit in a joke into two pages of claims. Maybe next I will. Till then Szia.

Authored by Phara (@Ehpeaphany)
Phara is one of our authors here at La Critique and can be reached at fariwonda09@gmail.com

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If you live in Nigeria, especially in the Northern regions, then you know without a doubt it’s been a forgettable year so far. I am however not going into all the morbid details, I’m saving that for a more serious piece. However, even in the midst of all the chaos, crises and vast display of sheer ineptitude (especially from Government quarters), Nigerians have been learning new things, no thanks to the Boko Haram insurgency and the reactions that have trailed it.
I have decided to hereby write what I have learned so far and share the many nuggets of wisdom that have thus been bestowed on us.

1. Important Geographical Information

First thing that shouts right out (and you cannot deny this) is that they’ve expanded our knowledge of Geography. Yep! What? No? well, tell me before now, how many people knew places like Chibok (Borno State) and Nyanya (Abuja) before now? Did you also know before the insurgents’ attacks that Nigeria is bordered in the northern and north eastern regions by Niger, Chad Republic and Cameroun? It’s okay, you’re welcome. I wasn’t gonna take credit for that anyways, but if you insist, you can send an MTN recharge card *straight face*

2. It’s okay to fight an ideal you’re benefitting immensely from

Well, at this point, it is no longer a secret that these guys are a bunch of well-sponsored retarded thugs with no aim but terror. The sad truth is, these retards seem to be smarter than the retards charged with protecting us. But I can see why it’s been hard for the government to understand these terrorists when the terrorists themselves seem to be ironically against western education. You want to know what I think? Well, you’re reading my piece so I’ll assume you do. Well, I think it’d take a whole lot of western education to be able to make guns, armoured tanks and modern warfare equipment that they use. And how about the internet? They even upload videos (some of them up to thirty minutes) on Youtube, (I have inside info that they’re working on a Twitter account and a facebook like page to boot). So, next time you wanna stage a protest against an ideal, policy or what have you, it’s okay to use some of the people you want to fight against to help you arrange the protests and make it a success.

3. Hash tagging

Before now, I’ve had Twitter and Instagram newbies on several occasions ask me “Black, what’s the meaning of hash tagging, why do people use hash tags?”. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. And no, I’m not interested in it! Anyways, enter Boko Haram, throw in a couple of abductions hither and tither and voila! The hash tag that moved the world. #BringBackOurGirls. So now you know what hash tags are for and why they were invented. And then, Nigerians in their usual style turned the whole thing into a carnival. People taking smiling pictures with their pets and all, carrying placards brandishing the hash tag. All manners of selfies and group selfies. Some even going as far as arranging whole photo shoots/ photo sessions to #BringBackOurGirls. There is absolutely no limit to the level of ignorance we have to display to feel relevant!

4. Blood Sharing is common phenomena in Northern Nigeria

I have never donated blood in my life. There, I said it. Mostly because, if I were dying and I was offered some of my own pre-stored blood to reinvigorate me and keep me alive, I’d probably die quicker from taking it. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make here. Well, after the bombings and abductions in Borno, our esteemed first lady *ahem!*, was seen on television shedding tears (understandably reasoning with the plight of the abducted girls) but wait, towards the end, we understand that some people have been sharing blood in Borno without our knowledge albeit the government knew about it. *sigh* Lord, why oh why all these conspiracies from our leaders ehn??? *wipes tears off keyboard* Chei!! There is God oo.

