Amebo Pulse: Funke Gets Funked, Bad Ol’ Sinators

Once again I stare at this computer, not knowing which stupid introduction to write, then I remember say this week na the last week of the month. And as usual, last week na the week when all your respective banks go begin dey send out alert, saying that your employer has finally paid you that salary. I don’t know what your job description is, but studies have shown that a huge percentage of my readers comb monkeys for a living. And that’s pretty noble, seeing that combed monkeys are almost extinct. Good job! But then as you collect that salary, anything go do you if you ask me, Amebo Pulse, your friend every Monday, if I go reject your tithe? Well, stinginess no good. Chop alone, die alone. Gossip alone, laugh alone. Una see? Let’s go there.

FunnyFunky Funke

I hate Hollywood! Yes O, my people, in all my 500 years of existence, and my 200 years in this fake entertainment industry, I have never fallen in love with Hollywood. Yes Hollywood. Forget Angelina Jolie’s wonderful lips, Will Smith’s awesome guns, Bradley Cooper’s fineboyism, and Chris Hemsworth with his jackhammer, I have never felt a thing for Hollywood. Why? Because of their marriages. All those yeye Hollywood marriages no dey last. In fact, all those cheap china phones wey dey sound like home theatre with all their stupid batteries last pass a good romantic Hollywood marriage. I can bet my fortune on that. Na so so divorce and quarrel wey we go dey hear. Small thing dey don rush go court go collect one tiny order from one hungry Judge wey resemble spider, then announce to the media say dem no wan do again. Chei, media don suffer!

Well Nollywood (coughs dryly and wickedly), “kia, kia, pfft”. Nollwood no gree o. Them no wan carry last. We all know Nollywood and their propensity to copy everything that comes out of Los Angeles. Especially their Americana accents. See Nonso Diobe now and Jim Iyke. Listen to their speech patterns and you’ll shake your head in pity. They sound like diseased goats with cancer of the vocal chord. E no end there o, over the years, the divorce rates in Nollywood have grown so large that if I get a Naira for every yeye actor/actress marriage wey crash, I go don become Dangote father. But well, stingy Nollywood.

The latest in this string of shattered homes in Funke ‘Jenifa’ Akindele and her interesting husband. Funke Akindele, the fine Yoruba actress wey sabi make everybody laugh, happy, dance, and thank God for the gift of Nollywood. Last year against the wishes of all of us, her fans, her friends, her family, and her haters, the girl go marry man wey get 3 wives already; Kenny Doo, the champion of Oshodi. 3 nagging jealous wives, with their plenty nagging, fight-fight children. She no get eye? Or na so the love sweet reach? Even if na curse, at least 2 wife dey ok. But 4 wife? Na you ask for trouble.

No be ordinary, I believe say na person do you. I hearby decree that whoever sat in that Babalawo’s shrine, and called your name 4 times, may he never eat another Christmas in peace. I know Kenny Doo (your champion of Mushin), is rich and has money, but Funke, you are rich too. In short I don vex.

Over to you, the ex-husband. I have read a thousand social media comments that called the man, Kenny Doo an illiterate. He is the son of the Iyaloja Of Oshodi Market, that is, his mother was not just his mother alone, she was also the mother of all the markets in Oshodi. So you can imagine a man growing up to discover that his siblings are market stalls and shady desperate traders. No wonder he became Champion Of Oshodi. And I see no reason why he should have had any business with our darling Funke in the first place. What kinda man announces his divorce on facebook? Why didn’t he use 2go? These days if you have to do something controversial (like dumping your wife), you should have the decency to log onto Instagram or Twitter, or any other platform except Facebook and Nairaland, and make your announcement. Instead King Kenny took to Facebook to announce,

“It’s with heavy heart that am announcing the separation of me and ma wife, Mrs. Olufunke Akindele; “we’ve both agreed to go our separate ways coz of irreconcilable differences. We are still best of friends nd we 4ever remain gud friends.”

He actually logged onto FB, saw that small box that said, “How are you, Kenny doo” and he decided to take it personal. Madness! This is pure, stupid and yeye madness. At least she’s left you. The next time you’ll ever come across anything as classy as Funke will be in your third life. After the next one.

And finally. As for you Funke, no worry. You’re still a rich ravishing beauty. Many men will collapse just to hear you say their name. In fact, I love you, and I don’t use facebook. If for any reason you decide to go through the stress of marriage again, then “Hello baybay, My name is Amebo. I’m sexy and I know it.” Madness!

Child Not Brides: Dirty Ol’ Sinators

Perverts, perverts, perverts, perverts. All I see are perverts. On the street, perverts. In schools, perverts. In our worship places, holy perverts. In the Senate house? Dirty Old Perverts!

Nigeria don spoil finish. And none of you should try to comment and convince me of any other. Because you’ll be wasting the comment section below. And I really do value my comment section on this page. When I was small, before I knew the difference between groundnut and Kuli kuli, my father taught me the national anthem in a very special way. He taught me, wielding a cane in one hand, and a bottle of Gulder in the other hand. So as he screamed ‘sing!’ he took a giant drink from his bottle. I wasn’t scared of his cane, my little soul was terrified by the gigantic movement of his scary Adam’s Apple. So I had no reason not to open my mouth and sing aloud with my rat voice. “ Arise O Beer-patiot!”

I kept wondering what that Adam’s Apple would have done to me if I didn’t sing. But over time I got to love the National Anthem. I sang it with joy and pride, and by age 7, I was in love with Nigeria. It was official that I had a crush for the green-white-green flag. But then this country has not really reciprocated my undying love. Every day I have to deal with power shortages, fuel scarcity, no fuel subsidy, hunger in the land (but not in my house o, gossip pays better than the federal government), Samuel Peter losing his fights, and Super Eagles breaking my heart. If that wasn’t enough, I heard the new law that was passed by some men in the Senate, now makes my daughter eligible for marriage once she gets delivered. Chineke!

I never born pikin (because Gold Circle is still my friend), but when I do decide to start shooting out little Joeyinas, I want her to run around playing hide-and-seek with those innocent small small boys, I want her to cook sandy rice and offer them to me while I smile and stare at her padded butt stuffed with Pampers.

I don’t want suitors asking for her hand in marriage even before she learns how to call me ‘Amebo Daddy’. But then this is the country we live in, and which I’ve fallen out of love with. Naija, great Naija. I no longer love you. It’s official, I’ve started eyeing the Republic of Gambia. And for all those senators wey dey sabi pass nonsense jagwajantis laws, if I catch una I will book your grandchildren. All of them. Then you’ll give your blessings. Nonsense jagwajantis laws, from Nonsense jagwajantis senators.

Once I again I am angry…drop your comments, they make me fall in love with you…