Daniel of Babylon: A Fit Fam Story

Once upon a chap called Daniel, the Jew a.k.a The Last Code Bender. Daniel has three friends – Shedrack, Meshack and A Bad Nigger. Daniel was a bad ass hacker, with core competence in JAVA, PHP and Python. That fateful day that king Belshazar vexed the Most High, shebi it is Javascript and C, C ++ and # that was used to write on the screen.

But none of the programmers in the land could decode it. No not one. Instead, they were arguing which virus it was: “Raila Odinga, Trojan Horse or Stuxnet.” Dazow the king’s wife remembered Broda mi Daniel o. At last, somebody’s head is booting. In two minutes kpere, he cracked the thing. “Long live oh king but this does not look good. If I were you, I’ll be writing my will by now.” Dasow King Belsha died o.

When they dinnor swear for the new king, osiso, King Dairus made Daniel Head of Operations ICT, Babylon.

And when he saw that Daniel did not come to count bridge in Babylon, he made him his personal adviser on the New Media, Tourism and Foreign Exchange. Infact, he sought Daniel’s opinion on every subject – stock exchange, real estate, labour law, migration policy. Other times, all they talk about was waist pain, blood sugar and dandruff, because they are buddies like that.

Daniel did not waste time to fit into his new circle. He bought a few suits, learned a few tricks and soon he was the “Wolf of Wall Street.” Daniel was the biggest deal in town. On Instagram alone, he’d gained 5 million followers in three months from Judea, Asia, Africa and the utmost parts of the world. But you see, bad belle people are everywhere; and Daniel will kuku not lick someone’s ass so his breath doesn’t smell of shit. Small time, bad belle fell into his own shalanga o.

But den, e get one ‘weak point’ in his life. You got that right. It was the palace food. The banquet table was his undoing; his Ruth and Delilah: a blessing and curse in one gulp. No man alive has been able to resist the table – awoof dey burst brain.

Okay, let me tell you a little about the Persian banquet table so you understand the weight of Daniel’s sacrifice. You that common seven days dry fast laidis, you will go and camp by the water brook.

The table is no place for a man of small appetite. A bite from the table and your waistline will never remain the same again. Sweaty cooks –smelling of exotic spices shipped in from the Mesopotamian shores – bearing steaming bowls of lamb ribs and garlic sauce. Their movement itself was art. Greasy pork, goat and lamb would be set down beside a baker’s dozen of stuffed turkey bathed in all mannlov spices and herbs.

There goes our rice, cheese, flat breads – made of barley that they pluck from Ogba Gestimani. Food you will eat that your conscience won’t let it to digest. Village People serve you porridge in your dream laidis, you give them two middle fingers. THEIR FADA!!! Only to wake up at 4am to your intestines doing ‘uppagangnam style’ – that’s how Village People head use to catch somebody.

So, peppered snails and zobo by Ipanu Chops and Ini Adesanya respectively would be saying ‘hello’ from za oza side. Fruits collecting fresh air over dia, you’d barely have room to rest your weary elbows by the time they set sticky desserts, wine and ornate chalices etched with images of Aphrodite, Diana, Satyr or Dionysus doing one of the two things he knows to do best (is not me that will tell you that one).

By now, the table would be weeping under the weight of mean delicacies. If the table were human, it would be bipolar. Table they don’t born you well to shake. You auction your birth right – gbanjo price without even thinking.

Finally, the gold, perfumes, incense and music – Davido be assuring daughters of Delilah while Tekno gives them a tour in his cassava plantation.

And what’s a Persian banquet without iniquity? Daughters of Eve in all shades of ivory, caramel and melanin draped across some statesmen’s thick laps. Others wringing from the death grip of some youth whose middle name is CASAVA but ain’t nothing in his akkant. Something like a scene from Beowulf, exactly, except this one is Oriental.

‘Fair Delilah, my soul pines for thee night and day. Pray join me for tea at my tent by twilight on the morrow. Let me mingle mine juice with thine.’

And the idiot will answer:

‘Pray my lord, canst thou not tarry till I shed my last bloom? My red visitor is upon me. Tarry till I am proper, my lord.’

Ain’t nothing like that crap. It was more like a man squeezing some cold denaris into Delilah’s giant tits. I leave the rest to your imaginations.

And while these shenanigoons and shenanibabes are having one another for dinner, Daniel would be there thinking of how he can just collect “take away” and flee without offending his host. For Daniel, it wasn’t just the lambs sacrificed to the gods, it was the complete package: the people, the abominable lifestyle – girls allergic to clothes and men their homes, awon ‘adara masunle’ dede. Girls whose laughter alone would make you cum just the way you are.

So, one night, after a hearty meal and endless trips to the gents. Daniel provoke and told Shedrack, Meshack and a Bad Nigger with him, ‘Guys, I don’t belong here. I can’t be long here. In fact I won’t live long if I continue laidis.’ And dasow Daniel embarked on his #FitFam journey o; eating nothing but vegetable soup (ekpan/afang combo) and akpu because man must do what? Man must eat somtin.

Post Author: Arinola Ogunniyi

I tell simple everyday stories we take for granted in ways you wouldn't have imagined them. From dated stories, myths, reviews, "street-lores" to topical issues, these mind bending series will leave you begging for more. And if you trip over my sentence structures, it's part of the experience. You can call me the Last Story Bender. I mastered the rules of language to break them.

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