5. America knows much more than you think

image

Well, you thought you’d seen it all from the action movies of old back to the Jack Bauers of today but nah…. There’s more. During the  last presidential media chat, the president, unequivocally explained how if 20 billion Naira was missing, America will know. Yep! You guessed it. They have diabolical means to these things. So next time you have the curtains down, door locked, and you enter  your password and do your retina scan to access your porn stash so you can pleasure yourself… Always remember, (Say it with me) “America Will Know”

6. When people steal public funds, it is Not corruption

Interesting Fact: Did you know that sloths have been known to die from eating their own hands after mistaking them for tree branches? Huh? “No way!” You say? You think that’s the height of stupidity? Wait till you learn something new today. Our president is a sage. Did you know that when people steal or embezzle or misapppropriate public funds that it is not called corruption? No? You didn’t? Well, thank heavens! Our president is God sent. He has made us understand that “ordinary people stealing money, Nigerians will say it is corruption. All these things you people are saying, it is just people stealing”. Oh tell me you felt that! That tingle and sound you hear when your IQ soars two levels above the sloths’

7. There is God oo

And we saved the best for last. We also know now that there is a God. And he knows as well about all the blood sharing in Borno (and other places that we are yet to find out as of press time). If you were an atheist, or scientologist before now. Please know now from all we have said that, THERE IS GOD OOO. Who do you think created the universe? You believe the big bang theory? You think the first lady was a product of evolution? That she and the rest of you were evolved from apes and chimps? Ha!!! THERE IS GOD OOO.

Well, there concludes it. Though honourable mention should also go to the fact that some words have now become more common in our vocabulary as wel. Words like; insurgents, hash tags and abductions. If you didnt know the meanings of these words or never came across them before the crises? Well, you’re welcome.
See you guys next week.

Authored by ‘Lola El-Imam (@Lolaelblack)
Lola is the editor here at La Critique and can be reached at lolaelblack@gmail.com
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This is going to be the most boring piece of shit you’ve ever read in your life. So do yourself a huge favour and stop reading right now.

Still here? Toh. I already warned you sha.

Fact is I have absolutely nothing to say. It is my sincere hope that you keep this fact stuck in your head as you read. Since you’ve insisted.

I have nothing relevant to say. Except that I hate life. And I sure as fuck hate those fucks at GTB for closing my account without my permission.

In fact, my hatred is so unconditional, so expansive, that I hate the entire banking system. Because just once, ONCE, I would like to win Diamond Bank’s “Salary for Life,” but have I? Nooooo. Just once I wanna be one of those lucky schmucks that suddenly find the atm’s still paying even though there’s nothing in their bank accounts. But has that happened? Nooooo.

Yes, you guessed it. I’m broke. Hey whaddayaknow? Something to talk about. Let me resume boring you in earnest. What is to follow is an argument for why I am certain that life has been precisely engineered to shove it’s huge fat penis in your arse, ram it over and over, fill it with gay little sea-men and not even thank you for allowing it pleasure itself with your anus. Horrible image right? You’re welcome. You think life’s a bitch? No. Life’s a raging hermaphrodite with a dick the size of the washington monument. And life’s always horny. Horny for anal. You’re welcome, again.

I remember when I was about thirteen or fourteen or something-teen – I don’t know, I don’t remember, I don’t give a shit – when I bought several crates of coca-cola and sprite and fanta, just so I could have the crown covers, put them into envelopes, and then drop them at designated shops, so the trucks could take said envelopes back to the company, so I could win a truck load of money. That’s a lotta “so’s”. Then I’d religiously watch the game show, as all the idiots would pick envelopes only on one side, leaving whole sections of the hundreds of thousands of envelopes on the floor untouched. Drove me nuts! I would scream at them repeatedly, through my tv screen, that my envelopes were in PRECISELY those sections they left untouched. But the bitches and sons of bitches would do the same shit, every day.

Now I think of it, who’s to say the people at the shops didn’t just take out my crown covers when I’d left and put it in their own envelopes with their names on it? No. I didn’t think of that. Because I was just so fucking naiive. And I still am, apparently. This pisses me off. I want to hate myself for it, but it’s so hard too, because I’m so awesome, so I love myself. Which is exactly why I hate myself. No, I’m not confused.

But you have to give me points for at least being an optimist. Right after the coca cola scam – or before, I don’t know, I don’t remember, I don’t give a shit – was the lotto. Oh the lotto. I was a lot smarter about it this time. Technically, I got smarter after playing at least a dozen number sequences but hey, at least I got smarter, right?

I went online. I found a website where I could ask free psychic questions. I didn’t have a credit card, so I couldn’t pay, which meant my answers would be incomplete. So I asked what the winning numbers for the week would be. The dude gave me only three, and I needed at least four to actually win something. Three… Four… I don’t know. I don’t remember. I don’t give a shit. So I created another free profile and asked the same question again, thinking I’d get another psychic or something who’d tell me the rest. Unfortunately, the dude was on to me. (Because, psychic, duh!) So he told me I wasn’t an idiot in a way that diplomatically pointed out how much of an idiot I was. I left the cyber cafe, pissed off, and calmed myself down by saying he was probably just a phony.

Went home. Then it was show time. Those three numbers? They were spot on. In other words my darlings, life had just analysed me again.

My friends – oh wait, I have no friends – my… readers … whatever you call yourselves, the truth is, I have a million and one stories as to why I am convinced that life IS an analyst prick- every punani intended. Only nani is your arse. I’m thinking however that I should save these stories for another trashicle. If I still feel inclined to share. I’m übermercurial, so Ra only knows if there’ll be a sequel.

I mean yeah sometimes life is sweet and all. HeShe – yes HeShe, since life’s an hermahrodite too, remember? Being a bitch with such a huge vuvuzela? HeShe will hold you, cuddle you, whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear, nibble, tickle, blow softly, hold you, spank you lightly, lick off whipped cream and nutella off your preferred parts, wrap HisHer arms around you… and then just when you’re not looking…

There’s something sticking out your mouth.

And it got in from your anus.

The End.

Authored by Vanessa (@VanessaKanu)
Vanessa is one of our admins at La Critique and can be reached at Vanessakanu@ymail.com

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The Dorobucci Principle, How We All Fit on the Ladder and All That Jazz (Might Just Be the Biggest Song of the Year)

Yes yes, the title is too long so bite me:-p
By the way, if you’re yet to listen to the song and haven’t experienced “Dorobucci”, download the mp3 version here for free –> http://tooxclusive.com/music/mavins-dorobucci-ft-don-jazzy-tiwa-savage-dr-sid-dprince-reekado-banks-korede-bello-dija/ and listen before you go ahead.
Okay, let’s start this all over again.
Hi everyone, it’s been one long hot minute hasn’t it? Sure feels good to be back:-D

So I was still lying down last Saturday revelling in my awesomeness, when my very good friend, let’s call him Mr. Potato head, sent me a link to a song. Now, I had been seeing Doro this and Doro that on twitter but I wasn’t really interested, let’s face it, there are trends almost every passing minute.

image

Doro this... Doro that...

Until Don Jazzy tweeted the link to a high life song that I downloaded and I was like “is this what all the hype is about? (insert yawn)”. That was Friday night. So Saturday morning, Mr. Potato head saved me and introduced me to what in my opinion might be the biggest song of the year (I was rooting for Davido’s ‘Aye’, a gist for later)

Anyways I downloaded the song, and as they say the rest is history. My life hasn’t been the same since I downloaded this song and I really cannot remember the number of times I have played it, there’s just this thing about the song starting with the mad beat (Ehen, so what else is new, you ask?) anyhoos, I’m not here to analyze the song or am I?

So who/ what is a Dorobucci?

I will go with a definition that comes up a bit further in the song which says ‘Doro is a cheerful giver; Doro is a kind of boss’…  Yes, right there is where I want to start my analysis from so be a sweetie and go along with me on this ride, as you discover where you fit on the ladder.
Don Jazzy begins the song of course, as a boss  and we are taken into the Dorobucci world…

If you’re a don, then you’re obviously a Dorobucci (I’m sure the dons in Sicily will be uber thrilled at this. Let’s face it Don Corleone is just too mainstream dontcha think? Doro Corleone sounds much better no?)

If you’re big, bloody? Skillful and heavy (insert whoever you want to here please) then you’re a Doro.

If you “gather more than everybody for the gathering” and are frosh (not a smello) yup! you gorrit, you’re a Doro.

If you’re fresh (yes there’s a difference between ‘fresh’ and ‘frosh’, what’s the difference? I don’t know, ask Olamide) flashy, classy and finer than any one you see around you? Doro is you!

Oh and my favorite part of the song has to be Tiwa’s part, to all the divas out there, yup! you’re all Doros. Doro Bey, Doro Rihanna, Doro Tiwa, Doro Dija, Doro Patience.  All leaders are Doros and you follow leaders so why not follow the ladder while at it? At this point I am confused as to what ladder Tiwa is referring to but it makes me laugh and brings to mind a certain ‘Follow the Ladder’ song by Sister Agnes (please check out the video on you tube here > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQ5zrHh7Rm4 )

Doro hot, doreminado (*sigh* why lawd?) doro meeee, doro youuuuu, doro critiquesssss we the baddest crewwwwwww *please don’t stop reading I beg you*

If you have surulere, you grab, you carry, you fast, sweet, you knack more than a carpenter that has been knacking… (Please don’t ask me) you’re either Ronaldo or Messi? You know what you are.

If you’re an African prince (remember all those 419 emails you tried your hands on back in the day, of course I’m talking to you  :-P) , I’d like to congratulate you on being a Doro way ahead of your peers, a Mega Super Star Doro you are and will always be!

If you eat or sell suya and fish? You’re a Doro #Don’tArgueJustAccept

If you’re bad azzzin badder than baddo, badder than Tony Montana and you’re double o seven or even Chuck Norris, then you’re a Doro.

Doro is a yaro, with money who does what he likes… (this cannot be over emphasized)

Doro is a boss and a cheerful giver (we all know what the bible says about those ones yeah?)

Doro is a money spender, if your name is saved as ‘maga 1’ on any babe’s phone? Yep you’re a Doro! ( Awwwwww and you thought you wouldn’t make the Doro list )

If you care a lot about your dental hygiene (flossing) yup! You’re a Doro, or how else will you get that super mega smile, that’ll make all the chickalas swoon as a gallant Doro causing wahala all over the place?

As a Doro you must be naughty, be a baller, be poppin’, be fly, be Doro etc

I could go on and on but I’m sure you get the general idea, Dorobucci is a jam, and we love it because it has managed to put all of us into our level of Doroness, abi is it Dorobucciness? But wait, I have an issue and I want to make it about gender here; what is a female Dorobucci called? Is she a Dorobuccess? Or Dorobuccina? Or perhaps the name is unisex? You know me I like to ask questions. Anyways, Dorobucci is a lovely and fun song and I’d like to give a huge shout out to the Mavin crew for this one. What do we say, the dictionary peeps think about adding Doro to the awesome words already in existence?
Okay, before I bore you all to death let me stop here for today, download and listen to ‘Dorobucci’, thank me later and I’ll thank Mr. Potato head.

P.S. If you read through this article and you didn’t identify yourself on the ladder as a Doro of any kind, then what is this life really? Why are you here? Please for your own good, say this simple short prayer after me:
‘Oh God of Dorobucci, locate me by fire (*5) in Jesus Name’.
‘Any evil spirit delaying my Doroness , fall down and die (*10)
If you said these prayers, then brothers and sisters you’re the next Doro in line!
Alleluya! Chicken Suya! LAL!
Peace out!
P.P.S. I’m totally feeling Olamide’s ‘Anifowose’ and Runtown’s ‘Gallardo’, just thought to put that out there.
Okay, I’m really done this time.
Bye!

Authored by Helen (@HaYchRoxx)
Helen is one of our authors here at La Critique and can be reached at ai51182@yahoo.co.uk

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Seriously, we do!

It has been over a year since I wrote anything worth reading (let alone publishing) last. In that time, a lot of people have asked me different questions all soliciting a reason as to why La Critique’s been off for so long. Well, life happened. That’s as simple as I can put it. I’ve been through a bad break up, lost motivation, lost a lot of money at one point, lost old friends, made new ones, got several new jobs, made some cool money, changed lives (how you interpret that is entirely up to you), met the most wonderful person I have in my life right now, lost my mom and… back to life!

But life as we see it, while personal, isn’t private. Life involves what we make of ourselves through the people we meet every day, the way we interact with our environment and vice versa. How our decisions affect, in a chain reaction of events, millions of other people who in turn have to make decisions and so on and so forth. If this be the case, and I believe it actually is, why do we then turn a blind eye to the suffering of our neighbour? Why then does the predicament of the next person feel inconsequential to your wellbeing? How can you truly boast of your capabilities materially and otherwise if none of it has been used to the benefit of your immediate environment? The same environment that’s responsible for the air you breathe, the earth you tread, the people you earn a just living from etc.

Think about it.

You have been a Nigerian all your life. Chances are you’ll die a Nigerian. Has Nigeria been kind to you? If not, have you been kind to Nigeria to expect a reciprocation of such affection? Do you think being born within the geographical boundaries of a political set up makes you a citizen? It is not the land but the people. It is the people who make the geographic boundaries. They are the ones responsible for how its resources are utilized. If you believe you cannot make an impact here, chances are you can’t make an impact anywhere. Having a political post, material wealth or any other semblance of grandeur doesn’t make you great. If you weren’t great before attaining that office, wealth, et al you won’t be great from it. Many a people attribute greatness to the things of the realm of the tangible. How far away from the truth they are.

You, who are reading this, are great. Yes! If only you would believe it. If only you would act upon it. If you think you cannot make a change, then other people will make the change for you. Has your life been worthwhile? Are you happy? What do you categorise as ‘worthwhile’ and how do you experience ‘happy’? Can one truly be happy in an environment where hundreds of innocent lives are taken every day? Can one truly wake up with a clear conscience and opening up the paper read about hundreds of teenage girls kidnapped and still remain of a clear conscience? Perhaps, I live in an alternate universe where the human mind works on another level, where it is written “Love thy neighbour as thyself”, where people ought to know that “as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he”.

I therefore apologise, I am a Nigerian, and I am an alien in my country.

“It is easy to dismiss people as terrorists, corrupt, and all that. But the fundamental question is, what kind of environment produces these kind of people and who is responsible for that environment?”. If you do not know the answer with absolute conviction by now, I suggest you stop reading. If you think the few hundreds of people in office are responsible for you who put them there, then you have not been paying attention. For It is also written that “he that has been sent cannot be greater than he that sent him”. So how then can a feeble leadership be greater than the “ordinary people” it has been called to serve?
Again, I apologise, I am alien to these concepts but a Nigerian, yet I remain.

To quote the great political thinker, Edmund Burke; “The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing”. So dear Nigerian, if you’re asking me what to do, if you’re asking me what needs to be done, if you’d like to know where to begin, all I can say is (paraphrasing Michael Jackson’s “Man in The Mirror) start with the great man you see every morning in the mirror, ask him to change his ways and “no message could’ve been any clearer, if you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make the change”.

May the good Lord be with us all. Amen

Please say a little prayer for the many lives that have been lost to these needless killings and man’s inhumanity to man before you leave this page. That is all the reward I ask for sharing my thoughts with you.

Live long and prosper!

Authored by ‘Lola El-Imam
‘Lola is the editor here at La Critique and can be reached at lolaelblack@gmail.com. follow ‘Lola on Twitter @Lolaelblack and follow @LaCritique_ng.
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